Plume of the Arawas
III. The Broken Wing
III. The Broken Wing
My bird of fame, my child, still lives,
And shall o'er chiefs in council sit,
And claim the right to order all
That mind can frame and hand can do.
And love again will show its power.
A t the appointed spot among the trees close to the Hinémaiaia stream, Tuwharétoa waited and waited, but no maiden came.
Anxiously he listened for sounds of life from the near-by pa, but no sounds came—no crying of the very young, no wheezing of the very old, no sentry's calls, not even the plaintive whining of barkless dogs. For such silence he felt sure there could be only one cause.
In the darkness, he felt his way across the flat. Unchallenged, he scaled the palisade and made a circuit of the area within. Ah! It was as he had thought.
Soon he left the pa by an open gate and went back to his place among the trees, and waited for the light.
At daybreak, his surprised Arawas away out on the Lake saw him beckoning to them, not from the beach, but from one of the high towers of the pa, and at once they drove the waka-taua in to the mouth of the stream, and a landing-party under Rata leaped ashore.
Quickly they searched the pa, but without result. The huts were empty. Then they felt the stones in the earth-ovens. The stones were cold. Clearly the pa had been unoccupied for days.
Sick with disappointment, and uncertain what to do next, Tuwharétoa was about to send his men back to the waka-taua, when suddenly he noticed something that lay upon the ground near the main gate, a something that peeped out from under a large flake of obsidian and shone with a well-remembered lustre. He picked it up and cried out to Rata:
“See! A lock of hair, soft and flaxen! Rerémoa's! She has been here. Maybe she was in need, and left this sign. Extend the search, everyone! Extend the search! Hasten!”
The warriors spread out from the pa in all directions, and soon one party to the south came upon the signs of a conflict—marks upon the pumice sand over a wide area, and then discarded weapons here and there showing the line of flight.
Eagerly Tuwharétoa continued the search to the south, hoping to capture some Ngatihotu from whom to drag tidings of Rerémoa. But the whole countryside seemed deserted.
Half the morning was already gone by the time he was back at the pa, and there his worst fears were soon confirmed.
On the marae lay a dying Ngatihotu warrior whom Rata had just brought in from the scene of a fight with Tuhoe away out on the plateau to the north. It was some time before the man's lips, parched with thirst, could move in speech, but at last with gasping effort he made all things clear.
The inhabitants of the pa, said the Ngatihotu, had abandoned it some days before and had fled to the hills on the approach of a Tuhoe taua. Tuhoe had occupied the pa on their arrival, and a little later, seeing a party of Ngatihotus approaching from along the Lake shore, they had remained within the palisade and had raised the welcoming cries of the haeré-mai! The unsuspecting Ngatihotus had almost reached the pa before they had discovered the trap, and then Tuhoe had attacked them in the open and put them to flight, and had retired back into the pa bearing with them the maiden Rerémoa.
The High Chief Nukutea at the rear of the party had with difficulty rallied his men, and had secured aid from a Kaimanawa pa in the near-by hills. Then, two days before, he had attacked the retreating Tuhoes up on the plateau to the north, but had been beaten off. And the last thing the wounded man had heard was the cry of the captive Rerémoa: “Tell Manaia! Tell the Arawas! Tell Manaia! The Pari-maté Gorge!”
………..
Stripped to the “maro,” oiled from head to foot, Pahikauré in his belt, Tuwharétoa but waited to give his final directions to his friend:
“O Rata, give relief to this dying man, then take the canoe back to Motutaiko and remain there, but tell Marama to await a message that will surely come! Enough!”
Then away he dashed across the stream, and up the hill, and soon, with great strides that steadily ate up distance, he was bounding along across the open plateau, heading straight for a gap in the blue mountain-wall of the far-off Uréwera in a desperate effort to reach the Pari-maté Gorge in time. If only he could intercept Tuhoe and their captive there! If only he could reach that familiar spot in time!
A two-days’ start and more—yet there was just a chance. If the Arawa judged rightly, Tuhoe would have sent a small party ahead with the maiden while the retreating main body would have held the pursuing Ngatihotus steadily in check. Yet the speed of the captive would have fixed the speed of the party. Yes, there was a chance. Not yet could they have reached that Tuhoe gorge.
On! On! The edge of the plateau was much nearer now, and the mountain-wall of the Uréwera more distinct and of a fainter blue.
Then suddenly the smoothness departed from that giant stride, and a cramping fear lay at the Arawa's heart, a fear that the Tuhoe warriors might have already molested the beautiful captive in their power.
But almost at once the stride lengthened again. Tuhoe were of the Maori race, and a woman captive would be safe with them. Later she might be taken in marriage, but not yet. Tuwharétoa felt ashamed to think that even for a moment he had placed Tuhoe with the lower races of whom tradition told.
On, on, across the wide plateau of the Kaingaroa went the Arawa in an almost straight line, skilfully avoiding the larger clumps of scrub and leaping over the smaller ones that stood in his way; on, on, with not a sign of fatigue as yet; on, on—ah! the edge of the plateau at last!
