It took Shapur a few moments to regain his breath. He wiggled his fingers around the hilt of his sword—wet and sticky, but he could feel them. Shapur tried to push the lioness off of him. She didn’t budge. If there was any hope of slipping free, he’d have to leave his sword to do so. Reluctantly, he released his grip on its hilt. Using his free leg and arm, he wrenched himself free of the lioness—her blood had made his escape somewhat easier.
Panting from his exertions, he studied the lifeless beast that lay next to him. Beside the two arrows in her left shoulder he could see the tip of his sword slightly protruding from the lioness’ back. Without thinking, Shapur looked about him for his spear. It lay close to the body, otherwise he would have been lost in the tall grass. He laid the spear against the lioness’ carcass. As he started to roll the lioness onto her side, he felt hairs rise along the back of his neck.
He grabbed his spear, and spun around in time to see a larger male lion spring towards him from the deep grass. Shapur stuck the base of the spear in the ground, bracing the spear with his foot. He pointed the tip towards his attacker and hoped it would hit a vital organ. The charge hit him straight on. He felt the lion’s breath on his face, the claws on both shoulders, and a searing pain in his right side. For the second time that day Shapur lay breathless with a lion on top of him. He thought his spear had pierced the lion’s chest. Since the lion lay motionless across his body, the spear might have been enough to kill it. From the pain in his back Shapur knew he’d fallen onto the tip of his sword—somewhere above his kidney, he thought. He twisted slightly to see how serious it might be. The lion stirred.
With his right arm partially free, he struggled to reach the dagger he carried on his belt. If it was still there, he couldn’t find it. Either the dagger had dropped from its sheath, or his two falls had shifted it on his belt. In a flash of clarity Shapur realized he might be seconds away from death.
Maricq and Narses anxiously watched the first lion’s attack from a distance, then saw Shapur dismount to stalk the lion on foot. After the lion’s roar they disregarded the king’s instructions and raced towards his horse—the only thing they could clearly see in the tall grass. But Shapur was nowhere near his horse. Maricq and Narses desperately widened their search. When another roar came from nearby, they rushed in the direction of the sound.
Here,” Narses shouted to Maricq, pointing ahead and to their left. Maricq spurred his mount past Narses toward the king. He was off his horse, sword drawn, running to Shapur and the lions before Narses had drawn his horse to a stop. Maricq thrust his sword into the lion’s back; it remained motionless. Relieved, he put a foot on the beast, yanked his sword free, then wiped the blade clean on the lion’s back. He turned to Narses.
“Bring the game keeper and the guards,” he shouted. “Tell them to be cautious. There may be more lions.” Next he turned to the king. “Can you hear me, Lord?” he whispered near Shapur’s face.
Shapur stirred at the sound. “I told you to wait for me, Maricq,” he replied haltingly. He grimaced and placed his right hand on Maricq’s arm. “It’s fortunate you know when to disobey my orders.”
“Are you seriously wounded?” Maricq looked at the blood covering Shapur and the back of the first lion. Narses stepped distastefully through the blood pooling on the ground.
“Is he alive?” he looked anxiously at Maricq.
Maricq initially ignored his question. Instead, he sheathed his sword and grabbed the lion’s mane. “Help me get the beast off your father, Narses.”
* * *
After pulling him free from the lions, they had carried Shapur back to a river that they crossed earlier in the day. Shapur had washed the blood from his body then attendants had dressed his wounds. “You look much better now, Lord,” Maricq smiled approvingly. Shapur leaned against a large rock. Now, Shapur basked in the sun, naked, while his clothes had been spread to dry. His body was still lean and fit, despite many battle scars that Shapur regarded as badges of honor. He declined to sit or lounge on the large carpet that had been unrolled in front of him; instead, he’d asked for wine and now sipped it reflectively.
Finally, he nodded at Maricq as if he’d just heard him. “Great risks can yield great rewards, Maricq.”
“True, Lord,” Maricq agreed, but they can also yield great disasters.
“Last year Ahura Mazda prophesied five years of prosperity and opportunity,” Shapur continued.
“And that great deeds would come to the daring and courageous,” Maricq nodded. “Already the prophesy has come to pass.”
Shapur thought for a moment. “I’m getting old, Maricq…”
“Forty-four is hardly old, Lord,” Maricq countered.
“I want to face Valerian on the battlefield!”
“You’ve already defeated one emperor, Lord.”
“He was only a child, Maricq,” Shapur waved a hand, dismissing his victory thirteen years earlier over Gordian, who had just turned nineteen. “This time I want two great armies facing each other on the field: a king against an emperor!”
“Barbalissos was a great victory, Lord,” said Maricq, referring to Shapur’s overwhelming defeat of the Romans just five years earlier.
“Yes, but against inferior troops who were poorly led.”
“Perhaps the bait at Dura Europus wasn’t great enough for Valerian,” Maricq suggested. “He seems cautious to me, Lord. Maybe a full-scale invasion would force Valerian to react, and at a place of our choosing.”
Shapur smiled at the thought. “We must plan this carefully, Maricq.” He turned to include Narses, who had silently followed the exchange. “The training and preparation might take a year or more. The prophesy said that we had that much time.”
“Maybe we’ll defeat them the way the Parthians beat the Romans, Father,” Narses said enthusiastically. “My tutor was telling me about that recently.”
Shapur smiled at Narses. “That was a long time ago.” He glanced inquisitively towards Maricq.
“Over three centuries, Lord,” Maricq calculated quickly. “Do you remember the Roman general’s name, Narses?”
“Crassus, I think,” he answered uncertainly.
Shapur nodded. “I’ve crossed the ground where the battle took place—open plains near a town called Carrhae. It favored the Parthian cavalry. Three hundred years is a long time.” He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “I doubt we could lure the Romans into making the same mistake again.”
