The Fire Blossom (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  “But the children are never blonde! At least not in the first generation. She must be—”

  Then Fenroy was interrupted by a woman’s loud ceremonial cry. The men standing behind the interpreter reached nervously for their muskets. Fenroy had no choice but to tear his attention away from the woman and attempt to pacify the armed men. A warrior stepped forward from the Maori group and began to speak, accompanying his words with broad gestures and waving his spear.

  “That’s the mihi. That’s how the greeting ritual begins,” Fenroy explained. “Soon there will be dancing, so don’t panic.”

  “What did he say?” Karl asked, stepping up next to Fenroy. He seemed to be the only settler interested in a translation.

  “He says his tribe welcomes us,” Fenroy said, “although he’s actually saying a lot more. He’s introducing the Ngati Toa and talking about their origins and history, with emphasis on how many battles they have fought and won. And now they’re praying.” Fenroy rubbed his temples in concentration as other voices joined in with the man’s words. “Damn, that went fast! Sometimes the mihi goes on for ages. And normally we would have to reply by introducing ourselves and greeting them politely. But it’s better if I don’t try to get Wakefield and Thompson to do that—and the Ngati Toa don’t seem to be expecting it either.”

  Another man stepped forward from the group. He was very young and fierce-looking. He shouted loudly, grimaced, pounded the ground several times with the stock of his spear and then began to dance. Other men supported his performance with song, and were joined by other warriors who were waving spears, shields, and clubs.

  “Oh God, they’re going to kill us,” Ottfried said in a flat, scared voice.

  “Maori dangerous?” Karl asked Fenroy.

  “Of course they’re dangerous. Just look at them. Every one of them has a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle mass and is shouting to us that he has the courage of a hundred men and a mind to eat his enemies, skin, hair, and all. Up to a few years ago, they actually did that. It’s a Polynesian tradition.”

  Karl swallowed. “But they don’t have guns!” he said, more to calm himself down than anything else.

  Fenroy cast him a look of disbelief. “Who told you that? Of course they do! Wakefield paid the chieftain eight hundred pounds for the land. What do you think he bought with that money? Children’s clothes?”

  Karl didn’t have to be told that eight hundred pounds for all the land in Nelson and its surroundings and now probably the Wairau Valley was a ridiculously low price. No wonder the chieftain was angry! Karl reached for his weapon again.

  “But they wouldn’t attack us in the middle of a powhiri,” the young interpreter said. “The dance, which is called haka, is supposed to serve as an intimidation. The warriors present themselves with their weapons, and they warn us not to tangle with them. As far as that’s concerned, our friend Thompson was right for a change: intimidation is the Maori’s trump card. Many fights are avoided that way, just because one tribe recognizes that another is at least as strong as they are. So why would they bother to hit you over the head before you came to that conclusion?”

  “Very reasonable, no?” Karl said, and wondered if he should take pity on Ottfried and translate what he’d understood of Fenroy’s explanation.

  The young German, like all the other men in Captain Wakefield’s company, was being reassured by no one. The pakeha seemed nervous and tense. Only their leaders looked bored. Wakefield and Thompson were showing their impatience so clearly that it was quite impolite.

  “Entirely reasonable,” Fenroy agreed. “I tell you, the Maori aren’t stupid. Look, now they’re calm again. And they’ll stay that way as long as we don’t give them a reason. Thank God no one has explained the tactic to Thompson yet; otherwise, he probably would have made the settlers practice a musket dance. Usually, the warriors from the visiting tribe have to dance too. Here come the girls now. This is the shortest greeting ceremony I’ve ever seen! These people are really trying to make amends. During the next dance, the entire village is supposed to take part and show scenes from their daily life. But they’ve reduced it to the prettiest part.”

  Now eight young girls were dancing, beautiful in their flax leaf skirts and colorful woven tops. They sang a cheerful song and swung little balls of flax fiber on bright ribbons.

