“Keawe‘ōpala, my desire in this matter of succession is only as good as your own judgment,” he said. “Always remember: Intelligence without strength is surely impotent, but firmness without astuteness is foolhardy. You must rule with a strong hand but also with wisdom. If you fail in this, those who should be your allies will challenge you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Father, I understand,” Keawe‘ōpala replied.
Alapa‘i died the next day.
In those days, our people believed that when a chief of Alapa‘i’s stature died, his passing defiled the entire surrounding district. To avoid being defiled himself, his heir was required to immediately remove himself to another district until such time as the dead flesh had been burned away from the late mō‘ī’s bones and the bones were ready for consecration and burial. Hence, on the morning of Alapa‘i’s passing, Keawe‘ōpala journeyed south by canoe to the coastal village of Kailua. Before he left, he instructed two of his personal guards to remain behind and keep a close watch on Kamehameha at all times. “He is beside himself with grief for my beloved father,” he told them. “I fear he may do himself serious harm.”
While Keawe‘ōpala professed concern for Kameha’s well-being to his guards, he disclosed the darkest of intents to Ka‘akau, his high priest, and foolishly, within Holo‘ae’s hearing. “Ka‘akau,” he said, “Isn’t it true that when Kamehameha was born you prophesied that he would become a slayer of chiefs, and my father ordered him slain at birth?”
“Yes,” replied Ka‘akau, “but old Nae‘ole took him away to Waipi‘o before it could be done.”
“Just so,” said Keawe‘ōpala. “Now I believe that the prophecy was meant for me. Kamehameha must die.”
“Lord,” said Ka‘akau, “there is an old one, a kahuna ho‘onuana well-practiced in the arts of sorcery, who can assure that Kamehameha will never live to fulfill this prophecy. This old one can cast a spell that will make Kamehameha suddenly take sick and die. People will believe that his death was out of grief for old Alapa‘i.”
“Good,” Keawe‘ōpala said. “See to it then.”
“It shall be done, Lord,” replied Ka‘akau. Holo‘ae said nothing. Why Keawe‘ōpala issued this order with Kekūhaupi‘o’s own uncle, Holo‘ae, close by, I do not know. “Keawe‘ōpala was an arrogant fool,” was my father’s only explanation.
Soon thereafter, Keawe‘ōpala departed by canoe for Kailua, and Holo‘ae stole away to see Kekūhaupi‘o and Kamehameha. “Keawe‘ōpala has thrown his spear,” he said.
“When and how will it strike?” asked Kameha.
“I do not yet know when, Kameha. As for how, I know only that Keawe‘ōpala has set his high priest, Ka‘akau, to have you slain. Even now, Ka‘akau goes to seek out an old kahuna ho‘onuana.”
“A kahuna ho‘onuana? Ka‘akau would slay me by sorcery then?”
“It will be by poison, more likely,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “As long as you remain in Kawaihae, do not eat any food unless it is prepared by your own hand or mine. And do not drink any water that you have not fetched for yourself. In the meantime, we will be watchful.”
Alapa‘i had enabled Kameha’s escape by moving his court to Kawaihae. Now, Keawe‘ōpala’s followers gave him the opportunity by mourning the dead mō‘ī according to the traditions of old Hawai‘i. In those days, when a king died, people were free to behave in ways that would never be countenanced at other times. Women were allowed to enter the heiaus, which were otherwise closed to them on pain of death. They were permitted to eat all manner of foods otherwise forbidden to them, such as roast pork, coconut, and bananas. Women could even eat with men. Men drank more than usual. Men and women engaged in love sport more freely than usual. An atmosphere of general debauchery—including widespread thievery and other low crimes—prevailed, all in the midst of great wailing and lamentations for the departed mō‘ī.
The kāhuna and the chiefs, who at other times would severely punish such behavior, would look away. If asked why, they would explain that the people were so undone by their grief that they had taken all leave of their senses and forgotten the strict kapus, even those punishable by death. I think they believed otherwise, however. As my father once told me, “Our laws are so strict and so numerous that our people must of occasion have some relief from them, lest the kapus become too much to bear and provoke revolt.” The death of a revered high chief like Alapa‘i provided just such an occasion. Thus, as the news of his death spread through Kawaihae, disorder and confusion spread swiftly in its wake. The disorder was further compounded by Keawe‘ōpala’s withdrawal to the Kona District.
