by Sarah Lark
“That will certainly reduce his sentence. Regarding his presence at the execution, though, it’s your word alone against a large number of Maori warriors,” Karl said.
“Doesn’t his word count more?” Jane asked.
Chris had invited Jane and Te Haitara to join them in large part to spare the chieftain either having to dine alone with Jane or being subjected to mistreatment in the main dining room. The Commercial Hotel, the venerated hotel in the center of Auckland, had only accepted Te Haitara once Karl and Chris vouched for him. The ariki had pointedly booked the most expensive suite and was now being treated politely—for the most part.
“After all, he’s a clergyman,” Jane continued. “A reverend. The jury should believe him.”
Karl shrugged. “They surely won’t accuse Franz of lying. But the pakeha think all tattooed warriors look alike.”
“And the prosecution could use that fact to discredit Franz’s testimony,” Cat said.
Ida hadn’t said anything so far. As usual, she preferred not to share her ideas until she’d thought them through in detail. Finally, she spoke up.
“Maybe—maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea for Franz to say he remembers Eru.”
“What?”
The question was echoed by several voices, and Jane glared at Ida as though she were about to pounce on her.
“Well, think about it this way,” Ida said. “Franz can take some of the pressure off Eru, but he can’t get him off the hook completely. To the contrary, with his testimony, Franz will actually be confirming that Eru was in Opotiki on the day in question.” Ida toyed with her napkin.
“So?” Karl said. “He was there.”
“He hasn’t officially confirmed that yet.” Ida was slowly becoming more courageous. “He could lie. Then it would be his word against the Hauhau warriors’. If someone can say that Eru was somewhere else at the time in question—”
“Ida!” Cat cried. “That would be a lie!”
“I will not lie,” Franz declared, tight-lipped.
Linda poked him. “We are all in agreement that all tattooed warriors look the same to you.” Her eyes flashed as she looked at Ida. “You’re right, Mamida! That’s Eru’s only chance. What I don’t understand is why the arrested warriors are conspiring against him.”
“It’s not so hard to understand,” Bill interjected. He was sitting next to Carol, and was experiencing the full effect of the large, unusual family for the first time. “Eru changed allegiances in order to save Carol and Mara. He betrayed the Hauhau and helped the army attack Pokokaikai. Now they’re taking revenge.”
“That’s another argument for Eru’s side,” Ida said, pleased. “We can explain to the court why the Hauhau warriors are lying. If we only had someone to give an alibi.”
But Jane had gone pale. “They’re—taking revenge on him?” she whispered. “They want to see Eru hang as utu?”
“Would it be so bad if the boy spent a few years in prison?” Franz asked.
Linda and Carol had wanted a short walk on elegant Queen Street after the meal, and Franz and Bill observed as the young women admired the clothes, hats, and parasols on display in the exquisite shop windows. Mara trailed Carol like a shadow. She seemed not to even see the displays.
“Perhaps it would even do him good to make amends for his deeds. He seems to feel guilty about them.”
Franz was referring to something else that had been bothering Jane and Te Haitara: Eru didn’t want his parents to visit him, and apparently, he didn’t want them to defend him either. After the shock of his arrest, it had done him good to tell the lawyer his story, but now he’d come to terms with his situation. His lawyer told them Eru was ready to accept whatever punishment the court deemed fit.
Linda tore her attention away from a lace tea gown that she certainly would never have the opportunity to wear at the orphanage. She looked at Franz and shook her head.
“Franz, don’t tell me you’ve lived among the Maori so long and still don’t understand their customs,” she said, scolding. “You know what utu is.”
“Of course,” he said. “Compensation, making amends.”
Linda nodded. “Yes, that’s how we translate it for the children. If Ahuru throws around Hani’s inkpot, he has to clean up and refill it. Eru betrayed the Hauhau, and they want him to die for it. So far that’s been difficult to achieve, because those who were most affected have been in a prison camp, and no one knew where Eru was. I imagine they thought he was back on the South Island with his tribe. But then the idea occurred to someone to let the pakeha take care of the matter. The Hauhau want to see Eru hang. If that doesn’t happen, then . . . The prison he’d be sent to is full of Hauhau warriors, Franz. Eru wouldn’t survive a week.”
