by Barry Sadler
"Especially and only against your will, m'boy. And you're halfway there already, I'm thinking."
"Well, they'd be making a bad mistake," Casca grunted. "In the first place I sure don't intend to stay here, and I could never do Semele's job anyway. Sooner or later I'd fuck up if I tried it."
"No matter." Sandy laughed. "When you fuck up too badly, they'll eat you with all due respect. And sing your song for a hundred years."
The bilo of kava passed back and forth, and the discussions proceeded exactly as they had on the matter of warfare. Topics were raised and bandied back and forth, everybody who had an opinion expressing it. Semele asked penetrating questions, Mbolo made the occasional remark, and eventually Semele pulled together all the various threads, a decision was made, and a new topic was introduced.
Meanwhile the hollowed-out coconut shell never stopped moving from the bowl full of kava to one or another of the people and back to be refilled and passed again, the women only taking an occasional ceremonial bib while the men consumed enormous quantities of the stuff.
Casca tried drinking more of it himself, having overcome his distaste for it and its mode of preparation, but apart from the vaguely pleasant numbness in his mouth and a faint tingling on his tongue, he could feel little effect.
It might have been that the attack of the Lakuvi had never taken place. In fact it seemed to Casca that to these people yesterday had already ceased to exist, that it had never existed in the first place.
The story of the day's events was down in the oral annals of the tribe. In both villages the story would be told from time to time. Because of Casca's role in the events, the story might well be still told in another hundred years.
But right now Watalo, the carpenter chief, was the one closest to Semele, and it was to him that the old man directed his penetrating questions, each reply being as thoughtfully considered as those in the warfare discussions. Casca had been told that the discussion was about the building of a new temple to replace the one destroyed in the hurricane that had brought the Rangaroa to the island. His agile linguistic ear put together the few words that he understood with the many that he didn't. It wasn't too hard for someone who had spent so many lifetimes learning so many different languages.
These people really loved to talk. The chief would roll out a beautifully sonorous question about, it seemed, roof thatch and the high plain where the grass for it grew and the distance to the village and the phases of the moon. And the carpenter chief would roll back the same question in slightly different words while he thought about it. And from all over the room, one after another, people would restate the question as they contributed thoughts or information, or just conversation on the topic.
Casca realized that this process of involving the whole village in the matter had also happened the night before the battle.
Suddenly Semele looked to him much less like a ruler and more like the chairman of a club.
Vivita had walked with Casca to the chief's house, as she usually did, and had sat somewhere near him throughout the evening. But now, he noticed, she seemed to have withdrawn, although without actually moving away. Numerous younger women were in the near vicinity, and it seemed to Casca that they were being more adventurously flirtatious with him than had happened recently.
When one stupendously pretty young girl indicated to him with her eyes that it was time for bed, Casca was taken by surprise and looked around.
Vivita sat within arm's reach, as did three or four other young lovelies. But Casca couldn't elicit any sort of response from any of them. Vivita returned his gaze without any apparent interest.
However, the silent contest had been decided. This beautiful young girl was clearly the winner, and it was clear that Casca could sleep with her, or perhaps by himself, but Vivita was not interested.
Only this time last night he'd wondered how he was going to get rid of Vivita, and now it seemed she had gotten rid of him. He was pretty sure that this little girl could not have taken him from the formidable Vivita had she wanted to hang on to him.
"Not too bad for a consolation prize," he muttered as he got up to leave with the luscious young woman.
She was tiny; her fuzzy head didn't even come up to Casca's armpit. And she was blacker than anybody he'd seen on the island. Undressed, even the area from her waist to her knees, protected from the sun most of the time by her grass skirt, was jet black.
Luisa was bewitchingly playful and had unlimited energy. Casca was almost relieved when, a little before dawn, she finally fell asleep.
But she was awake at the first beat of the drum, and within a few more beats was straddling Casca's body, nibbling at his ears and his neck, her prickly little pubis irritating Casca's penis to an unwanted erection.
When she eventually climbed off him, temporarily satisfied, Casca had time to wonder yet again what he could have done to offend Vivita.
Luisa served him a breakfast of crabmeat and breadfruit, and as Vivita usually did in the mornings, indicated that he should go to the chief's house to participate in the day's work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Casca had quite enjoyed his several day's of farming, but he was less than enthusiastic about much more of it. He had joined the Roman army nearly two thousand years earlier as a way out of spending his life plodding about a field, planting and weeding and harvesting.
At the chief's house he found that most of the crew of the Rangaroa were of the same mind. Most of them had gone to sea to escape the endless round of the farm.
"Maybe we could do some fishing," Liam suggested, and Larsen quickly asked the chief if they could do so.
Semele was quick to agree, and also hastened to point out that there were many other things to be done in the village, such as building and repairing houses and the defensive walls. Or if they preferred, they could stay at home and keep their women company, since there was no real reason for them to work at all.
Casca thought of spending the long, hot day on the grass mat with Luisa, and decided to go fishing.
Larsen sought out Watolo and with him went in search of a tree large enough to provide a new rudder.
Each of the Rangaroa crew was put into one of the twenty-man canoes with some of the natives, and they set out for the open sea.
