I can hear Ikey in me mind as he expresses his alarm at being so abducted. ‘Most strange and unusual, perplexing, astonishing, a whole sackful o’ live rats and queernesses perpetrated upon a most properly dead and eternally slumbering soul, my dears!’ Still and all, I reckon the Maori is probably more interestin’ company than the dead of Hobart Town’s cemetery.
Hammerhead Jack and the remaining of my troop of fighting axe men returns with us to Chief Tamihana’s village. When we arrive at the pa of the Ngati Haua, we’re greeted like heroes. We’re escorted into the village and immediately taken to the marae for a ceremony to end the tapu what’s been placed on us as warriors. This is conducted by the priests and makes us noa, that is to say, normal commonfolk once more.
Hammerhead Jack has told me that, not so long ago, warriors would feast on the carcasses of their enemies. This were known to be sacred food, tapu to any but themselves. In order for warriors to have the tapu lifted and become noa again, they was obliged to throw away the remains of the bodies what they’d been eating. Then the eldest female of the oldest hereditary stock, the wahine ariki, would eat the ear of the first enemy killed in battle. I, for one, be thankful customs has changed. I has already had me head up a dead redcoat’s arse, but to have to eat him as well is asking too much o’ yours truly.
Once we have been made noa, we gather at the marae for a great hui and there is much speechifying. I am made rangatira. Hawk receives a feathered hat and wears his black feathered general’s cape for all to see.
Hammerhead Jack then tells the story of the battle so everyone might hear it first hand. He speaks of Hawk’s wisdom and of my part in leading the fighting axe men. He tells of how I saved the young warrior’s life, of how I were struck down and how I were rescued, giving it all in the most exact detail includin’ how I killed the soldier and then got me head stuck up his arse. All assembled laughs heartily at this and one o’ the elders points to the bandage on me noggin. ‘Is that why you cover it?’ he asks, to much merriment.
‘So, Tommo!’ says Chief Tamihana. ‘Your new name shall be “The man whose face has seen the worst thing possible in battle.”’ I blush, for I thinks the chief is making merry again at my expense. But the Maori do not think this a joke and they nod sagely and clap at me new name. A warrior’s name earned in battle be like being a knight o’ the realm to the English. Then each of the axe warriors is named and honoured with a new song. Their names are took in by the tohunga and the dead is committed to their ancestors’ care.
War Chief Hapurona and Chief Wiremu Kingi have sent a special envoy to Tamihana what now praises the tribe’s warriors. The speech is long and boring and tells of the part each Ngati Haua warrior played in the Ati Awa’s great victory. It is most flowery, but our rangatira takes in every word and I can see they be terrible proud of all us lads. Then we go to a great feast the women has prepared in our honour, with fifteen pigs slaughtered.
I am by now desperate to find Makareta, for I ain’t been permitted to go to our hut. I had hoped to find her among the women what prepares the feast, but she ain’t with them. Nor were she in the crowd what came out to greet us when we arrived. I can’t leave the hui until I am given permission and it’s very late at night before I can slip away.
I has only just left the edge of the great fire when I am met by Makareta’s mother.
‘Come quickly, Tommo. Makareta is birthing.’
‘How is she? How long has she been in labour?’
‘Since you came back, since sundown.’
‘What! Why didn’t you fetch me?’ I cry.
Makareta’s mother gives me a look. ‘How may an old woman interrupt the affairs of men?’ she says. ‘Come, there is no time!’
Outside our hut, several women wait anxiously. ‘The old women are with her,’ says one as we approach.
‘I got to see her.’ I begins to shoulder my way to the door.
The women all draw back. ‘It cannot be, it is bad tapu for the father to witness the birth,’ Makareta’s mother says sternly. ‘You must wait, please.’
‘Then tell me, how is she?’
But Makareta’s mother goes into the hut without answering, and one of the women brings me a drink of bush lime fruit. ‘It is a difficult labour. She is not well,’ she tells me, then asks if I want something to eat. I say no, and sit down to wait. From inside I can hear Makareta groaning and crying out. The sound tears at me very soul and I keep asking to go to her, but each time I am most sternly refused. My hands are tied. It would only frighten Makareta to see me, because of the tapu. Another hour passes and the feast is still going on, with a great deal of singin’ and merrymakin’. I wish Hawk were here, but I know he can’t be. Chief Tamihana will want him to stay at the feast all night.
