by Lance Morcan
Jack deduced there was nothing to stop him heading back to his own village on the Coral Coast. He knew exactly where it was and guessed he’d be halfway there before he was even missed. But something was holding him back. Nathan’s predicament, or, more correctly, the predicament Nathan’s English friend had found herself in, had touched him. Jack genuinely wanted to help Nathan rescue the woman he so obviously loved.
Besides, he saved me life. I owe him.
Thunder and lightning announced the arrival of a storm. Suddenly cold, Jack quickly donned his shirt, pulled the branches back over him, and settled down for what he expected would be a long night.
Inside the cave, Nathan was in for a long night, too, but for different reasons: looking into the flames of the nearby fire, he was consumed by worry for Susannah. He wondered how she was faring and whether Rambuka had had his way with her yet.
7
That night, a frightened Susannah sat in the corner of the same bure she’d been interned in since arriving in the outcasts’ encampment. She wasn’t yet aware this was Rambuka’s residence.
The same huge, bald, toothless woman who had greeted her earlier was now trying to feed her some taro. Gagging, Susannah refused the food. This only angered the woman, who then proceeded to forcefeed her. She stopped as several outcasts suddenly entered the bure. Rambuka was among them.
Ignoring the two women, the outcasts sat down and, as they did most nights, began drinking kava. None of them observed the traditional rituals normally associated with the sacred kava ceremony: they drank greedily from a large bowl. While they were drinking, Susannah surreptitiously observed them.
A disfigured outcast leered at Susannah. To nobody in particular, he said, “I want to be first to plant my seed in her.” The others laughed.
Another outcast turned to Rambuka, asking, “What are you going to do with this red-haired White-Face?”
Rambuka said, “When it is time, we will ravage her until we tire of her. Then we will deliver her shrunken head to our enemies.”
Susannah shuddered. She understood the gist of what Rambuka was saying.
A pockmarked outcast asked, “And what of our Qopa enemies?”
Rambuka scooped up a large insect from the dirt floor. He crushed it then opened his hand, displaying its mangled remains. “We are going to crush them like the insects they are.” The others smiled in anticipation as they helped themselves to more kava.
Susannah found she was trembling violently. She’d always known she’d be mistreated by these cannibals, but it was chilling to hear them articulate what they were planning to do. She looked wildly around the bure’s interior, as if searching for an escape route. Her eyes were drawn to the golden tabua Rambuka had seized during the raid on the village at Momi Bay. It now occupied pride of place on the far wall.
The young woman instinctively knew the sacred whale’s tooth was the one that rightfully belonged to the Qopa. They’d talked about little else since the raid. While she didn’t fully appreciate what the golden tabua meant to them, she could appreciate its beauty. It seemed to have an ethereal aura around it that vaguely reminded her of the colorful stained-glass windows of English churches.
Rambuka caught Susannah staring at the golden tabua. She hurriedly looked away. The Outcast walked over to her, knelt down beside her, and grabbed her by the hair. Speaking English, he asked, “How many muskets my enemies have?”
Susannah shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“How many?” Rambuka repeated.
“I told you . . . I don’t know.”
Rambuka slapped her face hard. “How many muskets?”
Tears stream down Susannah’s cheeks. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Twenty... maybe thirty.”
Rambuka slapped her again, harder this time. The blow drew blood from her upper lip. “Woman lie! How many?”
“Fifty,” Susannah sobbed. While she was telling the truth, she didn’t mention that the Qopa had less than half that number of ablebodied warriors left.
Satisfied, Rambuka turned to the other outcasts. In Fijian, he said, “As I thought. Fifty muskets.” Rambuka studied Susannah’s face for a moment. He suddenly pulled her to him and began fondling her breasts. Susannah resisted futilely, crying out in pain as her tormentor squeezed her nipples between his probing fingers. When Rambuka finally stopped, he put his face close to Susannah’s. Reverting to English again, he said, “When I see the White-Face, I cut out his heart.”
