Mette sat on the steps to Frank’s office and tried not to look at Pieter. She was afraid to see his despair, knowing that the Armed Constables and Mountjoy were headed towards Maren in the clearing. Maren was not used to dealing with any kind of authority and would no doubt be panicked and tearful if they pushed her. It was too much like the time the Prussians had come for their father, a peaceful, studious man, telling him he must come and fight the French. Their mother had screamed as he was forced off with the soldiers, and the two girls, knowing that their brother Hamlet was probably dead already in the same fight, had to reassure their mother when everything had seemed – and was in the end – so terrible.
Someone came and sat beside Mette, and she looked up to see Mr. Robinson.
“My dear, what can I do to help?” He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.
“They took Frank for a reason that none of us understand,” she said. “And now they’ve arrested Pieter for helping Frank, even though he didn’t really. They say Frank was in their custody and escaped, but I don’t understand why. And they’re going to put Pieter in gaol, and it will be so difficult…”
He looked at the ground for several minutes, then rose resolutely.
“I have an idea,” he said. “At least a way to help your brother-in-law. I believe Sergeant Hardy will be more than capable of taking care of himself.”
She watched him leave, wondering what he might have in mind. He was heading towards the Lutheran church at the junction of the Square and the track to the clearing. The minister might want to help them, but she couldn’t imagine him having any influence over the captain, or over Mountjoy.
Karira had gone to his office. “I sent a telegraph to Captain Porter, as you suggested” he said when he returned. “I’m not sure what he can do, but perhaps it will help. He may at least know what this is all about.”
She sighed, and remembered what she had been going to say to Karira earlier.
“Did you have a good look at the young man?”
He looked at her, and she could tell he was thinking carefully before he replied.
“I did,” he said finally.
A tear ran from one corner of her eye, and she brushed it away.
“Why does he, why does he, look so much like…”
“Like Frank,” he said, finishing her thought. “The resemblance is striking, isn’t it?”
“Could it be his brother, the one who disappeared? Perhaps he was not beheaded after all. Perhaps he’s been living with…”
“No,” said Karira. “Frank would recognize his own brother, and he’s too young anyway…no more than twenty. Frank’s brother was murdered a decade ago, and he was already in the army.”
“And he’s too old to be a son of Frank’s brother,” she said. “If it’s not just a coincidence, then perhaps he’s Frank’s…son.”
“Would that upset you?” asked Karira.
She gave him a wan smile. “Twenty years ago, I was just learning to walk,” she said. “I have no reason to be jealous if he has a son he doesn’t know about. But…”
“I’m going to ride out to the Pa as soon as I can,” he said. “I think Frank had better hide out somewhere in the bush for a few days. I’ll press him about the resemblance. It will be better coming from me than from you, I would think.”
They sat there for what seemed like an eternity, and eventually the sound of hoof beats presaged the return of the Armed Constabulary. Karira faced the constables, his shoulders back. “I hope you haven’t caused any concern to the families in the clearing,” he said. “Whatever you think anyone else has done, the families are blameless.”
“They knew nothing,” said Mountjoy. “Ignorant peasants. They were obviously too stupid to understand what we were asking. They just stared at us as if they couldn’t understand English. They shouldn’t have been allowed to come here…”
Mette caught Pieter’s eye briefly and saw enormous relief cross his face. Maren and the women had stood their ground, pretending ignorance. She hoped the soldiers hadn’t scared the children.
“Constable Price, are there other places in the area where someone might hide?” the captain asked.
Mette held her breath. Please don’t say the pa, she thought. Someone was sure to say it. If they went out to the pa, Frank would be trapped and certainly caught.
“There are men up at the logging camp,” said Constable Price helpfully. “Some pretty rough types. You could check up there. Although I don’t think…”
“Good,” said the captain. “We’ll do that. Constable Price, hold Sorensen in a cell until we return.”
