The following afternoon, still suffused with the warmth of his gesture, she put her daughter to bed for a nap and inspected herself in the mirror. The heat sat in hot little pockets between her breasts and she wiped it with Bessie’s cloth, rubbing herself with the fragrance of violet flowers. If it was unbearable in the house, it would be sweltering in the veld. She would take a beaker of water down to the men. The flowers had been a sort of peace offering. She would do something nice in return, show that she was appreciative of his efforts. At first it had pleased her that she could get into bed and know her sleep wouldn’t be interrupted, but as the weeks passed, aware of his hardness and her own urges, she’d wondered if she’d lost her appeal. The night before, she had left off her undergarments and had even turned towards him, but he fell into bed and went to sleep instantly.

She checked her appearance one last time. Her breasts were filled with milk for the baby, and she didn’t like the way her dress rode up in her waist, but her hair was still her best feature, silky gold down her back, and she had brushed it until it shone and left her kapje off. She went into the yard with the beaker, filled it with water from the barrel, and left for the sheep kraal. She was at the barn when she saw Willem Kloot come out, shaking the dust from his clothes. People said he had changed since the banishment of his younger son, working numbing hours, smoking like a Bushman to render himself insensible to what he’d done. But she’d come to know his other side, and to like him. The father was nothing like the sons. Both sons had betrayed her.

‘I was just bringing down water for everyone. Is David still down there?’

‘He was when I left a few minutes ago.’

Soela continued down the path, past the huts, to the end of the kraal. She looked out over the veld to where the sheep were, but there was no sign of him. She was about to turn back when she saw Katrijn, the heavily pregnant kitchen servant, walk quickly around the far side of the giant boulders in the direction of the dam, looking furtively behind her. Soela watched her disappear around the corner. She wondered where Katrijn was going. Something told her to stay where she was. A few minutes later she saw David emerge from the barn and walk in the same direction. The beaker fell from her hand. This explained everything. She felt sick.

Sanna was in the kitchen when Soela came in and she knew from the grimness around Soela’s mouth that David’s secret was no longer a secret. Sanna had spoken many times to the girl, telling her to leave the kleinbaas alone, but Katrijn wouldn’t listen. Sanna shuddered at what was to come.

David came in for supper a few minutes later in good spirits.

‘What are we having?’ He took a wet cloth from Sanna to wipe his hands and face and sat down.

‘Pumpkin and rice,’ Vinkie said.

‘I was at the dam this afternoon,’ Soela said suddenly. ‘I came looking for you, to give you some water. I thought I saw you, but I must have been mistaken. It was Katrijn. Every time you look for her, she’s lying under someone. Heaven knows who’s fathered that one in her belly.’

Willem Kloot stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He looked at his son. The humour had gone from David’s eyes.

‘Well, isn’t anyone going to eat? Dish up more food, Sanna,’ Soela said. ‘Give the kleinbaas an extra helping. He needs his strength.’

Sanna looked at her from the fireside, her eyes begging Soela to stop.

‘Don’t you?’ Soela looked at David directly.

David said nothing. That night he didn’t come to bed.

Two weeks later, Sanna informed them that Katrijn had given birth during the night and would have the day off. Soela tried to concentrate on her work, but she couldn’t get Katrijn out of her mind. In the afternoon, she went to the hut. She found the servant lying on a coir mattress in the dark, the infant at her breast. Katrijn was not the ugliest Hottentot Soela had ever seen, but it was perhaps the girl’s cunning that repulsed her. Still waters hide wild undercurrents, and despite being so young, she already had two children.

Katrijn was surprised to see Soela enter the hut. Quickly she pulled the blanket over the infant’s head. Soela leaned forward and pulled it back. The baby’s colouring and straight hair screamed out at her. She looked at the girl on the mattress and ripped off the blanket.

‘Out!’

Katrijn lay there with her breasts and belly exposed. She struggled to her feet.

Soela smacked her across the face, then beat her about the arms and head.

‘No, Kleinnooi, no …’ Katrijn cried.

‘Get out, and don’t come back!’

Katrijn stood trembling with the child in her arms, fending off the blows, blood dribbling down the inside of her legs.

‘What’s going on here?!’ David’s voice boomed behind them.

Soela stopped with her hand in the air.

‘You slept with this slut!’

David’s fist smashed into her face.

‘You want more?’

Soela looked at him with a dazed expression. Her face numb. He had struck her in front of the servant. She couldn’t see through the tears in her eyes, and the taste on her lips was her own blood.

‘I hate you!’ she screamed.

His fist came straight for her eyes, breaking the bone of her nose. Blood gushed from her mouth. Soela collapsed in a heap on the floor. David grabbed her hair and pulled her through the entrance like a sack of potatoes, dropping her outside. Her head fell back with a thud in the dust, a red pool of blood collecting under her ear.

‘You’re on Kloot’s Nek now, Soela Joubert. Your mother can’t help you here!’

Chapter Eleven

Neeltje sat with her back against a rock, soaking up the warm sunshine. She’d taken off her boots and set them to one side. She liked exploring the hooks and hollows of the mountain after rain. This was one of her special spots, out of the wind. She was telling all her secrets to Boet. Boet did not understand the words, but wagged his tail at the tone of her voice.

‘A boy or a girl, Boet? What do you think it will be?’

Boet opened his eyes, then closed them again.

She smiled, content to just sit there and feel the heat draw into her toes, spread up her legs, travel all the way to her heart. She felt good. Perhaps it was the swell of new vegetation, perhaps the quickening of her pulse when she saw Roeloff bare-chested and lean, his pants held up by leather thongs wound twice round his waist, working her father’s land. He still wore the same pants in which he’d arrived and Zokho hadn’t thought to patch the knees. Soon he would rub through them and stand naked before them in his boots.

A shadow fell across her and she opened her eyes.

‘Zokho! You startled me.’

‘Your father fell from his horse. Roff wants you to come.’

‘What?’

‘He says you must hurry.’

Neeltje pulled on her boots and ran off, leaving Zokho, in her last month of pregnancy, to follow at a more leisurely pace. She arrived at the house to find her father on his bed, and Roeloff bent over him.

‘What happened?’

‘We were riding along and I turned to speak to him, when there he was, lying on the ground.’

‘Was the horse frightened by something?’

‘No. One moment we were riding side by side, the next he was down. He just fell off.’

‘He’s very still.’

‘I’ve checked his bones. Nothing’s broken, but his breathing’s weak.’

‘What if it stops?’