But the uncle’s name was not on the list Jericho brought. The creases of his face lengthened. Jericho recognised in him the hard sorrow of being up against questions that could not be answered, strung between the imponderable and the impossible. Still, when he walked to the car with the first elders on the list, the uncle was there with them, and although Jericho knew the barrister would have nothing to say in answer, he did not deter him.

In court, Jericho sits with the landowners on the blue benches of the public gallery. The barristers file in. Dressed in wigs and gowns, their little white bibs, they could be in the law courts in London. The court is air-conditioned, almost cold. There are no windows, no sounds from outside. The solemnity pleases the landowners. Their barrister sits at one end of the bar, on the left-hand side facing the judge’s bench. Bili sits behind him. Another lawyer, pro bono from the university, is beside her. The barristers for the other side sit further along to the right. Jacob sits behind the barrister for the company. With him are three lawyers from his office, and solicitors from the government. The landowners can see that the stage is set for a fight that may yet be worthy of its name. Their backs are straight, they hold copies of their statements. Their bilums are neat over their shoulders. Ready.

The tipstaff calls the court to silence and the elders rise to their feet, their eyes alight. The judge comes in, a tall man in his robes and wig, from Milne Bay – they recognise his skin. He trained in London, Bili has told them, and they can see the standing of his person by the way he walks. An upright judge. Bili has said, others too, that the judges of this court are not corrupt. ‘It’s our great strength,’ Laedi says. At last everyone sits and the proceedings begin. There’s legal talk, formalities the landowners don’t understand, and nor does Jericho. He is no help when they turn to him for explanation. The barrister in front of Jacob stands. The company will not be contesting, he says. The landowners murmur. Did they hear that right? The second barrister, on behalf of the Registrar of Titles, asks for another delay. There is low moan from the landowners. They are here to fight, white-man style. Bili has persuaded them that in the new world, this is the way to fight. The clerk at Forestry has persuaded them. Are they to be cheated again? What kind of fight is it if your adversaries won’t fight? Their barrister stands to oppose the request for delay. The judge allows the matter to proceed. But still it is no fight. There is no dispute to the landowners’ application that the leases be cancelled. The affidavit material is accepted in the related matter that concerns the forestry department. That is all. The elders murmur. They cannot believe that already it is over. But the barristers are closing their papers, and everyone is on their feet. The judge, with his stately walk, leaves through his own door. The barristers turn to talk to the lawyers behind them. They pack up their papers. Jacob nods to Bili and the barrister from Sydney. He shakes the hands of the barristers at his end of the bar, speaks to people in the public gallery. You’d think he’d won by the way he leaves the court. Jericho calculates the cost of his suit, his tie, his shoes. The very model of the successful lawyer, he’d not be out of place in Melbourne, or London.