Her dreams that night were not of Emmeline but of her unborn child. The image she had of it – a mere shape as yet, a thing – alternated with visions of the golem, no longer brittle in its body but soft, like mud, and faintly warm to the touch. Unable to hold the foetus in her arms, she wrapped the golem in a shawl and cradled that and felt it move and try to reach out to her with one of its stubby hands.

Jane would have liked to have gone on dreaming, but she soon enough woke, sweating, and with a feeling of black terror at where her life had now brought her. She saw very clearly how Fate had teased her. It had brought her to the conclusion that she could not marry Valentine Ross. But even as she had arrived, irrevocably, at this decision, it had put his child in her womb.

CITIZENS OF THE WORLD

Sir Ralph, with Leon at his side, appeared before the strangers on the river bank. They had been busy making fires, boiling water and frying bacon, but at the sight of the rajah, they now abandoned these tasks to snatch up their guns.

‘Who, in the flaming world, are you?’ said one of them, pointing his gun with trembling hands.

Hearing the news of the sudden arrivals from Taminah, and guessing that these were ragamuffin European traders, Sir Ralph had taken the time to place a gold turban, adorned with jewels, on his grey hair and to dress himself in a voluminous white linen robe, tied with a golden sash, which billowed a little in the breeze coming off the water. He was a man who knew only too well how an outward show of magnificence could often subdue clamour and cause in the hearts of the onlookers an uncomfortable feeling of smallness and he’d decided this would be his weapon against them. While his wild blue eyes stared down the men, Leon stepped forward and announced, ‘you are in the presence of His Excellent-Sea, Sir Raff Savage, Rajah of the South Sadong Territories and you are trespassing on his land. Please put away your guns.’

The men exchanged puzzled looks, while the Chinese labourers hung back, not knowing whether violence was about to break out. Slowly, some of the guns were lowered, but not all. Sir Ralph, meanwhile noticing the cradle-like objects which had baffled Taminah, strode forward and picked up one of these and held it in the air. In his most majestic and sonorous voice, he said, ‘Sluice boxes! For the sifting of precious metal. You’re styling yourself gold miners, we suppose?’

At this, the men, who were arrayed mostly in patched and tattered clothing, began to look sheepish and all but one of the guns were lowered. But then the oldest of the men, a scrawny carrot-bearded fellow, boldly approached the rajah and said, ‘there’s no styling about it. We’re honest Australian miners. We almost made our fortunes in ’59, but we went too late. A few tailings were left, but they didn’t amount to much. We’re the Disappointed of Otago.’