The Missionary, The Cannibal and The King.
Part One – Aotearoa
Chapter One
I am Waikato, ariki[1]
of Kaihiki. I’ve lived almost fifty
years in this world and during that time I’ve circumnavigated the globe, fought
mighty battles and enjoyed the embraces of countless beautiful women. I am also cousin to Hongi Hika, legendary
leader of the mighty Ngapuhi[2] iwi[3]
and protector of the missionaries. Much
of my story is also Hongi’s – but I am here to tell it and he is not.
I’ve also been witness
to the coming of the Pakeha[4]
– a pale-skinned trickle at first, then a raging, white torrent threatening to
sweep away everything I once believed noble and constant. Now there is talk of a treaty, of a
partnership between the crown and the Tangata Whenua[5]. We’ll see about that...
I was barely five
years old when I saw my first white man.
Hone, a young man from
our village, had been sent over the hill to Rangihoua on some minor errand.
Normally, he would have lingered within our larger neighbour’s walls – perhaps
to admire the skilful ornamentation of the pa’s[6]
renowned meeting house or, more likely, to flirt with some girl or other.
On this occasion however, Hone came running back to Kaihiki almost immediately,
his excited voice ringing out from the forested slopes above our settlement
even before we could see him.
‘There is a ship in
the bay! The Pakehas have returned!’
I already knew of the
Pakeha of course, and I had occasionally seen their wondrous, white-winged
vessels in the distance as they sailed past our little cove. Indeed, back
in those days, there were still many kaumatua[7]
who claimed to remember Captain Cook’s momentous arrival in Ipipiri[8]
– the vast, island-studded inlet he chose to name, ‘The Bay of Islands’.
Now, thirty years after that great navigator’s first visit to our shores,
Pakeha ships came to the sheltered anchorage at Rangihoua five or six times a
year.
On such occasions, any
villages within a day’s walk of the cove would promptly empty of all but their
elderly, their infants and their slaves as their residents flocked to trade for
the pale-skinned visitors’ wonderful treasures. Thus it was that, upon
hearing Hone’s announcement, the people of Kaihiki began to run backwards and
forwards, gathering up the supplies and goods they had prepared for the next
Pakeha visit. Then, chattering excitedly, laughing and singing – and
loaded down with baskets of potatoes, wooden carvings and finely-woven cloaks –
the Te Hikutu[9]
hapu[10]
began streaming out through our village gateway and up the well-worn, zig-zag
trail leading to Rangihoua.
I had never been over
the hill, let alone gone to Rangihoua when a Pakeha ship was in harbour.
This time however, seeing some boys the same age as me joining in the melee, I
decided that I too was old enough to join in the fun. However, I had
barely taken three steps in pursuit of the receding stampede before a familiar,
booming voice stopped me in my tracks.
‘Waikato!’
I remember the
resentment I felt as I whirled about to face my father. Even at that
early stage of my life, I had learned the son of a chief was expected to keep
himself somewhat removed from his inferiors. Now – and not for the first
time – it seemed my rank was to deny me the pleasures freely available to the
common people. Puketawa brooked no challenge though, and anyone who dared
disobey him – even me, his first-born son – could be assured of an immediate
and violent response.
My father stood at the
end of an alleyway between two huts – a magnificent sight that endures undimmed
in my mind to this day. His ceremonial, feathered cloak was draped over
his otherwise bare, muscular shoulders and his magnificent mere[11]
pounamu[12]
– both the symbol of his authority and a deadly weapon – was tucked into the
waistband of his kilt. He wore his hair long and pulled up into a topknot
held in place by a large bone comb. He also wore an angry scowl, this
expression lent a further element of menace by the swirling, black tattoos
almost entirely covering his face. My father was the epitome of an ariki
and everything I wanted one day to be.
Then Puketawa grinned
and I realised his anger had been a sham.
‘Are you so eager to
meet your first Pakeha you would clamber over the hill like a commoner?’ he said.
‘Come! We will go to Rangihoua in a manner befitting our rank!’
I knew then that the
day was going to exceed my expectations. My father could only mean we
were to make the journey in Te Paraoa[13]
– the large, ornately-carved war canoe that is the pride of Te Hikutu hapu.
I followed Puketawa
through the alley and, emerging at the other end, I saw that the waka taua[14]
had already been launched, her crew of fifty warriors gently paddling to hold
her close to the beach.
Te Paraoa’s massive hull had
been carved from a single, giant totara[15]
tree felled generations before my father was born. Our hapu’s lore told how
the forming of the hull – and the embellishment of the canoe’s ornate prow and
towering sternpost – had taken two years of constant labour. It had been
worth it though – Te Paraoa was one of the finest wakas[16]
in the Bay and a dearly-loved taonga[17]
of Te Hikutu clan.
Almost beside myself
with excitement, I followed my father as he waded out to the vessel, swung
himself aboard and took up his position of authority amidships.
‘Hoe!’[18]
Puketawa roared and the waiting toas[19]
promptly plunged their paddles into the sea in perfect unison, sending Te
Paraoa shooting forward.
Having yet to take my seat, I was caught off
balance by the sudden acceleration and barely avoided an embarrassing tumble
into the scuppers. A chuckle came from behind me and I immediately spun
about to identify the insolent paddler, only to find two rows of expressionless
faces staring ahead to the horizon as the men stroked in perfect unison. Ignoring
my antics, Puketawa continued to call out the stroke, imperiously signalling
any changes of course to the man on the steering paddle at the stern.
I continued staring
aft for few moments, captivated by the receding view of Kaihiki. To this day, I still think that the little
village, clinging to its narrow strip of level land between forested hills and
gleaming blue cove, is surely the most beautiful place in the world. Puketawa’s
chant picked up tempo though and, as our warriors matched his call, Te
Paraoa surged southeast with all the speed of the giant, toothed whale for
which she was named. Kaihiki was lost
from sight as we rounded the point and, in what seemed almost no time at all,
we were halfway across the bay on the peninsula’s eastern side. I saw we were heading towards a cluster of
small islands but, as the waka approached this archipelago, Puketawa ordered
his men to a slower speed and turned to speak to me.
‘Many rocks and reefs
lie in the passages between these islands, Waikato,’ my father said. ‘They
are easy enough to see when the sea is as calm and the tide as low as it is now
but, if you ever come through here at night or in rough weather, you will have
only your memory to guide you. Watch the way we take carefully for, if
you are to command Te Pararoa one day, you must learn each channel
perfectly.’
I dutifully tried to
pay attention as Puketawa navigated through the seaweed-fringed passage but I
was soon distracted by the sight of some impressive fortifications crowning one
of the larger islands.
‘Is that Te Pahi’s
stronghold, Father?’
‘Ae, that’s Te Puna,’ Puketawa
confirmed. ‘The ariki taungaroa[20]
keeps most of his arsenal and all his taonga there under permanent guard.
Te Pahi actually lives over on the coast most of the time and I’ve no doubt
he’ll be out on Rangihoua Bay in his waka already. If he ever needs to
though, he can quickly bring his iwi over to Te Puna Island. No one can
touch him once he’s behind those walls, Waikato – that pa is impregnable!’
I was too young then
to know much about the art of war but I had no doubt my father was right.
Once manned by a full force of warriors, the stout palisades ringing the island’s
steep slopes would be able to hold back an army of any size.
‘They say Te Pahi
keeps a special treasure there,’ Puketawa said, lowering his voice. ‘A
particularly wilful daughter he has imprisoned until a suitable husband can be
found for her.’
Te Pahi was paramount
chief of most of the Bay of Islands and, as such, his daughter’s hand had
significant political value. Nevertheless, and even given the ariki
taungaroa’s reputation as a ruthless disciplinarian, it seemed to me that only
an unusually cold and cruel man would lock his own child away in such a place.
Just then, a
thunderclap boomed out of the clear, blue sky and I shivered despite the warm
sunshine. A cynic might say what I heard was a canon shot from the Pakeha
ship moored beyond the next headland but, knowing now the fate that awaited me
on that island, I still believe I experienced a God-given moment of prescience that
day. I was but a child at the time though and, despite being descended
from a long line of tohungas[21],
too young to understand the divine warning…
Rangihoua Bay slowly opened
up before us as we cleared the islands and, even though the settlement had been
described to me many times, I was still surprised by the height of the bluff
towering above the cove. Several lines of palisades ringed the
headland’s summit, lending Te Pahi’s mainland base a similarly invulnerable
appearance to that of his island stronghold. Below the pa walls, perhaps
two hundred whares[22]
clung to a criss-crossing maze of terraces descending all the way to the
foreshore. The biggest crowd I had ever seen was waiting on the beach
there but I paid it little attention, my eyes being irresistibly drawn to the
apparition anchored just offshore.
A three-masted sailing
ship, her furled sails gleaming like white wings in the bright sunshine,
dwarfed the fleet of canoes surrounding her.
As we paddled in to
join the melee, I saw what I knew must be Te Pahi’s waka taua in its midst – a
mighty, hundred-warrior vessel that dwarfed our own hapu’s pride and joy.
Its huge, carved prow was the size of a small house and its lattice-like stern
post, trailing bright-red feather streamers, twice the height of a man. A
tall figure stood slightly apart from the other warriors amidships, its proud
bearing proclaiming that the ariki taungaroa himself had come to oversee
proceedings.
All of the smaller
canoes around us carried goods of some sort or other, their crews hoping to
beat those waiting on the beach to the prime trading opportunities, and there was
a terrific din of people greeting each other and calling out to the ship to be
allowed to come alongside. The canoes
maintained a respectful distance from the Pakeha vessel though and we were soon
informed the visiting sailors had permitted no one to board.
