It wasn’t his stomach rumbling.
That was the last straw. The lion had felt the dull little vibration tingle in his whiskers; buzz through his teeth, and now curdle his morning meal, and it didn’t have the dignity to be his own repast. He got to his feet and shook his big, curly, floofy mane.
“WHAT,” he yelled at one of his wives, “IS THAT?”
“I’ll have a look ‘round,” she said calmly, and stood up and padded off out of the comfortable shade of the tree they were dozing on.
“GOOD,” he said, and flung himself back into a nap to sulk.
Some time later a gentle cough awoke him.
“WHAT,” he yelled at the wife, “WAS THAT?”
“A king,” she said.
“WHAT,” the lion repeated, “IS THAT?”
“A sort of odd human person. He sits upon a palanquin and is carried around by other humans and wherever he goes they bow to him and give him gifts and do as he says, because he is the king and they are peasants. And he wears a little decoration on his head.”
The lion considered this information. Then he shook out his big, curly, floofy mane.
“I,” he decided, “AM A KING.”
“Alright,” said his wife.
“I AM KING,” he shouted at his other wives where they dozed.
“Okay,” said one.
“Yeah,” seconded another.
“Sure.”
“Whatever.”
“Got it.”
“Yup.”
“Uh-huh.”
The lion leapt up on top of a rock, and then on top of another rock, and then on top of another rock.
“THIS IS MY PALANQUIN,” he announced.
“Be careful,” said his first wife.
“WHAT?”
“Bees.”
“BEES CAREFUL OF WHAT?”
An intense and violent humming eased its way gently into the lion’s ears. It wasn’t his stomach again, either. It was a small and violent insect, flitting its way around his head most obnoxiously.
“I AM KING,” he told it.
It buzzed furiously, so he squashed it.
“I AM KING,” he told its corpse. But the buzzing didn’t go away, and when he looked up he saw a hive in a crevice in the rock and in the hive in the crevice in the rock were bees and those bees came out to see him.
“I AM KING,” he told them. “AAAARGH. I AM KINOUCH. OH NO. AIEEE. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW KING OW OW OW OW OW”
***
“All better?” asked one of his wives, gently licking his nose again.
“YOUR KING FEELS BETTER AND ACTUALLY WAS NEVER HURT IN THE FIRST PLACE,” said the lion, swatting at her magnanimously. “I AM GOING TO GET LUNCH.”
“Well, it’ll have to wait for sundown,” said his first wife. “It’s too early and hot to get food now.”
“NONSENSE,” said the lion. “I AM KING. IT WILL COME TO ME.”
“Well have fun,” said his wives.
“SILENCE, PEASANTS,” he told them. And they did, and he left.
It was an awfully hot day, just as his wife had told him, but the lion paid it no mind. He need not hide or skulk or ambush; that was what his wives were for. Now he was king, and needed not put up with the tomfoolery any longer. Now he could simply assert himself.
“I AM KING,” he announced to some nearby zebras.
They looked at him.
“I AM KING, AND YOU ARE PEASANTS,” he explained to them.
They looked at each other.
“I DEMAND YOU FEED YOURSELVES TO ME AT THIS INSTANT,” he ordered.
The zebras burst into hysterical horse-y laughter fit to bust a gut.
“SILENCE, PEASANTS,” the lion told them. And they didn’t, and when he walked over to swat them – his big, curly, floofy mane stiff with disapproval – they trotted away. And they were still laughing.
“I AM KING,” he told a nearby Thomson’s gazelle. “FEED ME.”
It ran away and it was so fast he didn’t even try to chase it. Instead he got angry.
“I AM KING,” he roared at the world, “AND I DEMAND ONE OF YOU PEASANTS FEED YOURSELVES TO ME AT THIS VERY MOMENT OR I WILL KILL YOU STONE DEAD.”
An elephant approached him, stepping quietly on its feet as elephants do. Its gaze was steady and firm.
“ABOUT TIME,” said the lion. “NOW STEP INTO MY MOUTH.”
The elephant approached him.
“RIGHT HERE.”
The elephant approached him.
“GOOD. YOU HAVE SERVED YOUR KING WELL.”
The elephant approached him.
“NOW STAND STI-”
The elephant kept on walking.
***
Luckily the water hole wasn’t far away. This suited the lion sorely in the most literal sense of the world, as he bathed his tender, trampled body in soothing mud and splashed cool water onto his dust-stomped mane, which was still big but was substantially less curly and floofy.
“Tough day?” asked the water hole. It had a muddy, thick sort of voice, which made sense because the lion was probably sitting on its throat.
“YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS YOUR HIGHNESS,” the lion told it.
“Apologies, sire.”
“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”
“’Your highness.’”
“GOOD,” said the lion. “YOU ARE AN OBEDIENT SUBJECT.”
“Well, I try. What sort of problems have you had lately, sire?”
“I HAVE BEEN BESET BY INGRATITUDE FROM THE PEASANTS. I AM THEIR KING AND THEY OUGHT TO OBEY ME. INSTEAD THEY STING ME AND LAUGH AT ME AND IGNORE ME AND TRAMPLE ME. BUT ONLY BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO.”
“By what right is your kingship?” inquired the water hole. Oddly enough, its voice was different now: it was thinner and reedier, though water still splashed in its vocal chords.
“BECAUSE I AM KING,” explained the lion.
“Yes, yes, of course. But by this I mean: why are you king? By might? By right?”
“BECAUSE I AM,” said the lion.
“You am what?” inquired the water hole in yet another voice – this one deep as a canyon, cold as a night-time wind.
“I AM THAT I AM, AND THAT IS THE MIGHTIEST AND GREATEST AND MOST SPECIAL OF ALL.”
“By both might and divine right you are king,” mused the reedier of the water hole’s voices.
“Impressive,” said the first, muddy voice.
“Indeed,” said the cold deep voice. “Come a little closer, sire, that we might honour you properly.”
“ABOUT TIME,” said the lion, wading farther into the water hole. It dropped off rather suddenly, and he splashed in past his shoulders.
A thought struck him. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY ‘WE’?”
“Well, we’re more Jacobins than monarchists,” said the first voice. “But that’s politics. Personally, we’re crocodilians.”
Then something bit the lion’s nose and something else bit his foot and something ELSE bit his tail and all three of them spun and spun and spun until all his problems went away.
***
The lion’s wives were neither surprised nor particularly heartbroken when he didn’t come back in time for nightfall.
And they didn’t tell their children about kings. Just in case.