by Sarah Lark
Bill’s mind spun. Of course Cameron could do something—even if it were just to punish the Hauhau for the massacre of his people. But of course, he couldn’t force the man. And alone, all he could do was—
The general seemed to read his mind. “I advise you very, very urgently not to attempt to negotiate with the Hauhau, and especially not to attempt a rescue. Try to see the situation from Haumene’s point of view: Over the last few months, he’s avoided any kind of confrontation. Of course he would never stand in front of his followers and admit to having lost the fight for Waikato. But he knows that’s the truth. Now he wants to withdraw quietly, but this attack has complicated matters. Believe me, the prophet would like to hang the perpetrators on his own niu.” The general laughed joylessly. “And now let’s assume that the underlings also dragged two girls back to the fort. That compromises Haumene’s position permanently. He can’t talk his way out of it like he did with the missionary.” After Carl Voelkner’s death, Te Ua Haumene had spread the word that responsibility for the incident had been Kereopa’s and Patara’s alone. He himself had only sent men out to preach about peace and love. “He’ll probably also try to get rid of the women, as quickly and permanently as possible. If he hasn’t done that already, then he will certainly do so the moment you send negotiators or even show up at the pa bearing a white flag. He’ll pretend that he’s never seen Miss Carol or Miss Mara before, and all his warriors will swear to it. That’s if you somehow got that far before ending up as the main dish at a feast. Give up, Paxton! You have no chance.”
Bill lowered his eyes. “I hear you, General. But I will contact the governor, even if it’s useless. They could have stormed the pa months ago. But even so, I can’t go on this way. Carol was right. What’s been happening here is a disaster. We practically drove the tribes into Haumene’s arms. And in that, I bear some of the guilt. I would like to resign, General. You can throw me out for what I’ve said, or you can discharge me honorably. Either way, I’m leaving on the next boat.”
The general took a sharp breath, and then drained the last of the whiskey from his glass. “I accept your resignation from Her Majesty’s Army. Have the papers drawn up and collect your last salary, and go with God, Paxton. I understand your anger, but I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong. Aside from perhaps having waited too long to send the prisoner convoy. This incident will also be with me for a long time.”
Bill spent two last sleepless nights in the officers’ quarters in Patea, rejecting one plan after another. He longed to at least try to find Carol and Mara, but common sense spoke against it. Haumene wouldn’t be willing to negotiate with him. And any attempt to infiltrate the pa would be suicide.
When a ship left for Blenheim three days later, Bill was aboard, filled with grief and guilt, followed by the unhappy Fancy. Once again, he hadn’t been able to help Carol. He was afraid there wouldn’t be another chance.
Chapter 47
For Carol, the worst part of being held prisoner came from watching helplessly as Te Ori slowly destroyed Mara. She herself had to endure being violated, but not by the leader of their attack. Instead, he sold Carol “in the pakeha tradition,” though interest in this was limited. Te Ori dragged Carol out of her prison and brought her behind a house about once or twice a week, out of sight of the prophet who’d commanded him to win the women over. There, some young Maori warrior would be waiting, often bearing a gift. This wasn’t like the violent performance at the massacre site. These were young men who had been introduced to mutual pleasure at an early age with the girls of their tribes. They were disappointed and abashed to find that Carol didn’t have any reciprocal interest.
Carol realized how quickly it would end if she simply lay still. A little lard from the kitchen made the physical pain easier to endure. But nothing helped against the humiliation. As hard as she tried to pull herself together, she cried every time one of the men lay on top of her. It was embarrassing for them, and they didn’t recommend Te Ori’s slave to their friends. As a result, fewer and fewer men came to take advantage of his offer.