Susannah knew he was referring to Nathan. Smiling cruelly, Rambuka was about to say something else when he was interrupted by shouts from outside the bure. He and the other men jumped up and hurried outside to investigate.
Outside, they saw several outcasts pulling two male slaves out of a pit in the middle of the encampment. The pit, which was open to the elements, served as home for a dozen or more male slaves. The slaves being pulled out were resisting as they knew full well what was in store for them. This was part of a regular, gruesome ritual that saw the need for a constant supply of slaves at the encampment.
Despite their incarceration, these slaves were in remarkably good condition. They appeared well fed, even overweight. Unlike the female slaves, the males were rarely used for work. Rather, they were used to supplement their masters’ food supply and keep the outcasts supplied with the precious protein human flesh provided.
Looking on, Rambuka smiled to himself and returned inside as the two slaves were hauled out of the pit and clubbed to death. Stripped naked, they were then dragged over to a lovo just outside Rambuka’s bure. There, willing hands lay the fresh carcasses on the lovo where they were roasted on red-hot rocks. The excited outcasts attending the lovo uttered savage war cries as the prospect of another meal of human flesh drew closer.
Inside the bure, Susannah was aware something was happening. The sickly odor of human flesh filled her nostrils, but she’d never smelled it before so could not connect the smell with the ghastly reality.
Susannah’s thoughts returned to her father. She still couldn’t believe he’d been taken from her so violently. A vision of the spear’s serrated tip protruding from the back of his neck kept coming to her. Papa! She was suddenly consumed by a feeling of helplessness.
The earlier thoughts of suicide she’d had returned. She closed her eyes and whispered a passionate but silent prayer.
Dear Lord, let me die quickly and painlessly so that I can join my dearest papa in heaven and be spared the abuse of these savages.
Then she remembered Nathan and suddenly knew she didn’t want to die.
#
Later, outside Rambuka’s bure, a portly outcast who clearly enjoyed food more than most, poked the nearest of the two human carcasses with a stick and gleefully pronounced it ready to eat. More war cries were uttered as the carcass was removed from the lovo.
The cries alerted the others and soon men from throughout the encampment were wandering over and queuing up to receive their share of the flesh. Women weren’t involved in this ritual. Nor would they get to taste the meat. The portly outcast officiated. Starting on the thighs, he carved off juicy portions with a hunting knife and dished them out. As usual, the best portions, along with the heart and other vital organs, were saved for Rambuka. Almost every part of the unfortunate slave’s body would be used—either for eating or for decoration.
Even the penis and testicles would be used: these would be crushed then mixed with coconut milk and taken as an aphrodisiac. Again, these valued body parts would be saved exclusively for Rambuka.
A boy slave carried a steaming bowl of flesh inside to Rambuka, who took it from him. Staring at Susannah, the Outcast stuffed a large slither of meat into his mouth.
Susannah could only wonder at what he was eating. Any uncertainty was abruptly ended when the portly outcast walked in holding the dead slave’s head. He placed it on a floor mat in front of Rambuka, who eyed it gleefully. The crown of the head had been carved off, exposing the slave’s brain. The brain was considered
a delicacy and was also reserved for Rambuka. Susannah’s eyes opened wide at the gruesome sight. Try as she may, she couldn’t look away.
Relishing the fact he had her attention, Rambuka smiled as he picked up the head and rested it on his lap. Using a fork fashioned from a strong twig, he began scooping the brains out of their encasement and into his mouth. Leering at Susannah, he said, “This what Rambuka do to the White-Face.”
Horrified, Susannah watched as segments of brain dribbled out of the corners of Rambuka’s mouth. A feeling of faintness came over her. She tried to fight it, but it consumed her. She collapsed face-down on the floor. The huge woman who had been watching over her hurried to assist her, but Rambuka waved her away. He and the other outcasts proceeded to eat their fill. In keeping with their tradition, this would be the last food they’d touch for the next week. Then, after seven days, they’d each have their way with Susannah. As usual, Rambuka would have first use of her.