Suddenly I feels them. The mongrels are here. I rise, not knowing what to do. I can feel them crawling under me skin and the hair at the back o’ me neck stands on end. I swipe at my arms, trying to brush them off, and beat at my shoulders. Makareta’s mother comes out of the hut, shakes her head, and starts to keen. It is the terrible, shrill sound of women mourning. The others takes it up immediately. They do not even look to where I am sitting, and it is as though I do not exist. Death has possessed their throats and there be no place for a man within their heads.
I push past them and run into the hut. One of the old women stands holding a small bundle what is squalling. Our baby! But Makareta is lying on a flaxen mat with much blood around her. She is breathing heavy and a rasping noise comes from her chest. Her lips is cracked and she is in a lather o’ sweat, with tiny bubbles coming from her nostrils.
‘Makareta?’ I whispers, crouching down beside her. ‘Makareta, it’s Tommo! Tommo’s come home.’ There is no sound from her lips, only the rasping of her chest. I take up her hand and hold it in my own. ‘Makareta, it’s Tommo! Can you hear me? It’s your Tommo, come home from the war!’
‘She is dying,’ the woman says. ‘You have a daughter.’
I do not hear her at first. Then slowly it sinks in that she is talking to me as if Makareta be already gone. The pain in me heart starts to grow, not all at once but quick enough. It climbs up into me throat where it fills me ‘til I know I’ll choke with it. ‘Oh God! Please don’t let her die!’ I hears meself say, though whether it be inside my head or out I don’t know, for me fear and pain is blocking everything out.
I put my arms ‘round Makareta, who is on fire to the touch. I bring her hand to my lips, and then crouches down and holds her in my arms. I rock her gently until my fear begins to fade, and I can breathe and speak once more. ‘Please, Makareta, please don’t die! I needs you! If you live I will stay here. I’ll stay with you forever. Please don’t die! Don’t let the mongrels get ya, me darling!’
I feel Makareta’s hand come up slow and touch mine. Her mouth moves painfully and she whispers once, ‘Tommo!’ She is too weak to say more, but I can see she is trying to speak. Her lips open, then close again, then open. She is trying hard to gather breath.
‘What is it? I love you, Makareta!’ I sob.
I feel her squeeze my hand again. There is no strength left and it is less than a child’s hand putting pressure to mine. Then a tear falls from her left eye. Another follows from the right, rollin’ ever so slow down her beautiful, sweet face. They roll across her cheeks and over her chin. In a whisper I can hardly hear, she says, ‘Tommo, it is a girl. I am sorry.’ Then she opens her eyes and looks at me, and I sees the love she feels. ‘Tommo, will you forgive me?’
‘Makareta! It doesn’t matter! Please, please live, me darling!’ I am sobbing, shrieking, unable to hold back any longer. ‘Please?’ I am now begging her. But she gives a small sigh, and the life goes from her.
I weep and weep. I do not hear the midwife leave with the infant. I cradle Makareta in me arms and rock her, as though if I should hold on tight enough she may live again. Everything is still. Outside the women are keening. It is like a pack o’ dogs baying at the moon. The mongrels have won
again. Me head aches something fierce. My tears are frozen to the back o’ my eyes, like shards of glass. Tommo needs a drink! Yours truly needs the black bottle!
Chapter Twelve
HAWK
The Land of the Long White Cloud
July 1860
Tommo has gone. He left before dawn’s light. I retire from Tamihana’s feast at sunrise, too weary to think, and am immediately met by the old woman who is Makareta’s mother.
‘Makareta is dead!’ she announces the moment I appear.
‘Dead?’ I cannot comprehend what I hear. ‘Dead?’ I repeat. Death through violence has been around me for so long that a death unrelated to war seems somehow impossible.
‘She died in childbirth,’ her mother adds.
