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IV. The Death Sign

I chant mine incantation now
To sky, to earth, to pit below.
Chant now thy song, mine enemy!
’Tis gloom on thee, but sunshine rests
On me. The mist now droops o'er thee,
But still the sun on me doth shine.
’Tis night with thee, but blaze of day
With me. And denser darkness now
Doth wrap thee round, while lifting clouds
Make clear the brightness of my sky.

White's Maori History.
(Ancient Battle-chant.)

As the sound of the chant died away, powerful fingers closed upon the Tuhoe's throat.

Valiantly the sentry strove to loosen that grip, to stay that relentless pressing backward of his head. In vain! Lifted off his feet, he still struggled, but soon Manaia exerted his tremendous strength to the full, and a sudden click came as the head fell limply to one side. Gently he lowered the body, and carried it to some distance from the edge, lest some other sentry should stumble on it in the darkness.

Then, cautiously, he felt his way towards the prison-hut of Manawa-roa. He knew it must be over there, standing by itself, near the cliff edge on the southern side. Soon his hands came in contact with the slab walls. He crept slowly, very slowly, towards the Tuhoe guard, who was softly chanting a dirge of grief at the death of some loved one:

“I weep my loss of long-kept bird,
Whose note would wake me at the dawn;
But now that bird has flown away
And gone to distance far from me.”

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Willingly would Manaia have spared him, but it could not be. For all the sound that came, the struggle might have been between two spirits of the dead. Ah! That ominous click again! Manaia propped the body up against the wall, and as he did so the weakly-chanted words of a captive's lament fell upon his ears. It was the death-chant of Manawa-roa:

“Here am I, weary, gaunt, captive,
Sitting aimlessly and alone
Whilst death comes near
And to its end doth draw
That path of glory, honour, fame,
Which youth laid out.”

A brief pause, and then the weak voice proceeded in tones of weariness and utter despair:

“Now, crushed by shame, my spirit dies within,
As crouching, it draws near to boyhood's home.
No welcome do I hear by uttered words
That sound to all the tribe my honoured name.
Ah me! so weak am I that barely now
Could I attempt to sweep the weeds aside
That grow along the path to my old home.”

The voice ceased, and then softly, and slowly, there came an answering chant from without, but this time it was a chant of Te Arawa:

“Ngatoro it was who
Saved the Canoe—–
Te Arawa,
From the “Throat of—–
The Parata,”
On the voyage from—–
Rarotonga.
Ngatoro it was who
Brought our Canoe—–
Te Arawa,
From the Isle Tawhiti—–
In safety,
Across the sea of—–
Kiwa.”

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A rustle from within, and a bony hand clutched at Manaia's knee. The hand trembled. A low moan issued through the open doorway.

The next moment Manaia was kneeling in the darkness of the hut, and was being silently tangi'd over by Manawa-roa. Six years a captive, but not altogether forgotten by the ariki, for here was his son, the young White Hawk Manaia, of whom he had heard! Joy and tears! Even a captive had not been forgotten! Greetings to the ariki!

Manaia pressed something into his hands. The moist leaves had kept the soil fresh, and the old chief recognised the scent at once. Only from Pukékura could this soil have come. He wept again, and very quietly he crooned:

“Mine eyes are dim
With mist of tears,
Yet now I see
The reddish hill
Of Pukékura.
I live again.”

A sudden whisper from Manaia reminded him that time was pressing:

“Where lies the young chief Rata? Quickly!”

“He is in the Wharé-tapéré,” whispered Manawa-roa in reply. “In it the youths and maidens of Tuhoe are assembled still. Hearken to their merriment! Perhaps they jeer at him.”

“Gave he any message as he passed this spot?” asked Manaia.

“No! Not to me!” replied Manawa-roa. “Yet stay! I heard his voice raised in some lament, in which he sang farewell to home and tribe, and sang farewell to thee and to some Puhi maiden whose name I do not page 98 know. Yet mostly I noticed a bitterness in his lament. He was betrayed.”

“So!” was all the comment that Manaia made, but a hot anger in his heart left him strangely weak. He moved towards the door, seeking the reviving freshness of the night air.