‘They fired a canon
over our heads when we first paddled out to meet them,’ the skipper of a nearby
waka yelled across to us. ‘If anyone goes
closer than fifty paces, the Pakehas point their muskets at them and yell angry
words.’
‘Even the canoes with
girls?’ my father asked.
I had already noticed
that a number of the craft around us carried young, naked women.
‘Even the girls,’ the
man replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. ‘This must be a new
ship – I’ve not seen her here before.’
My father grunted and
nodded his understanding. Rangihoua might have become a regular port of
call for the whalers and sealers working the South Seas Fishery, but it was
always a tense occasion when a new vessel arrived for the first time. Indeed,
our people had quickly learned not to greet the visiting sailing ships with the
massed warrior displays and chants protocol demanded, such welcoming displays
having drawn deadly responses from musket and cannon in the past.
I craned my head back and
looked up at the vessel’s towering masts, her yards stretching across the blue
sky above me like the arms of some giant, mythical creature. Then I
lowered my gaze to the press of men behind the ship’s gunwale and saw the
sinister gleam of cutlass, canon and musket.
The Pakeha who came
among us in those early years were invariably hard men, yet they were also fearful.
Aotearoa[23]
might have had a reputation as a destination where plentiful supplies and
beautiful, willing women could be had for a pittance, but it was equally
renowned as the domain of fierce warriors with a taste for human flesh.
There was a sudden flurry
of activity aboard the ship. One of
several, wide-beamed canoes she carried high above her waterline had filled
with men and was now being lowered to the sea via an extraordinary system of
ropes. Impressed as I was by this feat, it was nothing compared to my
astonishment as the boat began to pull away from its mother ship – not only did
its crew wield paddles fully twice as long as they were tall, but they did so while
facing back the way they had come.
‘Do they have eyes in
the back of their heads, Father?’ I asked.
Puketawa gave a grim
chuckle.
‘Don’t worry,
Son. They are not taipo[24]
– even if they do look like ghosts from the underworld. See – they have a
man in the stern who steers with a paddle just as we do. They also have
some sort of small cannon positioned forward, which is something I’ve not seen
before…’
The gleaming metal
tube, mounted on a stand in the bow, was attended by a scowling crewman who
slowly swivelled the weapon’s muzzle left and right. Our canoes fell back
before this obvious threat and then, realising our visitors intended to conduct
their business ashore, everyone began paddling madly for the beach. This seaborne
stampede took place with such urgency that, by the time the Pakeha boat approached
the land, most of the wakas – including our own – had already been pulled up on
the sand and their crews had leaped out to join the milling, shore-side
throng. I followed Puketawa as he jumped ashore and used his rank to
shove his way through to the front of the crowd. Thus, I had a clear view
of events as the white men landed.
The whaleboat’s keel
ground on the golden sand, the man behind the swivel canon remaining in
position as his crewmates hastily shipped their oars and picked up the pistols
and muskets that had been lying beside them on the thwarts. An eerie
silence descended on the beach and death hovering in the warm air as the
inhabitants of two distant worlds eyed each other, each group fearful of the
other and yet hungry for that which they offered. My people remained quiet
and still – desperate for the trading to commence but knowing the carnage a
sudden sound or false move might precipitate. We knew the desires of the
Pakehas very well by that time, and we had little doubt the sailors carried
with them the goods we craved – cloth, coloured feathers, beads, iron nails,
fish hooks and, if we could but find the price, steel axe heads. Still, the tense silence stretched on.
The Pakeha manning the
cannon looked slowly around our circle and I was intrigued to see his eyes were
the same pale blue colour as the sea over white sand. Then, as his gaze
met mine, he winked, causing me to gasp out aloud in surprise. No one paid me any attention though because
the sailor had begun to speak calmly in his own language. Back in those days, it was mostly gibberish
to me but, nevertheless, I heard him repeat the words ‘Te Pahi’ several times. Clearly, the man had been told, ‘When you get
to Rangihoua, ask for Te Pahi. He is the high chief there and he is
friendly.’
The crowd parted and
the ariki tungaroa himself, accompanied by a younger man whom I guessed to be
one of his sons, strode into the space between the silently straining crowd and
the Pakeha boat.
Te Pahi was in his
mid-forties then and well-established as one of the Bay’s dominant chiefs.
A shrewd tactician and a brave warrior, his rise to power had been aided by a
fortuitous combination of bloodlines. His father, for instance, had been
both Ngati Awa – the original tribe of area – and Ngapuhi, the powerful iwi
that had since conquered almost all of Ipipiri. Te Pahi was also related
to my own Te Hikutu hapu and this sat well with the people of Kaihiki as,
outside our immediate whanau[25],
our strongest bond is with our sub-tribe. Indeed, it has to be said that,
while the Ngapuhi is a numerous and robust iwi, its many clans have often quarrelled
with each other in the absence of a major war with another tribe to unify them.
Te Pahi bore himself
with all the haughtiness expected of the ariki taungaroa and wore about his
shoulders a precious cape decorated with the red feathers of the kaka[26].
His face was densely covered by his moko[27],
the swirling, black tattoos declaring his proud lineage for all to see, and he
carried in his belt a club of the finest greenstone. He spoke some words
to his son – Matara, I would later learn – and, in turn, the young man addressed
the Pakehas in their own language. There followed several exchanges back
and forth, during which the sailors visibly relaxed, and then Te Pahi turned to
address the crowd.
‘The Pakeha are ready
to trade!’ he declared. ‘They are under my protection while their ship is
in our harbour and anyone who harms them will be put to death. They have
asked to take some girls on board, but they have promised to treat them well
and return them to shore before their ship departs again.’
There was a general,
joyous surge towards the boat and it is there my memory of that first encounter
ends.
Chapter Two
My world has been
turned on its head since that day in Rangihoua but, back then, the old ways
still held sway. So it was that, on the first summer solstice following
my ninth birthday, my father dispatched me to Pakinga Pa to begin my military
training, an event I had been eagerly awaiting all my young life.
At dawn that day, along
with two lower-born lads of the same age from my village, I boarded the canoe that
would take us on the first stage of our journey. I took my place with a paddle as the canoe’s
skipper set off across the Bay, so excited I barely a glanced back at my
parents and younger brother Puhi waving goodbye from the beach. After
several hours paddling, we reached the head of the Kerikeri inlet, Ipipiri’s
westernmost extremity and the site of a large village and pa. This was
the territory of Te Hotete – a Ngapuhi chief who was a close relative and strong
ally of Te Pahi – and it was here we joined a party of a dozen or so boys who
were also travelling to Pakinga. The
people of the village, long-accustomed to this annual pilgrimage of youthful warriors-to-be,
generously gave us food and water but then teased us mercilessly as their fee.
‘Look at these soft,
young bodies. Pakinga will toughen them up!’
‘Do you miss your
mummies yet, boys? You will when you get to Pakinga!’
‘Enjoy your kai[28],
lads. It’ll be a long time before you eat under Ra’s[29]
gaze again!’
We wasted no time in
setting off inland – partly because we knew we still had a long journey ahead
of us and partly out of desire to escape the mocking of our relatives.
Quickly establishing that I was the highest-born in our group, I naturally
assumed the position of guide and leader although, in truth, we were following
a well-worn trail through friendly territory and there was little danger we
would become lost.
Skirting the walls of
the pa, we followed the beaten path past cultivated plots where kumara[30]
and taro[31] groves
gleamed greenly in the summer sun. The forest soon closed in above our
heads though, its canopy ringing with birdsong and its shade welcome against the
increasing heat of the day. Although we encountered several clearings and
villages during the morning’s march, I didn’t allow our band to stop until, a
little after midday, we reached a small lake called Waingaro. The day had
become very warm and, without hesitation, I led my detachment into the cooling
waters. There was a small kainga[32]
on the lake’s banks and, just as the people at Kerikeri had, the villagers came
down to the riverbank and offered us food – although this generosity came at a now-familiar
price.
‘That’s a nice, smooth
backside you’ve got there, boy. Wait ‘till old Hohepa gives it a few
lashes with his stick!’
‘Better Hohepa’s stick
than Ropata’s!’
‘Ae! That’s an
altogether different sort of stick!’
We left their laughter
behind us as we followed the trail south, reaching the banks of a larger body
of water, Lake Omapere, about mid-afternoon. Again we leapt in to cool
off and, from our bathing spot, we were able to see Okuratope Pa on a nearby
knoll – another Ngapuhi stronghold and Hotete’s headquarters. I would
have liked to visit the paramount chieftain’s fort but, not knowing precisely
how much further it was to Pakinga and being concerned that we might not reach
our destination before dark, I ordered my contingent onwards. As it
turned out, we made it to Pakinga in plenty of time, arriving at the pa gates well
before sundown.
Most pas are sited
upon steep hills and cliff-tops, but Pakinga sits atop a relatively gentle
knoll that is only slightly elevated above the surrounding plain. Although
this makes the fortress less defendable than most, the trade-off is a large,
level area within its walls which can comfortably accommodate the residents’
dwellings, the dormitories and the drill ground. Here, along with more
than a hundred Ngapuhi lads of a similar age, I began my apprenticeship in mau rakau[33]
– the art of warfare.
Ae! Those were
good days!
