The Fire Blossom

by Lark, Sarah

  Cat realized with amazement that women were highly respected in the tribes. Mana wasn’t a question of gender, and the Maori had completely different traditions than the pakeha when it came to sex. For example, no one would have had the idea to pay a Maori woman for services like the whores in Piraki Bay, and no one thought less of a girl if she disappeared into the woods with a young man. Every woman in the tribe was respected. She didn’t have to be born to a married couple, and she certainly didn’t have to be chaste.

  Cat didn’t know for sure, but she seemed to be the only one among her friends who had never lain with a man. The others teased her about it, and sometimes even said that she must be waiting for a pakeha prince, or made lewd comments about visiting merchants or missionaries. The white men couldn’t understand, but their lustful glances were already enough to make Cat painfully uncomfortable. Every one of the pakeha men seemed to undress her with their eyes, so she usually hid in the back row during any greeting ritual.

  During the dancing at the powhiri, the daughters of the tribe traditionally wore piu piu, which were short skirts made of dried flax leaves, and skimpy woven tops. For the Europeans, it looked quite improper. When Cat was needed as an interpreter, she usually wrapped herself in a blanket as though she was cold. She also declined to adopt the tradition of walking around the village in the summer without any top at all.

  The fact that the Maori men didn’t bother her certainly had to do with the fact that they respected her lack of interest—but another reason might have been that Cat just didn’t meet Maori beauty standards. Perhaps the men thought her skin too pale, her face too narrow . . . Cat didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She wasn’t interested in sex with the young warriors, and certainly not in marriage. The men who had thrown themselves on her drunken mother’s body had been the cause of too many sleepless nights for her as a child. As a young woman now, she didn’t want to dream about a lover.

  “When are we expecting the pakeha ship?” Cat asked Te Puaha. “And how many are there, anyway?”

  “The scouts think there are around fifty,” Te Puaha replied. “The surveyor from before, Cotterell, is with them, and Captain Wakefield too. They were spotted on the river when the sun was at its zenith. They should be here before it sets.”

  Chapter 16

  “They don’t even know we’re coming!” Thompson crowed to his men. The Victoria had been sailing up the river for several hours. “The moment of surprise is very important, and we should keep our weapons in full view. With the savages, intimidation is the name of the game.”

  Karl listened carefully, happy that he could understand most of the English. But Thompson’s speech reminded him about his musket. He should really try to figure out how it was loaded, instead of admiring the passing landscape.

  The Wairau was bordered by lush, exotic-looking vegetation and wide plains covered in a sea of tussock grass, still brown from the winter. There was surely fertile farmland hiding underneath it, and Karl could also imagine that it would make good grazing for cows and sheep. But now he had to take care of the musket.

  While Thompson continued to rant, Karl attempted to get the weapon out of its holster. When he couldn’t even figure out how that worked, he looked around for help and saw a young man rolling his eyes at Thompson. The police magistrate was going on again about the moment of surprise.

  Karl thought about it for a moment, and then grinned at the young man. “Maori saw us already, yes?” he asked in his broken English.

  The man nodded. “You can bet on it, mate. They know this area like the backs of their hands—every tree and bush.”

  He indicated the thickly forested riverbank. Between the ferns and nikau palms, an entire army of natives could be hiding and not be seen from the ship. By contrast, the Victoria and its crew were impossible to miss.

  “What if . . . ?” Karl made a gesture to symbolize an attack. His conversation partner was about his age. He had thick brown hair tied back into a ponytail and alert hazel eyes. He smiled and supplied Karl with the word he was looking for.

  “Actually, they’re very peaceful. You don’t have to worry about being ambushed. Their scouts will just go back to the village and let them know when we’re coming, and they’ll prepare a lavish greeting ceremony for us. And I’ll have the pleasant task of trying to keep Thompson and Wakefield calm until the tribe has danced and sung for us, and then try to get our brave leaders to say a few words of thanks.”

  “You have task? Sorry, I cannot understand everything. Just came, learning English but slow.” Karl smiled apologetically.

