Another thing troubled him. Leon had warned him that the Savage Road would have no proper destination; it merely ran to the limit of the land over which Sir Ralph claimed to rule and then stopped, and this he had to accept. But where it stopped, the forest once again reared straight up in its terrible darkness, and this made him slightly breathless with dread. Sir Ralph could hear and observe the forest’s intent: seeds cascading from the branches to embed themselves in the earth, lianas groping towards the ground, roots sending out tentacles into the crushed stones, the wind in the high canopy blowing everything towards the road’s end, where the shadows of the trees already moved over it in a restless tide. When he lamented to Leon that the jungle was his enemy, he was surprised when Leon replied, ‘No, Sir Raff, my friend. Don’t be a nin-poop. This jungle is the cradle of all things.’

After many days of sipping the bitter tree bark medicine and forcing down a few spoonfuls of rice, Edmund Ross was strong enough to be led to a tin bath and bathed in warm water by two Malay boys. His nostrils filled with the scent of carbolic soap. His wild, spiky hair was washed and tenderly combed.

He began to take in his opulent surroundings: ebony furniture made in China, fresh muslin curtains at the window, Indian rugs, jade statues, overstuffed brocaded armchairs, gold candelabra which would not have looked out of place in Queen Victoria’s dining room. Sensing that these things, or rather, the person who had gathered them around him, had saved his life, Edmund felt a sudden profound gratitude towards him and was overcome by a fit of weeping. His attendants withdrew silently, leaving Edmund alone in the bath, wracked with sobs.

Trying to master himself by examining his legs and noting their shrunken state, as though they might have been the trembling white shanks of an old man, he was then surprised by a voice very near him, which asked in aristocratic English tones, ‘Shall I assume that you know how to read?’

A towel had been placed on the rim of the bath and Edmund now reached out for this and dried his eyes. Seated beside him on a lacquered stool sat Sir Ralph Savage.

Edmund at once recalled that he had seen this person once or twice before, standing by his sickbed and regarding him with tender concern. Now, the man reached out and laid a caressing hand on Edmund’s damp hair. ‘I ask,’ he said, ‘because this is the one thing lacking from my life: somebody who can read to me in faultless English, preferably from the New Testament. Is that something you would be prepared to do?’

‘Yes,’ said Edmund.

‘Oh,’ said Sir Ralph, ‘well, that is very, very consoling to me. You cannot know how much I long to hear these verses again, spoken with feeling. There are missionaries in Sarawak, but their voices are too loud and their hearts too hard. They shun me and I shun them. I am a lover of young men and these people affect to despise me for this and inform me that I am damned in the eyes of Jesus. But they are wrong. I have many times spoken to Jesus and I know that he understands me, because of his own great love for Saint John. And I judge that you will not despise me. I’ve been told you are a butterfly catcher. Your mind must therefore be open and attentive to all that exists under the sun.’