Tukariri, God of War,
ruled the land and the only advantage one iwi had over another lay in the
ferocity and the bravery of its warriors. War was the highest calling of
my people and the only honourable way a tribe could expect to advance itself –
more territory, more women, more slaves – was at the expense of its neighbours.
At Pakinga, we ate
before dawn, went all day with only water, and were permitted to eat again only
after the sun had gone down. The training was slow and painstaking, the
discipline ruthless and, as I quickly learned, there was no concession to
family or rank – neither for me nor for anyone else.
There were always four
groups of youths at the pa, each of them at a different stage of their
four-years’ training and each with its own dormitory. Predictably,
we were beneath the notice of the older boys, but we watched them enviously as
they drilled with spear and club. Our envy had a particularly keen edge
because, for almost a year, the only weapon we were permitted was the poi[34].
Can you imagine that –
an army of young, would-be warriors made to sing, dance and twirl balls on the
end of a string like a flock of giggling kohine[35]?
A young warrior has to
learn to do what he is told though, no matter how humiliating or degrading the
task might be. At Pakinga, instant obedience was the only permissible
response to an instructor’s order and even the slightest hesitation invited a
bruising blow from the manuka[36]
staff each of them carried.
Truly serious
transgressions of discipline could see a student dismissed and sent back to his
hapu and, to my shame, this is exactly what happened to one of the boys who had
accompanied me from my village. He was a large, greedy lad who was found
to have stolen food from the storehouse and, even worse, consume it while Ra[37]
was still high in the sky. Of course, a boy who can never be a warrior is
even less use to his iwi than a woman or a slave and, when the errant youth
returned home, his humiliation was absolute. Shunned by everyone
including his own parents, he lasted only a few days at Kaihiki before he ran
away, never to be seen again. Perhaps he joined another hapu – although I
can’t imagine why anybody would want such an outcast – but I prefer to think he
did the honourable thing and took his own life.
The poi dancing at
Pakinga seemed to last for an eternity and each one of us longed for the day
when we would be able to hold a real weapon. Those long months of
coordinated exercise had purpose beyond teaching us discipline however – our
developing young bodies were gaining strength and suppleness, and our feet were
beginning to learn the ritual steps of combat. There are many moves a
young warrior must assimilate if he is to survive in battle – from the slow,
crouching dance of the tuatara[38]
to lightning quick leap of the tui[39]
– and it is a tradition of my people that these sequences are ‘taught from the
feet up’. However, even after our teachers had satisfied themselves we
had mastered the essential footwork, there was still no relief from the endless
poi drill. Instead, our relentless taskmasters began marching us about
the surrounding countryside, searching out different types of terrain for us to
exercise upon. They drilled us endlessly – in soft sand, in knee-deep
water, in mud, on round boulders, on sharp rocks – until we learned to move as one,
regardless of the footing.
Then finally, as our
testicles began to sprout hair and our voices began to deepen, we were allowed
to begin training with something akin to proper weapons. Every dawn,
regardless of the weather, we would fall into two ranks in the fortress’s
courtyard and, in this formation, for hour after hour and week after week, we
would drill with simple wooden staves. Still, we were excited by this
progression because we knew we had begun to learn the many sweeps, thrusts and
blocks of the taiaha[40],
the fire-hardened spear that is a warrior’s primary weapon.
To begin with, we
trained with empty space in front of us, each one of us having to show he had
learned the instructed move perfectly before, as a group, we were allowed to
progress to the next exercise. This was a
long and often frustrating process but it was one that reinforced the bond of
the fighting unit. Then came the wonderful day when we began training
against each other – two ranks of combatants moving backwards and forwards
across the drilling ground in a deadly, ritual dance. It would not be until
we were well into our second year at Pakinga however, that we were permitted to
use real taiahas.
Of course, the taiaha
is not a warrior’s only weapon – we also learned to use the longer spear, the
powhenua[41],
and the tewhatewha[42],
that weapon which looks like a long-handled axe. Every toa also carries a
broad-bladed club in his belt and now, in addition to our taiaha training, we
also began drilling with these close-quarters weapons. My favourite mere
is one I inherited from my father’s family, a revered family taonga handed down
through the generations. It is made from the most precious variety of the
green stone we call pounamu and, when you hold it up to the sun, it glows like
a living thing. Of course, such weapons are far too valuable for a common
toa, so most of our warriors carry the simpler patu[43]. These weapons are made from bone or wood but,
regardless of which material, they are equally deadly.
People these days probably
think it pointless we should have devoted so many years to training with such
primitive weaponry but, back then, battles were still fought in the traditional
manner. In those days, worthy adversaries did not cower behind the walls
of their pas with their women and children, but came out to challenge their
enemies with the whakarewarewa[44]
– the war haka[45].
Then, once battle proper had commenced, the warriors from each side would seek
out an opponent of similar mana[46]
so that the battlefield would become a swirling stage of matched pairs – each
man pitted against an equal enemy in a ritualised dance to the death.
That has all gone now
– the academy at Pakinga, the rituals, the man-to-man combat. There’s no
point spending years training a toa to wield the patu or the taiaha, just to
have him mown down from a distance by some son of a slave son armed with a
musket. These days, any tribe foolish enough to perform the whakarewarewa
simply offers a firearm-equipped adversary a concentrated target. These
days, we give our youths a few weeks’ basic instruction with guns and then show
them how to hide behind earthworks and creep through trenches like worms.
Our people have had to discard so many of the old ways in order to survive and,
sadly, that has included many honourable traditions. My cousin Hongi did
more than anybody to bring those changes upon us but, to be fair, if it hadn’t
been Hongi it would have been someone else…
Of course, our time at
Pakinga wasn’t entirely devoted to learning the art of war. When
we weren’t learning battle skills, we were being schooled in how to supervise
our women and slaves in the fields or, more enjoyably, receiving instruction in
the pursuits of fishing and hunting. Being able to spear or snare fat,
juicy birds like kereru[47],
kaka and tui, or to harvest the bounty of our seas and lakes were important
skills then, especially because some of our prime food sources had begun to
diminish.
As an example, where Ipipiri
and the outer coasts were once home to large colonies of seals, the numbers of
these creatures declined as our population grew and, sadly, their meat is a
rare treat today. I’m told that reserves
of kakerangi[48] still
remain in far-off Te Waipounamu[49]
but I also understand the arrival of Pakeha sealing vessels in the great
southern island has seen even this resource begin to dwindle.
During my lifetime I’ve
also observed a significant reduction in the numbers of different tohora[50]
about our coastline and one only has to look to the fleet of whaling ships
based in Ipipiri to surmise the reason why. Still, once or twice a year, one – or
sometimes several – of these massive beasts will wash up on our coastline. On such occasions, the iwi owning the
territory will converge on the site where, after much prayer and observing
strict protocols, the whale will be stripped of its meat for food and its bones
to make tools and weapons. As the paraoa
or kakahi[51] also
provide teeth for carving, any stranding of these particular whales is regarded
as a very fortunate event.
Kapene Kuki must have
known the arrival of his countrymen would cause a decline in some of our food resources
because he brought pigs with him on his first voyage, distributing these randomly
among our people as he stopped at various points along the coast. The whalers and sealers who followed Captain Cook
brought more swine with them and, over the years, my people have been able
acquire a number of these. These animals
have since multiplied considerably but there are still not enough of them to be
slaughtered except on very special occasions. Thus, birds and fish are our primary sources
of fresh meat during peacetime, occasionally supplemented by other rare
delicacies such as rats, dogs or sacrificial slaves.
As well as the formal
training at Pakinga, there was another rite of passage I was to endure and this
came in my final year at the academy.
We were being put
through our drills one hot summer afternoon, the sun beating down and the dust
rising in clouds around us when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly
man approach one of our instructors. Our teacher ordered us to a halt as
soon as he became aware of the visitor and then proceeded to greet the old man so
deferentially that I knew he must be a great chief or tohunga. The pair
conferred in low tones for a few moments and then my instructor looked around
until his eyes found me.
‘You! Waikato!’
he snapped – as I have said, there was no concession to my chiefly rank while a
student at Pakinga. ‘This is Irirangi, the great tohunga ta moko[52].
You are to go with him and do exactly as he tells you.’
My stomach turned
over.
As the descendant of
two chiefly families, there was much that needed to be etched upon my face – my
rank, my ancestry, my mana – and I knew that today would be the first of many
days of great pain. Nevertheless, I held my head high and even managed to
return the envious looks of my companions with a superior smile. They
would receive their own mokos in good time but, as the highest-born amongst
them, it was only right I should be first and that my father should have
engaged the most renowned tattooist in the land to carry out the task.
Irirangi said nothing
as he led me out of the pa and down the slope into the surrounding forest.
Although the tohunga didn’t seem to follow any obvious trail, we soon arrived
in a sombre clearing at the base of some towering kauri[53]
trees. There stood a simple, open-sided shelter, an ominously
brown-stained mat for its floor and the tohunga’s tools of trade waiting in a
corner. The old man pointed imperiously downwards and, obediently, I entered
and lay down upon the woven flax to await my trial of manhood.
The priest began by
reciting a karakia[54]
while he sprinkled spirit-cleansing water over me from a large, wooden bowl.
I barely heard the words of the incantation – something about the gods helping
me to behave in a manly fashion during the trial to come – mesmerised as I was
by the sight of the wooden mallet and the bone chisels in the corner. Soon, I knew, these implements would be
carving into my flesh.
