She jumped out of bed and ran into the passage. Willem Kloot, gun in hand, was already at the closed bedroom door and so were her husband and Diena.

‘Open up!’ Jan Joubert ordered.

‘You think I didn’t see you? How you encouraged him? And refused me?’ There was the sound of a slap, the thump of something heavy slamming into the wall.

Then Soela’s voice, loud and shrill.

‘Horse killer! You couldn’t stand it that he was better than you!’

There was a moment’s silence, then a crash of glass. Jan and Willem looked at each other, then put their shoulders to the thick wood of the door. The door gave suddenly, and the men fell over Soela, who was lying on the floor directly behind it, into the room.

‘Stay out of this!’ David snarled at his father and Joubert.

Willem looked at Soela, unconscious at his feet. David had the end of her plait in his hand.

‘Go back,’ Willem said.

David jerked the plait, and Soela’s head knocked against his boot, blood seeping from her mouth.

‘Step back! And let go of her hair!’

David picked up the mirror he’d slammed on Soela’s head.

Willem raised his gun. ‘David!’ The sound of his voice crackled like gunfire over their heads.

‘Don’t do it, man!’ Joubert pulled on his arm.

David had the broken glass poised over his head. He came forward to strike his father.

Willem shot him point blank in the heart.

The shot threw David against the wall, and he landed with a thud, his feet coming to rest in his own blood at Soela’s head. There was silence, then screaming and crying as the women became hysterical. Willem Kloot stood over the body with the smoking gun, slack in his hand, shocked at what he’d done.

‘I shot him. I shot my son.’

‘It’s not your fault, man. You had no choice,’ Jan Joubert consoled him.

The gun dropped from Willem’s hand. He turned and left the house.

When Pietie Retief got the news, he said there was a noose round Kloot’s Nek. You couldn’t throw kin out like dog bones and expect the Almighty to be satisfied. For all they knew, Roeloff had been eaten by lions, no one had heard from him. Kloot’s Nek was cursed. Who would be next? And a father taking the life of his own son? No man could live with that. It wasn’t over; death came in threes. He offered the use of his coffin, but David’s legs were too long. Joubert, taking charge, knocked out the board at the foot of the coffin so that the cracked boots stuck out over the edge. According to Hennie, the grandson, when the field cornet arrived to take statements, Willem had barricaded himself up in the buitekamer and refused to speak.

‘I always said that boy was his father’s whip. Mark my words, Hennie,’ Pietie Retief nodded sadly, ‘there’ll be no peace till he makes things right with Roff.’

Chapter Fifteen

Roeloff stood naked at a basin of water at the door to his quarters, scrubbing himself with a rough cloth and a bar of carbolic soap. Twa, rounding the corner, scoffed at the rigorous ministrations.

‘Where you going, Kudu, polishing yourself like a leopard?’ He’d already forgotten the scolding Roeloff had given him for the lamb he’d slaughtered for his own use.

‘There’s water. Why don’t you give yourself a wash? You might like it.’ He knew the hunter’s views on washing and said it to tease him.

‘What do I want to keep myself like the white man for? Sonqua’s lazy, the white man says. He doesn’t work, he doesn’t sweat. White man’s not lazy. He works, he sweats. He has to wash himself.’

Roeloff laughed.

‘What do you think, Twa?’ he pointed towards his clothes.

Twa looked at the new pants hanging on a hook, the white shirt. Roeloff had sold the elephant tusks in Roodezand and bought supplies, including blankets, things for the baby, and tobacco.

‘The oubaas’s daughter will not know this is you. And leaving your old friend to eat by himself, the inconsiderateness of young people.’

Roeloff let his body dry in the wind while he pulled the comb through his hair. Straight and wet, it reached down to his chest.

‘My knife, Twa, over there, please.’

Twa felt the sharpness of the blade and handed the knife to him.

Roeloff bunched the wet hair together behind his head, and cut through the thick mane. He shook it loose, and it bobbed above his shoulders. He stepped into the dark pants, the white shirt, the new boots, then tied his hair back with a leather thong. Satisfied with his appearance, he put on the jacket. He’d never owned one before, and bought it big so he wouldn’t have to buy another; the colour was good for both weddings and funerals.

‘You look like a chief.’

‘You think the oubaas will approve?’

‘How can he not approve of one with the imagination to make such a good picture of himself? He’ll not only give you his daughter, but all this land. And Twa will have quarters like yours, and two wives. It’s cold here in the Cederberg in winter. A man needs two wives so he can slip himself in the middle.’

‘Don’t worry. Next time we go to Roodezand, we’ll look for a woman for you.’

Neeltje stood at the window and watched him approach. For weeks she had waited, every day filled with the thrill of expectation. She didn’t know anyone endowed with such beauty, such strength, his hair the colour of ripe mealies, his night-blue eyes that turned grey when troubled. Her feelings had run away with her head, stolen her sleep, sapped her reason. She had a feeling of lightness. She didn’t have to eat, she was filled with energy. Roeloff was hers; the smell of him, the feel of him, everything. She hadn’t thought any man could invoke such violent longing.

He knocked on the door and stepped into the kitchen.

‘I’m here, Neeltje. For opsit.’

‘You look … grand, Roeloff. Those are fine clothes. Did you buy the entire shop in Roodezand?’

‘Almost,’ he laughed, slipping his hand into his pocket and taking out a pair of silky green ribbons. ‘These are for you. I don’t know about women’s things, but I thought they would look good in your hair.’

‘For me?’ She was struck by the sweetness of the thought. He had bought her a gift.

‘They’re from overseas. They have a soft quality.’

‘They must have cost as much as a bag of beans.’

He smiled at her practicality.

‘A bag of beans is here today, gone tomorrow. These you’ll always have. And don’t save them. Wear them for me, Neeltje.’

‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’