The guards promised Keawe‘ōpala that they would never let Kamehameha out of their sight, not even for an instant. But in their chief’s absence and amid the prevailing atmosphere of dissipation, their attention to duty would prove less than constant.
Ka‘akau sent for an old kahuna ho‘onuana named Lilihae. Lilihae, it was said, was a sorcerer well-practiced in the art of praying people to death. In truth, he was a skilled herbalist who put his expansive knowledge of plants to perverse use. He was intimately familiar with all the trees, shrubs, and seaweed of our islands, and especially those that produced deadly toxins. He knew how to extract these poisons and mix them with food and drink so that his intended victims would consume them undetected, and he offered his dark skills for hire. When someone truly wished another man or woman dead, but dared not lift their own hand against them, they would seek out Lilihae. After accepting pigs, bananas, taro, kapa cloth, or whatever other goods his prospective client might offer in payment, he would make a great show of performing malevolent chants and invoking the wrath of evil spirits. Some days later, the object of his client’s enmity would die. It was said that he could slay from afar with a mere look, and none risked offending him.
Ka‘akau and some other priests who knew the truth about the old kahuna’s art kept it to themselves and maintained the fiction of his sorcery. Ka‘akau met with Lilihae in secret. “Old one,” he said, “there is a young ali‘i who has profaned the memory of our late king, Alapa‘i‘nui, because he lacks respect for our new mō‘ī, Keawe‘ōpala. He must die.”
“Who is this ali‘i?” Lilihae asked.
“His name is Kamehameha,” Ka‘akau replied.
“Kamehameha?” Lilihae asked, surprised. “The son of the noble Keoua, the blood-nephew of Kalani‘ōpu‘u, and the mover of the Naha Stone?”
“The same one,” Ka‘akau said.
“His mana is very powerful. It is no small matter to slay one such as he.”
“I am confident your magic is more powerful.”
“Oh, it almost certainly is,” Lilihae said, “but one cannot put too high a value on such a life,” he said.
“And how much value would you place on this life?” Ka‘akau asked.
“I will require a portion of the new mō‘ī’s share of the next Makahiki tribute—equivalent to the tribute collected from one ahupua‘a, shall we say?”
“That is very steep,” Ka‘akau said, thinking of the large quantities of pigs, kapa cloth, taro, rare feathers, and various implements.
“It is what is required,” Lilihae said, implacable now. “Shall we say, the Waipi‘o ahupua‘a?”
“No,” said Ka‘akau, “that is too much, even for a life as valuable as this one. Perhaps the Lapakahi ahupua‘a will provide sufficient compensation.” Though not as rich as Waipi‘o, Lapakahi was a prosperous fishing village on the northern Kohala Coast. The ahupua‘a’s uplands were well watered and bountiful, producing taro, bananas, coconut, yams, and other produce in abundance. Koa trees, prized for canoes, also flourished on its slopes.
“It will do,” Lilihae said.
Ka‘akau went to find Holo‘ae, who was supervising the slow baking of Alapa‘i’s corpse. “Holo‘ae,” he said, “I cannot stay here until the imu has finished its work. Keawe‘ōpala has summoned me to Kailua. I will return with him when Alapa‘i’s bones are ready for burial.”
/> Holo‘ae nodded his assent. “And did you find the old one whom you sought?” he asked.
“Yes, I did,” Ka‘akau replied.
“Keawe‘ōpala will be pleased,” Holo‘ae said. “This old one, when will he work his sorcery?”
“Soon,” said Ka‘akau, biting off the word. Holo‘ae did not press him further.
Unlike Keawe‘ōpala, Ka‘akau was wary of Holo‘ae, convinced that he was not to be trusted where matters involving Kameha were concerned. Before departing for Kailua, Ka‘akau ordered a young novitiate priest named Maile to spy on Holo‘ae. This youth, who was about my father’s age, was already assisting Holo‘ae with the purification of Alapa‘i’s long bones, so it was not difficult for him to follow the kahuna here and there without arousing his suspicion.
“Maile,” Holo‘ae said to Maile, “I need more wood for the imu. Go fetch some.”