That bony hand clutched at him again, and fiercely the old man whispered:

“According to the promise of Mawaké-Taupo, a White Hawk is to bear an Arawa chief to Hawaiki. I am that Arawa chief. In the spirit, I have said farewell to the Red Hill of Pukékura, and to the tribe. I am ready to pass on to Hawaiki-the-Beloved, to Hawaiki-the-Long-Remembered. My head is resting against thy weapon. Now then! Fulfil the promise of the ariki!”

For a moment Manaia hesitated. He had known that this would come and yet the doing of it appalled him. He had had enough of death that night.

Fiercely again Manawa-roa whispered:

“Hasten! Dost wish me to die a lingering death in the horror of my captivity? If I die by thy hand, then are the Tuhoes cheated, and my name may yet be held in honour by my tribe. Now quickly! Patua! Kill!”

“The tale of thy love for Pukékura shall wipe out the shame of thy captivity,” replied Manaia quietly.

As if by instinct they moved outside. Manawa-roa could barely stand, but he would die under the starry sky that looked down upon his distant home. Nor did he forget to draw his garment over his head to deaden the sound.

The end came with one crushing blow from the greenstone meré. Tenderly Manaia lifted the wasted page 99 form and placed it in a sitting posture to one side of the open door. In its hands he left the red soil of Pukékura, then raised his weapon in farewell, and was gone.

From the far side of the pa came the watch-cries of the sentries there. A moment of quietness, and then, from the post of the dead sentry on the southern side, came the clear reply:

“Here on the watch am I:
E-e! I a—ha—aha!
Wakeful on watch am I:
E—e! I a—ha-aha!”

Even the voice seemed the same. Manaia was leaving nothing to chance. The deception held.

He felt that he could now move freely about with little risk of discovery. But for the sentries on the far side and the young people in the Wharé-tapéré, the whole pa seemed asleep. So Manaia moved across to the long building and examined it as closely as the darkness would permit.

The sliding entrance-door was shut, and scarcely a hole could he find along the walls that might command a view within.

At last he found a crack at the corner near the door, and eagerly looked within. The place was packed with young people, except along the centreway reserved for the dancers. But the light from the fire near each end failed to disclose the whereabouts of the captive Rata.

A burst of applause greeted a troupe of Tuhoe maidens as they launched forth into a poi-dance. It was a peculiar type of poi-dance, quite different from any that Manaia had seen before. It lacked grace and beauty, and he turned from it with distaste.

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At the far end he found another crack, and thus could view the portion near the door. But still no sign of Rata could he see. Perhaps the captive was not there at all?

As the poi-maidens finished, some Tuhoe youths jumped up, taiaha in hand, and sought to show their skill with that warrior-weapon. Manaia's lip curled in quiet derision as he watched them. Clearly they were not expert, yet their efforts met with approving cries from those within. Manaia turned away again in sheer disgust.

But Rata had to be found, and quickly, for the night was wearing on. At any moment the leader of the crowd within might cry “Enough!”

Manaia moved round again to the corner near the door. With little effort, he pulled himself up with a steady lift, and then swung himself on to the thatched roof without making a sound. He waited for the next burst of applause from within, then quickly shifted his position, and in a moment had gained the place he sought along the top.

Very carefully he pulled and pulled at the thatch until he had made a slanting hole. He peered through, expecting to command a view of the scene spread out below. For a moment he could discern nothing. Then he saw that quite close to the end of the hole was a human head. The head turned, and Manaia rejoiced to see that the face was that of Rata his friend.

Now everything was clear. The Tuhoes had grown tired of their captive and had hoisted him to the roof. They had then bound him to the top part of the post that supported the ridge-pole at the doorway end. There, almost suffocated by heat and smoke, he must have endured agony in his cramped position, with page 101 nothing to do but watch the futile efforts of the dancers below.

Futile efforts? The plan came to Manaia's mind like a flash, and with it, the certainty of success. He placed his mouth to the hole, and softly uttered the squeak of a rat. Then he peered through the hole again. Rata had turned his head and he was listening.

“Tsi! ’Tis I, Manaia!”

No reply came from the captive, but a faint movement of the nostrils showed that he had heard. He did not raise his eyes lest some Tuhoe might be watching him and grow curious as to the cause.

The whispering continued, as Manaia quickly explained his plan, but still Rata gave no sign of the wild hope surging in his breast. Only at the end did another slight movement indicate that he had heard and understood.