  “Look at the blonde!” Fenroy was completely captivated again. “She’s no Maori. She must be—”

  The girls finished their song before he could continue. Captain Wakefield’s men, who had finally begun to relax, applauded, which obviously pleased the Maori. The previous dancers had probably also expected some kind of appreciation, and Karl was sorry that the visitors had disappointed them. But before the ritual could continue, the police magistrate stepped forward.

  “It’s time to stop jumping around now!” Thompson shouted. “Which one of you is Te Rauparaha?”

  Fenroy reacted with alarm, just as the blonde girl on the other side did. The English interpreter pushed himself next to Thompson, and the girl stepped up next to a rather short man who wore a cloak decorated with feathers. He stood up before Fenroy could translate, and walked toward the police magistrate.

  “I, Te Rauparaha,” he said calmly. His deep, loud voice penetrated the embarrassed silence that had spread after Thompson’s exclamation.

  The chieftain held out his hand to Thompson, and shocked whispers went through the rows of Maori when the police magistrate pushed it away.

  “I’m not here to exchange pleasantries or watch a few naked girls dance. It’s outrageous that they show themselves in public that way! Civilized men go to the pub for such things. This is about an arrest.”

  The chieftain obviously didn’t understand, and it looked as though Fenroy was considering whether he dared translate such words to a tribal leader. In the resulting silence, the blonde girl raised her voice. She turned to the chieftain and spoke in the Maori’s melodic language.

  “She’s translating?” Karl asked Fenroy in a whisper.

  “Sort of . . . ,” he murmured. “She says, ‘The pakeha were impressed by our dance, even though it doesn’t entirely conform to English customs. But he asks that the exchange of pleasantries come to an end now.’”

  While the chieftain conferred with his advisers, the girl turned politely to the pakeha. She spoke English fluently.

  “Gentlemen, the tribal elders of the Ngati Toa would like to greet you, above all the chieftain, Te Rauparaha. He knows that our customs are tiring for you, which is why he would like to welcome you according to your own tradition, by shaking your hand.”

  Thompson remained rigid, but now Tuckett stepped toward the group of Maori elders and reached out his hand. Captain Wakefield, too, came to his senses and shook hands with Te Rauparaha. The young woman introduced the other leader as Te Rangihaeata.

  “And my name is Poti,” she said with a slight bow. “Cat, in your language. I am tohunga, and it’s my job to translate for the chieftain.”

  Christopher Fenroy gazed at her, completely charmed, and then spontaneously reached out his hand to her. “A pleasure! I—I’m Chris Fenroy. The tohunga for the pakeha.”

  The young woman gazed at him seriously. “Then, hopefully, both of us want to keep the peace,” she said meaningfully.

  Chris nodded.

  Now Thompson spoke again. “I have a court order here that gives me the power to arrest you, Te Rauparaha, for arson and the destruction of English property, and transport you to the court in Nelson,” he said, standing provocatively close to the chief and looking down at him condescendingly. He waved a letter.

  Fenroy cast a doubtful look at the blonde girl and took over the interpreting. The girl seemed to be repressing a smile.

  “What you say?” Karl asked Fenroy after the conversation had ended.

  “That the elders in Nelson are confused and angry about the destruction of the surveyors’ huts, and that they want to talk to Te Rauparaha about it,” Fenroy replied, winking at h
im.

  In the meantime, the chieftain was speaking again. The girl thought for a moment.

  “Te Rauparaha is honored by your invitation, but he wants to make it clear that he didn’t do anything illegal. Your people were occupying our land, and their huts were built from wood that was cut from our forests. For that reason, he sees no reason to accompany you to Nelson to talk about the matter. However, he would be prepared to bargain about further land purchases here and now.”

  “What is he trying to pull?” Thompson made motions to grip the chieftain by the arm but then lost his nerve. “Didn’t you hear me? You are under arrest. You will come with me, and that’s the end of it!”

  The chieftain answered sharply back.

  “I’m not your slave,” Fenroy whispered, translating for Karl.

  “I would prefer to be treated with more respect,” Cat said loudly, translating for the others.

  “And which of these fellows is Te Rangihaeata?” Thompson added. Apparently, he hadn’t been listening before. “We’ll take him with us too. He’s an accomplice. Now, if we can just—”

  Fenroy tried a few appeasing words, but Cat’s unhappy expression spoke volumes.