Mette heard a choked sound coming from Pieter. Being gaoled would be humiliating for him. “Does he need to be locked up in gaol?” she asked Karira. “He’ll find it most upsetting.”
“I don’t think I can…”
The sound of a single horseman approaching interrupted him. She saw Mr. Robinson scurrying from the direction of the church, followed by an imposing figure of a man on a large black horse. Her heart leapt as she realized Mr. Robinson had brought Viggo Monrad to their help. Monrad was the son of Bishop Ditlev Monrad, who had come to New Zealand – to Palmerston – with his family after the war between Denmark and Germany over Schleswig. The bishop had been Prime Minister of Denmark, and after a few years in New Zealand had returned there, still a very important man. In New Zealand, he was also highly respected; his son Viggo had stayed behind and had become a leader in Palmerston. He ran the school board and was a Justice of the Peace, and everybody, especially in the Scandinavian community, both admired him and felt slightly nervous when they were in his presence.
Monrad rode up to the captain, looking down on him from his larger horse, and asked, “What’s going on here. Why is this man in your custody?” His faint accent, along with his narrow face and well-trimmed moustache under a sharp pointed nose gave him an authoritarian tone that would be hard for anyone to argue with.
The captain was clearly not willing to take responsibility for any accusation this imposing man might have. He nodded towards Mountjoy. “This man brought me written instructions from HQ,” he said. “I’m just following orders.”
“Following orders?” asked Monrad, his voice underlining his disbelief. “The orders of this young skjult?”
“My father, sir, is Colonel Humphrey Mountjoy, late Commander of her Majesty’s 64th Regiment in India, and British Consul in Samoa, and he has asked me…”
“And mine was once the Premier of Denmark,” said Monrad coolly. “But I prefer to operate with my own credentials. I am Justice of the Peace for the district of Manawatu and I demand that you release my compatriot instantly unless you have something specific you are charging him with.”
The captain made a signal to one of his men, who leaned over and slashed the rope binding Pieter’s hands with his bowie knife.
“I will take full responsibility for this man,” said Monrad. “Sorensen, return to your wife and children and don’t leave your home for now.”
Pieter nodded dumbly at Monrad, and slapped his horse on its rump. It ambled off towards the clearing, Pieter swaying awkwardly on its back. Mountjoy looked after him, frowning. Had he had heard that Pieter was returning to a wife in the clearing, Mette wondered, and not the ‘wife’ he had seen with Pieter? And was he puzzled about why he had not seen that wife in the clearing?
The captain turned his horse, and he and the troop left towards the river and the track up towards the logging camp in the ranges. Mountjoy and his guard followed.
“Right,” said Karira as soon as they’s gone. “I’m off to the pa to get Frank before they decide to search there. I have an idea where he can hide for a day or two, until the constables are clear of town…the guard was Samoan, by the way. Not Maori. You were right.”
“How could you tell?” asked Mette.
Karira shrugged. “I don’t know…I just can…”
“Will you ask Frank about…?”
“I suppose I will,” said Karira. “
It will be tricky though…”
11
Hidden at the Pa
Frank awoke early and sat on a rock on the river’s edge. A heavy dew had fallen during the night and the air was still damp and cold. The blanket around his shoulders didn’t keep him warm, and he wondered how Maori men managed to withstand cold weather. Even in winter they were bare-chested, although some wore feathered cloaks. Many of them had adopted European clothing, at least partly. He supposed it was just a matter of becoming acclimatized to the weather. He remembered the dreary grey rains of England, and from India the intense heat that arrived with the rains. The British had taken to the hills when the heat of the rainy season became too much for them. He’d accompanied a group of women to the hills the first year he was in India. He had good memories of that trip. He’d been around the age that Wiki was now, perhaps a couple of years older, and everything had been new to him, including the scenery and the women.
He’d been sitting there for some time when Wiki came out of the women’s whare, stretching and yawning.
“Good morning Sergeant Hardy,” she said. “I hope you slept well.”