No rest! Down, down into the valley of the Rangitaiki, with but a moment's stop at the river for a rinsing of the mouth and a sousing of the hair with cooling waters; then on across the river, and on, on through the broken country on the other side along the rough but direct route that he had traversed almost a year before.
Ah! The strenuous physical training on Motutaiko Island was standing to the Arawa in his time of need. In wind and limb he was making the test. Scarcely yet was he feeling the strain of his great effort. But now in his mouth there lay a small round pebble that helped to assuage a raging thirst.
On! On! How rapidly that sun was sinking to the west! And how ardently the Arawa longed to be as Maui, the hero-god of old, to have the power to bind the sun with ropes and compel him to move more slowly across the heavens.
On, on, and up into the foothills of the Uréwera, and then over rougher country still went the Arawa, drawing more and more heavily as the day wore on upon even his great reserve of strength in his race against time.
And towards late afternoon the race was won.
………..
At the mouth of the defile opposite the entrance to the Tuhoe gorge Tuwharétoa hid himself in the scrub close to the track, and waited, and rested. For quite a while he waited.
Then a Tuhoe warrior dashed through the outlet on his way to the gorge. He was allowed to pass. Soon, two more Tuhoes came running along, and the Arawa let them pass also. Finally a party of six appeared in view, and in their midst was Rerémoa, dragged along by a warrior on either side each time she held back. And the Arawa rejoiced to see that her spirit was still unbroken, for she carried herself as proudly as before.
Then, as they passed his hiding-place, Tuwharétoa leaped out at the Tuhoes and smote. Completely taken by surprise, they scattered, but two of their number were left to writhe out their last upon the dusty track.
Barely had the Arawa time to seize the maiden and draw her into shelter at the side of the defile before he was hard put to it to ward off the furious blows of the four remaining Tuhoes.
Two of the warriors who had gone on ahead heard the noise and came hurrying back, and Tuwharétoa felt that he must take risks if he were to end the fight quickly. So he hurled himself at the four Tuhoes before the others could come up. He crushed the life out of two of them with terrific blows from Pahikauré, but did not come off scatheless himself, for he was bleeding from chest and thigh as he leaped back to the maiden's side.
And now the Tuhoe warriors varied their attack. They realised that the maiden was the weak point in the Arawa's defence and they turned their attentions principally against her. They cleverly kept out of reach of Pahikauré, and Tuwharétoa dared not charge in among them again lest the chance to slay the maiden should be seized at once.
At last, seeing that the Arawa would not fall into their trap, they decided to rush him and the maiden from three sides at once. So, while two warriors leaped in upon him from the front, the other two rushed in from either side and sought to reach the maiden crouching against the steep slope at the back.
With his utmost force the Arawa thrust outwards with his weapon and caught one Tuhoe under the chin with a blow that lifted him off his feet, to die as he fell. The spear of the other Tuhoe found its mark, but a crushing blow from Pahikauré prevented the thrust from being driven home.
Rerémoa herself avoided the spear of one warrior from the side, but in doing so she came within reach of the stone club of the other. Almost by instinct Tuwharétoa knew that the blow was falling, and he turned just in time to interpose his left arm above the maiden's head.
With a sickening thud the club fell on the arm above the elbow, and the crack of the bone could be plainly heard. The great arm fell limply back, but the Tuhoe was already crashing to his death under a savage thrust from the greenstone meré.
At the same moment the remaining Tuhoe, who had sought to reach the maiden and had failed, seized his chance and drove his spear into the unprotected side of his foe, then bounded away out of reach.
He stood there a few paces off, watching the badlywounded Arawa, and undecided whether to attempt the finishing blow himself or to hurry up the gorge for assistance. But even with his broken arm and bleeding wounds the Arawa looked too formidable. So the Tuhoe began to edge away in readiness for flight.
With a swift movement Tuwharétoa let his weapon swing for a moment from the cord at his wrist, and then, to the maiden's horror, he placed the fingers of his left hand between his teeth to hold the broken arm in place as he leaped. The Tuhoe turned and fled, but he had no chance. Pahikauré fell again, and the matter was ended.
“O my Arawa! My Arawa!” Not another word could Rerémoa say as she ran to meet him. She clung tightly to one strong arm for a moment while he smiled down upon her, and then she quickly made a sling from two of the Tuhoe belts. Soon the pain of the broken limb was somewhat eased, but she could do nothing to cleanse the wounds, nothing to stanch the flow of blood from chest and side.
He saw the anxiety in her eyes and he knew that he must act at once.
“Our only chance is to take the route by which I came. At daybreak the searchers will be out. Aué! The track of a bird with a broken wing is so easily seen in the fern. So will my blood-stained track be seen unless we hide it in the Rangitaiki before the dawn. Come, Rerémoa!”
………..
They reached the Rangitaiki before the light came, and waded up its bed for some distance until they found a hiding-place in a cave on the river bank.
There the fainting Arawa lay down, while the maiden removed as best she could the mud which he had spread over his wounds to check the drip of blood. Then she deftly set the broken arm with splints of totara bark and a bandage of flax leaves, and as she did so she saw that the fingers had been bitten through to the bone. Aué!