8
Next day, Susannah found herself standing knee-deep in water washing dirty clothes alongside half a dozen other female slaves in a river near the outcasts’ encampment. She was thankful she hadn’t yet been raped. Sina had told her earlier how the outcasts usually treated their newly acquired women, so she now understood why they’d largely left her alone so far.
Although she remained fearful, Susannah was breathing a little easier knowing she’d remain unmolested for the next week. If Nathan was coming for her, he’d be here by then, she hoped.
Susannah noticed that the pockmarked outcast who had been in Rambuka’s bure the previous night was watching over them now. She could see he was still leering at her. Filled with revulsion, she busied herself with her washing, pretending she hadn’t noticed him. Around her, the other women toiled as if they were in a trance. Susannah realized they seemed totally resigned to their fate. She found this more depressing than anything else she’d seen since her arrival.
The splash of paddles announced the approach of a canoe from upstream. Looking up, Susannah was amazed to see its three occupants included a boyishly handsome white man sitting in the bow. Behind him, his two native guides were doing the paddling.
Susannah felt her prayers had been answered.
A European!
She guessed the man was in his late twenties and immediately wondered who he was and whether he had in fact come for her. It was then she noticed he was wearing the white collar of a priest. She would soon learn he was Father Montrose, a French priest whose remote Catholic parish included Tomanivi.
A musket shot suddenly boomed out, making Susannah and the other women jump. Looking around, they saw their pockmarked guard had just fired his musket to alert his fellow outcasts to the visitors’ arrival. Other outcasts soon came running, their muskets at the ready.
As the visitors’ canoe neared the bank, Susannah immediately ran toward it to ensure she was first to greet the new arrivals. The pockmarked outcast tried to stop her, but she ducked around him and rushed up to the priest. Breathless, she gasped, “Thank God, Father. I am Susannah Drake, from the Wesley Methodist mission at Momi Bay.”
Only now did Father Montrose notice Susannah. He was as surprised as her to see another European in Rambuka’s territory. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed in French.
Susannah gabbled, “They’re holding me here. You must help me!”
The pockmarked guard grabbed Susannah and dragged her away. Alarmed, Father Montrose looked strangely at the young Englishwoman.
Susannah could tell by the guard’s reaction the priest was no stranger here. As she was dragged away, she shouted, “I am a slave here! They killed my father!” The guard clamped his hand over her mouth to quieten her while other outcasts escorted the priest to their encampment. She could only watch as the priest was led away.
Entering the encampment, Father Montrose’s mind was racing. It had long concerned him and his fellow priests that Rambuka regularly abducted women to serve as slaves. While he lectured the outcasts on the evils of slavery, he’d never reported the location of their hideouts to anyone else for he knew that would destroy the trust he’d painstakingly built up over the last few years. And that, in turn, would end any chance he had of converting Rambuka and his followers to Christianity.
However, the abduction of a white woman had taken things to a new level. He knew he could no longer turn a blind eye. God would not allow it.
Father Montrose found Rambuka waiting for him outside his bure. Speaking fluent Fijian, the priest respectfully said, “I see you, great Rambuka.”
An unwelcoming Rambuka stepped forward and stood with his face inches away from the priest’s. “And I see you, little priest,” he grumbled disparagingly. “Why do you keep coming to my home to fill me with troubling thoughts about the white man’s god?”
“As always, I come to spread the true Word of the true God.”
Rambuka laughed in the priest’s face. He pointed skyward. “You know the great Degei?” he asked, referring to the Fijian god of war.
“Yes, I know of your god.”
Rambuka motioned to his visitor to follow him and retired inside his bure. Father Montrose followed. Inside, the two sat down cross-legged, facing each other. A kava bowl rested between them. As a slave boy dispensed servings of kava to each of them, the priest studied a shrunken head on the near wall. A shrunken head had occupied the same position on the wall when he was last here, but he was sure that head was different to the one he was looking at now. Finally, an impatient Rambuka shooed the slave away then turned to the priest, asking, “You speak for the new god?”