Te Ori earned far more money and favors by hiring Carol out for manual labor. The young woman worked from morning to night, carrying water, chopping vegetables, and stirring the huge kettles, while she herself was only given an occasional crust of bread to eat. Food was limited in the pa, and the rations were strictly controlled. There wasn’t much left for the slaves. Carol feared they’d die of starvation and hypothermia. The women were given neither mats nor blankets, and little in the way of clothing. Carol wore wide linen trousers and a plaid shirt, discarded pakeha garments that one of the young men who had paid for her services had given to her. They were less horrifying than her bloodstained riding habit with the shredded bodice, and also a little warmer. In any case, the clothes and also the occasional piece of flatbread that the men slipped to her kept her alive. Someday it would be spring again and, according to everything she’d heard, they would soon be leaving Weraroa for another fort. Perhaps there would be a possibility for escape then.
Every night as she waited for Te Ori to bring Mara back to their prison, Carol scratched a letter into the wooden wall of their shelter with a stone. Bill and the general must be convinced that the women were dead; otherwise, they would have already tried to rescue them. If they discovered her plea for help, then they would look for her and her sister. She was certain of it. Carol hated her life in the pa, but she could endure.
Things were different for Mara. She was almost never taken to work in the kitchen. Te Ori tried to hire her out as well, but the young woman was entirely unable to work. After long nights with Te Ori, Mara was too weak, too injured, and too desperate to follow even the simplest instructions. Te Ori advised the cook to beat her, but the man couldn’t bring himself to do it. Mara would immediately throw herself to the ground, curl into a ball, and stop moving whenever he raised a hand against her. Only a person who actually enjoyed making others suffer would have struck such a poor heap of misery. And Carol suspected that Te Ori Porokawo, the respected Hauhau warrior, was exactly such a person.
Mara never spoke about what happened at night. Carol only saw that she could barely hold the drinking ladle the next day. Mara’s face was always swollen, and Carol couldn’t tell if it was the result of beatings or weeping. Her younger sister, who had been so defiant and alive, wept constantly now. She seemed not even to notice that tears were always flowing down her face. The young woman spent her days curled up in a ball in one corner of her prison. Carol had to force her to eat their meager scraps. Soon Mara was a gaunt, pale shadow of herself who hid her face behind a curtain of matted, dark hair and hardly spoke a word.
Carol watched her sister’s suffering helplessly, knowing that Mara wouldn’t be able to stand it for much longer. She would die of Te Ori’s abuse or some illness—if she didn’t take her own life. Terrified, Carol tried to keep an eye on Mara. The proximity of their prison to the kitchen was useful for that. Te Ori didn’t lock the women in during the day. He relied on the fact that Carol would be too busy and too well guarded by the kitchen staff, and Mara would be too exhausted to attempt to escape.
Carol continued to watch for escape possibilities in case she was allowed more freedom at some point. If she had to, she would force Mara to flee with her. But the pa was well guarded and densely populated. The trenches were almost always bustling with warriors. Only during the morning prayers, when the men were gathered around the niu, were they empty.
For that reason, Carol considered searching for an escape route while the warriors were shouting in ecstasy. But that was impossible with Mara. As soon as she heard the Hauhau cries, her sister was paralyzed with fear. She had also begun to rock back and forth again, and to speak in a monotone. “All dead, all dead . . .” Her pupils dilated wildly, and she stared with such a terrified expression into nothingness that Carol could almost see the horrors that played again and again in Mara’s mind. It would be impossible to take her out of the shed while the cere
monies were going on.
Carol had grown accustomed to looking in both directions as she walked through the fort to get water. It was a job that the cook was glad to leave to her. The only well inside the pa was next to the chieftains’ huts. It was a long way from the kitchens, and the full buckets were heavy. Carol usually fetched water while the Hauhau were occupied with their morning prayers. At some point, she had learned that slaves were considered tapu. But that couldn’t be said about herself and Mara. There were even warriors who groped her as she passed them.
Almost no one there knew much about the old traditions. No matter how Te Ua Haumene complained about the lack of them, there were no tohungas in the pa. The old priests and wise women had kept well away from the Hauhau movement. And there wasn’t a single rangatira, such as Te Ropata of the Ngai Tahu, to guide the young warriors’ physical training, as well as spiritual preparation. The men’s education suffered for it. Te Ua Haumene’s unit leaders didn’t even organize regular training. They didn’t need to if there was no strategy used in the battles; they relied only on blind frenzy. One didn’t have to be a master of strategy to realize how outmatched Haumene’s men were by the English soldiers. Of course, he had thousands of warriors, and they were prepared to fight to the death. But in the end, it wouldn’t do them any good.