Irirangi finished his
chant and then began tunelessly singing the story of the ancient hero, Mataora
– the legendary toa who first brought the art of moko back from the
underworld. Taking up a paua[55]
shell of red kokowai[56]
paint and a fine brush, the tohunga traced the first patterns above my
eyebrows, on the side of my nostrils and down the side of my mouth. Once
he had completed these preliminary designs to his satisfaction, he paused his
singing and wordlessly offered me a short stick. Knowing what was about
to come I opened my mouth and, with a mirthless chuckle, the old man placed it
cross-ways between my teeth. Then he resumed
his chant as he set about his work.
Tap, tap, tap.
Our women of rank are
tattooed only on the lips, about the mouth and between the eyebrows. A
warrior’s face however, has eight distinct regions that receive the moko and
each one, I knew, would require a separate journey to the shadowy clearing and
its little hut of suffering.
Tap, tap, tap.
The bone chisel gouged
trails of fire through my flesh. I felt my blood running down the side of
my face and heard it dripping onto the mat. The carving of my moko was an inevitable part
of my transition into manhood however, and I was determined to endure it with
the courage expected of a young ariki.
Tap, tap,
tap.
After what seemed like
an eternity of pain, the tohunga gave what I took to be a grunt of satisfaction
and laid down his tools. My relief was short-lived however for, after
brusquely washing the blood off my face, Irirangi took up a different kind of
chisel and then set to work tapping burnt kauri gum into my open
wounds. Although this stage of the moko was considerably less
painful than the initial carving, I was much relieved when the tohunga finally
sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork.
‘You have been brave,
first-born of Puketawa,’ he said – and my chest swelled with pride at the compliment.
‘But now, Waikato, the
worst part begins.’
With that enigmatic
comment, the tohunga stood up and prepared to leave.
‘What am I to do?’ I
asked him, the mere movement of my lips setting my wounds afire.
‘Stay here and heal,’
he said. ‘I will tell you when it is time for you to return to Pakinga.’
And then he was gone.
I knew the letting of
my blood had made me tapu[57]
– sacred and untouchable – but I had not realised I would be required to spend
the next four days alone in that dreary clearing. Irirangi returned later
that day bearing an old cloak and a fresh gourd of water. After inspecting my wounds, he fed me some
mashed kumura through a wooden funnel before departing again without a
word. He came again at dawn and dusk each day I remained in the shelter
but, apart from these brief and largely-silent visits, I was left alone with
spirits of the forest.
The pain during the
first day was unrelenting but, by evening, it had abated enough so that I was
able to wrap myself in the old cloak and drift into a fitful sleep. I
awoke the next morning to find my wounds had dried and scabbed over – so raw
and tight that the merest twitch of my facial muscles caused searing, eye-watering
agony. Thus, I spent most of the second day lying motionless on my back,
staring up at the mighty kauri trees as they toiled in their eternal task of
holding up the sky.
The third day seemed
even worse than the day my moko had been carved and I realised that this was
what the old tohunga had meant. My wounds had begun to heal but, in doing
so, they started to writhe with an itch knew I must not scratch. To add
to my torment, it began to rain and, although the hut was waterproof enough,
the first wet weather in almost a month spawned clouds of voraciously hungry
mosquitos. Fortunately, I found a ngaio[58]
tree on the edge of the clearing and, by crushing its leaves and rubbing the juice
over my body, I was able to gain some measure of relief. I couldn’t apply
the remedy to my new moko however and the naenae[59]
seized their opportunity to harry my face with a persistence that almost drove
me mad.
At last, on the dawn
of the fifth day, the tohunga returned and, after chanting another karakia to
lift my tapu, he ordered me back to my training at Pakinga.
You can well imagine
the pride I felt as I returned among my as-yet-unadorned classmates, the first
marks of my chiefly mana now declared for all to see. However, despite
being young and untested, there was still much of my moko left to complete. Again and again during that year I returned to
the hut of pain to have more detail added – not just to my face but also
to my buttocks and thighs.
Later, when I eventually
returned home, my splendid moko would make me irresistible to the single young women.
Indeed, it’s a good thing a young man
has almost boundless reserves of energy because every night – and frequently
during the day – I would find this girl or that coaxing me into the forest to
enjoy her embraces. Indeed, apart from the maidens of chiefly rank, I
can’t recall a single girl in either Kaihiki or Rangihoua I didn’t have my way
with. Thus, many of the area’s finest young
warriors are sprung from my loins.
That was after Pakinga
though – I was still in my final year at the academy the night I met Hongi for
the first time.
[1] Ariki: Chieftain, lord, leader, aristocrat, first-born in
a high ranking family.
[2] Ngapuhi: Tribal group of much of Northland.
[3] Iwi: Extended kinship
group, tribe, nation, people, nationality, race - often refers to a large group
of people descended from a common ancestor.
[4] Pakeha: European. When
the Maori heard the soft and loud sounds of the language of Captain Cook and
his sailors the Māori called them 'Pakepakeha', which was shortened to
'Pakeha'.
[5] Tangata Whenua: Local people, hosts, indigenous
people of the land.
[6] Pa: Fortified village,
fort, stockade, screen, blockade, city (especially a fortified one).
[7] Kaumatua: Adult, elder, elderly man, elderly woman, old man.
[8] Ipipiri: The Bay of
Islands. Literal translation – to raft
up, bring together.
[9] Te Hikutu: Sub-tribe, extended family group of the Ngapuhi
iwi.
[10] Hapu: Sub-tribe, extended family group.
[11] Mere: A short, flat weapon
of stone.
[12] Pounamu: Greenstone, nephrite,
jade.
[13] Te Paraoa: Sperm whale.
[14] Waka Taua: War Canoe.
[15] Totara: Large forest trees with prickly, olive-green leaves
found throughout Aotearoa/New Zealand. Popular timber for carving
[16] Waka: Canoe, vehicle,
conveyance, spirit medium, medium (of an atua), long narrow receptacle,
box (for feathers), water trough
[17] Taonga: Treasure, anything
prized.
[18] Hoe: To paddle, row.
[19] Toa: Warrior, brave man,
courage, bravery, champion, winner, expert.
[20] Ariki Taungaroa: Paramount chief, chief
of chiefs, high chief.
[21] Tohunga: Skilled person, chosen
expert, priest.
[22] Whare: House, building,
residence, dwelling, shed, hut, habitation.
[23] Aotearoa:
North Island - now used as the Māori name for all New
Zealand. Literally, ‘Land of the Long White Cloud’.
[24] Taipo: Goblin, spook, ghost - unwanted supernatural visitors not of human
origin that haunt the living.
[25] Whanau: Extended family,
family group, a familiar term of address to a number of people.
[26] Kaka: A large forest parrot
with olive-brown and dull green upperparts and crimson underparts.
[27] Moko: Tattoo designs on the
face or body. In addition to making a warrior attractive to women, the tattoo
practice marked both rites of passage and important events in a person's life.
[28] Kai: Food, meal.
[29] Ra: Sun, day.
[30] Kumara: Sweet potato.
[31] Taro: Starchy root crop.
[32] Kainga: Home, address, residence, village, habitation,
habitat.
[33] Mau Rakau: The art of using weapons during
combat. It is a martial art which takes years of practice and commitment.
Students have to master the skills of timing, balance and co-ordination.
[34] Poi: A light ball on a
string of varying length which is swung or twirled rhythmically to sung
accompaniment.
[35] Kohine: Girl, maiden, female
adolescent.
[36] Manuka: A common native scrub
bush with aromatic, prickly leaves and many small, white, pink or red
flowers.
[37] Ra: Sun, day.
[38] Tuatara: An endemic reptile
with baggy skin and spines down the back.
[39] Tui: Parson bird, Prosthemadera novaeseelandiae -
a songbird that imitates other birds' calls and has glossy-black plumage and
two white tufts at the throat.
[40] Taiaha: A long weapon of hard
wood with one end carved and often decorated with dogs' hair.
[41] Powhenua: A long weapon - usually of wood and similar to a taiaha
but with a smooth point instead of the carved head.
[42] Tewhatewha: A long wooden or bone
weapon with a flat section at one end like an axe.
[43] Patu: Weapon, club.
[44] Whakarewarewa: A haka as a show of force before an attack in
battle.
[45] Haka: Performance of the
haka, posture dance –a vigorous dance with actions and rhythmically
shouted words. A general term for
several types of such dances.
[46] Mana: Prestige, authority,
control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma - mana is a
supernatural force in a person, place or object.
[47] Keruru: Hemiphaga
novaeseelandiae - a large green,
copper and white native bush pigeon which was eaten by Maori.
[48] Kakerangi: New Zealand fur seal.
[49] Te Waipounamu: The South Island of New Zealand.
[50] Tohora: Whale - often used
as a general term, particularly for baleen whales.
[51] Kakahi: Orca, killer whale, Orcinus orca.
[52] Tohunga ta moko: Moko
expert, tattoo expert.
[53] Kauri: Agathis australis - largest forest
tree but found only in the northern North Island, it has a large trunk and
small, oblong, leathery leaves.
[54] Karakia: Incantation, ritual chant, chant, intoned
incantation, charm, spell - a set form of words to state or make effective a
ritual activity.
[55] Paua: Abalone, sea ear, Haliotis spp. - edible univalve molluscs of
rocky shores that have flattened, ear-shaped shells with a row of small holes
for breathing.
[56] Kokowai: Red ochre.
[57] Tapu: To be sacred, prohibited, restricted, set apart, forbidden, under divine protection.
[58] Ngaio: Myoporum laetum - a small tree
with poisonous leaves and fruit.
[59] Naenae: Mosquito.