“Yes, for our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Leaning forward, Rambuka reached out and touched the bronze crucifix he’d noticed hanging from Father Montrose’s neck. While he studied it, the priest looked around the hut and saw more shrunken heads and skulls hanging from the roof. Turning back to his host, his attention was drawn to several dried fingers hanging from a cord around Rambuka’s waist. He wondered who they’d belonged to.
After a long silence, Father Montrose said, “The Lord Jesus Christ has instructed me to bring his Word to your lands.”
Rambuka laughed aloud once again. “My people will listen to this new god if his disciples bring rum, women and muskets.”
Father Montrose swallowed hard as the Outcast tapped his forefinger on the dried fingers hanging from his waist.
Rambuka said accusingly, “You come empty-handed and we remain deaf to your ways. You bring gifts and we hear your god very clearly.”
The priest nodded, but he wasn’t listening to Rambuka. His mind was elsewhere – on the white woman outside.
#
Susannah was collecting firewood with Sina when Father Montrose and Rambuka finally emerged from the bure. The priest deliberately didn’t look in her direction as the Outcast escorted him back to his waiting canoe. He didn’t want Rambuka to know he’d seen her. The young Englishwoman looked at him imploringly, willing him to look at her. She silently mouthed the words, Help me, but he didn’t see her. However, Rambuka did.
Down at the riverbank, a thoughtful Rambuka saw Father Montrose and his guides off as they headed upriver. The Outcast began walking back toward the encampment. As he walked, he knew he had a decision to make. He’d been tolerating Father Montrose’s visits on the off-chance he would one day prove useful to him, but now that the priest had seen the white woman, that put a new complexion on things. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was Father Montrose would reveal to others what he’d seen.
After much deliberation, Rambuka sought out Serevi, a menacing-looking outcast. “The white priest knows too much. See that he does not talk.”
Serevi nodded and quickly recruited four others to assist him. They ran to the river and set about launching one of several canoes that rested on the bank.
#
Serevi and his companions had been paddling for about an hour when they saw the priest’s canoe tethered to the overhanging branch of a tree on the fa
r bank. A column of smoke rose above the treetops just beyond it. They quietly paddled over to the other canoe, tethered their craft to it, and climbed onto the riverbank.
A quick reconnoiter of the area found Father Montrose reading his Bible beneath a tree while his two guides cooked freshly caught fish over a campfire.
From the cover of the trees, Serevi aimed his musket at the nearest guide. The shot shattered the silence and the guide died the moment the musket ball struck his heart. The second guide grabbed his club and turned to face the unseen threat. Another shot boomed out and he fell face down, mortally wounded.
A fearful Father Montrose could only watch as an outcast ran forward and savagely clubbed the wounded guide, killing him. Just as the priest began to stand, yet another outcast clubbed him from behind, knocking him out.
#
As Father Montrose slowly came to, the first thing he heard was laughter. Opening his eyes, he saw the laughter was directed at him. The five outcasts were standing around him in a circle, looking down at him. He suddenly realized he couldn’t move. Dazed and unable to comprehend where he was or what was happening, his gaze settled on a pile of stones beside him.
The realization of what awaited him suddenly registered. In French, Father Montrose implored, “Dear God, not this way!” Aware his captors couldn’t understand him, he began pleading for his life in Fijian.
The outcasts had buried him up to his neck so that only his head was visible. They’d then gathered up some stones and waited for their victim to come round.
Now that Father Montrose was conscious and fully aware of what was happening, Serevi nodded to a stocky outcast who forcibly prized the terrified priest’s mouth open. Picking up a stone from the pile, Serevi dropped it into his victim’s mouth. The others took turns to force the stones down the priest’s throat. Father Montrose’s eyes bulged as he struggled for air. He was beginning to suffocate.
A few agonizing moments later, Serevi asked, “Where is your god now, priest?”