Now I am suddenly alert and cry out in alarm. ‘Tommo! Where is Tommo?’ I should think first of dear Makareta, but it is concern for my twin which comes crowding into my head.
Makareta’s mother shrugs. ‘He is gone. I have not seen him.’
I try to gather my wits. Tommo gone? He cannot go without me. He is grieving, I feel sure, and cannot be far away.
‘I shall send some young boys to find him,’ I say to her. ‘What of the child?’
‘It is a girl. We have found her a wet nurse and taken her away. She is small but healthy.’
I nod, and the old woman sighs and moves away.
So Tommo has a daughter. But his child has cost him the woman he loves. Why must my brother always suffer such misfortune? The mongrels, as he calls them, seem to abound in his life.
I have not slept for nigh on twenty-four hours and think the same must be true for my twin. Perhaps he has gone into the forest and sleeps there. I send several young lads to find him, though God knows how they will do so if he is in among the tall trees.
‘Do not wake him if he is asleep, but come back to tell me where he may be found,’ I instruct them, and the lads run off, anxious to do my bidding. Weariness overcomes me. After I have slept a little I must attend to Makareta and ask the elders and the tohunga to arrange the funeral rites.
When I awake shortly before noon, the young lads are waiting outside my hut. ‘Have you seen him?’ I ask anxiously.
‘We have searched everywhere, Black Hawk. He is not to be found. Some of the women who rise early say they saw him leave the village before daylight and take the path north.’
‘The track to Auckland?’ My heart sinks.
‘It is the same.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Let me know if you see or hear anything more.’ They chorus that they will do as I ask.
Slowly my suspicions begin to grow. The demon black bottle. Tommo has been pushed over the edge. My brother is back in the wilderness and wishes to escape into the oblivion of grog.
I must speak to Chief Tamihana, but he is still asleep and I must wait. I pace outside his hut impatiently, then go to sit under a shady totara tree. But I am too anxious to remain seated and soon resume my restless vigil by his door. It is mid-afternoon before he emerges.
‘Why do you disturb me from my slumber, Black Hawk?’ Tamihana frowns slightly.
I apologise and explain what has happened. Then I beg leave to depart at once, explaining that I fear that Tommo has gone to Auckland.
‘Why?’ Tamihana asks. ‘Why would he do such a thing? He is rangatira now. He will have a good life with us.’
‘It is a matter of the heart,’ I explain. ‘My brother will grieve much over Makareta’s death and will think not to show this to the Maori.’
‘Why can he not grieve here? We will understand. We are not savages, Black Hawk.’
‘With the pakeha it is sometimes different. They wish to drink spirits to forget their grief.’
‘And Tommo has gone to obtain spirits so that he may forget?’ I nod and Tamihana continues, ‘We will send a message to our people, they will soon find him and bring him back.’
‘No, I must go myself. He is of my blood.’
Chief Tamihana laughs at this. ‘You, the man they want most, would walk straight into the enemy’s camp? The pakeha will murder you. You cannot go, Black Hawk. I forbid it.’
‘Tommo will not go to Kororareka, where they might recognise us,’ I say.
‘My friend, they know who you are everywhere! Kororareka, Auckland, even in Wellington they know of you! They know of the American Indian, Chief Blackhawk, who fights for the Maori.’
‘But I do not look like an American Indian! The townsfolk will think me just another Maori. They do not know me by sight.’
‘Ha! There are no Maori who are so black and stand so tall as you.’
‘Nevertheless, I must go. I must find Tommo before he comes to harm.’
‘Sit,’ Tamihana now commands, indicating a bench.
I sit, and a woman brings us food and drink. The chief’s food and mine are the same, but are served separately as it is tapu to eat from the same dish as Tamihana. ‘Eat, Black Hawk,’ he says. ‘I wish to talk to you as a friend. It is most foolish to go to find your brother. You must stay here and I will send others to find Tommo and bring him back to us.’
It is then that I tell Chief Tamihana that Tommo and I have decided to leave New Zealand and, with his help, return to Australia.