The Missionary, The Cannibal and The King.
Part One – Aotearoa
Chapter One
I am Waikato, ariki[1]
of Kaihiki. I’ve lived almost fifty
years in this world and during that time I’ve circumnavigated the globe, fought
mighty battles and enjoyed the embraces of countless beautiful women. I am also cousin to Hongi Hika, legendary
leader of the mighty Ngapuhi[2] iwi[3]
and protector of the missionaries. Much
of my story is also Hongi’s – but I am here to tell it and he is not.
I’ve also been witness
to the coming of the Pakeha[4]
– a pale-skinned trickle at first, then a raging, white torrent threatening to
sweep away everything I once believed noble and constant. Now there is talk of a treaty, of a
partnership between the crown and the Tangata Whenua[5]. We’ll see about that...
I was barely five
years old when I saw my first white man.
Hone, a young man from
our village, had been sent over the hill to Rangihoua on some minor errand.
Normally, he would have lingered within our larger neighbour’s walls – perhaps
to admire the skilful ornamentation of the pa’s[6]
renowned meeting house or, more likely, to flirt with some girl or other.
On this occasion however, Hone came running back to Kaihiki almost immediately,
his excited voice ringing out from the forested slopes above our settlement
even before we could see him.
‘There is a ship in
the bay! The Pakehas have returned!’
I already knew of the
Pakeha of course, and I had occasionally seen their wondrous, white-winged
vessels in the distance as they sailed past our little cove. Indeed, back
in those days, there were still many kaumatua[7]
who claimed to remember Captain Cook’s momentous arrival in Ipipiri[8]
– the vast, island-studded inlet he chose to name, ‘The Bay of Islands’.
Now, thirty years after that great navigator’s first visit to our shores,
Pakeha ships came to the sheltered anchorage at Rangihoua five or six times a
year.
On such occasions, any
villages within a day’s walk of the cove would promptly empty of all but their
elderly, their infants and their slaves as their residents flocked to trade for
the pale-skinned visitors’ wonderful treasures. Thus it was that, upon
hearing Hone’s announcement, the people of Kaihiki began to run backwards and
forwards, gathering up the supplies and goods they had prepared for the next
Pakeha visit. Then, chattering excitedly, laughing and singing – and
loaded down with baskets of potatoes, wooden carvings and finely-woven cloaks –
the Te Hikutu[9]
hapu[10]
began streaming out through our village gateway and up the well-worn, zig-zag
trail leading to Rangihoua.
I had never been over
the hill, let alone gone to Rangihoua when a Pakeha ship was in harbour.
This time however, seeing some boys the same age as me joining in the melee, I
decided that I too was old enough to join in the fun. However, I had
barely taken three steps in pursuit of the receding stampede before a familiar,
booming voice stopped me in my tracks.
‘Waikato!’
I remember the
resentment I felt as I whirled about to face my father. Even at that
early stage of my life, I had learned the son of a chief was expected to keep
himself somewhat removed from his inferiors. Now – and not for the first
time – it seemed my rank was to deny me the pleasures freely available to the
common people. Puketawa brooked no challenge though, and anyone who dared
disobey him – even me, his first-born son – could be assured of an immediate
and violent response.
My father stood at the
end of an alleyway between two huts – a magnificent sight that endures undimmed
in my mind to this day. His ceremonial, feathered cloak was draped over
his otherwise bare, muscular shoulders and his magnificent mere[11]
pounamu[12]
– both the symbol of his authority and a deadly weapon – was tucked into the
waistband of his kilt. He wore his hair long and pulled up into a topknot
held in place by a large bone comb. He also wore an angry scowl, this
expression lent a further element of menace by the swirling, black tattoos
almost entirely covering his face. My father was the epitome of an ariki
and everything I wanted one day to be.
Then Puketawa grinned
and I realised his anger had been a sham.
‘Are you so eager to
meet your first Pakeha you would clamber over the hill like a commoner?’ he said.
‘Come! We will go to Rangihoua in a manner befitting our rank!’
I knew then that the
day was going to exceed my expectations. My father could only mean we
were to make the journey in Te Paraoa[13]
– the large, ornately-carved war canoe that is the pride of Te Hikutu hapu.
I followed Puketawa
through the alley and, emerging at the other end, I saw that the waka taua[14]
had already been launched, her crew of fifty warriors gently paddling to hold
her close to the beach.
Te Paraoa’s massive hull had
been carved from a single, giant totara[15]
tree felled generations before my father was born. Our hapu’s lore told how
the forming of the hull – and the embellishment of the canoe’s ornate prow and
towering sternpost – had taken two years of constant labour. It had been
worth it though – Te Paraoa was one of the finest wakas[16]
in the Bay and a dearly-loved taonga[17]
of Te Hikutu clan.
Almost beside myself
with excitement, I followed my father as he waded out to the vessel, swung
himself aboard and took up his position of authority amidships.
‘Hoe!’[18]
Puketawa roared and the waiting toas[19]
promptly plunged their paddles into the sea in perfect unison, sending Te
Paraoa shooting forward.
Having yet to take my seat, I was caught off
balance by the sudden acceleration and barely avoided an embarrassing tumble
into the scuppers. A chuckle came from behind me and I immediately spun
about to identify the insolent paddler, only to find two rows of expressionless
faces staring ahead to the horizon as the men stroked in perfect unison. Ignoring
my antics, Puketawa continued to call out the stroke, imperiously signalling
any changes of course to the man on the steering paddle at the stern.
I continued staring
aft for few moments, captivated by the receding view of Kaihiki. To this day, I still think that the little
village, clinging to its narrow strip of level land between forested hills and
gleaming blue cove, is surely the most beautiful place in the world. Puketawa’s
chant picked up tempo though and, as our warriors matched his call, Te
Paraoa surged southeast with all the speed of the giant, toothed whale for
which she was named. Kaihiki was lost
from sight as we rounded the point and, in what seemed almost no time at all,
we were halfway across the bay on the peninsula’s eastern side. I saw we were heading towards a cluster of
small islands but, as the waka approached this archipelago, Puketawa ordered
his men to a slower speed and turned to speak to me.
‘Many rocks and reefs
lie in the passages between these islands, Waikato,’ my father said. ‘They
are easy enough to see when the sea is as calm and the tide as low as it is now
but, if you ever come through here at night or in rough weather, you will have
only your memory to guide you. Watch the way we take carefully for, if
you are to command Te Pararoa one day, you must learn each channel
perfectly.’
I dutifully tried to
pay attention as Puketawa navigated through the seaweed-fringed passage but I
was soon distracted by the sight of some impressive fortifications crowning one
of the larger islands.
‘Is that Te Pahi’s
stronghold, Father?’
‘Ae, that’s Te Puna,’ Puketawa
confirmed. ‘The ariki taungaroa[20]
keeps most of his arsenal and all his taonga there under permanent guard.
Te Pahi actually lives over on the coast most of the time and I’ve no doubt
he’ll be out on Rangihoua Bay in his waka already. If he ever needs to
though, he can quickly bring his iwi over to Te Puna Island. No one can
touch him once he’s behind those walls, Waikato – that pa is impregnable!’
I was too young then
to know much about the art of war but I had no doubt my father was right.
Once manned by a full force of warriors, the stout palisades ringing the island’s
steep slopes would be able to hold back an army of any size.
‘They say Te Pahi
keeps a special treasure there,’ Puketawa said, lowering his voice. ‘A
particularly wilful daughter he has imprisoned until a suitable husband can be
found for her.’
Te Pahi was paramount
chief of most of the Bay of Islands and, as such, his daughter’s hand had
significant political value. Nevertheless, and even given the ariki
taungaroa’s reputation as a ruthless disciplinarian, it seemed to me that only
an unusually cold and cruel man would lock his own child away in such a place.
Just then, a
thunderclap boomed out of the clear, blue sky and I shivered despite the warm
sunshine. A cynic might say what I heard was a canon shot from the Pakeha
ship moored beyond the next headland but, knowing now the fate that awaited me
on that island, I still believe I experienced a God-given moment of prescience that
day. I was but a child at the time though and, despite being descended
from a long line of tohungas[21],
too young to understand the divine warning…
Rangihoua Bay slowly opened
up before us as we cleared the islands and, even though the settlement had been
described to me many times, I was still surprised by the height of the bluff
towering above the cove. Several lines of palisades ringed the
headland’s summit, lending Te Pahi’s mainland base a similarly invulnerable
appearance to that of his island stronghold. Below the pa walls, perhaps
two hundred whares[22]
clung to a criss-crossing maze of terraces descending all the way to the
foreshore. The biggest crowd I had ever seen was waiting on the beach
there but I paid it little attention, my eyes being irresistibly drawn to the
apparition anchored just offshore.
A three-masted sailing
ship, her furled sails gleaming like white wings in the bright sunshine,
dwarfed the fleet of canoes surrounding her.
As we paddled in to
join the melee, I saw what I knew must be Te Pahi’s waka taua in its midst – a
mighty, hundred-warrior vessel that dwarfed our own hapu’s pride and joy.
Its huge, carved prow was the size of a small house and its lattice-like stern
post, trailing bright-red feather streamers, twice the height of a man. A
tall figure stood slightly apart from the other warriors amidships, its proud
bearing proclaiming that the ariki taungaroa himself had come to oversee
proceedings.
All of the smaller
canoes around us carried goods of some sort or other, their crews hoping to
beat those waiting on the beach to the prime trading opportunities, and there was
a terrific din of people greeting each other and calling out to the ship to be
allowed to come alongside. The canoes
maintained a respectful distance from the Pakeha vessel though and we were soon
informed the visiting sailors had permitted no one to board.
