From dawn to dusk over the past four days Leon Courtney had flown the Bumble Bee at treetop height over the wide savannah. Manyoro and Loikot were perched in the front of the cockpit, vigilant as cruising vultures, watching and searching. They had found many lions, probably more than two hundred, females and cubs, young males and toothless old solitaries. But Kichwa Muzuru had told them, ‘He must be big and his mane must be as black as the hell hound.’ So far, they had found no animal that came close to that description.
On the fourth day Manyoro had wanted to give up the search in Masailand and fly up to the Northern Frontier District, to the wild land between Lake Turkana and Marsabit. ‘There we will find lions under every acacia tree. Lions big enough and fierce enough to make even Kichwa Muzuru happy.’
Loikot had strenuously opposed the move. He had told Leon of a pair of legendary lions that held a huge territory between Lake Natron and the west wall of the Rift Valley. ‘I know those lions well. Many times I have seen them over the years that I herded my father’s cattle. They are twins, brothers born from the same lioness on the same day. That was in the season of the locust plagues, eleven years ago, when I was just a child. Year after year I have watched them grow in size, strength and daring. By now they are in their prime. There is not another lion to compare with them in all the land. They have killed a hundred head of cattle, maybe more,’ Loikot had said. ‘They have killed eighteen of the morani who set out to hunt them down. No man has been able to stand against them for they are too fierce and cunning. Some of the morani believe they are ghost lions that can change themselves into gazelle or birds when they hear the hunters coming after them.’
Manyoro had scoffed, rolled his eyes and touched his temple with a forefinger to indicate the depth of Loikot’s dementia. But Leon had backed him, so for the last few days they had scoured the wide brown grassland. They had seen huge herds of buffalo, and countless thousands of smaller plains game, but the lions were either very young or very old and not worthy of the spear.
That evening, as they sat around the campfire, Loikot tried to keep up their flagging enthusiasm. ‘I tell you, M’bogo, these two are the paramount chieftains of all the lions in the valley. There are no others greater, fiercer or more cunning. These are the ones that Kichwa Muzuru has sent us to find.’
Manyoro hawked and spat in the fire, then watched the slug of his phlegm boil and bubble in the flames before he gave his opinion. ‘For many days I have listened to this story of yours, Loikot. There is one part of it that I have come to believe, that these lions you speak of can change their shape to birds. That is what they must have done. They have become little sparrows and flown away. I think we should leave these bird-lions, and go up to Marsabit to find a real one.’
Affronted, Loikot folded his arms across his chest and stared at Manyoro loftily. ‘I tell you, I have seen them with my own eyes. They are here. If we stay we will find them.’ They looked at Leon for a decision.
While he drained the coffee in his mug and flicked the grounds into the fire, Leon considered the choice. They were already low on fuel for the Bumble Bee and had enough for only a day or two more. If they moved up to the north, they would need to transport more supplies by road. That would take many more days, and Graf Otto was not a patient man. ‘One more day, Loikot.’ He made the decision. ‘Find those beasts of yours tomorrow or we leave them and go up to Marsabit.’
They took off before sunrise and resumed the search at the point where they had left off the previous evening. An hour later and twenty miles out from the airstrip at Percy’s Camp, Leon picked out an enormous herd of buffalo streaming back across the savannah from the lake shore where they had drunk. There must have been more than a thousand animals. The big bulls were bunched up in the vanguard, with the cows, calves and younger beasts strung out over almost a mile of grassland behind them. He banked towards them. He knew that lion prides often followed such large herds to pick off the weaklings and stragglers.
Suddenly in the front of the cockpit Loikot was making agitated hand signals, and Leon leaned forward to see what had excited him. A pair of buffalo had become separated from the main herd, and were trailing a quarter of a mile or so behind it. They were crossing a glade of long golden grass, walking side by side. Only their backs were visible above the grass, and from this Leon judged that they were bulls, heavy and black in the body, but young, and he wondered why Loikot was making such a fuss about them.
Then, as he studied them, the pair emerged from the long grass into shorter, more open pasture, and Leon felt every nerve in his body snap tight. They were not buffalo but lions. Never before had he seen lions of that size or colour. The early-morning sun was behind them, highlighting their regal, stately progress. Their manes were deepest Stygian black and shaggy as haystacks, ruffling in the breeze as they stopped to stare up at the approaching aircraft.
Leon throttled back the engines and let the Bumble Bee drop until her landing wheels were skimming the ground. As he headed straight towards the lions, they swelled out their manes and swung their long black-tufted tails against their flanks in mounting agitation. One sank down and flattened himself in the short grass while the other spun around and broke into a weighty, swinging trot, heading for a patch of dense bush on the verge of the open ground. Leon passed low over the crouching animal and looked down into its implacable yellow stare. Then he was roaring down on the second. As it heard the aircraft approaching, it broke into a gallop, maned shoulders driving and belly swinging, filled with the meat of its kill. Once again it turned its great maned head to snarl up at Leon as he flashed over.
