Tommo & Hawk (32 page)

I am almost fainting with desire and her hands are everywhere at once. She places her lips upon mine and her tongue seems alive in my mouth. Then she draws back. 'Black Maori, open your eyes. I want you to see the woman who would make love to you.'

I open my eyes. Moonlight is flooding into the hut and throws a silver sheen across her skin. She is beautiful beyond belief, her breasts cast upwards and generous, and her stomach clean-curved as she sits on her heels beside me. Her thighs are strong, smooth and shining in the light, and I can see the curve of her buttocks and the narrowness of her waist. He dark hair falls across her shoulders, shadowing her eyes so I cannot see into them.

I open my mouth to speak, but she presses her finger to my lips. 'Hush, do not speak.'

Now she begins to kiss me across my chest and belly, moving lower and lower, and then her lips part and take me into her mouth. 'Oh, oh!' I cry. 'Oh!' I am in heaven. I fear I cannot last a moment longer as her soft lips stroke up and down, and each time seem to take in most of me. Then, when I am sure I shall die, she withdraws her lips from my trembling hardness. A moment later she is astride me. Her hand guides me so that I sink into a softness and a creaminess I have not imagined in my wildest dreams.

'Oh, God, oh, oh, oh!' I moan.

'Black Maori, you must wait for me,' she says, panting now, her voice urgent. 'Wait!' I don't know how she can believe I am in enough control to do anything. 'Wait, wait, I will tell you when,' she gasps. Her eyes are closed and her mouth half open, and I can see her white teeth and pink tongue.

I want to tell her I cannot wait a moment longer, but all I can do is moan as she moves up and down on top of me. Every part of her is pressed against me, her slender body caressing my skin. Now her lips are upon mine and her tongue is in my mouth. The softness and smoothness is everywhere and I must die for I cannot live another moment without release. Then she takes her lips from mine, and begins to moan. 'Now!' she says. 'Now, Black Maori! Hard, hard, I must feel your hardness! Now!'

With this permission I lift my body from under her and roll her over on her back, driving into her. Her legs clasp about me as she opens up so that my every inch is taken deep into her. I cannot stop the explosion inside me.

'More, more!' she screams, her nails raking my back. I feel nothing but the delight of her. 'Oh, oh, ohhhh!' she cries, and more and more of the same, which thrills my ear. She gives a loud and glorious moan and then a sigh. I drive the harder into her wetness as her voice dies to a whimper and her hips push back up into mine. Her arms come around me and she draws my head into her breasts. Then my explosion is over and, jerking wildly, the world collapses and me with it. I am emptied out and my youth has flown away.

We are gleaming sweat, panting together, our breath hot about our heads. I have never felt more a man, never more alive, more embraced by love and tenderness. I fear I shall not again in my life have another moment as beautiful as this.

'You are a warrior now, Black Maori,' the woman says at last. Pushing me gently away, she rises so that once again I see the length of her legs, the curve of her waist and the beauty of her glistening breasts. Her hair falls across her face as she kneels again. She brushes it away as she wraps the blanket about me and kisses me. 'Ah, you are beautiful,' she smiles. 'You are beautiful, and you waited.' Then she gathers up her own blanket and rising, wraps it about her and moves to the door.

'What is your name?' I call urgently, for I do not want her to leave.

She pauses at the door, the moon shining on her face. 'Hinetitama.' She laughs softly, then is gone in the moonlight.

'Will you come to me again?' I call, but there is no reply. I lie still, a great smile upon my face. 'Hinetitama,' I repeat. Flooded with happiness, I fall into a deep slumber.

In the morning I am summoned to the marae by Chief Kingi and the rangatira. When all are seated the chief addresses me, 'Five days ago, we talked to the boy but today it is to the man.' He grins. 'Did you dream well, Black Maori?'

I laugh. 'Better than I ever have, thank you, Chief Kingi.'

'That is good. Your ancestors will be most relieved.'

Laughter follows this reply, also applause, and then no more is said of it. The thing is done and I am welcomed. I feel as though something different has happened between these people and myself, something I cannot quite understand.

'We will talk of these small wars of yours,' Wiremu Kingi says. 'You will tell us all you know. Like the British, we too can learn from books, though blood is better!'

'Only when it does not belong to your side,' I reply.

