The Kaid clapped his hands repeatedly, to summon his attendants, but no one appeared. Being too much of a Moorish grandee to rise from the divan and see with his own eyes what had happened—such a proceeding would have been undignified—he remained seated, counting the beads of his rosary and muttering curses on his attendants. After a time he again shouted lustily for his slave ‘Faraji,’ with a malediction on him and on all slaves.
The Kaid had barely finished these imprecations, when in walked his huge prisoner, the lion, glaring fiercely at him.
Kaid Maimon was a man of undaunted courage: while realising it would be folly for him to draw his sword and attack the lion, as he would most probably be worsted in such a conflict, he was also aware that even should he succeed in dealing the beast a death-blow, his own life would be forfeited; as the Sultan would, no doubt, order his head to be cut off, for destroying the royal gift entrusted to his keeping for the King of Portugal. The Kaid therefore, looking as placidly as he could at the intruder, thus addressed his namesake—for the lion had also been given the name of ‘Maimon,’ or ‘the trustworthy.’ ‘You are a brave fellow, Maimon, to leave your cage and take a walk this fine evening. O judicious and well-behaved lion!’ he added, ‘you do right to roll and enjoy yourself’—as the lion, pleased with the voice of the Kaid, commenced rolling himself on the carpet. ‘O bravest and most trustworthy!’ the Kaid continued—as the lion, rising, rubbed himself cat-like against him, repeating this very embarrassing performance several times, finally stretching himself and lying down with his head on the Kaid’s knee.
Brave man though he was, Kaid Maimon perspired with horror at having to nurse such a beast. He tried patting him on the head, but a lash of the creature’s tail warned him that the lion preferred to take his repose without such caresses.
Not a sound was to be heard in the camp, save now and then a snort or struggle near the Kaid’s tent, from some terror-stricken horse which, winding the lion, was endeavouring to break away from the pickets which still held him—though most of the horses and mules had broken away and fled, with their masters after them.
Kaid Maimon now began to consider what kind of severe punishment he would inflict upon his cowardly attendants and his body-guard—if the lion did not eat him! ‘Fine warriors,’ thought he; ‘two hundred men to run away from a tame lion!’
At this moment the lion, having rested, awoke from his nap, and, stretching himself, showed his long and terrible claws. ‘This beast is not to be trifled with,’ reflected the Kaid; ‘yet if any rascal had shot it—either in self-defence or to save my life—I should have made him a head shorter.’
The lion now got up and, stalking towards the door of the tent, lashed his tail; one switch of which caught the Kaid’s turban and knocked it off. Calmly replacing it, the Kaid muttered to himself, ‘I hope this visit is now coming to an end. May it be the last of the kind I shall have to receive in my life.’
The lion, looking out, espied the horse—still picketed near the tent—which immediately recommenced its frantic struggles and at last, succeeding in breaking away, was just galloping off, when the lion, in two bounds, was on its back and brought his victim to the ground—panting in the agonies of death, its whole side lacerated and its throat torn open.
The Kaid, who had moved to the door of his tent, beheld this scene, and thought it would be a favourable moment, whilst the lion was enjoying his repast, to recall his cowardly attendants and troopers; so going out at the back of the tent, unseen by the lion, he looked around and finally espied his followers about half a mile off, huddled together, with the horses and mules they had recovered.