Down below, the interest in the entertainment was beginning to lag, when suddenly the dancing ceased, and all eyes were turned upon the captive. He had uttered an exclamation of disgust and even derision, and it had called forth the wrath of his hearers. Some were for slaying him at once, but others were curious to hear what he might say. They demanded that he speak.

“I grow weary of your dances,” came the voice from above, in tones of cold contempt. “How poor and weak compared with those of Te Arawa!”

Sheer astonishment at his temerity kept his hearers silent—all except one.

“Ha! The impudence of the fellow!” exclaimed the leader of the taiaha-dancers. “Perhaps he can use the taiaha better than we.”

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“Of all the warriors on Hikurangi, no other could use the taiaha as I,” said Rata calmly and slowly. The words almost stuck in his throat, for was not Manaia just above, listening to every word, and no doubt smiling at this hearty boast?

“Bring him down! Bring him down!” came the cries from every side, and particularly from the groups of maidens at each end. “Let him show his skill! Bring him down!”

Two active youths climbed up and unloosed the strands that bound Rata to the post, and also untied the flax rope that had hauled him up. Then down they slid, the Tuhoes landing lightly and bounding away while Rata crumpled up in a heap on the earth floor.

A gale of jeering laughter swept the building as the Tuhoes rejoiced at his discomfiture. But a kindly maiden helped him to his feet, and the blood soon began to circulate through his cramped limbs. He pounded himself vigorously, and then cried:

“Listen, O Tuhoes, to the words of Rata, a chief of Te Arawa! I am filthy with soot from this fire. Give me oil for my limbs and my hair, give me feathers as an ornament for my brow, give me a waist-garment fit for a chief, and a taiaha to my hand! Ha! Then will I show you dancing such as has not been seen in this land before. I will give the dance which we of Te Arawa call ‘From Death unto Life.’ Enough! Let the fires burn brightly!”

While the excited maidens hastened to equip the handsome Arawa with his needs, and the youths cleared an extra space along the centre-way, Manaia moved silently down from the high roof, went round to the far end again, and peered through the friendly crack.

There was Rata putting the finishing touches to page 103 his hair and displaying for all to see the rippling muscles of his shapely arms. The maidens crowded around him, and one or two even went so far as to playfully pinch his smooth skin. Clearly he had impressed them.

Suddenly he brushed them aside and leaped into the open space before the crowd, and there, to the delight of all, he went through the actions of an attacking foe, gradually working his way to the end farthest from the door. Backwards he came, and this time he was on defence, the movements of feet and weapon sometimes too rapid to be clearly seen.

“Ai!” cried more than one of the Tuhoe dancers. “Never before have we seen a taiaha like this. It lives! It lives!”

Manaia moved round towards the door, but Rata went back to the far end, and there he suddenly stopped, threw down his weapon, and gasped:

“Air! Give me air! I am choked with the smoke and the heat. Slide back the door, that a cool breeze may enter and refresh me as I dance!”

Readily the maidens near the door complied, and they scoffed at a sturdy young warrior who alone rose up to stand there on guard. He took no notice. His eyes were on the Arawa. He suspected something. He would remain on guard. But what he did not suspect was that behind him, in the darkness to one side of the path of light, was another Arawa, crouching, waiting.

Back to the doorway end came the weaponless Rata, but he turned away from the open door, and careered off to the far end again in a series of supple movements that drew forth unstinted applause.

Shrilly the maidens begged him to dance on. What page 104 mattered it to them that he was an Arawa? To them, he was as one of the heroes of old, a descendant of the very gods themselves.

Back again he came from the far end, and as he passed the second fire he kicked the blazing embers with all his force, scattering them over the frightened maidens in front and clearing the way to the door.

At the same moment strong hands gripped the Tuhoe guard by the ankles and hauled him out feet first. Through the gap dived Rata, narrowly escaping the downward rush of Manaia's meré. The guard collapsed with a groan, insensible, fortunate indeed in that the death-blow had been withheld.

As Rata bounced to his feet, Manaia seized him by the hand and quickly led him round the side away from the edge of the cliff. Ha! A terrific noise raged within the great building as those inside sought to force their way through the narrow doorway. Soon the doorway blocked. The few who had emerged groped about, but could see nothing.

Doubling round the far end of the building, the Arawas reached the cliff edge unobserved, and Manaia showed the way down on to the first ledge below.