Maile, who was squatting near the fire, looked up at the kahuna questioningly. There was already sufficient wood at hand to fuel the fire for another day. Moreover, Holo‘ae could order any kanaka in the vicinity to go for wood. This menial task would necessitate a sweaty ascent of the slopes above Kawaihae in search of downed branches and dry brush.
“Why do you hesitate, boy?” Holo‘ae demanded. “Go at once.”
Maile shrugged sullenly and rose to his feet. Just as he was turning to go, he noticed Kekūhaupi‘o approaching the courtyard, and he hesitated. “Go now,” Holo‘ae ordered. Maile trudged off, but he did not go far.
Holo‘ae did not yet suspect that Maile was spying for Ka‘akau, but he believed that the less others at Kawaihae knew about his dealings with Kekūhaupi‘o, the better. Thus, he’d sent Maile away.
“Greetings, nephew,” Holo‘ae said, as Kekūhaupi‘o drew near. As he spoke, he stepped away from his other assistants. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “How is Kamehameha?”
“He is well, Uncle,” Kekūhaupi‘o replied.
“And does he eat well?”
“He eats well, and carefully,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. Then, looking about to see if anyone was watching or listening, he said, “Uncle, we need your help. Kameha has need of a canoe and two or three men who can be trusted. Can you arrange it?”
“What will be required of these men?” Holo‘ae asked. Kekūhaupi‘o explained Kamehameha’s plan.
Hiding within a copse of soapberry trees whose broad leaves afforded him sufficient concealment, Maile watched the two men as they conferred. They spoke in low voices and he could not hear what they said. But the fact that they took such care to mask their words convinced Maile that Holo‘ae and Kekūhaupi‘o were plotting something. Unable to overhear their conversation and unwilling to risk edging closer, Maile broke off his surveillance to search for some commoners to help him gather firewood.
The sun was merging with the sea’s horizon when Maile returned to King Alapa‘i’s courtyard followed by several maka‘āinana men sweating heavily under their loads of brush and dead branches. “Here is the firewood,” he announced.
“Good. Put it there,” Holo‘ae said, gesturing at the already-large pile of wood near the fire pit. “I must attend to some matters,” he then told Maile. “Stay here and supervise the others until I return.” Holo‘ae turned away and amid gathering shadows, he set off down a footpath leading to the beach. Maile waited until Holo‘ae was out of sight and then, after ensuring that no one was watching him, he followed the kahuna.
At the beach, the priest spoke to two fishermen who were readying their gear for the next morning. As earlier, when he had spied on Holo‘ae and Kekūhaupi‘o, Maile did not dare approach close enough to hear the kahuna’s actual words to the men. He could only observe Holo‘ae gestures. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the three men’s forms were silhouetted against the sky’s dying embers. Maile could see the fishermen nodding as Holo‘ae talked. He turned and hurried to Alapa‘i’s courtyard.
Lilihae was ready. Years ago, he had collected bark from the nioi tree, which was only found on the island of Moloka‘i. The bark of this tree, no longer extant in our islands, was deadly poisonous. Lilihae ground the bark into a fine powder and mixed it with sweet potato poi in a gourd bowl. The bark powder would only slightly darken and thicken the orange paste, which he sweetened further with coconut milk to mask the powder’s faint bitter taste. The old kahuna ho‘onuana judged that one handful of the poisoned poi would be sufficient to fatally sicken Kamehameha. Now he required a means to deliver it. He could not set the bowl before Kameha himself. It would have to be introduced into Kameha’s hale without drawing notice somehow. To this end, Lilihae approached an ali‘i boy who could cross the threshold of Kamehameha’s dwelling without fear of violating the kapu that proscribed commoners from entering the hales of the nobility.
“Do you know me, boy?” Lilihae asked. The boy shook his head. Lilihae shrugged, indicating that this was of no particular concern. “Do you know where Kamehameha’s hale is?” Lilihae asked. The boy nodded. “Then take this there for me,” he said. Lilihae handed the bowl to the boy. “It is a special poi to strengthen Kamehameha’s mana in his time of mourning for the great Alapa‘i. If no one is there, you may leave this bowl in the hale, but if Kamehameha or his kahu should see you and ask about it, say it is from the old kahuna Holo‘ae.”
As it happened, Kameha did see the boy as he approached the hale. “What do you have there?” he asked as the boy entered the courtyard.
