How will I survive this place? she asked herself.

  She was about to go when she saw the book Ralph had left. Frank’s book, one good thing to cling to. It was a miracle it had survived the wreck. Perhaps she could take hope from that. She picked it up, hugging it to her chest.

  Why had Ralph brought it? He must have found it in the wreckage, but why did he come so far to bring it to her? Perhaps . . .

  Do not give in to fanciful notions, she chided herself. Most likely he only came to peek at you bathing.

  Three fires burned on the beach that evening. The castaways had drifted into groups. Most of the Farewell’s men stayed together, while Ratray and his three companions made their own camp a distance away. Ralph, Marius, Jobe, Ann and Harry made up the third party. Marsden, the sailor who had emerged as the leader of Ralph’s allies among the Farewell’s crew, joined them too.

  Ralph was explaining their plan to Marsden. ‘Inland, there are herds of elephant that have never laid eyes on a human being. Enough ivory to make us all rich.’

  ‘It sounds a fine plan to me,’ said Marsden. ‘But it may be harder than you think.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When we were in Delagoa Bay last year, I went to a tavern with a few of the men. There was a trader there, a Portuguese man named Da Costa. We got to talking, started spinning yarns. He’d been upriver into the country, not that it did him no good. He caught a fever that near killed him. But he still had the hunger.

  ‘“This land is bigger’n you’ll ever imagine,” he says. “Where I been, I seen herds of elephant march from one horizon to the other. So much ivory you could build a palace from it.”’

  Marsden looked around, pleased to see the effect his story was having. Ralph, Marius and Jobe were leaning forwards, eyes bright with greed. ‘The Frenchman,’ Marius muttered. ‘He is describing the same thing as the Frenchman I met.’

  ‘Did he get any ivory?’ Ralph asked.

  ‘That’s what I wanted to know,’ said Marsden. ‘I said to him, “If this place is so bloody rich, why are you drinking sour wine in a poxy flophouse like this?”

  ‘He gave me a look so sad it’d break your heart. “No man can get it,” he says. “The whole country is under the power of a mighty king. You cannot hunt without his permission, and he’s got the people in such a terror that none of them will trade you so much as a glass of water.”’

  Marius stirred. ‘That is not what Du Toit said.’

  ‘Had your Portuguese traveller met this king?’ Ralph asked Marsden.

  ‘No. But everywhere he went, it was the same story. This king had conquered every tribe. A real tyrant, like a black Bonaparte, or Caesar. No one would trade. Then old Da Costa caught the fever, and had to scurry back to Delagoa Bay before it killed him.’ Marsden poked the embers with a stick, stirring up a cloud of sparks. ‘He’ll be dead by now.’

  Jobe had sat back with his eyes closed. Now he opened one eye and fixed it on Marsden.

  ‘Did he say what is the king’s name?’

  Marsden frowned. ‘Some savage mouthful. Chaka, or Shaka.’

  Marius sucked on an empty pipe. His tobacco had been lost in the wreck, and it put him in a surly mood. ‘Ten dollars says this Kaffir king is no more than a despot with a few spearmen. A taste of white man’s lead will have him screaming for mercy.’

  ‘We will not conquer a kingdom with three guns,’ said Ralph. ‘We must find a way to trade.’

  ‘With what? We have no goods.’

  ‘You told us there was no one to trade with. An empty land,’ said Ralph.

  ‘And you said there was a safe harbour where we could land as easily as at Table Bay.’ Marius thrust out his arm towards the wreck of the Farewell. ‘Who was more wrong?’

  ‘My plan hasn’t changed,’ said Ralph. ‘Except the means of our departure.’

  ‘And if we get out?’ Marius’s temper was up; he was spoiling for a fight. He leaned forward, jabbing the pipe at Ralph. ‘It was meant to be equal shares, one third each. Now you have promised more than half our profit to the sailors.’

  ‘I did not have any alternative.’

  ‘You should have discussed it with us first.’

  ‘Before or after they murdered us?’

  Jobe looked between them in disbelief. ‘You are fighting about a leopard that is still in the tree,’ he chided them. ‘You must kill it before you quarrel over who gets the skin.’

