Travers felt more than ever as if
walking in a dream when she perceived beyond the rails of its verandah
and visible from head to foot two figures in an armour of chain mail
with pointed steel helmets crested with white and black feathers and
guarding the closed door. A high bench draped in turkey cloth stood
in an open space of the great audience shed. Lingard led her up to it,
Jorgenson on her other side closed the parasol calmly, and when she sat
down between them the whole throng before her eyes sank to the ground
with one accord disclosing in the distance of the courtyard a lonely
figure leaning against the smooth trunk of a tree. A white cloth was
fastened round his head by a yellow cord. Its pointed ends fell on
his shoulders, framing a thin dark face with large eyes, a silk cloak
striped black and white fell to his feet, and in the distance he looked
aloof and mysterious in his erect and careless attitude suggesting
assurance and power.
Lingard, bending slightly, whispered into Mrs. Travers' ear that that
man, apart and dominating the scene, was Daman, the supreme leader of
the Illanuns, the one who had ordered the capture of those gentlemen in
order perhaps to force his hand. The two barbarous, half-naked figures
covered with ornaments and charms, squatting at his feet with their
heads enfolded in crimson and gold handkerchiefs and with straight
swords lying across their knees, were the Pangerans who carried out the
order, and had brought the captives into the lagoon.
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