'Ha! There is no shame in dying. If you have fought well it is an honour,' the chief replies.

I shrug. 'There is also no shame in living, if you have fought well.'

'Black Maori, keep your sharp tongue for the pakeha!' Wiremu Kingi rebukes me, but I can see from his eyes that he is not insulted.

'I have known a woman whom war has made a widow in your tribe, and all I can say is that the dead must grieve greatly for their loss.' I hope that this compliment makes up for my forward manner.

The chief laughs suddenly. 'Well spoken, Black Maori. You are right, our strength is more in the living than the dead. Already the Maori have done too much dying in these battles. It is not only the dead who grieve their wahine, the tribe laments the barrenness that is then forced upon them. You will tell us more of this new way to fight the British.'

I spend the remainder of the morning outlining the principles of guerrilla warfare and listening as the rangatira discuss it among themselves. This is a most equitable process and Wiremu Kingi shows a great deal of patience. The tohunga argue fiercely that the ancestors will frown on a departure from the practice of fighting from a pa, but the chief is most persuasive. 'In addition to this new way of fighting, we will build a great pa in the mountains where our women and children will stay with sufficient warriors to defend them,' he declares.

'Perhaps the tribe should build many forts in the mountains so the women and children can keep moving?' I suggest. 'Food may be stored in secret caves, for I have been told there are many such places and few are known to the pakeha. We can control the mountain passes so that they cannot penetrate. Then we can attack them on their own ground, always where they least expect us. The mountains and the forests are where we will hide.'

'The Maori always hold the ground under their feet. We cannot defend ground which is not our own,' proclaims one of the tohunga, an old man who is much respected.

'Ha! It is all our ground!' the chief snorts. 'Our land, which the pakeha have stolen from us!'

But the old priest will not be dissuaded. He has been most persistent all morning and much involved with the thoughts of the ancestors in the matter of this new way of warring. He shakes his head as I further my argument.

'The pa was a strong place from which the ancestors defended their land, a fort built upon their ground and under their own feet. But since the pakeha have brought the musket here, more than twenty thousand Maori have been killed defending their forts. These are not Maori who have been killed by the pakeha. These are Maori who have been slain by their own kind - those who have used the white man's gun to kill their own people! These traitors, who know the pa well, have defeated it with the gun. The British have even more guns - huge ones that can tear down the palisades and tear up the ground. The Maori pa cannot always withstand the British system of war. We must have another system.'

There is much concern among the rangatira at this denigration of the pa. Chief Wiremu Kingi is patient though firm and in the end, he rules that we will try this new kind of warfare. He turns to his younger brother, War Chief Hapurona, who has a mighty reputation but who has said little during the discussion, leaving the task of reconciliation to his brother.

'What say you, Hapurona? How shall we fight?'

All are silent as War Chief Hapurona speaks. 'The Maori are quick to fight and slow to learn, but I do not agree that we must give up the system of the forts.' The men murmur their approval at this, and my heart sinks. 'There are times in war to attack and times to defend,' the war chief continues. 'With the pakeha we have always defended, and sometimes this has been right and sometimes it has been wrong. Black Maori is right, we must use both systems to be effective in this war.'

Wiremu Kingi turns to me and nods that I should reply. I have been so anxious to persuade him to embrace my new method of warfare that I have not seen the whole situation clearly as Hapurona has. 'War Chief Hapurona is our commander and what he says is right. It shames me that I have not understood this more clearly before,' I say, with my head bowed.

The old chief responds, 'You are not born a Maori, nor have you been a warrior, so you would not know the advantages of fighting a defensive action from a well-constructed pa.' He turns to Hapurona. 'Will you allow the Black Maori to be a general under you, to advise you in his ways?'

Hapurona walks over to me and places his hand on my shoulders. 'I shall prepare the feathers for a general's cloak.' He laughs. 'It is not often I must look up into another man's face. The women will need to gather many more baskets of feathers for the Black Maori.'

I tell Wiremu Kingi that I am greatly honoured but since I have not proved my courage in battle, I would be happy to be an adviser only.

The chief appears surprised at this. 'And if we should be defeated, who shall we blame? A mere adviser? Bah! We must have a general so that he is worthy of being put to death should he fail us - or of being honoured should we succeed.'