  His advice did not calm Marius. ‘Nobody asked you, Kaffir.’ He turned to Ralph. ‘We brought him to translate, but there is no one here to speak to. Maybe we cut him out and have his share between us, hey?’

  Jobe’s eyes glittered. His back stiffened.

  Ralph jumped up and stepped between them. Flames flickered at his back. ‘There is enough in this land that will try to kill us without fighting each other. We swore an oath. Equal partners, equal shares.’

  ‘Equal?’ Marius sneered.

  All three men were on their feet now. The sailors at the other fires had stopped talking and were watching the argument.

  ‘If they see us quarrelling like thieves, they will never follow us,’ Ralph hissed. Already, he could see a nasty smile spreading across Ratray’s face in the orange firelight. Ralph felt his authority resting on a knife-edge.

  Marius was in no mood to take the hint. ‘If you say we are equals, why is it you who decides everything, hey?’ he boomed. ‘Who gets the money. Who gets the food. Who gets the girl.’

  Ralph’s anger turned to astonishment. ‘That is absurd.’

  ‘I have seen how you look at her. You want her for yourself.’

  Marius stepped forward, fists raised. Ralph did not step back. The two men squared off against each other.

  ‘Stop this,’ said Jobe.

  ‘Get out of my way.’ Marius waved a fist at Jobe. ‘Do you think I would not knock you down, too?’

  ‘Stop this now,’ Jobe insisted, and the urgency in his voice made Ralph pause. Jobe was not looking at Marius, or Ralph. He was pointing to the darkness under the foliage at the edge of the beach. Something was moving there.

  ‘What is it?’

  A giant shadow sprang out of the night. In a single bound, it crossed the sand to the second ring of men – those who had chosen to follow Marsden. The nearest, a seaman named Hobbes, was sitting with his back to the creature and had not seen it. He began to turn.

  Not soon enough. In the firelight, Ralph saw a tawny coat and flashing claws, and curved fangs big enough to bite a man’s head clean through. A pair of jaws opened wide, then clamped shut on the seaman’s shoulder.

  Hobbes screamed. The men around him leaped to their feet, but before they could make a move to help their shipmate, the creature ran back into the darkness, dragging the sailor with him like a doll.

  Ralph snatched up a burning branch from the fire and moved to follow it. He took two paces – and stopped.

  The animal that took Hobbes had come to hunt with a pack. Three lionesses stood revealed by Ralph’s torch. Their bodies moved with a lethal swagger, their eyes glowing in the firelight.

  Ralph needed a rifle – but the guns were with the powder under the awning, too far away. If he ran, and they chased him, he would be dead before he was halfway there.

  ‘What are they, Mummy?’ He heard Harry’s voice behind him; the boy was the only person not terrified into silence by the big cats.

  Ralph brandished his torch at the beasts. If they had been men he could have calculated his chances, guessed how they would respond. But there was no telling what these animals might do.

  He walked towards them, sweeping the branch in wide arcs. The fire had not taken a good hold of the wood. If he swung it too quickly, he might put it out.

  The lionesses stood their ground. Ralph kept advancing. How close is too close? he wondered. At what point does bravery become suicide?

  One of the lionesses started to move. She circled around to Ralph’s left. She is outflanking me, he realised. He swung the torch in wider arcs, but he could not face all of them at once.

  The flames flickered. The lioness on his left took a pace towards him. Ralph jabbed the torch at her, but in his fear he moved it too fast. The flame went out.

  The lioness crouched, ready to spring. Ralph held the log like a club, but it would be useless against those enormous teeth.

  A deafening gunshot rang out across the beach. A blossom of blood appeared on the lioness’s coat. The bullet had gone into her chest. She collapsed in shock, gasping for breath as her lungs filled with blood. The other animals, frightened by the noise, turned and fled.

  Marius stepped forward, holding one of the rifles. A wisp of smoke trailed from the barrel.

  ‘It was a good shot, hey?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ralph. Their eyes met. A truce, of sorts, was agreed. ‘We should go after the man they took.’

  Marius shook his head. ‘He is dead.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Because if he was alive, you would hear him screaming.’