Mara snapped to attention and stared at her sister with wide eyes. “They would kill him?” she whispered.
“If he goes to prison, they will kill him,” Carol said and put an arm around her. “But perhaps Mamida’s idea could work. Jane just has to find someone who will lie for him.”
“Someone who will lie convincingly,” Bill added. “The jury isn’t stupid. And this is where it gets tricky: it has to be someone white. A Maori can’t do it; otherwise, they might be targeted next. So, Jane has to find a pakeha who had access to a Hauhau pa at the time in question. That’s easier said than done. Perhaps an arms dealer? Of course, then the person would be admitting to having supplied the enemy with guns. In order for someone to admit that and basically go to jail in Eru’s stead, they would have to be offered a fortune. And that’s if anyone would even consider it.”
Franz’s brow creased. “In any case, I will do my best and speak for him with all my powers of persuasion,” he promised.
“That won’t be enough,” Mara whispered. “It’s not enough . . .”
Chapter 75
Time passed quickly before the trial began in November. Jane, Te Haitara, and Chris remained in Auckland, while the others returned to Russell, Otaki, and Rata Station. They would come back for the trial. Now that the Hauhau were conquered, the journey was no longer dangerous. However, Cat would have to stay at Rata Station. The birth of her child was imminent.
In the interim, Chris kept everyone informed by letter. The news was not encouraging. Eru had committed himself to silence, even with Sir Richard. He had said everything he had to say. The private detective Jane had hired hadn’t been able to find a willing false witness or even Reverend Gallant, the second missionary Eru had rescued. After the traumatic experience with Voelkner, Gallant had returned to England.
“The sentence will depend on your testimony alone, Reverend,” Sir Richard said as he sat down across from Franz and Mara the day before the main trial. “It depends on whether you can convince the court that Eru had no part in planning or carrying out Voelkner’s murder. I hope that someone at the scene documented that the scene of the crime was visible from your prison. If they didn’t, there may be problems. Additionally, there are the mitigating circumstances of your release at Eru’s hands. You should describe it as vividly as possible as well. Which leads us to the rescue of Miss Jensch.” He turned to Mara. “Are you really prepared to testify, Miss Jensch?”
Mara wore a simple dark blue dress. Ida had made it for her for her appearance in court. Her pregnancy was now clear to see, and she looked even more miserable than she had during her previous visit to Auckland.
Mara nodded. She toyed restlessly with a small flute, and Franz wondered where she’d hidden the knife Ida had told him about. Was it in the pocket of her dress, her boot?
“There’s a letter here for you, by the way,” the lawyer said and pulled a plain white envelope out of his pocket. “It’s from Eru. He asked me if you would testify, and I told him that you were coming. The next time I visited him, he gave me the letter. I hope you won’t change your mind after reading it.”
Mara took the letter and put it in her pocket. She would read it later in her hotel room. Now she answered Sir Richard’s questions. He was rehearsing
the trial, first with Franz, and then with Mara. The reverend spoke with a calm voice that was trained by preaching, and Mara answered quietly, without inflection. She kept her head lowered. She told her story demurely and briefly.
“It would be better if you could look at the judge and jury as you speak,” Sir Richard instructed her. “Or at least at me. Otherwise, it’s difficult to understand you, and that doesn’t make a very good impression.”
Mara nodded and glanced up, then let her long black hair fall over her face again. Sir Richard considered advising her to put it up but decided it wasn’t his place. The girl was a poor witness anyway.
“Then sleep well,” the lawyer said, taking leave of his witnesses. “Don’t worry too much about the young man. We will certainly be able to reduce the sentence.” He smiled weakly. “A few years in prison won’t kill him.”
