They found Neeltje seated in front of the hearth with some handiwork in her lap, and Boet lapping at the water dripping from the roof into an old bucket near the door.

‘I smell coffee,’ Wynand rubbed his hands together for warmth. ‘Come in, Roff.’

Roeloff stood awkwardly at the door, waiting for someone to invite him to sit down. The house was not half as grand as the one he came from. Reed partitions divided the rooms instead of walls and doors, but there were no draughts, it was warm, and there was the same sense of wellbeing. It occurred to him that he could live with such a kitchen: the barrel of potatoes and onions, biltong hanging from the wall, the table where Wynand cleaned his gun and ate his meals, the unspoken communication between father and daughter. Theirs was a close kinship, and he longed, at that moment, for the same.

‘I knew you would come in early. Sit down, Roff.’

Roeloff didn’t have to look at her. She’d had a bath, and a smell of something moist and feminine still lingered in the air. He’d never seen her like this, so soft and unguarded, the firelight dancing on her damp hair. A real woman, his grandfather would have said. One who had stamina, strong nerves, and beauty that didn’t show itself immediately, but unfolded over time like a caterpillar into a butterfly.

‘Did Pa tell you he was thinking of moving the sheep?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you think?’ She got up and set out three mugs for coffee. ‘He wants to clear the bush and stone at the back and move them there.’

‘That’s right,’ Wynand said, taking the first mug offered. ‘The land is higher there. That way, when the rain comes, they’re not standing in mud.’

‘I told Pa it would take too long to clear it all away. The time would be better spent building a shelter for them where they are. We need some protected place anyway, for the ewes when they’re lambing, and to keep them out of the rain.’

Roeloff felt trapped in the middle.

‘Well, both plans make sense, but perhaps we should first take a look at the land at the back to see if it isn’t better suited to cultivation, and then perhaps leave the sheep where they are.’ He turned to Wynand. ‘Sheep will be sheep, and in the end, even on a hill, will still stand in the mud.’

‘Perhaps so.’

‘It would be better, of course, to have them under shelter. We lost twenty last year to exposure.’

Wynand nodded.

‘I just thought the land at the back was more suitable. I bought six merino sheep. They’re not like the vaderlandse schaapen. All sorts of things get into their fleece.’

‘It’s too steep at the back.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Building a shelter where they are now is easy enough, we have the wood. We need a bigger barn anyway, for storage. How big do you think the kraal should be, assuming we leave it where it is?’

‘I’d say about eighty by twenty. We would need at least thirty poles, six feet long and six inches thick, five hundred feet for rafters, ribs and ridges, frames and doors wide enough for a wheelbarrow to pass through to remove the manure.’

‘That kind of wood would be hard to find.’

‘We’d have to go to Stellenbosch; I’ve heard they have wood there. I’ve a suggestion also for the barn. Instead of having the hay take up half the floor space, why not have a grain loft above it?’

They discussed the pros and cons for some time, then there was nothing more to be said and they sat for a few minutes in silence, listening to the wind rattling the door.

‘Now, there was something you wanted to talk to me about?’ Wynand asked.

‘Yes.’

Neeltje sensed that this was of a personal nature and excused herself.

‘It’s about our employment on your farm.’ Roeloff had his hat on his knee and he fidgeted absentmindedly with the brim as he spoke. ‘I said we would stay for half a year, but I’ve worked out what we have. It’s not enough to buy what we need to take us over these mountains. If we could come to some new arrangement, and if you needed us, we could stay for another half-year.’

‘I was hoping you’d change your mind, Roff. We’d like you to stay. This is what I can do. I’ll pay the same as before, but I’ll give you a start with twelve sheep …’

‘Twelve sheep?’

‘And a piece of land to build up a flock of your own.’

It was more than Roeloff had expected. He picked up his mug, found it empty, put it down again.

‘That is very generous of you.’

‘There’s a condition: you’d have to spend two years here. It’s a fair trade. As a bijwoner you would be in charge, but have sheep and land of your own. The land is yours to work as you wish as long as you stay. If your flock’s grown sufficiently and you wish to leave at the end of your time, well, that be it then.’

‘Two years will give us some time, and who knows what there will be at the end of that period.’

‘It’s agreed?’

‘It’s agreed.’

They shook hands.

‘We’ll see about getting the wood,’ Wynand said. ‘Also, if you wanted to extend the buitekamer or move closer to where you’ll have your land …’

‘There is one thing I will need, within a month. I will need a dominee.’

Somewhere behind the partition, something crashed to the floor.

‘Neeltje, are you all right?’

‘Yes, Pa.’

Wynand turned his attention back to Roeloff.

‘I am going to marry Zokho,’ Roeloff said.

Wynand ran his hand through his hair. He let a full minute go by.

‘You’ve thought this through?’

‘There’s nothing to think about.’

‘There will be consequences if you go down to the Cape. Here you can hide something like this. There, it’ll be different. Everyone has slaves. A wine farmer I know has more than twenty working for him in Stellenbosch. Even Stoffel travels with one.’

Roeloff waited for him to come to the point.

‘Bosjesmans are at the bottom of the heap. They have no status. It won’t matter that you’re the grandson of Harman Kloot. When you marry Zokho—and don’t get me wrong, I like the girl—you’ll set the course for the rest of your life. People won’t look at who you are, only at what you have done. Barnard Brink married his Hottentot servant in 1796. They wouldn’t allow him in church or at nachtmaal. Sure, after a while they bought his wheat again and he carries on, after a fashion, but he’s a lonely man, without friends. And when the children come, it’s too late. It’s none of my business what you do, but I ask you to think very carefully before you do anything.’

Roeloff shifted uneasily in his seat. By making the request, he’d invited the lecture. It’s what his father would have said, or his late grandfather, or even Twa, who was Sonqua himself. Roeloff got up and stood respectfully at the door.