Author’s Note

      On the 27^th May 1905 a Chinese Steamer was shipwrecked on the beach of Sanur about four miles from Badung in Bali. The Balinese looted the wreckage as they had done for centuries, but the Dutch Government claimed a huge indemnity from the Radja of Badung.

      He considered such a request an insult and refused to pay.

      This was the excuse the Dutch were waiting for and in 1906 they sent an expeditionary force into South Bali. Surrounded on all sides by the Dutch, the defenders, seeing that their cause was lost, decided to die rather than surrender.

      During the night of the 20^th September the Prince set fire to the Palace and next morning opened the gates. Thousands of Balinese advanced slowly towards the Dutch guns.

      The men, sparkling with jewels, wore their ceremonial red, black and gold costumes, the women, carrying their children, wore pure white sarongs and were also covered in jewels and pearls.

      On a Throne supported by the tallest warriors, the Radja, a slender young man, sat pale and silent. Suddenly within fifty yards of the Dutch the Radja drew his kris from its scabbard. This was the signal and the Balinese drew their swords.

      They shared a curious exaltation at the thought of death. They dedicated themselves and the sacrifice of their bodies was but the shadow of reality. It was an offering to the Gods in the age-old struggle between good and evil.

      The Dutch Captain gave the order to fire and the slaughter began. The Radja fell and so did hundreds of his followers. Wounded women stabbed their babies for fear that they should survive and husbands killed their wives.

      The Balinese warriors and children, brandishing spears and knives, charged the firing cannon. Three times the Dutch ceased fire in an attempt to stop the slaughter, but the Balinese had decided to die.

      Apart from a few babies there were no survivors of the massacre. This was the end – the Dutch were now the Masters of all Bali.

      Today the square in Des Pasar, the former Badung where it took place, has become a football ground.

      In 1920 and in 1924 more temporary permits were given out to Catholic and Protestant Missionaries to carry on their work in Bali, but all their efforts were doomed to failure.

      In 1945 the Dutch East Indies established their independence.

      The Republic was proclaimed five years later and the whole archipelago took the name of Indonesia.

      Chapter One ~ 1892

      Count Viktor van Haan looked sullenly at the glistening rice fields, the forest-crowned mountain peaks and the feathery coconut palms shimmering in the sunshine.

      Everything was green everywhere, the lush green rice fields, the trees, the valleys. Even the frangipani and tjempake blossoms seemed somehow to lose their delicate white beauty in the green that surrounded them.

      The Count had thought as he stepped from the Steamship, which seemed to him to have taken an unconscionable time to reach Bali, that exile, however beautiful, was oppressive.

      Although it might perhaps be for only a short time including the months of travel for less than a year, it was in fact exile in a way undeniably humiliating to his self-esteem.

      When the Queen Dowager of Holland had sent for the Count to come to The Palace in Amsterdam, he had expected it to be the usual request to attend a Court function or to receive on her behalf some distinguished visitor to Holland.

      Such requests she had often made to him in the past, knowing that his charm, Diplomacy and knowledge of the world were very useful when there was no King of the Netherlands to perform such functions.

      He told himself, however, that the Queen Dowager had utilised quite enough of his time in the last few months and he had no intention of being pressurised into doing anything that was not of particular interest to him.

      Too often he had found himself saddled with extremely boring and pompous Statesmen and had found the endless and long-drawn-out banquets and interminable conferences almost unendurable.

      It was understandable that the Count, who was spoken of as the most attractive man in Holland and was a distant cousin of the Queen Dowager, should be in great demand.

      On the death of William III in 1890 Princess Wilhelmina had become Queen at the age of ten. Her mother had been appointed Queen Regent and now two years later the little Queen Wilhelmina was, of course, still in the schoolroom.

      The Count had always been very fond of his cousin and quite prepared to offer her his loyalty and his respect.

      Also when it suited him he was willing to wait attendance on her and perform the many duties she required of him so long as they did not come too often into conflict with his own plans.

      It was not surprising then that by the time he was thirty he had become selfish and very conscious of his own prestige.

      He was not only extremely handsome but he had a vibrant personality which impressed all those who visited the dull and conventional Dutch Court.

      This was due perhaps to the fact that the Count was himself only half-Dutch.

      His father had been the Head of one of the most respected and honoured families in the whole country.

      The history of the van Haans was also the history of the Netherlands and it was difficult to speak of any great event in which the Dutch had taken part without finding that a van Haan was present.

      But the Count’s mother had been French, the daughter of the Duc de Briac.

      She had not only been beautiful but acclaimed for her intelligence and sparkling gaiety and was persona grata in the intellectual salons, which were patronised in Paris by everyone of consequence.

      Everyone predicted that an alliance between Count Hendrik van Haan and Madeleine de Briac was bound to result in their progeny being exceptional.

      Their son, Viktor, had measured up to all their expectations and now that his father was dead he found himself the owner of vast possessions that could only be rivalled by the Crown itself.

      As he passed through the over-ornamented rooms of The Palace to the Queen Dowager’s apartments he thought, as he had thought so often before, that they needed redecorating and re-arranging.

      There were treasures and paintings of inestimable value, but they were badly displayed.

      The Count’s good taste was continually irritated by the fact that the Queen Dowager and those who served her were complacently pleased with their surroundings and had no intention of countenancing any change.

      A footman in the resplendent Royal livery opened the doors of the Queen Dowager’s private drawing room and the Count then walked in to find, as he had expected, that she was alone.

      He bowed conventionally over her hand and was not surprised to see an unmistakable glint of admiration in her eyes.

      It was an expression that the Count was accustomed to seeing when any woman, old or young, looked at him and, if it had not been there, he would certainly have questioned why it was missing.

      The admiration in the Queen Dowager’s eyes was, however, quickly replaced by one of anxiety.

      “I sent for you, Viktor,” she began in her quiet voice, “to inform you that something very serious has happened and I wished you to learn of it from me rather than from anybody else.”

      “What can have occurred?” the Count enquired.

      He wondered as he spoke if the Queen Dowager had learnt of a rather regrettable party he had given two nights ago.

      He thought while it was taking place that his guests’ behaviour would undoubtedly cause a scandal if anybody talked the next day.

      But people, even the Dutch themselves, accepted some looseness of behaviour in those who belonged to the theatrical