“Madame…Moana how is it that you speak such perfect English? I have been trying hard to learn English and find it to be a difficult language.”
“I was educated in England,” said Moana. “I was sent to Cheltenham Ladies’ College where I learned excellent English, as well as many other things that have not been at all useful, Latin for example, and playing the pianoforte.”
Mette had been about to tell Moana she thought everyone in the Pawould be a savage, but stopped herself.
They could see Frank and Hakopa talking by the river, both gesticulating as if they were having trouble talking.
“I believe they need me to translate,” said Moana. “Would you like to see how we cook?”
“I would like that very much,” said Mette.
Moana called out sharply in Māoriand a woman dressed in a traditional reed skirt and embroidered top came over and smiled at Mette, who stood there wondering if she should rub noses with her. Moana said something to the woman, who took Mette’s arm and pulled her towards to hangi.
“She will show you the hangi,” said Moana. “You will not need to understand what she says, as it will be evident. I will go and translate for my husband and Sergeant Hardy.”
The women were still clearing ash and cold stones from the hole. One came up to Mette and touched her hair, stroking her plaits and pulling them gently forward.
“Hine-raumati,” she said. The first woman nodded, turned to Mette and repeated the other’s words. “Hine-raumati.”
Mette touched her own hair. They were intrigued by the colour, it seemed. The two women returned to the hangi and continued piling stones beside the oven, removing any ash that had accumulated from a previous meal. Once all the stones and ash were removed they began to rebuild the hangi with manuka sticks laid in a crisscross pattern. Then they pushed twigs and dry grasses down the sides and lit the dry grass with a flint struck sharply against a rock. Once the fire was burning they tossed the stones on top and stood back.
A movement between two whare caught her eye and she glanced over. Someone was standing in the shadows watching her; she looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring back. Before she could sneak another look, Moana returned, looking annoyed. The men were managing without her assistance. She nodded her approval at the way the hangi had fired up, and said to Mette, “When the logs burn away and the stones sink, we will place the food in flax tete on the hot stones.”
She spoke briskly, and although Mette had a thousand questions she did not think that Moana cared about answering her. One of the women, the same one who had touched her hair, said something to Moana and pointed at Mette.
“They’ve given you a Māori name,” said Moana. “You are Hine-raumati, the Summer Maid, because of your hair, which reminds us of the summer and the golden corn. Hine-raumati is the wife of Tama nui te ra, the sun god. Sergeant Hardy is not a sun god, however. He is more like the god of war, so we must choose a different name for him.”
“Hine-raumati,” said Mette, relieved that Sergeant Frank was not to be given the name of the husband of the Summer Maid, “What a wonderful name. I’m proud that your women have given it to me.” As she turned to smile at the women, she saw the man between the whare again. He had come out of the shadows and was staring across at Frank and Hakopa.
She felt a jolt of recognition. Surely that was the Hauhau who had tried to take her pig. What was he doing, standing there as if he belonged? It could not be him. But she had seen the blue butterfly on his face. It must be him. She had not seen another Māoriman with a butterfly moko. She held her smile and looked at the women and past them, her head fixed in place, moving her eyes. As she stared, he slipped behind the whare. But as he did so, she realized the man was not bearded. It was not the Hauhau then. But the moko was the same. Did that moko mean something? Was there more than one man with the same design on his face? A gang, perhaps?
“I would show you our gardens now,” said Moana. Mette jumped and turned to her. “But I see my husband and Sergeant Hardy are returning from the river.”
Mette’s heart was pounding. Why would the Hauhau be at the Pa? Had she imagined him and his butterfly moko? Was it him without his beard, or another man with the same moko? She saw Frank separate from the group of men and come towards her telling her it was time to go. I won’t tell him I saw the Hauhau, she thought. He’ll think I imagined it. Perhaps I did imagine it.
She said goodbye to Moana, almost unable to look at her, nodded towards the women and climbed aboard the trap.
“Did you learn anything about Paul and Jens?”