From the pa came the sounds of conflict. In the maddening excitement of the escape, the Tuhoe warriors were blindly attacking each other in the darkness, mistaking friend for foe. The older men, aroused from sleep, felt sure that the pa was being attacked in force, and they dashed wildly about, seeking the point of the Arawa attack. But none thought of searching below the cliff edge.

As Manaia prepared to descend, he felt his arm gripped by Rata, who whispered:

“O Manaia, how may I return with thee to safety, page 105 leaving behind the Aged One to suffer in his captivity? I will go back. There may yet be time. Give me thy weapon!”

He tried to pull the meré from Manaia's belt, but Manaia restrained him, and whispered:

“The promise of the ariki has been fulfilled. Therefore, enough!”

Without waiting to explain he quickly lowered himself down the long length of rope. Down, down, he went until at last he reached the rocky floor and breathed a sigh of relief. Ah! The combined lengths of rope had proved enough. He steadied the rope, and signalled with it for Rata to come down.

Down Rata came, but that descent in the darkness was an ordeal scarcely to be borne. The strain of the day's events had begun to tell upon him, and mentally and physically his strength was ebbing fast. The horror of the unknown gripped him. And what if the loop should slip? The vision of the falling Tuhoe chief came vividly to his mind.

Before he reached the bottom he began to sway, then down the rope he came with a rush upon the unprepared Manaia, knocking him over. The impact caused Rata to pitch forward on to his head, and a groan burst from his lips as he struck the rock.

Manaia lay still, listening, waiting for the cries from above that would indicate discovery; but no cries came. Only the distant sound of conflict continued, so the noise of the fall could have reached no Tuhoe's ears.

Quickly Manaia rose up, and jerked fiercely at the long rope to loosen its hold upon the rock far above. He jerked it outwards and sideways, with a peculiar upward twist born of years of practice, and at last, as page 106 the loop slipped, the rope came tumbling down. He gathered it up. It might be needed yet. Moreover, the way of entry and the way of escape would now remain unknown, for the hard rock would show no tracks along the cliff edge above, nor would any tracks appear on the floor of the basin below.

Feeling around for Rata in the darkness, he shook him, and whispered to him, but no response came. So Manaia lifted him and bore him to the outlet from the basin.

A glance at the great belt of Te Mangaroa in the sky showed the dawn to be still some distance off. Through the forest above lay the better chance of escape, for the gorge itself would be well guarded, and in the darkness the Tuhoes could overwhelm him with numbers should they catch him there, especially with the unconscious Rata cumbering his every movement.

He tied one end of the rope around the limp form in a secure sling, and the other end he tied across his own shoulder and under his arm, leaving his arms free for the task ahead.

Then slowly he pulled himself up the cliff face with the aid of the strong vines and friendly creepers trailing down from the forest above. Only once on the way up did he rest, and that was when he felt a vine give way somewhat under his weight. He bedded himself into a mass of creepers while he listened to the sounds from the pa opposite.

And as he listened, there ascended from the pa a weird and penetrating cry, long-drawn-out, rising and falling and echoing along the cliffs in most strange fashion. Manaia knew that wailing cry, and he knew its cause, but still the weirdness of the cry from out the page 107 blackness of the night affected him, and he hastened on up the cliff.

Soon he reached the top, and quickly he pulled in the slack of the line until he felt the weight of the burden below.

Exerting his utmost strength, Manaia pulled and pulled upon the rope. The strands of plaited flax bore the strain well, and at last the bulky form of Rata was pulled up over the top and into safety by Manaia's side.

The severe buffeting he had received on the way up must have goaded Rata out of unconsciousness, for he stirred as Manaia unwound the rope from his body and limbs, and he raised a hand to his injured head.

Up from the pa across the gulf came again that cry, and this time it was mingled with fierce shouts of anger. Again Manaia knew the cause, for the lights of torches were glimmering about the spot where stood the prison-hut of Manawa-roa.

“O Manaia!” came the faint voice of Rata. “Whence that cry?”

“Tuhoe, wailing for their dead!” whispered Manaia. “Here are we on the cliff edge near the gorge, but we must hasten on before the dawn comes. Hold my arm as I lead the way, and walk carefully! We dare not seek the tracks, for they will be doubly guarded now. Come!”