  The man turned to him with more interest. “Oh, are you one of the new German settlers who didn’t get their land?” He held out his hand. “I’m Christopher Fenroy. Chris. I’m here as an interpreter. Not for German, though. I speak English and Maori.”

  “Karl Jensch.” Karl returned the strong handshake, pleased about the friendly greeting. “Yes, German, but no land. No money . . .”

  Fenroy nodded sympathetically. “Good for you. There’s plenty of work here. There are roads to be built, and soon railroad tracks too. If you’re a hard worker, you’ll be able to buy land before long. And your English is already quite good.”

  “You settler too?” Karl asked. “From England?”

  Fenroy shook his head. “No. I was born at this end of the world. Not in New Zealand, though. In Australia. My parents settled in Sydney and then came here when I was ten.”

  “And they have farm there?” Karl asked. “Or here?”

  “No.” Fenroy observed the riverbank carefully as he spoke. “My father did a bit of everything, and got along somehow. Basically, we weren’t much more than have-nots. Except we have a big name. The Fenroys are English nobility, and our relatives live in a castle in Yorkshire. But my branch of the family was destitute even when they were still in England. Whatever, I can’t complain. Everyone here needs an interpreter, and the pay isn’t bad.”

  “Where you learn Maori?” Karl asked curiously. “Is easy? Can I learn too?”

  Fenroy shook his head regretfully. “It’s damn difficult. It has absolutely nothing in common with English. I learned it as a kid. My father traveled from one tribe to the next and sold some household goods, but mostly whiskey. In the meantime, I played with the Maori boys. Later, I also played with the girls, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “And the Maori never hurt you?” Karl asked.

  The business of the musket was eating at him. It was interesting to talk to this man, who obviously knew more about the country than any of the others he’d spoken to. But if it came to a fight and he didn’t know how to use his weapon . . .

  Fenroy shook his head again. “They wouldn’t even hurt blind idiots like Thompson and Wakefield,” he said flippantly. “Sometimes I’m truly amazed at their patience with us. But they are very proud people. Te Rauparaha, who they actually want to arrest like a runaway crook, is a great chieftain who has won many battles against other tribes. Same with his son-in-law, Te Rangihaeata. With men like that, one should uphold peace and good neighborly friendship. So, I hope our police magistrate is content with a little saber rattling and doesn’t do anything seriously stupid. But to be honest, if Tuckett and Cotterell hadn’t begged me, I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Who is Tuckett, and who is Cotterell?” Karl asked, finally getting his musket out of the holster. “And—you know maybe how this works?”

  Fenroy smiled and examined the weapon. “Frederick Tuckett is the best surveyor in New Zealand,” he said, “and Cotterell works for him. He was supposed to survey here in the Wairau Valley, but the Maori threw him and his people out. I’ve traveled a lot with Tuckett, mostly on the North Island. Hopefully, I’ll understand the dialect here. Especially since he has promising contacts.”

  “Contacts?”

  Karl got out the primer and musket balls and offered them to Fenroy, who expertly pushed a ball into the muzzle.

  “Contacts,” he c
ontinued. “Mr. Tuckett knows someone he thinks could be useful to me. I would love to have a farm.” Fenroy’s eyes filled with yearning.

  Karl smiled. “Me too!” he said, and tried to copy Fenroy’s motions with the musket. “Just need money.”

  Fenroy winked at him conspiratorially. “Exactly. And you can earn money, or you can inherit it or marry it. In my case, someone is very keen to decorate his daughter with a noble English name. You might even know the man. Didn’t the Beits come on the Sankt Pauli?”

  Karl’s forehead creased. “You want marry daughter of John Nicholas Beit?”

  Fenroy raised his hands theatrically, as though to beg the heavens for help. “By the will of her daddy and God—well, I’ll have to ask the girl too. I hope she’s pretty. But just between you and me, if the dowry includes a few acres of farmland, I’m in. In any case, that’s another reason I’m on this mission. It’s very important to my potential father-in-law that the situation has a happy ending.” He smiled.