  Ralph knew Marius was right. But he could not abandon the sailor just like that. He took another burning branch and followed the blood-soaked track into the forest that fringed the beach.

  Under the canopy, the darkness was thick and after ten minutes Ralph’s torch had burned so low that he could barely see his way. He could hear lions roaring in the distance, but there was no sign of Hobbes.

  In the dark, Ralph stumbled and fell, landing awkwardly. His torch hit the ground, showering sparks into the thick bush and briefly illuminating the sandy path.

  Immediately in front of him was a human arm, torn from the socket. Ragged flesh and splintered bone covered the sand around Ralph and blood dripped from the leaves above him. It was a sailor’s arm. He had only seen it for an instant, but there was no mistaking the anchor tattooed on the skin.

  Ralph was sickened by what he stumbled across in the darkness. Hobbes had stood up to Ratray on the whaleboat, after they had almost capsized in the channel, he had talked him down and prevented an ugly confrontation. He had been a good man. But there was no point looking any further for him. He had been torn apart by lions.

  Ralph wondered if the body part should be given a burial. He dismissed the idea. If he took it back to camp, it would undoubtedly draw scavengers. He left it where it was and worked his way slowly to the beach. The crew were gathered around the fire. Marius and Jobe had their guns at the ready, while the others held torches.

  ‘Hobbes is gone,’ said Ralph.

  As he came closer he smelled liquor in the air. Someone must have found a rum cask from the wreck on the beach and broached it. Perhaps it was all that was keeping them from running into the darkness in mad panic.

  ‘That’s what’s coming to all of us.’ Ratray’s voice came from the darkness, full of indignation and scorn. ‘How many more will have to die before you see sense?’

  ‘Tomorrow we will be better prepared,’ said Ralph. ‘We can build a barricade, and keep a close watch.’

  ‘And then we’ll die slower,’ Ratray answered. A fine mist of rum sprayed from his mouth. A knife gleamed in his hand. ‘I say the only way to survive is to strike out in the longboat.’

  ‘We decided this before,’ Ralph said.

  ‘Maybe seeing Hobbes get ate changed some minds.’ Ratray drew a line in the sand with the point of his knife. ‘Anyone as still wants to stay here, cross the line. But anyone as thinks they stand more chance in the boat with me, you’re more than welcome.’

  ‘No,’ said Ralph. ‘We will all have clearer heads in the morning.’

  Ignoring the knife in Ratray’s hand took almost as much courage as facing down the lions. Ratray was drunk and Ralph knew just how unpredictable he could be even when sober.

  ‘Morning won’t save you,’ Ratray called after him as Ralph turned and walked away.

  Ralph squatted with his rifle, staring into the darkness at the dense African bush. ‘I will keep the first watch,’ he said firmly.

  Sixteen men lay awake that night and listened to the darkness, terrified that the lions would return. One woman lay awake, too, also afraid, though lions were not the only beasts that haunted her thoughts. And one child slept peacefully, snoring loudly, exhausted after a day of excitement, dreaming of ships and a rocking sea.

  The next day, as soon as the sun was high enough to make them feel a little safer, they re-examined their situation. Six men had changed their minds during the night and wanted to leave. Ralph did not even try to stop them. Now that Ratray had the majority of the sailors on his side, Ralph could not afford to provoke a quarrel. Ralph, Marius and Jobe stayed with the powder store, rifles primed, while Ratray’s men loaded one of the longboats with provisions. By lunchtime, the boat was ready to cast off into the lagoon.

  ‘Last chance,’ said Ratray, sitting in the stern. He looked at the men who had chosen to stay with Ralph. There was Marsden – who had been the first to side with Ralph originally – and two others, a Dane and an Indian.

  ‘We will be living like lords in Cape Town, while you are dying of scurvy on the ocean,’ said Marius.

  ‘More likely we’ll be drinking grog with the most beautiful girls in Delagoa Bay, when you’re nothing but white bones on this beach.’

  ‘Then I will see you in Hell,’ said Marius.

  Ralph forced himself not to look at Marsden and the other men. He could not be sure that they would not change their minds as well. But no one moved. With a final glare at Ralph, Ratray gave the order and the boat pulled away.