Leon put the aircraft into a gentle climb, and turned towards the landing strip below the camp. It would take twenty minutes’ flying time, but he needed to land so that he could discuss a plan of action with the two Masai. Manyoro seemed to have forgotten his earlier opposition to continuing the search, and was stamping and laughing with as much wild abandon as Loikot.
‘Those lions are good reason for such joy. Graf Otto von Meer-bach, you had better sharpen your assegai. You’re going to need it.’ Leon laughed into the wind. He was sorely tempted to turn back for one more look at those magnificent animals. However, he knew it would be unwise to disturb them again. If they were as cunning and wary as Loikot had said, he might easily drive them from the grassy savannah into the forests of the escarpment where they would be much more difficult to come at.
Let them be, he decided. Let them settle down until I can get mad von Meerbach here to deal with them.
As Leon touched down and let the Bumble Bee roll out on the airstrip below Percy’s Camp, the two Masai were still celebrating the find. When he cut the engines, Loikot shouted joyously, ‘Did I tell you, Manyoro?’ and answered himself immediately: ‘Yes, I told you! But did you believe me, Manyoro? No, you did not! Of the two of us, who is the stupid and stubborn one? Is it me, Manyoro? No, it is not! Which of us is the great hunter and finder of lions? Is it you, Manyoro? No, it is Loikot!’ He adopted a noble and heroic pose, while Manyoro covered his face with his hands in mock-chagrin.
‘You are the greatest tracker in Africa and surpassingly beautiful, Loikot,’ Leon interrupted, ‘but now I have work for you. You must return to your lions and stay with them until I can bring Kichwa Muzuru for the hunt. You must follow them closely, but not so closely that you alarm them and scare them away.’
‘I know those lions. They will not elude me,’ Loikot vowed. ‘I have them in my eye.’
‘When I return and you hear the sound of the engines, you must light a smudge fire. The smoke will guide me to you.’
‘I will have the lions in my eye, and the sound of your engines in my ear,’ Loikot boasted.
Leon turned to Manyoro, ‘Who is the chief of the area in which we found the lions today?’
‘His name is Massana and his manyatta is at Tembu Kikuu, the Place of the Great Elephant.’
‘You must go to him, Manyoro. Tell him there is a bounty of twenty cattle on each of his lions. But tell him that we will bring him a mzungu who will hunt them in the traditional way. Massana must bring together fifty of his morani for the hunt, but the killing will be done by Kichwa Muzuru alone.’
‘I understand, M’bogo, but I do not think Massana will understand. A mzungu hunting a lion with the assegai? It has never been heard of before. Massana will think Kichwa Muzuru is mad.’
‘Manyoro, you and I know that Kichwa Muzuru is indeed as crazy as the wildebeest with snot worms in his brain. But tell Massana not to worry too much about the condition of Kichwa Muzuru’s head. Tell him to consider rather the twenty head of cattle. What do you think, Manyoro? Will Massana help us with the hunt?’
‘For twenty head of cattle Massana would sell all his fifteen wives and their daughters, perhaps his own mother as well. Of course he will help us.’
‘Is there a place close to his manyatta where I can land the aeroplane?’ Leon asked.
Manyoro picked his nose thoughtfully before he replied. ‘There is a dry salt pan close to the village. It is flat and without trees.’
‘Show it to me,’ Leon ordered. They took off again and Manyoro guided him towards it. It was a huge expanse, flat and glaring white, clearly visible from many miles out. As they drew closer a small herd of oryx galloped across it, and Leon saw with relief that their hoofs did not break through the white crust. Some such pans were death traps: often deep, sinking mud, soft as oatmeal porridge and sticky as glue, was concealed beneath the fragile crust. He put the Bumble Bee down gingerly, letting the wheels just touch the surface, prepared to lift her off again if he felt mud grab the undercarriage. When the surface supported her weight he let her settle. He taxied to the edge of the pan, and turned the plane. But he did not shut down the engines. ‘How far is it to the manyatta from here?’ he shouted at Manyoro above the din.
‘It is close.’ Manyoro pointed ahead. ‘Some of the villagers are coming already.’ A small group of women and children were running towards them through the trees.
‘And how far to where we left the lions, O great hunter?’ Leon demanded of Loikot. With his spear he pointed out a small segment of the sky, indicating two hours’ passage of the sun. ‘Good. So, here you are close to the manyatta and the lions. I will leave both of you. Watch for my return. When I come back I will have Kichwa Muzuru with me.’
Leon left the two Masai on the salt and took off again. He circled the pan once before heading back to Nairobi. The Masai waved at him and then he saw them separate: Loikot trotted away to pick up the tracks of the lions, and Manyoro went to meet the women from Massana’s village.