Shapur handed the bow to one of his sons. The King drew his long, straight sword. With graceful steps, he walked to the lion. The beast’s lifeblood was fast draining away, its muzzle red with gore. Its roar of defiance was now a choking cough.

Straddling the back of the lion, Shapur turned to face his entourage. He flourished his blade, then, with the skill of long practice, plunged the steel down between the shoulder blades in the killing blow.

‘Hail the Mazda-beloved Lord Shapur!’ The high-pitched cries of the harem joined the deep shouts of the hunters.

As Shapur basked in the applause, Barbad noticed the tips of the reeds moving.

‘King of Kings, descended from the Gods, famed for his courage!’

Against all courtly etiquette, Papak rushed forward towards the King.

‘May the Gods . . .’ The chanting had faltered.

Again the reeds parted.

This lion was old, slab-shouldered and powerful. A long white scar ran down its flank from its mane to its haunches. In its eyes was the cunning of a man-eater.

Unaware of the threat, Shapur half turned, affronted, as Papak darted past.

With no preliminaries, the man-eater leapt. Its acceleration defied its enormous bulk. At the third bound, it was on Papak. There was no time to take the proper stance, but the Prince somehow thrust out his spear. The momentum snapped the shaft, flattened Papak, sent him tumbling like a child.

Thrashing and sliding, the lion crashed to the ground almost at the feet of the King. Curling, the lion tore at its own hide with teeth and claws. It ripped jagged wounds in its own flesh as it struggled to get at the white-hot agony embedded in its vitals, at the steel which was robbing it of life.

The face of the King of Kings was a mask as he looked down at his brother, bruised and battered in the dirt. Without a word, Shapur had sheathed his sword, and stalked away.

The hunt was over.

*

The evening was mild. A gentle breeze blew through the tamarisks and trees. The stars were clear in the vault of the heavens. Yet in the pavilion of Prince Papak the atmosphere had the tense stillness before thunder.

Barbad attended as his lord was bathed, and his wounds tended. There were two gashes and much bruising, but Papak was not seriously injured. There was little talk while the prince was served his dinner, less while he was put alone into his bed. No one, not even young Prince Sasan, had talked of the lion. No one voiced the question in every mind. Would the King of Kings reward Papak for his bravery, or punish him for his presumption? Like the rest, Barbad kept his opinion to himself.

The answer had not been long in arriving.