The rangatira laugh heartily at this and approve the appointment. Chief Wiremu Kingi then says, 'Black Maori, when you persuaded me not to fight the governor in the Waitara, that is something only a good war chief would do. You shall be a general for us, like those the British have, and we shall call you Black Hawk.'

And so I have been named General Black Hawk. I am a little afraid that I shall let the Maori down in this whole affair. Though they have agreed to fight small wars, they are by no means unanimous, and the tohunga led by the old priest are against it. I shall have to prove myself very soon with War Chief Hapurona, or I shall be greatly shamed and Chief Tamihana will be disgraced by me.

I return to my tribe to tell my chief of Wiremu Kingi's decision. Of course, I must also tell Tommo.

Tommo is not amused. 'Have you gone crazy?' he screams, banging his fist hard down on the table. 'General Black Hawk, is it? You think the pakeha don't already want your head on a plate? Listen, mate, they'll string you up by your balls outside Auckland Post Office while singing the flamin' Hallelujah Chorus!'

'But you said you wanted to come with me. You and your fighting axes, Tommo Te Mokiri!' I say.

'Yes, but that was when it were just me and you! Me, a regular soldier and you, an adviser, safe in the background. Nobody'd know nothin' about us being there. Then, when it's over, or if it goes badly, we can scarper, piss off, slip into the night!' He pauses and glares at me. 'Now you're a fucking general. The flamin' pakeha will see it as treason! Remember we're escaped prisoners. They're gunna have your guts for garters, mate, if they ever puts two and two together and gets four. Mine, too! But I got to be with you, Hawk - I'm not letting ya go on yer own.'

'Tommo, please wait here,' I beg. 'What if something goes wrong or we are captured? Makareta is with child. You would not wish her to be a widow.'

'Makareta already knows we got to go away,' Tommo snorts. 'I've told her I'll come back some day to fetch her and the child. I'm coming all right, but that don't mean you ain't an idjit! Promise me when this is over, if we comes out alive, we're gunna get out of here.'

I nod my head.

'Promise, Hawk! Swear it on Makareta's baby!'

'I promise we'll go back to Hobart Town as soon as Wiremu Kingi's war is over.'

'No! I don't want to go back to Mary yet. We'll go to Sydney.'

'Sydney then, I promise!'

We are sitting in Tommo's hut and I am glad when Makareta comes over with some food. She will cool Tommo's anger. It's difficult to be angry with Makareta present. She has a mischievous grin, laughs often and loves Tommo with all her heart. She cannot help but touch him as though he is a part of her every desire. 'What will you name the baby?' I ask her, hoping to end the unfortunate subject of General Black Hawk.

'Icky,' Makareta smiles.

'Ikey,' Tommo corrects her.

I laugh. 'I'll wager he'll be the only Ikey Solomon who is Maori in the whole world or ever to come. But what if it is a girl, how shall you name her?'

Makareta frowns and looks downcast. 'I would want a son for Tommo. We have not thought of a name for a girl.'

I hesitate a moment, then venture, 'If it is a girl, may I suggest a name?'

'I know! You want to call her Mary, don'tcha?' says Tommo, now somewhat mollified.

'No, I had thought - Hinetitama?'

Makareta gasps and brings her hand to her breast. 'That is a name which may only be used for a Maori princess! It cannot be, Black Hawk! They will not allow it. Hinetitama is the daughter of Hineahuone, Woman Made From Earth, the first Maori woman. The mother of the earth called her daughter Hinetitama, the Dawn Maiden, because her cheeks were the same colour as the morning light.'

'That is beautiful, Makareta. If you should have a girl, I will ask Chief Tamihana if he will grant his permission to name her thus. I am rangatira, perhaps he will allow this honour through me.'

'He will not, Black Hawk. The tohunga and the ancestors would be angry. I do not want a tapu on my child!' She is most distressed, so I change the subject.

'It will be a boy,' I say quickly. 'There is a saying among the pakeha that a mother's beauty is stolen by a girl child in the womb, but if it is a son, the beauty remains.' I smile. 'And you, Makareta, are more beautiful than ever.'

Tommo sighs and rolls his eyes at this sentimental notion but I can see Makareta is pleased. Besides, her good manners do not allow her to show further disquiet. Her frown disappears and she laughs. 'You are right, Black Hawk. We will have Icky Slomon and save everyone much trouble.'