He is silent a long while before he replies. ‘A man cannot be held against his will, but we will miss you greatly, my friend. We have come to look upon you as a Maori. Your blood is our blood.’ He pauses. ‘You have brought great honour to our people, Black Hawk.’
I struggle to reply. ‘I have only used what I knew, that is all.’
‘No, beyond that,’ Tamihana says. ‘There is one thing you have taught us we shall always remember. Do you know what it is, Black Hawk?’
I shake my head.
‘Do you not remember when you lifted War Chief Hapurona’s aide by the neck, after he called you a coward?’
I look up, shocked that he knows of this. ‘I am greatly ashamed to have done such a thing. He is a brave man.’
‘A brave man perhaps, but also a foolish one!’ Wiremu Tamihana replies. ‘What he did was a thing of tradition. What you did changed this tradition forever.’
‘I do not understand. What did I do? It was over in but a moment and I thank God I did not kill him.’
‘Let me explain. If you had not spoken against staying in the pa, no one else would have. When Tamati Kapene called you a coward, he was following tradition. To talk of defeat is to be thought of forever as a coward and no Maori would have had the courage to do so. There is even a tapu against expressing such a thought.
‘When you lifted Tamati into the air with your bare hands, you challenged the tapu. If you had killed him, as any Maori would have done, the tapu would have remained fixed. When you threw him to the floor and said not a single word, all who watched knew then that it is not cowardly to think about defeat and to live to fight another day. They knew that the tapu had broken itself.’
Wiremu Tamihana spreads his hands. ‘The victory the Maori have enjoyed against the British in this last battle was because you helped defeat this great tapu, the strongest of them all. We are in your debt, General.’
I am astonished at these words. ‘But it is to your people that my brother and I owe everything. When we first came, we were hunted by the law and you gave us your protection and shelter.’
Tamihana smiles. ‘You will always be welcome among the Maori, my friend. But it is too soon for you to join our ancestors. If you go to find Tommo now, you will not last one day before the pakeha have your life. This time they will not wait to put you in gaol so that they might hang you later. They will shoot you like a dog.’ He looks directly into my eyes. ‘Please, give us seven days to find your brother. I shall send Hammerhead Jack by ketch. He will reach Auckland before Tommo.’
It takes three or four days to walk to Auckland. By boat, it will take Hammerhead Jack less than half this time. It is a sensible idea. ‘If after this time there is no news, I must try to find him myself,’ I re
ply.
Tamihana nods. ‘We shall find Tommo and put him on a ship to Australia!’
I am horrified at this. ‘He cannot go without me!’
‘No, of course not,’ reassures the chief. ‘We shall take you to join him and smuggle you on board at night. We will find a captain who may need our friendship should he ever return to New Zealand.’ Tamihana points to the dish of yam and pork. ‘Now eat a little. All will be well, you shall see.’
I take some yam and wonder for a moment how Ikey is getting along with the Maori ancestors, who are said to feast on unlimited amounts of roasted pork every day!
Then I pluck up my courage once more. ‘I have a great favour to ask you, Chief Tamihana. It concerns Tommo’s woman and the name of their girl child.’
‘Name? What can it matter what she is called? A girl’s name is not important.’
‘I understand and would not usually make such a request. But when we leave, and with the child’s mother dead, I would wish for this girl to be well cared for. Her grandmother’s hut is tapu and has been burnt down as is the tradition. The old woman too is tapu, having been associated with the dead mother, and might not live much longer. Last night you made Tommo rangatira. I would not wish for his daughter to be forgotten.’
Chief Tamihana dismisses this idea with a wave of his hand. ‘She will come into my household,’ he declares. ‘We will care for her. The old woman cannot come but we will see she is fed until her tapu is lifted, then she can join the child again. You need not worry, the infant shall be brought up as nobility.’ I thank Wiremu Tamihana profusely, but again he waves this away.
‘What do you wish her to be named?’ he continues. ‘We shall give her a Maori name, or is it a pakeha name you want?’
‘It is a Maori name, but it is not an unimportant one.’
‘What is it?’ Tamihana asks, curious now.
‘Hinetitama,’ I say, preparing for the scowl to come.
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