  “Now, everyone, stay calm!” Frederick Tuckett boomed. “The chieftain is right, we should talk about land. Ariki Te Rauparaha, I am the head land surveyor for Her Majesty Queen Victoria here in Aotearoa.”

  Fenroy translated, this time faithfully.

  “I’ve seen the land that your tribe sold to the pakeha in Nelson. I’m very sorry to say this, and it certainly must not have been your intention to cheat anyone, but some of the parcels are not suitable for use by our settlers. They are too close to the river, and the land floods. No houses can be built there.”

  Te Rauparaha nodded and said a few words.

  “You don’t have to build houses on all the land,” Cat translated. “It’s better to leave some of the land you own to the spirit world. The gods know what should be done with it. They know why it is the way it is, and it’s better that way.”

  Tuckett pressed his lips together, and then answered. “That’s doubtlessly wise, ariki. We, too, bend humbly to God’s will. But our settlers traveled here from far away to purchase land. We can’t disappoint them. Therefore, we’d like to offer them the marshes in the Wairau Valley instead.”

  Thompson was about to add something, but Wakefield kept him quiet until Tuckett’s words had been translated and the chieftain had replied.

  “The chieftain would like to agree to the pakeha settlement in the Wairau Valley, but first you have to buy the land,” Cat said in English. “As you said yourself, no one was cheated. Captain Wakefield saw the land before he bought it. If it wasn’t appropriate for his uses, then he didn’t have to take it. But now it belongs to him, and if he wants the Wairau Valley, too, he’ll have to make a new deal.”

  Wakefield made an indignant sound, and Tuckett sighed. He’d probably already told the captain exactly that, long ago.

  The chieftain added something.

  “It is in accordance with your own laws as well,” Cat translated.

  “Our laws?” Thompson couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled more papers out of his pockets and practically shoved them in the chieftain’s face. “This is the law. This is the queen’s law!”

  Te Rangihaeata placed himself protectively in front of his father-in-law. “And this our land!” he cried in English at the police magistrate. “Land of Ngati Toa, law of Ngati Toa!”

  He continued to shout but was interrupted by Te Rauparaha. Cat couldn’t keep up, especially not using more diplomatic words.

  “Te Rangihaeata told Thompson that he should stop provoking the chieftain. Te Rauparaha doesn’t provoke your queen either. Or have you ever seen a Maori in England who tried to meddle in the queen’s business?” Fenroy quickly whispered the translation to Tuckett, and Karl heard too.

  “This is getting out of control, Mr. Tuckett!” the interpreter warned. “You’ll have to settle things as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the chieftain is still peaceable. He’s keeping Te Rangihaeata in check.”

  Now another Maori man stepped forward and began speaking English in an appeasing manner. It was Te Puaha. He begged for pragmatism, but just then, Thompson grabbed at the chieftain’s arm. A melee began, and the men around Tuckett watched aghast as Thompson reached for his weapon.

  “Please, stay calm!” Cat said, desperately translating a few very sharp words from Te Rauparaha. Te Puaha gave her a look somewhere between regret and reproach.

  “The chieftain is warning you!” he said, taking over. “Do not threaten him!”

  Te Rauparaha reached under his cloak and shouted something. Karl recalled what Fenroy had said about the Maori having guns. Was the chieftain reaching for a firearm now?

  “Men! Prepare your bayonets!” Thompson shouted as warriors rushed to protect their chieftain.

  Karl felt helpless. He didn’t want to shoot at all, but all around him, pistols were being drawn and bayonets mounted on rifles.

  “Forward, English soldiers!” Wakefield cried.

  “Wait!”

  “Stop! We don’t want to start a war here!”

  Karl heard the conciliatory voices of Fenroy, Cat, and Te Puaha.

  The pakeha group actually seemed to hesitate for a moment. This was no trained troop of professional soldiers, just a motley bunch of adventurers and settlers. They weren’t about to throw themselves into a battle against a horde of gigantic Maori warriors on the strength of a half-hearted command.

