I swear I will not let the white men rule our land forever . . .

I swear that I will fight to the death to free our lands . . .

I swear that I will die rather than betray this movement to the Europeans . . .

So help me God.

Kabaya dismissed the young man, who walked back towards the main mass of his people. A knot of other youngsters grinned at him and applauded their friend. But he did not share their joy. He had looked into Kabaya’s eyes and understood that the words he had sworn were deadly serious. He would only live as long as he obeyed them.

One after another, the chosen squatters took the oath, some with enthusiasm but most because they were too terrified to refuse. There were only five men and women left to be sworn in when Kabaya pointed to a man in late middle age and said, ‘You next. What is your name?’

‘Joseph Rumruti,’ the man said.

He was not a tall man, nor strongly built. He had thin, bony limbs and a small pot belly. His scalp was almost bald and his beard was mostly grey. When he said his name he did so diffidently, as if he were apologising for his very existence.

‘I am his wife, Mary Rumruti,’ the woman next to him said. Like her husband, she seemed meek and submissive.

Kabaya chuckled. ‘Mary and Joseph, eh? Is your boy Jesus here tonight?’

The men on either side laughed at their leader’s wit.

‘No, sir, we have no son,’ said Joseph. ‘The Lord did not see fit to bless us with children.’

‘Huh,’ Kabaya grunted. ‘So, Joseph . . . Mary . . . it is time for you to swear the solemn oath. Repeat after me—’

‘No.’ Joseph spoke as quietly as before.

A tense, fearful silence descended upon the hall.

‘Did I hear you say “No”?’ Kabaya asked.

‘That is correct,’ Joseph replied. ‘I cannot take your oath for I have already made a pledge, in church, in the sight of God, that I will have nothing to do with you and your renegades, or any other men like you.’

‘Woman,’ Kabaya said, looking towards Mary. ‘Tell your man to swear the oath. Tell him to do this, or I will make him swear.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I cannot do that. I have taken the same pledge.’

Kabaya stepped up close to Joseph, towering over him, his veneer of civility falling away to reveal the iron-hearted warrior within. His broad shoulders seemed to swell beneath his khaki shirt, his fists clenched like the heads of two blacksmith’s hammers. Kabaya’s eyes glowered beneath his beetling brow.

‘Swear the oath,’ he said, speaking as quietly as Joseph had done, but with a chilling undercurrent of menace.

Joseph could not look Kabaya in the eye. His head was bowed, his body trembling with fear.

‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I cannot break my word to God.’