  But Karl thought of Jane Beit’s rudeness to him on the ship and felt something like pity. Or would Fenroy get engaged to one of her younger sisters? In any case, he found no reason to destroy his new friend’s illusions immediately.

  “Have you seen the girl, perhaps?” Fenroy asked. “Aboard the ship, or when you arrived? Her name is Jane.” While Karl struggled to think of a diplomatic answer, Chris went to the rail. Excitedly, he pointed to a kind of pier on the river. “We’ve arrived. Look, there’s the village.”

  Karl forgot about Jane Beit for the moment. He was expecting to see tents, but at first spotted only canoes lying on the pebble beach. A few of them were being put in the water. Men had already jumped into the first boat and were paddling toward the Victoria.

  Aboard the ship, trepidation was spreading. Karl was not the only one of the men who had never seen a Maori warrior before, and the sight was quite intimidating. They were tall, dark-skinned, muscular, and stocky. In spite of the winter temperatures, they were barefoot and topless. Only a few wore cloaks. Most of them made do with skirtlike loincloths, under which their strong thighs were visible.

  But for the inexperienced settlers, the most shocking part was the warriors’ faces. The curving blue designs made them look strange and dangerous. Karl had seen drawings of the Maori in his book, but he wasn’t the only one who was reminded of evil spirits or the devil. Other men reached for their muskets too.

  “Keep calm! Put your weapons down!” Someone said in a clear, calm voice. The speaker was a tall, unarmed man with full brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and carefully trimmed sideburns. He was slender and very formally dressed.

  “That’s Tuckett,” Fenroy said with satisfaction.

  “What—what is wrong with the faces?” Karl stammered.

  “Those are tribal tattoos. The Maori word is moko,” Fenroy said, and put a hand on Karl’s weapon. “Put it away fast, before anyone feels threatened.”

  “Tat—”

  “Tattoos,” Fenroy repeated. “They scratch their skin and rub dye into it. Looks bloodcurdling, I know, but you can’t argue about taste. In any case, all the Maori do it. They start when they are children, and the designs show which iwi, which tribe, they belong to.”

  “They have—weapons—” Karl didn’t know the word for spear, but he had noticed quickly that every warrior was carrying one.

  Fenroy nodded with composure. “Of course. They’re proud warriors, and they’re coming to greet us. It’s like an honor guard. When the English march, they wear sabers.”

  Karl was still struggling to fight back his nervousness when the first canoe stopped next to the Victoria and a man with a wide smile indicated that he wanted to board the brig.

  “Kia ora, English pakeha!” he called. “Welcome to the iwi of the Ngati Toa.”

  He scaled the side far more gracefully than one would have expected from such a large man, maneuvered himself over the rail, and stopped to look around. He’d left his spear in the canoe but was still carrying a club-like weapon on his belt. The settlers inched back fearfully, and Karl noticed that Ottfried Brandmann had gone deathly pale. The Maori approached Captain Wakefield, Police Magistrate Thompson, and the surveyor, who seemed unworried.

  Fenroy patted Karl encouragingly on the shoulder before he too started to move toward the group. “I have to work now,” he whispered.

  The Maori man stretched out a hand to Wakefield in greeting. “I, Te Puaha, nephew of chieftain. I greet you in name of Te Rauparaha.”

  “What if we don’t want to be greeted by him?” Thompson shot back.

  The young Maori looked uncertain, and almost hurt.

  “I greet!” he repeated, and then directed his outstretched hand at Wakefield.

  Now his gaze wandered over the group of men behind their leaders. It couldn’t have escaped him that many had their muskets in hand, and several were murmuring condemnations under their breath.

  Te Puaha lowered his hand. “I invite to sit in canoe. Is chieftain’s canoe. Is honor for Wakefield . . . and Thompson.”

  “Where did the monkey learn my name?” Wakefield whispered loudly to the police magistrate.