“Hakopa suggested I look down in the estuary, near Foxton,” said Frank. “He said if they drowned and their bodies got caught in the current might travel all that way down past Foxton. He says he’s seen it happen before when the river is running high, and usually the bodies are washed back up on the beach. I’ll ride down there if I don’t find them soon.”
“Was he a friendly man?” asked Mette, thinking of her possible sighting of the Hauhau.
“Friendly?” asked Frank. “He seemed friendly enough. Why do you ask?”
“I mean, do you think he would be friendly to settlers?” she said, struggling with the thought of telling him about the Hauhau. Had she really seen him? “Would he have any reason to lie to you if he had found the boys’ bodies, or even if he had found them alive?”
“He seemed less aware of the world than his wife,” said Frank. “We were his guests, and he treated me as a guest, but after meeting his wife I was expecting him to be sharper.”
“He was blunt?” asked Mette, looking puzzled.
“By sharper, I mean he didn’t catch on well, considering the obvious intelligence of his wife. He’s been a good friend to the government though and is influential with many of the iwi.”
“Ah,” said Mette. “Then he’s a good man who wouldn’t hurt us?”
“I’m sure he would not,” said Frank, looking at Mette, puzzled. She could see he was wondering why she had asked.
“I asked him, through his wife, if he knew of anyone living up behind the sawmill,” added Frank. “He said one of the younger men had mentioned a man called Anahera who visited the Pa at night sometimes, who could be the man I was referring to. But his wife broke in and said Anahera means angel, and they were talking about visions they had during prayer. I didn’t believe her. Did you ask Moana anything about your Hauhau?”
“When she came back from translating for you she was angry about something,” she said. Should she tell Frank about the man she had seen? She would eventually. “She spoke in a sharp manner to the women, and answered my few questions in a very—what did you call it—in a very blunt manner. I didn’t feel I could ask any more questions.”
“I have more questions than answers at this point,” he said. “Not about the boys and where they might be, but about this Anahera who visits the Pa at night. He could be your Hauhau, but there’s also someone from Poverty Bay the Armed Constabulary are looking for. Poverty Bay is a long way from here, but if it’s the same man there could be trouble. Not for you or your people, but for ex-soldiers like me.”
Mette decided to say nothing. It was not possible that she had seen the Hauhau; she remembered his beard clearly. She had described it to Sergeant Frank that first day, when she ran in front of his horse. She must have imagined the resemblance.
11
The Ka Mate Haka
“The Māoripeople were not as frightening as I thought they would be,” admitted Mette as they left the Pa. By now she had pushed the possibility that she had seen the Hauhauto the back of her mind. “I liked the cooking in the ground with the heated rocks – the hangi –although I saw only the preparation and not the cooking. Moana did tell me something of how it’s done. I’d like to try cooking with heated rocks when I’m back at my…at Pieter’s house.” She paused for a minute, and added, “Of course I couldn’t tell Pieter about the hangi, or show him one. He already believes that the Māoriintend to roast u
s on a spit over the fire, like the piglet, if they have the opportunity.”
They travelled in silence for a few minutes, and then Mette asked, “How did you come to understand speak Māori, Sergeant Frank?”
“I don’t speak Māori, not really,” he said. “But I understand it somewhat, and I can speak a few words. I worked with the loyal Māori, Kupapathey were called, back when we were chasing Titokowaru back into the Great Swamp.”
“These Kupapawere fighting with you against the Hauhau?” asked Mette. “I thought you were fighting natives? The natives were also fighting natives?”
“They were afraid they would lose their land,” he said. “And swore allegiance to the Crown to keep it safe. Of course, some of them lost it anyway. The government was brutal, back in the 1860’s.”
“You think the government was wrong,” she said, looking at him. “That they should not force people off their land.” It was not a question.
“You’re right. I don’t,” he said. “People who live on the land should have rights to that land, like the estate where my father lives, which has small tenants who farm the land and pay the landlord rent. The landlord would never clear them off the land.”