All that day they remained hidden, with no food except a few berries, and at dusk they set out for the Kaingaroa plains. All night long they travelled, making slow progress, for continually did Rerémoa have to help the Arawa as he stumbled along. Yet somehow they managed to reach the forest at the base of the plateau just as day broke, and there Tuwharétoa collapsed again.
Desperately the maiden sought a way through the tangled brakes of looping karéao or supple-jack vines that filled every gap between the trees. Finally, at a spot where a small stream disappeared into a hole in the ground, she found a cleft in the wall of the plateau and with difficulty led the Arawa through it and up into a gully down which ran the stream.
Following up that stream to its source in a spring near the top of the gully, they came to a vast eyebrow of rock that overhung a cave-like space below.
“A rock shelter, O Manaia!” cried Rerémoa. “It is sunny and dry, and shall be our refuge-place from Tuhoe until thou be strong again.”
Weak from loss of blood, utterly exhausted by his tremendous physical efforts of the previous days and nights, and now feeling the effects of a poison working in his veins, Tuwharétoa made no reply, but threw himself down before the shelter and deliberately fought back a darkness, a dizziness, that had begun to cloud his mind.
Succeeding, he allowed Rerémoa to make for him a couch of fern at one end of the shelter, and while she was thus busy he took the chance to send his promised message to Marama.
Out and out towards the island in the Lake his trained mind thrust and thrust with all the strength left at its command; out and out it thrust in a sustained effort to reach the mind it sought. Balked, balked, balked, a moment of triumph, baffled again! Ah—at last! Message upon message!
Tuwharétoa lay back and sighed his relief. His Arawas would learn from Marama that he was safe, but wounded, and that they must not seek his hiding-place.
They would obey his command to refrain from any fighting upon the Lake until his return, and they would inform Ngatihotu of the safety of the Puhi maiden Rerémoa.
He called to Rerémoa, and she loosened the bandages around his broken arm. She was alarmed at the way the arm was swelling, but he would not let her shift the splints that kept the bone in place. In him was the inborn horror a warrior feels when he thinks of a twisted limb. What mattered the throbbing?
Yet he thought it strange that another touch of dizziness should affect his mind. He fought it off again, but with more difficulty this time. And the throb, throb, throb in the arm persisted.
He rose and sought to aid Rerémoa in her preparations for their comfort, but she gently led him to the couch of fern and insisted upon his resting there. So he lay down and watched her as she moved about, graceful as the rare white crane!
Presently she called out to him from the far end of the shelter and said that she had found a heap of river-worn stones suitable for an earth-oven, a fern-root-pounder roughly hewn from stone, and even a hué gourd or two, sure signs of former habitation. Moreover, under a cover of earth she had found charcoal. Soon she would light a fire.
Tuwharétoa promptly warned her that enemies would be on the watch, and that they would see the smoke. She laughed at his fears. Surely she could build a fire that would not smoke!
Hiding her weariness, she hunted about among the trees on either side of the shelter for a piece of kaiko-mako wood, but found none, so she used a piece of totara instead. With the aid of a rubbing-stick of tawa wood she soon engendered heat. The wood-dust began to smoke, but very lightly.
“ Whakina mai te ahi! Reveal to me the fire!”
cried Rerémoa in the customary invocation, as she placed the smoking dust inside a wisp of kiekie leaves and dry moss and waved it round and round. It burst into flame. With totara bark she built up a little fire, and soon she had some charcoal in a red glow. Not a sign of smoke could be seen outside the shelter. Tuwharétoa smiled his approval.
Aué! How that arm ached and throbbed! And the shoulder was swelling now. And the attacks of dizziness were becoming more frequent, more troublesome. Tuwharétoa suddenly realised that his mental powers were weakening under the strain. Ha! What if he should faint, become delirious? Then came a queer thought. What if he should die, and the maiden be left alone?
Hurriedly he tried to tell Rerémoa what to do for food-supplies in case of need. Indignantly she cut him short. Was she not trained as well as he in the forest ways? To a chieftainess of Ngatihotu, food, sweet food, was everywhere. Even in his weakness the Arawa smiled at her boast, and the maiden turned her back on him and moved away.
Yet when he called to her she hastened to his side, and her distress was plain as she eased the bandages again. That dreadful swelling! And the perspiration upon the brow! She sat down beside him and chanted softly to him, and in a little while, to her great relief, he dozed off into a troubled sleep. Soon she also slept.
………..
The hot afternoon sun was streaming into the shelter when Rerémoa at last awoke, and to her dismay the couch lay empty. Hastily searching, she found the Arawa at the head of the gully. He was examining the trees, and the angry maiden knew at once the cause. He doubted her knowledge of the forest foods. He was appraising their value that he might aid or direct her in every search. And the danger to himself-ignored!
Almost fiercely she seized him by the unwounded arm and dragged him back to the shelter. She had to aid him up the slope. He was reeling when he reached the top. She had to help him the few steps to the couch. Then he dropped into a dead faint.