He nodded. “Very well, thank you. I see your brothers were up with the tui this morning.”
“They went looking for eels,” she said. “They took the canoe down the river early this morning. I hope they didn’t wake you. Are you hungry? There are still some potatoes in the fire if you’d like.”
He ate a cold potato, ash-covered skin and all, while Wiki watched. After a few minutes her grandmother came out of the women’s whare. She was holding a bag in her arms, and smiled at Frank. She wanted to show him something, it seemed. She gestured to him and he stood to meet her, glancing at Wiki who screwed up her nose and sighed.
“Sorry,” she said. “I knew she’d bring out grandpa eventually.”
He looked at her again, puzzled, then back at the old woman who stood cradling the sack in her arms. The way she stood reminded him of someone, or something, he’d seen before. He reached out his arms for the sack, but she shook her head, then gently, almost reverently, uncovered what she was holding.
Frank’s stomach lurched and he was barely able to stop himself from regurgitating the potato he’d just eaten. An eyeless head with full moko and a shock of grey-black hair was staring at him from the old woman’s tender grasp. He was unable to speak.
Wiki said something sharp in Maori to her grandmother, who covered the head slowly, frowning at Frank as she did so.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Hardy,” said Wiki. “I thought you would have seen one of these before.”
“What is it?” he said.
“Mokomokai,” she said. “A cured head. It’s a very old Maori tradition. We preserve the heads of our chiefs and Tohunga after they die.”
“How…?” he was not sure what he was asking, but she answered him anyway.
“Well, the eyes and brain are removed, and the head is boiled, then smoked, and left in the sun to dry. As you can see, it keeps the head in good condition, especially ta moko.”
“The head is, must be, very old,” said Frank. “One of your distant ancestors?”
“I told you,” she said, getting annoyed with him. “It’s my grandpa. My great grandpa I mean. My grandmother’s father, who was a Tohunga.”
“Your people still do this?” he asked, appalled at the casual way she had told him whose head the old woman had brought to show him.
“Not since I was young,” she said. “The government banned it years ago. Grandpa died when I was five, so I don’t remember him. That’s why I like having his head. And we pray to him sometimes. It’s like the gravestones you have in your cemeteries only more personal.”
He shook his head. His heart had almost slowed to its normal pace.
“I knew Maori took the heads of their enemies, but…” He’d seen the decapitated head of one enemy, that of his brother Will, at the top of a pole.
She said something to her grandmother who was still glowering at Frank. Her grandmother spoke at great length, then turned and went back into the whare.
“I hope I haven’t offended her,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.” He explained as briefly as he could what had happened to his brother, and she nodded her understanding.
“I’ll tell my grandmother about that,” she said. “She’ll understand. Family…we always understand that.”
“What was it she was saying to you just now,” he asked.
“Mokomakai is an old tradition,” she said. “And it’s true we used to take the heads of enemies. But when my grandmother was a girl and the pakeha first came, they wanted the heads - the Mokomakai. They collected them and paid a lot of money for them. Then they gave our people muskets in exchange. My people had seen the pakeha using muskets and realized they could kill each other much faster. So they started making more heads to get more muskets in their battles, when iwi fought each other.” She stopped and looked at Frank carefully. “We were always a warlike people,” she said. “We fought each other before the pakeha came. But not with guns. The muskets meant more killing, lots more people dying. And some iwi began to kill their slaves to have more heads to sell. They would apply ta moko of important people to the heads of the slaves, and then kill the slaves and sell the heads…”
“The musket wars,” he said, understanding. “I knew Europeans had provided the muskets, but I didn’t know about the heads.”
She went into the whare and came out several minutes later.
“My grandmother says to tell you she understands,” she said. “Although I don’t think you’ll get another moko from her.”
“Just as well,” he said. “I don’t think I could bear the pain. How does anyone stand having it done on the face?”
