‘Whatever can you mean?’ said the rajah.

‘I mean,’ said Leon, ‘that the doctor has blue eyes, blue as lapis.’

Chesterfield tenderly removed Ross’s coat and boots and laid him on the bed. The rajah led Leon to his own room and locked the door. He straight away took him into his huge embrace. He whispered to him that he loved him. He took the dagger from Leon’s belt and held it to his own throat. ‘If you do not believe me,’ he said, ‘then kill me. Don’t hurt Valentine Ross, who has done you no wrong; put an end to me. But believe me, Leon, all I want is for us to be how we once were, for your anger to die. The miners have gone. The Mal de peste abated before it could take us. We’ve survived the catastrophe. We can rebuild all that has been destroyed, but only if you are at my side.’

Leon did not speak, but laid his head on Sir Ralph’s shoulder. Part of him still obstinately wished to say that he was tired of being subservient to the rajah, that all he craved was to get money of his own, money enough so that he could go in search of lands to rule and a beautiful wife to own and a future of glittering power. Yet he knew that the great energy of which he had always been possessed, the energy which had helped to create the white palace, which had dreamed of the fish cannery and wealth to be made in China, was diminished. How could such a tired man hope to find the empire that he sought? These days, he barely strayed from the house and his favourite pastime had become the confecting of sweetmeats, made from nuts and molasses, which he consumed in bountiful quantities and did not mind that his stomach had grown as round as a barrel and that his strong arms were like those of the Buddha, fleshy and inert.

What remained, he knew, was the strong passion between him and Sir Ralph. Even now, as he leaned against him and inhaled the familiar perfume of his body, he felt it stir in him and he decided that this, a feeling he refused to name as love, but which nevertheless could bring him more pleasure than any other that he knew, might have to be enough to give his life meaning and contentment – at least until his former strength returned, until some other ambitious scheme took possession of his soul. He put his arms round the rajah and sighed. And he knew what the sigh signified: it was a moment of surrender.

Ross slept a little and when he woke, it was dark in his room. He lay there, listening to the wild cries of the tropical night. He had no idea of time. It was as if he was floating on sound and as the dawn cast a grey light through the window he longed to be floated out of the confines of the room and set down in the vastness of the forest.