‘They fired a canon
over our heads when we first paddled out to meet them,’ the skipper of a nearby
waka yelled across to us. ‘If anyone goes
closer than fifty paces, the Pakehas point their muskets at them and yell angry
words.’
‘Even the canoes with
girls?’ my father asked.
I had already noticed
that a number of the craft around us carried young, naked women.
‘Even the girls,’ the
man replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. ‘This must be a new
ship – I’ve not seen her here before.’
My father grunted and
nodded his understanding. Rangihoua might have become a regular port of
call for the whalers and sealers working the South Seas Fishery, but it was
always a tense occasion when a new vessel arrived for the first time. Indeed,
our people had quickly learned not to greet the visiting sailing ships with the
massed warrior displays and chants protocol demanded, such welcoming displays
having drawn deadly responses from musket and cannon in the past.
I craned my head back and
looked up at the vessel’s towering masts, her yards stretching across the blue
sky above me like the arms of some giant, mythical creature. Then I
lowered my gaze to the press of men behind the ship’s gunwale and saw the
sinister gleam of cutlass, canon and musket.
The Pakeha who came
among us in those early years were invariably hard men, yet they were also fearful.
Aotearoa[23]
might have had a reputation as a destination where plentiful supplies and
beautiful, willing women could be had for a pittance, but it was equally
renowned as the domain of fierce warriors with a taste for human flesh.
There was a sudden flurry
of activity aboard the ship. One of
several, wide-beamed canoes she carried high above her waterline had filled
with men and was now being lowered to the sea via an extraordinary system of
ropes. Impressed as I was by this feat, it was nothing compared to my
astonishment as the boat began to pull away from its mother ship – not only did
its crew wield paddles fully twice as long as they were tall, but they did so while
facing back the way they had come.
‘Do they have eyes in
the back of their heads, Father?’ I asked.
Puketawa gave a grim
chuckle.
‘Don’t worry,
Son. They are not taipo[24]
– even if they do look like ghosts from the underworld. See – they have a
man in the stern who steers with a paddle just as we do. They also have
some sort of small cannon positioned forward, which is something I’ve not seen
before…’
The gleaming metal
tube, mounted on a stand in the bow, was attended by a scowling crewman who
slowly swivelled the weapon’s muzzle left and right. Our canoes fell back
before this obvious threat and then, realising our visitors intended to conduct
their business ashore, everyone began paddling madly for the beach. This seaborne
stampede took place with such urgency that, by the time the Pakeha boat approached
the land, most of the wakas – including our own – had already been pulled up on
the sand and their crews had leaped out to join the milling, shore-side
throng. I followed Puketawa as he jumped ashore and used his rank to
shove his way through to the front of the crowd. Thus, I had a clear view
of events as the white men landed.
The whaleboat’s keel
ground on the golden sand, the man behind the swivel canon remaining in
position as his crewmates hastily shipped their oars and picked up the pistols
and muskets that had been lying beside them on the thwarts. An eerie
silence descended on the beach and death hovering in the warm air as the
inhabitants of two distant worlds eyed each other, each group fearful of the
other and yet hungry for that which they offered. My people remained quiet
and still – desperate for the trading to commence but knowing the carnage a
sudden sound or false move might precipitate. We knew the desires of the
Pakehas very well by that time, and we had little doubt the sailors carried
with them the goods we craved – cloth, coloured feathers, beads, iron nails,
fish hooks and, if we could but find the price, steel axe heads. Still, the tense silence stretched on.
The Pakeha manning the
cannon looked slowly around our circle and I was intrigued to see his eyes were
the same pale blue colour as the sea over white sand. Then, as his gaze
met mine, he winked, causing me to gasp out aloud in surprise. No one paid me any attention though because
the sailor had begun to speak calmly in his own language. Back in those days, it was mostly gibberish
to me but, nevertheless, I heard him repeat the words ‘Te Pahi’ several times. Clearly, the man had been told, ‘When you get
to Rangihoua, ask for Te Pahi. He is the high chief there and he is
friendly.’
The crowd parted and
the ariki tungaroa himself, accompanied by a younger man whom I guessed to be
one of his sons, strode into the space between the silently straining crowd and
the Pakeha boat.
Te Pahi was in his
mid-forties then and well-established as one of the Bay’s dominant chiefs.
A shrewd tactician and a brave warrior, his rise to power had been aided by a
fortuitous combination of bloodlines. His father, for instance, had been
both Ngati Awa – the original tribe of area – and Ngapuhi, the powerful iwi
that had since conquered almost all of Ipipiri. Te Pahi was also related
to my own Te Hikutu hapu and this sat well with the people of Kaihiki as,
outside our immediate whanau[25],
our strongest bond is with our sub-tribe. Indeed, it has to be said that,
while the Ngapuhi is a numerous and robust iwi, its many clans have often quarrelled
with each other in the absence of a major war with another tribe to unify them.
Te Pahi bore himself
with all the haughtiness expected of the ariki taungaroa and wore about his
shoulders a precious cape decorated with the red feathers of the kaka[26].
His face was densely covered by his moko[27],
the swirling, black tattoos declaring his proud lineage for all to see, and he
carried in his belt a club of the finest greenstone. He spoke some words
to his son – Matara, I would later learn – and, in turn, the young man addressed
the Pakehas in their own language. There followed several exchanges back
and forth, during which the sailors visibly relaxed, and then Te Pahi turned to
address the crowd.
‘The Pakeha are ready
to trade!’ he declared. ‘They are under my protection while their ship is
in our harbour and anyone who harms them will be put to death. They have
asked to take some girls on board, but they have promised to treat them well
and return them to shore before their ship departs again.’
There was a general,
joyous surge towards the boat and it is there my memory of that first encounter
ends.
Chapter Two
My world has been
turned on its head since that day in Rangihoua but, back then, the old ways
still held sway. So it was that, on the first summer solstice following
my ninth birthday, my father dispatched me to Pakinga Pa to begin my military
training, an event I had been eagerly awaiting all my young life.
At dawn that day, along
with two lower-born lads of the same age from my village, I boarded the canoe that
would take us on the first stage of our journey. I took my place with a paddle as the canoe’s
skipper set off across the Bay, so excited I barely a glanced back at my
parents and younger brother Puhi waving goodbye from the beach. After
several hours paddling, we reached the head of the Kerikeri inlet, Ipipiri’s
westernmost extremity and the site of a large village and pa. This was
the territory of Te Hotete – a Ngapuhi chief who was a close relative and strong
ally of Te Pahi – and it was here we joined a party of a dozen or so boys who
were also travelling to Pakinga. The
people of the village, long-accustomed to this annual pilgrimage of youthful warriors-to-be,
generously gave us food and water but then teased us mercilessly as their fee.
‘Look at these soft,
young bodies. Pakinga will toughen them up!’
‘Do you miss your
mummies yet, boys? You will when you get to Pakinga!’
‘Enjoy your kai[28],
lads. It’ll be a long time before you eat under Ra’s[29]
gaze again!’
We wasted no time in
setting off inland – partly because we knew we still had a long journey ahead
of us and partly out of desire to escape the mocking of our relatives.
Quickly establishing that I was the highest-born in our group, I naturally
assumed the position of guide and leader although, in truth, we were following
a well-worn trail through friendly territory and there was little danger we
would become lost.
Skirting the walls of
the pa, we followed the beaten path past cultivated plots where kumara[30]
and taro[31] groves
gleamed greenly in the summer sun. The forest soon closed in above our
heads though, its canopy ringing with birdsong and its shade welcome against the
increasing heat of the day. Although we encountered several clearings and
villages during the morning’s march, I didn’t allow our band to stop until, a
little after midday, we reached a small lake called Waingaro. The day had
become very warm and, without hesitation, I led my detachment into the cooling
waters. There was a small kainga[32]
on the lake’s banks and, just as the people at Kerikeri had, the villagers came
down to the riverbank and offered us food – although this generosity came at a now-familiar
price.
‘That’s a nice, smooth
backside you’ve got there, boy. Wait ‘till old Hohepa gives it a few
lashes with his stick!’
‘Better Hohepa’s stick
than Ropata’s!’
‘Ae! That’s an
altogether different sort of stick!’
We left their laughter
behind us as we followed the trail south, reaching the banks of a larger body
of water, Lake Omapere, about mid-afternoon. Again we leapt in to cool
off and, from our bathing spot, we were able to see Okuratope Pa on a nearby
knoll – another Ngapuhi stronghold and Hotete’s headquarters. I would
have liked to visit the paramount chieftain’s fort but, not knowing precisely
how much further it was to Pakinga and being concerned that we might not reach
our destination before dark, I ordered my contingent onwards. As it
turned out, we made it to Pakinga in plenty of time, arriving at the pa gates well
before sundown.
Most pas are sited
upon steep hills and cliff-tops, but Pakinga sits atop a relatively gentle
knoll that is only slightly elevated above the surrounding plain. Although
this makes the fortress less defendable than most, the trade-off is a large,
level area within its walls which can comfortably accommodate the residents’
dwellings, the dormitories and the drill ground. Here, along with more
than a hundred Ngapuhi lads of a similar age, I began my apprenticeship in mau rakau[33]
– the art of warfare.
Ae! Those were
good days!