  “I already had honor to translate for chieftain,” Te Puaha explained. He didn’t react to the insult. Either he didn’t recognize the word or he was used to rude white men. “When land was sold. And now, please, Wakefield, you come greet tribe, greet ariki, chieftain. And you not speak to ariki like speak to me! Te Rauparaha great chieftain. Not patient!” The last words sounded like a warning.

  “Captain Wakefield, if you please!” Wakefield said sharply.

  That was when Christopher Fenroy took over. With a conciliatory gesture he asked the captain to be silent, and then spoke a few polite words to the Maori. He was obviously introducing himself and the surveyors.

  “We already know each other,” said Cotterell, a tall, thin man with light-colored hair and an oval face. “Kia ora, Te Puaha.”

  He held out his hand to the Maori whose tribe had burned down his hut a few weeks earlier.

  Te Puaha grinned. “Forgive, the last time unfriendly conditions. But don’t survey land not yours. Better like now. Come to marae of Ngati Toa, welcome, eat, talk.”

  He made a welcoming gesture toward the canoe again, which was a large boat with elaborate carvings. Tuckett glanced at Cotterell, and both surveyors headed toward the canoe. There was nothing for Captain Wakefield and Police Magistrate Thompson to do but follow them.

  “Canoes for all the men,” Te Puaha explained, pointing at Karl and the others, and then at other boats, which were now surrounding the Victoria in the water. “All welcome to powhiri. Haere mai.”

  Chris Fenroy turned to the men on the Victoria. “The tribe wants to honor us with a welcoming ceremony. You can get into their canoes without worry. The chieftain’s men will row you ashore. But please remain calm and polite. We are guests here—”

  “Guests!” Ottfried grunted to Karl in German, having recognized the word. “As though this was a courtesy call.”

  Karl didn’t answer. He was busy trying to holster his musket without alarming the Maori. Fortunately, it didn’t look as though he would need the weapon. Karl had decided to trust Fenroy. Smiling, he got into the first canoe.

  Chapter 17

  From the bank of the river, a relatively wide path led upward through the woods to the Maori village. The entry was framed by large red pillars carved into statues of gods. They had open mouths displaying impressive white teeth, yet they didn’t seem threatening. The men walked through the gate and into a village green surrounded by buildings.

  Karl gawked at the colorful wooden houses decorated with beautiful carvings of figures and intricate flowing designs. He’d pictured a rustic campsite with structures made of dirt and leaves, like the Indian camp he’d once seen a drawing of in a penny-dreadful magazine. He was shocked to be standing in a cheerful village of houses more robust and elaborate than the ones in Raben Steinfeld, and certainly better built than the homes in
Nelson. It was a strange, exotic setting, but nothing he saw fit his expectations of wild, uncivilized people.

  The residents of the village had gathered, and Karl estimated there were eighty or ninety of them. Women and children stood in the middle of the group, surrounded by older men and armed warriors. One group of richly dressed men and women stood slightly to the side. They were all older, and bedecked with jewelry made of jade and mother-of-pearl. One young woman stood out in the group. And not just because of her age.

  “I can’t believe it, a blonde Maori,” said Christopher Fenroy.

  At Te Puaha’s request, Fenroy had placed Captain Wakefield, Thompson, and the other white leaders across from the group of elders, and stood behind them as ordered.

  Karl turned his attention to the young woman. It was true, she looked completely different than the natives. She was perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, delicate, very slender, and pretty, and had no tattoos. The wide hairband she wore showed off her fine, almost aristocratic features. Her face was tanned a light, golden honey color, and her hair reminded him of wheat ready for harvest. The young woman wore Maori clothing. Her skirt was longer than the clothes of most of the other female members of the tribe but didn’t completely hide her long, tanned legs.

  Karl’s new friend Fenroy stared at the blonde woman as though she were an apparition. “She’s pakeha,” he whispered to Tuckett. The Maori word for settlers of European descent was understood by everyone in New Zealand.

  “She’s lovely.” The head surveyor smiled. “And now close your mouth, Fenroy, you’re embarrassing yourself. She’s probably the daughter of some Maori woman and a white man. That happens often enough.”