Carol became angrier and angrier at General Cameron and the English leaders. Now, after the massacre of the convoy, after she and Mara had been kidnapped, they should finally have attacked.
“What is your name, by the way?”
Carol whirled around, and the bucket fell back to the bottom of the well. She would have to repeat the laborious task.
But then, stronger hands reached for the crank. Amazed, Carol stepped aside for Tohu Kakahi.
“I can manage on my own,” she said sullenly. “I’m fine.”
“I was just about to ask about that,” the chieftain said, and heaved the bucket up over the edge of the well. “How are you? Are you being treated well?”
Carol glared at him, and all her rage boiled over. She didn’t care what he’d do. “Are you serious? Let me guess, your next question will be if we’ve fallen in love, here in your wonderful community? And if my sister is going to marry that bastard after he rapes her every night and beats her black and blue?”
Tohu Kakahi rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry, girl. It was the only way I could think of to save you, once they’d brought you here. Otherwise, they would have killed you and made it look as much like an accident as possible. That was my first idea, and Haumene must have considered it too. But he’s content now that no one has come looking for you, gods be thanked.”
“So I should be grateful to you?” Carol said with biting sarcasm. “And my sister should too? My sister, who I fear will take her own life because she can’t bear the nights with her tormentor?”
Tohu shook his head. “I’ve seen her eyes. She is going through hell, but she is a warrior. In the end, it may be she who kills Te Ori. Stop her from eating his eyes. One takes the enemy’s power that way, but also absorbs his hatred.”
Carol stared at the man as though he were insane. “We are civilized human beings!”
Tohu raised his hands in placation. “The people here used to be civilized too,” he said, gesturing around the pa. “Almost all the Pai Marire leaders grew up in missionary schools. You pakeha created your own demons.”
Carol took the bucket. “And now you want to throw us into the ocean, so we can swim back to England. Yes, I hear it every day. What shall I call you, by the way? Poua? Hardly. Lord? Or prophet?”
Tohu Kakahi smiled. “Tohu. There will come a day when we all simply call one another by our names. We will be equal then, you and I.”
Carol scowled. “Aren’t I just a slave? Didn’t you want to kill us?”
Tohu sighed. “We were wrong, we made mistakes. It’s time to fix them. My people will have to keep fighting the pakeha even after this war is lost. But we’ll have to find other ways. At some point, we’ll have to make peace. Genuine peace.”
“Perhaps you could start by setting us free,” Carol suggested. “As a sign of goodwill. We could speak well of your people. Or you, at least.”
Tohu shook his head. “We’re not ready for that,” he said regretfully. “We will be leaving the day after tomorrow—blonde slave, if you don’t want to tell me your name. We are going to Waikoukou in Taranaki, where we will build up another fortress. But I—I will personally make sure that Te Ori isn’t always in the pa. I will endeavor to keep him away from you as often as possible. From you and your sister.”
Carol’s eyes filled with tears. “She will be grateful for every day that he doesn’t touch her.”
Tohu nodded. “I will do what I can.” Then he turned to leave.
Carol watched him go. Then she called after him.
“Poua,” she said, “my name is Carol.”
Two nights later, Carol and Mara were awakened by the sound of the door being unbolted. The evening before, Te Ori hadn’t come to get Mara. Now she whimpered when she saw her tormentor silhouetted in the entrance to their prison. The warrior peered from one of them to the other until his eyes had adapted to the darkness of the chamber. There was a new moon, but the sky was clear and full of stars.
“You!” he said to Carol. “Get up!”
With quick, harsh motions, he tied her wrists together. He pulled the cord so tight that Carol feared for her hands. When she protested, he gagged her as well. Mara was trembling in the corner of the hut. He bound not only Mara’s hands but her feet as well, before shoving a gag in her mouth. Then he threw her over his shoulder like a sack.