Tukariri, God of War,
ruled the land and the only advantage one iwi had over another lay in the
ferocity and the bravery of its warriors. War was the highest calling of
my people and the only honourable way a tribe could expect to advance itself –
more territory, more women, more slaves – was at the expense of its neighbours.
At Pakinga, we ate
before dawn, went all day with only water, and were permitted to eat again only
after the sun had gone down. The training was slow and painstaking, the
discipline ruthless and, as I quickly learned, there was no concession to
family or rank – neither for me nor for anyone else.
There were always four
groups of youths at the pa, each of them at a different stage of their
four-years’ training and each with its own dormitory. Predictably,
we were beneath the notice of the older boys, but we watched them enviously as
they drilled with spear and club. Our envy had a particularly keen edge
because, for almost a year, the only weapon we were permitted was the poi[34].
Can you imagine that –
an army of young, would-be warriors made to sing, dance and twirl balls on the
end of a string like a flock of giggling kohine[35]?
A young warrior has to
learn to do what he is told though, no matter how humiliating or degrading the
task might be. At Pakinga, instant obedience was the only permissible
response to an instructor’s order and even the slightest hesitation invited a
bruising blow from the manuka[36]
staff each of them carried.
Truly serious
transgressions of discipline could see a student dismissed and sent back to his
hapu and, to my shame, this is exactly what happened to one of the boys who had
accompanied me from my village. He was a large, greedy lad who was found
to have stolen food from the storehouse and, even worse, consume it while Ra[37]
was still high in the sky. Of course, a boy who can never be a warrior is
even less use to his iwi than a woman or a slave and, when the errant youth
returned home, his humiliation was absolute. Shunned by everyone
including his own parents, he lasted only a few days at Kaihiki before he ran
away, never to be seen again. Perhaps he joined another hapu – although I
can’t imagine why anybody would want such an outcast – but I prefer to think he
did the honourable thing and took his own life.
The poi dancing at
Pakinga seemed to last for an eternity and each one of us longed for the day
when we would be able to hold a real weapon. Those long months of
coordinated exercise had purpose beyond teaching us discipline however – our
developing young bodies were gaining strength and suppleness, and our feet were
beginning to learn the ritual steps of combat. There are many moves a
young warrior must assimilate if he is to survive in battle – from the slow,
crouching dance of the tuatara[38]
to lightning quick leap of the tui[39]
– and it is a tradition of my people that these sequences are ‘taught from the
feet up’. However, even after our teachers had satisfied themselves we
had mastered the essential footwork, there was still no relief from the endless
poi drill. Instead, our relentless taskmasters began marching us about
the surrounding countryside, searching out different types of terrain for us to
exercise upon. They drilled us endlessly – in soft sand, in knee-deep
water, in mud, on round boulders, on sharp rocks – until we learned to move as one,
regardless of the footing.
Then finally, as our
testicles began to sprout hair and our voices began to deepen, we were allowed
to begin training with something akin to proper weapons. Every dawn,
regardless of the weather, we would fall into two ranks in the fortress’s
courtyard and, in this formation, for hour after hour and week after week, we
would drill with simple wooden staves. Still, we were excited by this
progression because we knew we had begun to learn the many sweeps, thrusts and
blocks of the taiaha[40],
the fire-hardened spear that is a warrior’s primary weapon.
To begin with, we
trained with empty space in front of us, each one of us having to show he had
learned the instructed move perfectly before, as a group, we were allowed to
progress to the next exercise. This was a
long and often frustrating process but it was one that reinforced the bond of
the fighting unit. Then came the wonderful day when we began training
against each other – two ranks of combatants moving backwards and forwards
across the drilling ground in a deadly, ritual dance. It would not be until
we were well into our second year at Pakinga however, that we were permitted to
use real taiahas.
Of course, the taiaha
is not a warrior’s only weapon – we also learned to use the longer spear, the
powhenua[41],
and the tewhatewha[42],
that weapon which looks like a long-handled axe. Every toa also carries a
broad-bladed club in his belt and now, in addition to our taiaha training, we
also began drilling with these close-quarters weapons. My favourite mere
is one I inherited from my father’s family, a revered family taonga handed down
through the generations. It is made from the most precious variety of the
green stone we call pounamu and, when you hold it up to the sun, it glows like
a living thing. Of course, such weapons are far too valuable for a common
toa, so most of our warriors carry the simpler patu[43]. These weapons are made from bone or wood but,
regardless of which material, they are equally deadly.
People these days probably
think it pointless we should have devoted so many years to training with such
primitive weaponry but, back then, battles were still fought in the traditional
manner. In those days, worthy adversaries did not cower behind the walls
of their pas with their women and children, but came out to challenge their
enemies with the whakarewarewa[44]
– the war haka[45].
Then, once battle proper had commenced, the warriors from each side would seek
out an opponent of similar mana[46]
so that the battlefield would become a swirling stage of matched pairs – each
man pitted against an equal enemy in a ritualised dance to the death.
That has all gone now
– the academy at Pakinga, the rituals, the man-to-man combat. There’s no
point spending years training a toa to wield the patu or the taiaha, just to
have him mown down from a distance by some son of a slave son armed with a
musket. These days, any tribe foolish enough to perform the whakarewarewa
simply offers a firearm-equipped adversary a concentrated target. These
days, we give our youths a few weeks’ basic instruction with guns and then show
them how to hide behind earthworks and creep through trenches like worms.
Our people have had to discard so many of the old ways in order to survive and,
sadly, that has included many honourable traditions. My cousin Hongi did
more than anybody to bring those changes upon us but, to be fair, if it hadn’t
been Hongi it would have been someone else…
Of course, our time at
Pakinga wasn’t entirely devoted to learning the art of war. When
we weren’t learning battle skills, we were being schooled in how to supervise
our women and slaves in the fields or, more enjoyably, receiving instruction in
the pursuits of fishing and hunting. Being able to spear or snare fat,
juicy birds like kereru[47],
kaka and tui, or to harvest the bounty of our seas and lakes were important
skills then, especially because some of our prime food sources had begun to
diminish.
As an example, where Ipipiri
and the outer coasts were once home to large colonies of seals, the numbers of
these creatures declined as our population grew and, sadly, their meat is a
rare treat today. I’m told that reserves
of kakerangi[48] still
remain in far-off Te Waipounamu[49]
but I also understand the arrival of Pakeha sealing vessels in the great
southern island has seen even this resource begin to dwindle.
During my lifetime I’ve
also observed a significant reduction in the numbers of different tohora[50]
about our coastline and one only has to look to the fleet of whaling ships
based in Ipipiri to surmise the reason why. Still, once or twice a year, one – or
sometimes several – of these massive beasts will wash up on our coastline. On such occasions, the iwi owning the
territory will converge on the site where, after much prayer and observing
strict protocols, the whale will be stripped of its meat for food and its bones
to make tools and weapons. As the paraoa
or kakahi[51] also
provide teeth for carving, any stranding of these particular whales is regarded
as a very fortunate event.
Kapene Kuki must have
known the arrival of his countrymen would cause a decline in some of our food resources
because he brought pigs with him on his first voyage, distributing these randomly
among our people as he stopped at various points along the coast. The whalers and sealers who followed Captain Cook
brought more swine with them and, over the years, my people have been able
acquire a number of these. These animals
have since multiplied considerably but there are still not enough of them to be
slaughtered except on very special occasions. Thus, birds and fish are our primary sources
of fresh meat during peacetime, occasionally supplemented by other rare
delicacies such as rats, dogs or sacrificial slaves.
As well as the formal
training at Pakinga, there was another rite of passage I was to endure and this
came in my final year at the academy.
We were being put
through our drills one hot summer afternoon, the sun beating down and the dust
rising in clouds around us when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly
man approach one of our instructors. Our teacher ordered us to a halt as
soon as he became aware of the visitor and then proceeded to greet the old man so
deferentially that I knew he must be a great chief or tohunga. The pair
conferred in low tones for a few moments and then my instructor looked around
until his eyes found me.
‘You! Waikato!’
he snapped – as I have said, there was no concession to my chiefly rank while a
student at Pakinga. ‘This is Irirangi, the great tohunga ta moko[52].
You are to go with him and do exactly as he tells you.’
My stomach turned
over.
As the descendant of
two chiefly families, there was much that needed to be etched upon my face – my
rank, my ancestry, my mana – and I knew that today would be the first of many
days of great pain. Nevertheless, I held my head high and even managed to
return the envious looks of my companions with a superior smile. They
would receive their own mokos in good time but, as the highest-born amongst
them, it was only right I should be first and that my father should have
engaged the most renowned tattooist in the land to carry out the task.
Irirangi said nothing
as he led me out of the pa and down the slope into the surrounding forest.
Although the tohunga didn’t seem to follow any obvious trail, we soon arrived
in a sombre clearing at the base of some towering kauri[53]
trees. There stood a simple, open-sided shelter, an ominously
brown-stained mat for its floor and the tohunga’s tools of trade waiting in a
corner. The old man pointed imperiously downwards and, obediently, I entered
and lay down upon the woven flax to await my trial of manhood.
The priest began by
reciting a karakia[54]
while he sprinkled spirit-cleansing water over me from a large, wooden bowl.
I barely heard the words of the incantation – something about the gods helping
me to behave in a manly fashion during the trial to come – mesmerised as I was
by the sight of the wooden mallet and the bone chisels in the corner. Soon, I knew, these implements would be
carving into my flesh.