By the time they got to the reef Casca's arms were aching, his legs trembling, and he found it necessary to concentrate every ounce of effort in order to keep time with the paddle strokes of the other men in his canoe. He looked with new respect at the smooth, rippling muscles of the fishermen.
Casca wondered if he would indeed have won the battle with the Lakuvi warrior if the arm-wrenching combat had gone on much longer.
He chuckled to himself. "Sure I would have. Takes a damned good arm to stand up to a .38 slug."
Once outside the reef they stopped paddling and drifted about on the deep water, hoping to catch some of the big fish that came to eat the smaller reef fish. Inside the reef other fishermen were fishing for these small fish, and way out to sea others in sail canoes were trying for the fast, active, big fish that bit at everything that moved near the surface of the water.
The sea teemed with fish, and by the end of the day almost every boat had a full catch. But Dukuni explained that sometimes the luck was not so good and between all the boats they might only take a few fish. And sometimes, too, there would be no fish at all for days and days on end.
Ulf and several others of the Rangaroa's crew understood this all too well, and laughed to learn that the life of a professional fisherman was not all that different in the South Pacific it was off the coast of Greenland or England.
The whole of the day's catch was spread out along the beach. There were small sharks, tuna, albacore, stingrays, barracuda, bass, groupers, snapper. Small boys fishing in the shallows had contributed tiny parrot fish and angelfish in a riot of colors, and the repulsive scorpion fish.
Chou Lui was delighted at the sight of these horrible little monsters, puffed up to three t
imes their normal size, poisonous spines projecting. He protested vigorously when Kukuni went to discard them, and explained that he had learned in Japan how to prepare this poisonous fish as an exquisite delicacy.
There was an enormous feast in the village that night. It seemed the generosity of the ocean must be celebrated by eating every morsel that could possibly be consumed, and the meal went on for hours. Casca had not seen anybody eat so much since the orgies of ancient Rome. One huge fish after another was brought in and consumed, while banana-leaf platters of smaller fish passed around and around. Nobody, it seemed, could leave until all the fish were eaten. Casca could see how the older people in the village attained such enormous size.
Ulf was amazed when he realized they were going to sit and eat until every last fish was consumed.
"Vy don't you just bickle de surplus?" he asked through a mouthful of fish.
"What is bickle?" Semele asked.
Ulf burst into laughter, spraying the air with half- chewed fish.
"Vot iss bickle? You don't know bickle?"
Semele shook his head.
"You put the fish in vinegar to keep it," Ulf mumbled through another mouthful.
"What is vinegar?" asked Dukuni.
"Oh, yeah, no vinegar," mumbled Ulf. "Well, you can use lemons."
"Lemons?"
"No lemons? Well, we can use saltpeter and water. Is too hard to explain. Tomorrow ' show you." He crammed some more crab into his mouth.
Just when Casca was convinced that he could not possibly eat another mouthful and would have to commit the unpardonable social affront of refusing food, Chou Lui appeared from the direction of the cooking house.
He was bearing a huge banana leaf laden with fish, and was followed by two women with similar leaves. He delightedly explained that this was the poisonous scorpion fish, carefully cleaned and prepared as he had been taught in Japan. Casca thought that he could have cheerfully strangled him.
But the succulent fish soon made him change his mind.
Not only did he enjoy the fish, but it restimulated his appetite and he was able to continue with the feast.
At last every fish had been eaten, every bone picked clean, and attention was turned to the serious business of the night—the conversation as the bilo of kava passed around the room.
When Casca sought to divert the conversation to the topic that most concerned him—the likelihood of a renewed attack on the village, the response was delighted laughter.
If yesterday had already disappeared from the ken of these people, tomorrow was similarly out of sight.
The imminent threat of a murderous attack by Cakabau's musket-armed men had quite passed out of mind. The world was at peace, every belly in the village full. The gods were smiling. If there was a worthwhile topic of discussion, it could only surely be the building of the new temple.
All around the room one speaker after another dismissed Casca's concern and told and retold the story of the battle with the attackers from Lakuvi. Dukuni, the fisherman chief, told of the excellent use made of the captured Lakuvi canoes. Sonolo, the war chief, boasted of the number of war clubs abandoned by the fleeing enemy. Sakuvi, the farmer chief, predicted great crops of fruit and vegetables from the trees and plots of ground gained in the victory.
Each speaker retold the entire story of the battle, but not as if it were a real event that had happened only a few days ago. The battle was already a legend, and its tale was recounted like a fabled myth. Yesterday had passed out of existence, but the events remained—in the form of a great story.
One aspect of this impressed Casca. Each speaker took elaborate care to detail Casca's own role in the victory, to extol his bravery and good thinking, and to hold up to the audience the lesson that he had taught them in taking the enemy by surprise in his rear when the battle otherwise might not have even been joined.
Each story ended in gales of laughter as the speaker came to his conclusion that never again, not under any circumstances, would the people of Lakuvi dare to attack the village of Navola.
It was Sandy who found a way to turn the discussion in the direction Casca sought. "Could Cakabau's raiders attack Navola without the assistance of Lakuvi?" he asked.