“You walk ahead,” he ordered Carol, pointing with a knife. “Down to the river.”
Te Ori drove them first through the pa and then through a side gate onto a path to the river. There were warriors everywhere. Contrary to their usual habits, tonight the Hauhau moved in complete silence. As Tohu had promised, the pa was being abandoned for good. Most of the men seemed to be heading to Taranaki on foot. However, several canoes had also been made ready on the river. The chieftain and the prophet would go part of the way by water, and Te Ori, too, commanded a boat. He was about to throw Mara into a partly empty canoe when a figure arose from the next vessel. Carol recognized Tohu Kakahi in his chieftain’s cloak.
“Te Ori Porokawo!” Tohu Kakahi’s voice cut sharply through the darkness. “Why isn’t your whole taua here yet? We have been waiting for your canoe to depart. It’s blocking the pier.”
Te Ori lowered Mara to the ground. “I had to get the slaves, ariki. After all, I couldn’t just leave them here.”
“No?” Tohu asked. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst solution, now that we’re leaving anyway. Or are you going to tell me that they’re joining us of their own free will?”
There was muffled laughter at the chieftain’s words.
“They belong to me,” Te Ori hissed defiantly. “The prophet gave them to me.”
Tohu nodded. “No one doubts that, Te Ori. However, you were given the task of treating them well. They were supposed to come to understand Pai Marire, and to love you. You won’t achieve that goal with ropes and gags. And tonight, it was your duty to assemble your taua, get them into canoes, and bring the prophet safely to Waikoukou. You should have sent one of your warriors to get the women. What’s more, it’s unseemly for two slaves to share a canoe with the prophet. Now, untie them. They will ride in my boat, and you can be sure they won’t escape. You will get them back in Waikoukou. Do what has been asked of you. It’s an honor to paddle the prophet’s canoe, Te Ori. Prove yourself worthy!”
Carol hardly understood what was happening as the unwilling warrior brutally tore the ropes from her hands and then turned to free Mara. Her sister clung to her, trembling and crying, after Te Ori had shoved them toward the ariki’s boat. Tohu Kakahi offered them a place in the stern of the vessel, far from the bench where he sat in honor. For him as chieftain, the slaves were tapu, and he also
forbade the oarsmen to make any contact with them. As the canoes floated silently in formation up the Patea, the chieftain kept an eye on Carol and Mara. Even if Mara had been able, the sisters couldn’t have slipped unnoticed into the water.
Perhaps later, Carol thought unhappily. There was doubtlessly a forced march through pakeha-controlled territory ahead of them before they reached Waikoukou. But if Carol were honest, she didn’t really believe they’d have a chance to escape. Tohu Kakahi had assured Te Ori that he’d guard the slaves for him. His own feelings aside, it was a question of mana. He wouldn’t break his word.
Carol sat up straight and peered back across the river that shone silver in the starlight at the mighty, soon to be abandoned pa. Unprotected, Weraroa would soon be in pakeha hands—just as General Cameron had predicted. His duty had been fulfilled, his goal achieved. The uprising in Waikato had been repressed and those responsible for it punished, and no one would talk about the innocent people who had been driven away.
The governor had gotten what he wanted. The land in Patea was free for the military settlers.
Chapter 48
Bill Paxton didn’t know what to do with himself when he landed in Blenheim after the stormy crossing. He didn’t know anyone there, and didn’t want to get to know anyone either. After all, it wasn’t his intention to stay. He longed for home. Unfortunately, he’d waited several days already, and there wasn’t a single ship in the entire harbor that was bound for Campbelltown.
“They go from Lyttelton more often,” a captain advised him.
But first, Bill had to get there. He was back down at the docks, considering buying a horse and making the journey over land when Fancy began to bark excitedly. She ran toward a stocky, red-haired man in an oilskin coat and riding clothes. He petted her as she leaped up on him.