“But he – the land owner – could die,” she said. “And what then? His sons could clear away the tenants.”
“No, there are laws protecting tenants now. The past was different. Scottish landlords evicted crop-farming tenants and replaced them with sheep. Sheep are easy, they can roam free without being tended like cows or crops.” He smiled at her, remembering how bored he had been with the idea of being a sheep farmer. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right woman to work the farm with him.
“In Schleswig, as well,” said Mette, avoiding hid gaze. “The land was owned by a gutsherrand the small farmers – the grundholden– leased the land from him, but there were reforms many years ago, and…” She stopped. Before them a horse grazed at the edge of the track. “Someone left a…”
A figure rose from the bank above. He wore a piupiu and his waist and carried a Māorispear, held in both hands.
“Get down, Mette,” said Frank urgently. “Down by my feet.”
She slid down behind the footboard and Frank put one foot on her shoulder. Through the boards, she could see that it was theHauhauAnahera. His eyes bulged and his face was a mask of surprised rage, his arms raised with elbows bent and fingers splayed. He almost looked as if he was play-acting, but she was terrified anyway. “The Hauhau,” she said, her voice shaking. “He’s come to kill us. Again. He looks very angry. I should have told you…”
“He has a taiaha,” said Frank softly. “He must have got it from the Pa. I still have the tomahawk he threw at us…”
“Does that matter now?” Mette whispered. “He can kill us with his spear.”
“One of us,” said Frank grimly. “If he’s lucky. He only gets one shot.”
Anahera squatted down lower, his legs spread wide, and Mette waited for him to leap towards them, but instead he drove the spear into the ground and began to chant, slapping his hands against his thighs rhythmically and stamping one foot. After several slaps, he raised both hands towards them at waist height, with fingers shaking. “Ka mate Ka mate, Ka ora, Ka ora…”
“Why is he dancing like that,” whispered Mette, clutching Frank’s boot. “Such a very angry dance. He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”
“It’s a war dance, done before battle,” said Frank, his eyes fixed on the Hauhau. “A peruperu– a haka. Mette, he’s looking at me, only me, and there’s a revolver in my inside coat pocket. Pull it out and drop it on the seat. I’ll keep my hands on the reins where he can see them. Do it slowly and don’t let him see you.”
Her hand shaking, Mette eased her hand upward into his pocket. She could feel his heart beating slowly against her hand. He was not afraid. She lifted the gun slowly from his pocket and slid it down to her lap. Her own heart was beating very fast. She could hear it inside her head. Anahera’s stamping and chanting grew louder and he slapped his thigh with increasing forcefulness.
“Hurry,” said Frank. “He’s almost done.” His eyes were fixed ahead, his hands on the reins, unmoving.
Mette threw the gun up on the seat, put her hands over her head and closed her eyes.
“When I pick up the gun and shoot, get yourself down as low as you can,” said Frank. “He’s going to throw the taiaha, and once he does he won’t have a weapon. Then we’ll have the advantage. I have two shots chambered. He won’t get near us alive.”
The haka ended: “Kotahe, e rua, e toru e fa! He!” Anahera thrust his tongue out at them, still crouching, his eyes bulging.
Frank picked up the gun from the seat in one smooth move, and she heard a click. She looked up and saw his arm pointing forward. He was staring down his arm, his eyes narrowed, focused on the Hauhau.
“Shoot him!” she said urgently, looking up at him. “Sergeant Frank, shoot him before he kills us.”
He shook his head. “I can’t shoot first.”
Anahera pulled the spear from the ground, whipped it back and then threw it towards them. Mette heard a bang, then Frank slid on top of her and gave a grunt. He’s dead, she thought. He’s dead. But she felt his elbows dig into her as he rammed home another shot, followed by another loud bang that almost deafened her. Anahera yelled, and Mette saw him leap on his horse, holding one arm.
Frank was upright again, watching his adversary as he rammed two more bullets into the chamber.