Mara’s heart pounded when she was finally alone in her room and could open Eru’s letter. She was sharing a room with her sister, but Carol had gone down to eat. Mara had pretended she wasn’t hungry, and Ida and Cat would surely be upset about it. She ate too little as it was; she knew it herself. But at the thought of what Eru was facing, every morsel of food caught in her throat. If only he hadn’t come to her in Russell! He would have been safer on the South Island. It was one of many thoughts that plagued her. Carol said it was nonsense, that anyone looking for Eru would have gone to the Ngai Tahu. There was no reason for her to feel guilty, but Mara did anyway. If he hadn’t been chasing Te Ori, he would never have betrayed the Hauhau . . .
She slowly opened the letter and saw Eru’s familiar handwriting on the cheap prison paper. She began to read.
My dearest Mara Marama,
Forgive me that I still call you by that name, but that’s how I think of you. I remember how you always corrected me—I know you’re not named after the moon but after a flower that doesn’t grow in New Zealand. It could never be more beautiful than you are, Mara Margaret Marama. Nothing and no one in the world could be more beautiful than you. Yes, I know, I’ve told you so many times. And I also remember what your answer was. I know that I was also once beautiful for you. I am endlessly sorry to have destroyed that. It pierces my heart that you no longer want to see me; and that you are no longer able to see me. Forgive me if I still can’t accept that. Please forgive my insistence in Russell—and please don’t feel obligated to expose yourself to the sight of me in the courtroom! You certainly shouldn’t have to face the warriors of Pokokaikai again there. You should never have to look at a face covered with moko again. At least not at one that means you harm. I hope you will grow accustomed to my father’s countenance again, and those of the other men in my tribe. It would be sad if you could never play the koauau again with the women or sing our songs. You wouldn’t have to see me there; I will not return to the South Island.
I wish with all my heart that someday you will again be able to think of me without anger, dearest Marama. I made many mistakes, but perhaps the spirits were also guiding me. If I hadn’t given up my face and gone to the North Island, then I wouldn’t have found you in Waikoukou. Then I couldn’t have saved you from Te Ori. You wouldn’t be safe now. At least the knowledge that I was able to do so gives me strength for everything I have to face.
I will always love you, Mara, and under the moko that you so hate, I will always be the person you once loved.
Eru
When Mara put the letter aside, the ink was smeared by her tears. She threw a shawl over her summer dress and reached for her flute.
“Is that a bird?” the guard at the courthouse jail asked.
“Sounds nice,” replied his colleague. “It must be coming from the park. But it’s not a kiwi, is it?”
The first guard laughed. “No, they sound more like they’re croaking. This here sounds like a nightingale or a lark. I can’t remember anymore how they sang in Ireland.”
“I wonder if the Maori knows what it is,” the second said curiously. He peeked through the barred window of the holding cell at the prisoner due to be tried the next day. “Asleep already,” he reported. “Has the blanket pulled up over his head.”
Eru tried to block out the sound of the koauau. Where was it coming from? It must be some kind of hallucination. Next he’d probably be hearing Te Ua’s voice. But the sounds didn’t disappear as he hid under his blanket. He heard the song all night.
Sir Richard Brady watched as the jurors entered the court building, and he greeted them politely if he thought that they remembered him. He had recently gotten to know the interrogators, and whether they were getting out of noble carriages, tying up their horses in front of the courthouse, or coming on foot, they all seemed to be upright, respectable members of the community. It hadn’t been easy to find twelve men who had no prejudices against the Maori of New Zealand in spite of the bloodshed of the last few years. It was very important to the prosecutor that the jury would listen to the statements of the Hauhau warriors just as attentively as they did that of the Englishmen. These men would strive to be fair, and Sir Richard respected them for it—even if it might not work in his client’s favor.
Finally, he entered the court building himself and stopped short. Mara Jensch was standing in the corridor in front of the courtroom. The young woman looked as though she were waiting for someone, and she made a completely different impression than she had the day before. She wore the same dress, but her hair was braided and pinned up, and her pale, even face was flushed. She was alone. The young woman seemed relieved when she saw the attorney. She strode purposefully toward him.