“She’ll do ta moko on Hemi and Hohepa one day,” she said. “They’re used to the idea and know they must be brave. But for me, I could have the moko kauae, the chin moko, but I don’t think I will. It’s a very old-fashioned thing to do and I don’t want to look like a grandmother.”
He was silent for a while, then said, “Tell me about Anahera.”
“Who?” she said. “Oh, my cousin from Poverty Bay…yes, of course. What do you want to know about him?”
“Who is he,” he said. “What’s his real name?”
She paused, obviously wondering how much to tell him. “We call him Tane Mahuta,” she said eventually.
“Tane Mahuta,” he said. “But I still don’t understand where he comes from, who his family are. Why he was at the Pa? How is he your cousin?”
“He isn’t really my cousin,” she said. “I say that because we come from the same iwi, but not from the same hapu. You know the difference? A hapu is a family group and an iwi is a tribal group. I think he knew Moana. She came from Poverty Bay. Moana asked the boys from the Powhiri team if he could be added to the team, to lead them in the greeting…that time he almost killed the land agent. Did you know Moana?”
He nodded. “I met her once.” She didn’t know he had stopped the assassination of the agent, of Captain Porter. Just as well.
“She was very forceful,” she said. “If she told you to do something, you did it. She made us all learn English, you know. The young people. My mother wouldn’t, and of course my grandmother couldn’t, she’s too old, over sixty, but I’ve found it useful. But for the Powhiri, the boys didn’t care who the leader would be anyway. They were sick of it. Every time an important pakeha came to the Pa they had to do one, and they hated it.”
“Did her husband, did Hakopa know he – Tane Mahuta– was here?”
“I doubt it,” she said, smiling slightly. “He had no idea what was going on, most of the…wait a minute. I remember you now. You were here that day, weren’t you? You tackled him.”
“That was me,” he agreed. “He’d killed a lot of people. We thought he intended to kill Captain Porter, the land agent. But I didn’t expect him to be in the greeting party until I saw him with his spear raised.”
“Who had he
killed?” she asked.
“Several ex-soldiers,” he said. “They were Die Hards, men from the 57th Regiment. My regiment. He thought we’d taken part in something that happened during the war with Titokowaru.”
“And you hadn’t?”
“Not exactly,” he said carefully. “My officer - Captain Porter and I arrived just after it happened.” He thought about the woman he had seen that day, holding the head of her husband. The woman he had discovered was Anahera – Tane Mahuta’s– sister. That was who the grandmother had reminded him of, cradling the bag containing her father’s head.
“He was just getting his revenge then,” she said. “That’s all right, isn’t it? In war, people take revenge on one another.”
“People don’t like being on the wrong end of someone’s revenge,” he said. “I almost was myself, and I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
She put her head on her knee and thought about that for a moment, then raised it and said, “It isn’t personal. But if a member of one group does something then they should pay for it as a group. Isn’t that what war is about.”
“You’re very wise for your age,” he said, smiling.
“Here’s Willi Karira,” she said, nodding towards the destroyed entrance to the Pa. “He must be looking for you.”
He could see that her face had turned pink and she was twirling a strand of hair around her fingers. She had an open, expressive face that was easy to read.
Will was riding his own horse, pulling Copenhagen, Frank’s horse, behind him. Frank went to meet him. “Has something happened?” He patted Copenhagen’s nose, and the horse nudged him, as if to say, where were you?
“We’re going to have to get you away from here. The Armed Constabulary are searching Palmerston. They’ve been to the Scandi settlement and now they’re headed for the logging camp. I suspect the Pa will be next. They know you were dropped off at Pieter’s new place and they tried to arrest him.”
“Arrest Pieter?” said Frank, shocked.
“Don’t worry. He’s fine. I’ll tell you the details later, but we need to move before they come here. We’ll hide you in the bush for a day or two, until they leave town. I telegraphed Captain Porter, to see if he knew anything…”
Recalled to Life Page 11