"Never," laughed Sonolo. "From Bau to Navola would take many many days by the fastest sail canoe, and even the biggest of Bau's sail canoes could not carry enough men to attack the village."
There was considerable discussion about the difficulties in Cakabau's way for an attack on the village without the assistance of the Lakuvi. Even Kini, veteran of the Bau attack on Vanua Levu and a very experienced seaman, considered it impossible.
"But surely," said Casca, "Cakabau would carry the day if he only brought six men with the muskets?"
"From inside our palisades we can laugh at his muskets," said Sonolo. "And once they are fired they are only puny clubs, are they not?"
"Yes," confirmed Kini, "if he wasted the use of his weapons on the walls we could then attack and the six men would be easy to defeat."
"These weapons only work once?" demanded Semele. "Once in a long time," Kini answered, "then they must be cleaned and prepared for use again."
Single shot muzzle loaders, thought Casca.
Semele's mind was running in another direction. "How came Cakabau to your island of Vanua Levu?" he asked Kini.
"The trader, Savage, brought many of the men of Bau and their war canoes on his great sail canoe, a ship such as the Rangaroa, on which I came. Outside the reef Savage put the Bau canoes into the water and they came into the lagoon and attacked us on the beach, and then again at the village."
In previous kava discussions some in the tribe had grasped that with modern weapons, more than one man was often killed in battle. Now, Semele asked, "How many of your men did these fire weapons kill?"
"Three at first, on the beach, and we yielded. Then, at the village, when he demanded our men and we fought again, another four. And another who would have been better dead."
"Why kill so many?"
"It is the nature of the fire sticks," Kini answered unhappily. "And the men of Bau have gone mad for eating men. They cannot get enough. They eat men like we eat fish."
Semele looked disgusted, but pressed on with his questions. "Did they then eat all six men?"
"Yes, they did," Kini blurted out, still hurting at the memory. "They ate them in front of the village, before all of us." He groaned. "And then they used our women, there, on the ground before the village."
Semele waited a moment for Kini to recover himself. "So they took your women too?"
"Took them and fed them on their own men, and then used them. Used them disgracefully, and the women, after feasting on the men, permitted it and enjoyed it. And then they sent them back to us."
There was a long silence throughout the room. Finally Ateca spoke. "And did any of your women bear children to these men?"
"Oh, yes," Kini replied cheerfully. "We now have many Bau babies in the village. Many, many more than were killed."
There were nods and smiles all around the house at this happy news.
Semele returned to the heart of the matter. "So it is not good to fight him on the beach, and it is not good to fight him outside the walls. But we could not hide forever inside the walls, for the enemy outside would have food and water and we would not." He looked at Kini. "If he comes in Savage's great ship, could we attack him outside the reef?"
"Indeed, no," Kini replied. "Savage has these much greater weapons on his ship."
Semele closed his eyes and raised his great head toward the roof. Casca felt for the old man trying to find a way to light such a powerful foe. He, too, closed his eyes and searched his memory and his imagination, but his mind stopped short at the thought of going up against muskets and cannon with wooden clubs.
Semele opened his eyes. "We must get some of these weapons."
Casca felt his little .38. He would use it in his own defense, but it could hardly be enough against six muskets, ev
en if they were old muzzle loaders. He felt sure that Larsen had some muskets aboard, but was just as sure that Larsen would not part with them. No doubt he would use them if Cakabau's attack came before the Rangaroa sailed, but if there were only two or three muskets, they would hardly be enough either.
Kini spoke reluctantly. "In Levuka Savage will sell you a musket for ten men."
"One weapon, and he has six," said Mbolo.
Semele spoke with decision. "Then we shall give this Valangi ten times ten men and he will give us ten muskets. Then we shall see how these heroes of Bau will fight." He turned to Larsen. "Now that your ship is repaired, will you take our men in trade to Levuka?"
"The hell I will," Larsen snapped. "If I wanted to be a slaver, I'd have gone into the business before now, and I'd be as rich as Savage. No, Semele, I will not trade a cargo of slaves."
Seine closed his eyes and thought again for a long time, and at last asked. "Will you carry for us free men to Levuka?"
Larsen gave a short laugh. "Where they will sell themselves to Savage?"
"Yes."
Larsen looked at Liam and Sandy and the rest of his crew.
Ulf shrugged. "I wouldn't want to stand in their way."
For a moment Larsen thought of giving them his muskets, but he had already made the same calculation as Casca. He didn't have enough to make a difference, and it would mean that his ship would be defenseless against any pirates, or even wharf rats, who cared to attack her. "All right," he said, "I'll take them, but I'll have no part in the trade. We'll carry them as free passengers on deck."
"Good." Semele nodded. "And now we must think of how to use these weapons. Where should we fight?"
Chou Lui spoke: "Excuse it, please, I am giving much thinking to this problem while I am preparing scorpion fish, and I remember words of great sage of my country, Sun Tzu. He say: `Those skilled in war bring enemy to field of battle and not are brought there by him’."
"Ah," said Semele, "this is wisdom. We will take the advice of your sage and bring the warriors of Bau to fight us here, where we are strongest."