He raised Rata up, and together they made their way slowly through the forest, much impeded by the barriers of karéao vines and tangled undergrowth. Away before them scurried night-hunting kiwi birds, while from unseen trees came the cries of ruru owls, and an occasional screech from a kaka parrot, angry at being disturbed.

Twice they almost stepped over the edge of the cliff page 108 into the gorge below. Finally, the way became too perilous even for Manaia's liking, and he drew Rata down beside him close to the brink.

By this time Rata was fast recovering his strength. But for the throbbing pain in his head, he was almost himself again. He placed his hand upon Manaia's shoulder, but gave no other sign of the deep emotion in his heart. Saved from captivity and worse, saved by his friend! His gentle pressure upon the shoulder brought an answering pat upon his knee.

“Listen!” he whispered presently. “I hear voices.”

“Tuhoes below!” was the reply. “One of the parties we could not have evaded had we tried the gorge! Perhaps they do not know yet of thine escape.”

The voices were low and sometimes indistinct, but the words carried upwards and their import could be understood. Manaia grew alarmed as he listened. Aué! By the light of the watch-fires, said the voices, a tall warrior had been observed to leave the Arawa camp down by the central rock, but not one of the sentries had challenged him. Some Arawas had sought to follow him, but he had quietly ordered them back. He must have been a chief, for they had obeyed. He had disappeared up the gorge, swallowed up in the darkness, and then, in the darkness, he had passed within an arm's length of a party of Tuhoes standing silently with backs pressed to the rocky wall on the northern side.

By the faint light from the stars they had seen him, and he was very tall. They had let him pass, and then had quietly sent a runner along the other side to warn the band farther up. Now they had him within the net, and they merely waited for the dawn that they might draw the net tight.

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But at least one Tuhoe warrior had his anxious doubts. Said he:

“What if this Arawa should be Mawaké-Taupo? Is our net strong enough to hold that mako shark? And what of Pahikauré and its fearful bite? We are the Tuhoe net, but are we strong enough?”

No one answered him; but after a space a chorus of subdued cries went up:

“He aha tera? What is that? A shooting star! A shooting star!”

Across the sky rushed a blaze of light, as a meteor of unusual size and brilliance passed high overhead, travelling towards Taupo.

“Yes! A shooting star!” came an exultant voice from the gorge. “There is the answer, O doubting one! It is an omen, known to all as the death sign of the Arawa chiefs. Now see, the dawn comes! Spread the net, ye warriors of Tuhoe! Spread the net! Now for the fish!”

………..

From the Arawa pa on Hikurangi far away to the north rose the same cry:

“A shooting star! A shooting star!” but the cry was shrill, and it was long-drawn-out, for it came from the lips of women.

All night long the women-folk had squatted there on the marae, facing towards the Uréwera, keeping vigil with the Puhi maiden Marama on this night of her sorrow. Upon her had come an ecstasy, the ecstasy of the mata-kité, and she had prophesied an approaching woe, woe to Mawaké-Taupo. The people were to await a sign, she had said, but for herself she knew what the sign and the end would be. Then she had page 110 fallen into a state of torpor, and no persuasion had induced her to come down from her post upon the high tower. So all night long she had sat upon the tower—alone.

Well acquainted with the strange powers of the human mind and spirit, the people had not doubted for a moment but that the prophecy would soon be fulfilled. Gradually the old women of the pa had gathered around the base of the tower, and gradually the men-folk had retired one by one to the lower terraces.

Even her aged relative Te Moana had felt impelled to depart, but he had stopped with Te Puku the Fat and many others upon the nearest terrace, watching and waiting as the long night wore on.

It was just before the day broke that the anxious watchers upon Hikurangi saw that meteor blaze its way across the sky. Aué! The sign at last, the sign of approaching death, the sign in the heavens that had marked the death of Ngatoro-i-rangi himself! Aué!

Then with the dawn there came from the high tower a single piercing scream as Marama jumped to her feet and rent her garments from her. Not a man in all that pa looked upwards as she stood there with outstretched arms and waited.

But far away in the Uréwera, Manaia seemed to see the spirit of his sister urging him on as he crashed his way through the undergrowth in a headlong rush to reach the scene in time.

And down in the gorge itself Mawaké-Taupo was sure that he saw the spirit of his loved Marama seeking to shield him from the fury of the Tuhoe attack.

And who can say how far from the flesh the spirit may soar?