  ‘Ten to one, that is the last we see of them,’ Marius declared as he watched the longboat wallow through the breakers.

  Long before Ratray and his men disappeared from view – even crossing the lagoon to the promontory took them the best part of an hour – those they had left behind began to fortify the camp. The men excavated a ditch and piled the earth into a rampart which they covered with sharpened stakes. The task was monumental – hot work under the subtropical sun, with few tools. No one could be spared from the labour. Even Ann and Harry were kept busy, searching the flotsam for anything that could be reused in their temporary lodgings, while the men stripped to their waists to dig and chop.

  ‘We should have Kaffirs for this work,’ Marius complained.

  Jobe, who was shovelling earth, looked up. ‘You think it is easier for me?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Your people are made for this climate, and for hard labour.’ Marius thought for a moment, frowning. He wanted a metaphor, but his literal mind struggled to find it. ‘Like oxen,’ he said, finally.

  Ralph saw the angry look on Jobe’s face and hastily intervened. ‘A man is a man,’ he said. ‘English, blacks, Indians.’

  Marius shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Unless you have owned them, you would not understand.’

  The big Dutchman walked away to fetch more timber. Jobe stared after him. His gaze drilled into Marius’s back, until Ralph stepped in front of him and blocked his view.

  ‘How can we have a partnership, if he thinks I am no better than an animal?’ Jobe seethed.

  ‘When he talks about blacks, he does not mean you. He sees you differently.’

  Jobe’s eyes smouldered. ‘You have no idea what he sees.’

  ‘We need more water, Jobe,’ Ralph told him. ‘We are all too hot. Come with me.’

  It doesn’t matter how impenetrable the walls are, Ralph thought to himself. It was not the animals lurking outside that he feared most. He knew that, in such a small group, isolated for months, the real danger was inside of them.

  After two days of punishing work, they had erected three tents from what remained of the sails of the Farewell and completed a rough stockade around them. Using the remaining longboat, they had salvaged what they could from the wreck – Ralph had been wrong, not all the food has been spoiled – but now their meagre rations of salt pork and ship’s biscuit were running low. And although they had seen duiker on the fringes of the forest, they’d had no time to hunt or fish. Ralph had tried to keep their spirts high, but the heat and humidity, the monotony of the work and the starvation diet were taking its toll.

  As a final touch, Ralph stood a spar on its end in a hole he had dug in the middle of the camp, a makeshift flagpole, and hoisted the Union Jack – another thing that they had rescued from the Farewell.

  Marius objected. ‘This is not British land.’

  ‘No,’ Ralph agreed. ‘But it stakes our claim if anyone else comes.’

  ‘I will not have it. I came here so I would never have to live by British laws again.’ Marius had gone red in the face; his big hands balled into fists. ‘We are here to be free. If we must have a flag, make it our own.’

  ‘He is right,’ said Jobe. ‘This is not British land and never will be.’

  Marius gave him a suspicious look. The two men seldom agreed on anything, but he was happy to take support where he could get it.

  ‘It is two to one.’

  ‘I will sew you another flag,’ said Ann quickly. The men were tired and fractious; she could see they would need little encouragement to fight. ‘Our own flag, for our own country.’

  ‘Our own country,’ Marius echoed. ‘Where all men are free.’

  ‘I read a book about pirates, once,’ said Ann.

  Marius stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Why would a sweet girl like you read about that, hey?’

  ‘It belonged to my husband. It said there was a pirate who founded a town on the island of Madagascar, where there were no laws and all men were equal. The place was called “Libertalia”.’

  ‘I have read that book, too,’ said Ralph. ‘Though I never found the town when I went to Madagascar. But it is as good a name as any. We will be the Republic of Libertalia.’

  The Union Jack came down. Ann took scrap of canvas from their salvaged stock and Marius carved her a needle from a fish bone so that she could hem the edges and sew it into a flag. Ralph prised out oakum from between the planks of the wreck, and Jobe – who was the best artist – used the tar to daub a design on it. He drew an elephant’s head, surmounted by two crossed muskets. When it was ready, they hoisted it to the top of the flagpole and watched it stream out in the breeze. Marius clapped Ralph on the back.