“It is a special poi from Holo‘ae,” the boy replied, handing the bowl to Kameha. “He said it will strengthen your mana. He told me to bring it to you.”
After speaking to the fishermen, Holo‘ae went to see Kamehameha. “It is all arranged, Kameha,” he said as he entered the hale. Kamehameha and Kekūhaupi‘o looked up at him. They were both sitting cross-legged on sedge mats. Darkness had fallen and the hale was illuminated by several kukui-oil lamps. Bowls and platters with sweet potatoes, yams, breadfruit, and baked chicken were spread out before them. “Two fishermen will be waiting for you tomorrow between Kawaihae and Kukui Point,” Holo‘ae said. “They will take you down the coast as far as Hāpuna. Don’t worry; they can be trusted.”
“Thank you, Holo‘ae,” Kamehameha said. “We were just about to eat. Will you join us?” Kameha raised the gourd bowl that the boy had brought earlier. “I have been looking forward to tasting this special poi that you sent me,” he said. “Will you have some?” As he spoke, Kameha dipped three fingers into the bowl and scooped out some of the sticky orange paste before extending the bowl to Holo‘ae.
The kahuna looked puzzled. “I sent you no poi,” he said. Kamehameha’s fingers, dripping with poi, froze just inches from his lips. “Where did this poi come from?” Holo‘ae demanded.
“A boy brought it to me late this afternoon,” Kameha replied as he set the bowl down and carefully wiped his fingers clean on the mat. “He said it was from you.”
“Do you know this boy?”
“No, I never saw him before.”
“Would you know him if you saw him again?”
“Yes,” Kamehameha replied.
“Keawe‘ōpala! Kamehameha is gone!”
Keawe‘ōpala, the new mō‘ī, gawked at the high priest Ka‘akau, who had stammered out this news after falling to his knees in front of his king.
“Gone, Ka‘akau? How can this be?”
“He went to ride the surf at Kawaihae two days ago and he never returned, my lord. A messenger has only just now arrived with the news.”
“Is he drowned then?”
“I cannot say for certain, Lord. They say the waves were big and he disappeared.”
“I must know for certain, Ka‘akau,” Keawe‘ōpala barked. “Search for his body, and find anyone who knows anything about this and bring them to me.”
The waves were indeed big the day of Kamehameha’s disappearance, driven against the Big Island’s northwest coast by the same unseasonable weather that had brought rain to Kawaihae two nights before Alapa‘i�
�s death. Kamehameha joined a number of other young ali‘i, men and women, who trooped down the footpath to the beach to ride the surf. A throng of children and adults followed them, eager to watch them challenge the big waves. Kekūhaupi‘o walked at Kameha’s side. At the beach, Kameha selected the longest board from an array laid out on the sand above the high-tide line. They were kapu boards; only ali‘i could use them. And this day, the bay and its surf were kapu for common folk.
Kamehameha was about to heft the big board onto his shoulder when a young boy broke from the crowd of spectators and ran up to him. “Kamehameha,” he cried, “let me help you!”
Kameha laughed as he easily swung the board over his shoulder. “Thank you, boy, but do you think the mover of the Naha Stone really needs your help lifting this trifling weight?”
The boy, who was about ten or twelve years old, dropped his eyes and looked at the ground in embarrassment. “No, of course not,” he said. Then he brightened. “Was the special poi good? Did it strengthen your mana for riding those big waves?”
“Oh, no doubt it did,” Kameha replied, still smiling broadly. He cocked an eye at Kekūhaupi‘o, who was standing nearby, overhearing everything. “Here, boy,” Kamehameha said, “hold this for me while I ride the waves.” At this, he loosened his malo with a practiced flick of his wrist and handed the garment to the youth. In those days, it was the custom of our people—men and women equally—to sport in the water naked.
The boy regarded the kapa cloth in his hands as something akin to a sacred object. “Mover of the Naha Stone, I promise I will take good care of this. Not a grain of sand will soil it,” he said.
Kameha laughed. “Wait here with Kekūhaupi‘o until I return,” he said. “He is my honored kahu.”
Kameha turned and waded into the bay. He slapped his board down on the water, threw himself flat on it, and stroked hard for the surf line. Soon, he was slipping in and out of sight amid the breakers.
Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii Page 11