  But then a shot was fired.

  Chapter 18

  Time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat as Cat’s world fell to pieces.

  A moment before, everything had seemed dangerous but still under control. The managing of that idiot, Thompson, had been almost a game between the nice brown-haired interpreter and the pakeha. Chris Fenroy had immediately understood how things had to be played, and if Thompson had been even a little perceptive, the two tohungas could have brought the situation to a good end. But now? First there had been war cries on both sides, and then the shot. And now Te Ronga clutched her chest, gave a stifled moan, and collapsed silently next to Cat and Te Rangihaeata.

  Cat didn’t immediately understand, or perhaps just didn’t want to accept the truth. She stared blankly at the scene, which suddenly seemed to be frozen in place. She saw a red stain spreading on her foster mother’s chest, and saw Fenroy, who looked just as confused as herself. Then she looked at the pakeha, from whose ranks the shot had come, without being able to spot the shooter.

  But then the world started to turn again. Women wailed, men shouted, and Te Rangihaeata fell to his knees on the ground next to his wife. He pulled her into his arms and began his death chant.

  “Hei koni te marama. Hei koni te ra. Haere mai te po.”

  Farewell light, farewell day, welcome is the darkness of death.

  The young chieftain’s desperate voice could be heard over the chaos filling the square. Women and children ran to hide in their houses, muskets were fired, and men ran in all directions, shouting orders for both attack and retreat. At the sight of the dying woman, most of the settlers turned on their heels and fled toward the ship.

  Thompson’s and Wakefield’s attempts to muster the men and organize them into a decisive force or even an orderly retreat were hopeless. There was pure panic among the pakeha—and the Maori were driven by a wild urge for revenge.

  Karl followed Ottfried, who had overcome his initial shock and turned to flee. Fenroy was still trying to intercede, but one look at the faces of the Maori was enough for Karl to know that diplomacy was no longer an option. He saw guns flash. The English had fired only one shot, but now the Maori warriors reacted with a hail of musket balls. Of course they had weapons, and they were probably far better with them than the settlers.

  As Karl raced down the path to the pier, he saw men falling around him and heard Wakefield and Thompson shouting and calling them cowards. A few r
emained where they were and returned fire, killing several Maori. Then Karl heard a scream that made him turn around. Tuckett, the surveyor, had been shot in the leg.

  Karl rushed toward him and dragged him into the shelter of a bush. The man groaned and held his right thigh. The injury didn’t seem life threatening, but there was no way he could walk on his own.

  “Put your arm around my shoulders,” Karl ordered the man. “And run!”

  Tuckett tried, but then collapsed on the ground again, panting hard.

  “We surrender,” Wakefield cried over his shoulder. “Soldiers, lay down your arms! This is insane, we have to stop! Everyone surrender!”

  Karl saw the captain pull out a white handkerchief, tie it to a branch, and wave it in the air. Tuckett seemed to be unsure. Now they had almost reached the water’s edge, and the first men were already putting the Maori canoes into the water to paddle back to the Victoria. Others were trying to swim. Ottfried was one of them, and he looked at the captain in panic, not seeming to understand his gestures, and certainly not his words.

  Karl hauled Tuckett to his feet. If Ottfried didn’t know what a white flag meant, how would the Maori? Besides, Tuckett desperately needed a doctor.

  “We’re leaving!” he shouted in the surveyor’s ear.

  He hesitated briefly, wavering between using the canoes and swimming, but then shoved Tuckett into the water, using a canoe for cover. He kept hearing screams, and Karl wondered how they would be able to reach the deck of the Victoria from the water. But then a rope was tossed down to them. He tied it around Tuckett’s body, and the crew pulled the surveyor aboard. Karl found a rope ladder on the vessel’s side. He climbed aboard and fell against the rail, exhausted, directly behind Ottfried.

  Some of the Maori warriors leaped into the remaining canoes and tried to reach the ship. Others shot at the brig. A few of the English who had already reached the ship returned fire and gave the last stragglers a chance to get on board before the crew set sail.