“He isn’t going,” said Mette. Her heart was almost leaping from her chest, partly from fear, partly from relief that Sergeant Frank was still alive. She heard two clicks.
“I have two more shots,” said Frank. “If he comes at us, I’ll shoot him again. One of the shots will hit him.” His hand was steady now, raised so he could sight down his arm towards the Hauhau.
Anahera stared at them for a few seconds, then pulled the reins back on his horse, turned, and rode away.
Frank let the gun fall to his side and looked at Mette.
“Are you all right, Mette?”
“Aren’t you going to chase him and shoot him Sergeant Frank?” she asked.
He helped her up from the footboard.
“Not in a pony cart,” he said. “And I don’t intend to kill anyone again if I can help it.”
“I saw him at the Pa,” said Mette. “I should have told you. I thought it was him but I wasn’t sure; his beard…”
“Hmm,” said Frank. “I wonder what he was doing there?”
“Why would he want to kill you?” asked Mette, trying to remember if the man who had attacked them had a beard. It had all happened too fast. She didn’t want Frank to think she was a confused woman; would he not have noticed that the Hauhau had shaved his beard?
He shook his head. “I have an idea, but I need to talk to a few people first. There’s need for you to worry. I think he’s after me, or someone like me.”
He set the gun the between them on the seat, and flicked his whip at the horse. “I’ll take you home and then go back to town to talk with Constable Price. See what he wants to do. Hang tight, I’m going to travel fast.”
Mette clung to the seat and they set off at high speed. She did not think a human could travel so fast and not die, but after so much terror and excitement today, nothing more could scare her. She knew now if she was with Sergeant Frank she would be safe. He could manage anything the world threw at him, and at her. One thing she was sure of, though, was that she would not be telling this story to Maren and Pieter. Especially not Pieter.
12
The Posse
Constable Price had no reservations about what was going on.
“A haka?” he asked. “I doubt he was trying to kill you. All this about an avenging angel is tommyrot. He’s probably someone from the Pa with a grudge against pakeha and he wants to make it look like a ceremonial revenge.”
“You haven’t heard about him before, Anahera, the Avenging Angel?” Frank a
sked. “Have the Armed Constabulary still not spoken to you?”
“Don’t tell me anything, those chumps,” said Price. “Not unless I have something they need. But we can talk to Constable Karira from the Pa. He may know something. Have you met him?”
Frank shook his head.
“He’s distantly related to that Karira fellow who was the first Native Constable, up in New Plymouth. He’s a fine chap, almost European. He was educated in England was Wiremu. Knows a thing or two.”
Constable Karira was, as described, a fine chap. He came out of the station when summoned, wearing a grey suit, his boots buffed to a high gleam, his thick wavy black hair brushed straight back from his clean-shaven face, and cut shorter than most Europeans. He shook Frank’s hand firmly.
“I haven’t heard of an angel,” he said. “Anahera. Sounds like a wild story to me, someone wanting to kill people for some misdeed from the past. Wishful thinking, I expect. But the man coming to the Pa is not Anahera, the Angel, if there is such a person. Hakopa would never put up with someone like that.”
“I told him that,” said Constable Price. “A local using those stories to create fear, thinking it might help drive the settlers away. Some of those Scandies, it wouldn’t take much.”
“I have heard of a man who comes to the Pa sometimes to get potatoes,” said Karira. “But just a man, not some kind of ferocious angel.”
“The man who tried to kill me was near the Pa.” said Frank.
“Not likely him,” said Karira. “I can’t imagine anyone calling the man I’ve heard about Anahera. He’s just a crazy local Māori who wants to live in the bush away from people.”
“Who was the man I saw then,” said Frank.
“No idea,” said Karira. “Maybe you did see this Avenging Angel from Poverty Bay.”
“The Angel of Death, more like,” said Constable Price. “We should go root him out, see what he thinks he’s up to. And to find out if he is the same man who’s been coming to the Pa.”
Not the Faintest Trace Page 10