Irirangi finished his
chant and then began tunelessly singing the story of the ancient hero, Mataora
– the legendary toa who first brought the art of moko back from the
underworld. Taking up a paua[55]
shell of red kokowai[56]
paint and a fine brush, the tohunga traced the first patterns above my
eyebrows, on the side of my nostrils and down the side of my mouth. Once
he had completed these preliminary designs to his satisfaction, he paused his
singing and wordlessly offered me a short stick. Knowing what was about
to come I opened my mouth and, with a mirthless chuckle, the old man placed it
cross-ways between my teeth. Then he resumed
his chant as he set about his work.
Tap, tap, tap.
Our women of rank are
tattooed only on the lips, about the mouth and between the eyebrows. A
warrior’s face however, has eight distinct regions that receive the moko and
each one, I knew, would require a separate journey to the shadowy clearing and
its little hut of suffering.
Tap, tap, tap.
The bone chisel gouged
trails of fire through my flesh. I felt my blood running down the side of
my face and heard it dripping onto the mat. The carving of my moko was an inevitable part
of my transition into manhood however, and I was determined to endure it with
the courage expected of a young ariki.
Tap, tap,
tap.
After what seemed like
an eternity of pain, the tohunga gave what I took to be a grunt of satisfaction
and laid down his tools. My relief was short-lived however for, after
brusquely washing the blood off my face, Irirangi took up a different kind of
chisel and then set to work tapping burnt kauri gum into my open
wounds. Although this stage of the moko was considerably less
painful than the initial carving, I was much relieved when the tohunga finally
sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork.
‘You have been brave,
first-born of Puketawa,’ he said – and my chest swelled with pride at the compliment.
‘But now, Waikato, the
worst part begins.’
With that enigmatic
comment, the tohunga stood up and prepared to leave.
‘What am I to do?’ I
asked him, the mere movement of my lips setting my wounds afire.
‘Stay here and heal,’
he said. ‘I will tell you when it is time for you to return to Pakinga.’
And then he was gone.
I knew the letting of
my blood had made me tapu[57]
– sacred and untouchable – but I had not realised I would be required to spend
the next four days alone in that dreary clearing. Irirangi returned later
that day bearing an old cloak and a fresh gourd of water. After inspecting my wounds, he fed me some
mashed kumura through a wooden funnel before departing again without a
word. He came again at dawn and dusk each day I remained in the shelter
but, apart from these brief and largely-silent visits, I was left alone with
spirits of the forest.
The pain during the
first day was unrelenting but, by evening, it had abated enough so that I was
able to wrap myself in the old cloak and drift into a fitful sleep. I
awoke the next morning to find my wounds had dried and scabbed over – so raw
and tight that the merest twitch of my facial muscles caused searing, eye-watering
agony. Thus, I spent most of the second day lying motionless on my back,
staring up at the mighty kauri trees as they toiled in their eternal task of
holding up the sky.
The third day seemed
even worse than the day my moko had been carved and I realised that this was
what the old tohunga had meant. My wounds had begun to heal but, in doing
so, they started to writhe with an itch knew I must not scratch. To add
to my torment, it began to rain and, although the hut was waterproof enough,
the first wet weather in almost a month spawned clouds of voraciously hungry
mosquitos. Fortunately, I found a ngaio[58]
tree on the edge of the clearing and, by crushing its leaves and rubbing the juice
over my body, I was able to gain some measure of relief. I couldn’t apply
the remedy to my new moko however and the naenae[59]
seized their opportunity to harry my face with a persistence that almost drove
me mad.
At last, on the dawn
of the fifth day, the tohunga returned and, after chanting another karakia to
lift my tapu, he ordered me back to my training at Pakinga.
You can well imagine
the pride I felt as I returned among my as-yet-unadorned classmates, the first
marks of my chiefly mana now declared for all to see. However, despite
being young and untested, there was still much of my moko left to complete. Again and again during that year I returned to
the hut of pain to have more detail added – not just to my face but also
to my buttocks and thighs.
Later, when I eventually
returned home, my splendid moko would make me irresistible to the single young women.
Indeed, it’s a good thing a young man
has almost boundless reserves of energy because every night – and frequently
during the day – I would find this girl or that coaxing me into the forest to
enjoy her embraces. Indeed, apart from the maidens of chiefly rank, I
can’t recall a single girl in either Kaihiki or Rangihoua I didn’t have my way
with. Thus, many of the area’s finest young
warriors are sprung from my loins.
That was after Pakinga
though – I was still in my final year at the academy the night I met Hongi for
the first time.
[1] Ariki: Chieftain, lord, leader, aristocrat, first-born in
a high ranking family.
[2] Ngapuhi: Tribal group of much of Northland.
[3] Iwi: Extended kinship
group, tribe, nation, people, nationality, race - often refers to a large group
of people descended from a common ancestor.
[4] Pakeha: European. When
the Maori heard the soft and loud sounds of the language of Captain Cook and
his sailors the Māori called them 'Pakepakeha', which was shortened to
'Pakeha'.
[5] Tangata Whenua: Local people, hosts, indigenous
people of the land.
[6] Pa: Fortified village,
fort, stockade, screen, blockade, city (especially a fortified one).
[7] Kaumatua: Adult, elder, elderly man, elderly woman, old man.
[8] Ipipiri: The Bay of
Islands. Literal translation – to raft
up, bring together.
[9] Te Hikutu: Sub-tribe, extended family group of the Ngapuhi
iwi.
[10] Hapu: Sub-tribe, extended family group.
[11] Mere: A short, flat weapon
of stone.
[12] Pounamu: Greenstone, nephrite,
jade.
[13] Te Paraoa: Sperm whale.
[14] Waka Taua: War Canoe.
[15] Totara: Large forest trees with prickly, olive-green leaves
found throughout Aotearoa/New Zealand. Popular timber for carving
[16] Waka: Canoe, vehicle,
conveyance, spirit medium, medium (of an atua), long narrow receptacle,
box (for feathers), water trough
[17] Taonga: Treasure, anything
prized.
[18] Hoe: To paddle, row.
[19] Toa: Warrior, brave man,
courage, bravery, champion, winner, expert.
[20] Ariki Taungaroa: Paramount chief, chief
of chiefs, high chief.
[21] Tohunga: Skilled person, chosen
expert, priest.
[22] Whare: House, building,
residence, dwelling, shed, hut, habitation.
[23] Aotearoa:
North Island - now used as the Māori name for all New
Zealand. Literally, ‘Land of the Long White Cloud’.
[24] Taipo: Goblin, spook, ghost - unwanted supernatural visitors not of human
origin that haunt the living.
[25] Whanau: Extended family,
family group, a familiar term of address to a number of people.
[26] Kaka: A large forest parrot
with olive-brown and dull green upperparts and crimson underparts.
[27] Moko: Tattoo designs on the
face or body. In addition to making a warrior attractive to women, the tattoo
practice marked both rites of passage and important events in a person's life.
[28] Kai: Food, meal.
[29] Ra: Sun, day.
[30] Kumara: Sweet potato.
[31] Taro: Starchy root crop.
[32] Kainga: Home, address, residence, village, habitation,
habitat.
[33] Mau Rakau: The art of using weapons during
combat. It is a martial art which takes years of practice and commitment.
Students have to master the skills of timing, balance and co-ordination.
[34] Poi: A light ball on a
string of varying length which is swung or twirled rhythmically to sung
accompaniment.
[35] Kohine: Girl, maiden, female
adolescent.
[36] Manuka: A common native scrub
bush with aromatic, prickly leaves and many small, white, pink or red
flowers.
[37] Ra: Sun, day.
[38] Tuatara: An endemic reptile
with baggy skin and spines down the back.
[39] Tui: Parson bird, Prosthemadera novaeseelandiae -
a songbird that imitates other birds' calls and has glossy-black plumage and
two white tufts at the throat.
[40] Taiaha: A long weapon of hard
wood with one end carved and often decorated with dogs' hair.
[41] Powhenua: A long weapon - usually of wood and similar to a taiaha
but with a smooth point instead of the carved head.
[42] Tewhatewha: A long wooden or bone
weapon with a flat section at one end like an axe.
[43] Patu: Weapon, club.
[44] Whakarewarewa: A haka as a show of force before an attack in
battle.
[45] Haka: Performance of the
haka, posture dance –a vigorous dance with actions and rhythmically
shouted words. A general term for
several types of such dances.
[46] Mana: Prestige, authority,
control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma - mana is a
supernatural force in a person, place or object.
[47] Keruru: Hemiphaga
novaeseelandiae - a large green,
copper and white native bush pigeon which was eaten by Maori.
[48] Kakerangi: New Zealand fur seal.
[49] Te Waipounamu: The South Island of New Zealand.
[50] Tohora: Whale - often used
as a general term, particularly for baleen whales.
[51] Kakahi: Orca, killer whale, Orcinus orca.
[52] Tohunga ta moko: Moko
expert, tattoo expert.
[53] Kauri: Agathis australis - largest forest
tree but found only in the northern North Island, it has a large trunk and
small, oblong, leathery leaves.
[54] Karakia: Incantation, ritual chant, chant, intoned
incantation, charm, spell - a set form of words to state or make effective a
ritual activity.
[55] Paua: Abalone, sea ear, Haliotis spp. - edible univalve molluscs of
rocky shores that have flattened, ear-shaped shells with a row of small holes
for breathing.
[56] Kokowai: Red ochre.
[57] Tapu: To be sacred, prohibited, restricted, set apart, forbidden, under divine protection.
[58] Ngaio: Myoporum laetum - a small tree
with poisonous leaves and fruit.
[59] Naenae: Mosquito.