“Sir Richard?” Her voice was fuller and more self-assured. “May I speak to you for a moment? We have to change something about the proceedings.”
Sir Richard led her into a conference room so they could speak confidentially. “Miss Jensch, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said kindly. “What would you like to change?”
Mara took a deep breath. “I want to testify first. As a witness for the defense. I have something important to say.”
“You are more of a character witness, Miss Jensch,” the lawyer said. “The most important issue is what happened in Opotiki. Only Reverend Lange can help with that.”
Mara shook her head. “You won’t need Reverend Lange to testify anymore. Te Eriatara was never in Opotiki.”
Sir Richard was still in too much shock from Mara’s revelation to enjoy the cross-examination with the witnesses for the prosecution. But the first part of the process went entirely in his favor. None of the four Maori warriors who testified against Eru spoke English, and the interpreter became entangled in their contradictions. All four claimed that Eru had taken a primary role in Voelkner’s murder, but none were in agreement about what exactly he had done. Had he led the Hauhau chants, or had he actually gone as far as throwing the noose over the branch of the willow tree? Had he struck the missionary before his execution or just taunted him? Sir Richard made a great effort to pick holes in the testimonies of the men being cross-examined, but the interpreter made it difficult for him. The prosecutor then attributed all the contradictory statements to problems of understanding and translation mistakes.
“Well, none of it matters, anyway,” Sir Richard told him with a smile. “I would like to call one witness immediately whose testimony will make everything the men have said sound absurd. Do you have anyone else who wants to tell us what Eric Fenroy allegedly did in Opotiki?”
Eru and Te Haitara winced at the same time. Jane lowered her eyes. Sir Richard had prepared all of them for the fact that Eru would be addressed by the name on his birth certificate during the trial. But it was something else entirely to hear it used. Chris, too, looked uncomfortable.
“We could call a number of witnesses,” the prosecutor declared regally, “but we don’t want to take up too much of the court’s time. It may be possible to argue over details. It all happened quite some time ago, and perhaps the witnesses can’t remember the little things anymore. But the elements of offense are
clear: Eric Fenroy took part in Carl Voelkner’s murder. He was second-in-command to the main perpetrator, Kereopa Te Rau.”
“Your Honor, and gentlemen of the jury.” Sir Richard turned first to the judge, and then managed to give the impression that he was speaking personally to every single one of the men on the jury. “I would like to refute that statement. If the prosecution has no more witnesses, I would like to call Margaret Jensch to the witness stand.”
“Objection! The young lady wasn’t even there,” the prosecutor said.
Sir Richard gave him a sly smile. “The young gentleman wasn’t there either, Your Honor.”
Whispering filled the courtroom. The accused, who had so far seemed almost completely detached from the proceedings, let out a strangled sound as a bailiff ushered Mara inside. With her clear blue-green eyes, she briefly sought the gaze of her mother and sister in the audience and then glanced at the judge and jury, Sir Richard, and the prosecutor. Finally, her gaze rested on the accused. Eru returned her look in shock.
The bailiff ordered silence. Mara proceeded to the witness stand and swore in a clear voice to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Then she looked at Sir Richard as expectantly as a schoolgirl waiting to recite a poem. He didn’t waste time with a long introduction.
“Miss Jensch, where was the accused, Eric Fenroy, on March 2, 1865, at ten in the morning?”
Mara gazed at him earnestly. “I don’t know,” she said in a sweet voice. “He left me at around six that morning.”
The whispers began again. The judge called for order.
“Where were you on March second at ten a.m., and also at six a.m.?” Sir Richard continued.
Mara lowered her eyes. “From March until June 1865, my sister and I were at General Cameron’s military base in Patea. And on the night of March first, well, actually almost every night in the following months, I was in the woods. With Eru—with Eric Fenroy.”
A confused babble of voices and cries arose from the audience. The court artist sketched as quickly as he could. The image of the beautiful young woman on the witness stand would be in every paper on the North Island the following morning.