III

Te Ao Hou, December 1960, Page 24

III It had not long been light when Rangipakia heard voices from down the path. For a minute a spasm of hope gripped him until he realised that it was some of the mountain people returning from the chase. Suddenly, through his little opening, he saw one of those in front point to something on the ground and call to the others. From his words, the chief realised with horror that there must be a minute trail of blood leading from the path straight to his hiding place and the sharp-eyed enemy had seen it. Rangipakia tried to pull himself to his feet but with a rush the war party was on him and had hold of his arms. They half carried, half dragged Rangipakia along the forest tracks until they came to the edge of the bush where the rest of the mountain people had made a hasty camp. There he was recognised and given food and drink but he refused them both. He sat on the ground a prey to his thoughts. He knew that his useless leg ruled out any chance of escape or even of making a fight for it. He also knew that the alternative was slavery for the mountain people did not eat their captives. Slavery! This was a fate far worse than death on the battlefield or in the ovens of the victors. His family would be disgraced for ever and his tribe would never again command respect for their chief would be the slave of another people, a hewer of wood and a carrier of water, a menial to be spat on and jeered at. To be defeated was bad enough, to be captured and eaten was even worse, but to be captured and become a slave …! This was the ultimate disgrace. The thoughts crowded through Rangipakia's mind. How could he persuade the enemy to kill him and in that way save his mana and that of his family and tribe? How could he die honourable? Then at last an idea came to him. There was yet hope! If only Tu had spared the lives of his two brother chiefs who had led the allied war parties. Rangipakia struggled to his feet with a great effort. “Take me to your chief”. The chief of the mountain people received him courteously for he had no feelings of personal enmity towards Rangipakia. It was the impetuosity of some of his young men in killing the fishing party of the river people which had made events from then on inevitable…. Rangipakia asked: “Has my brother Te Whareporo been killed in the battle or has Tu spared him?” The chief of the mountain people shook his head. “Te Whareporo still lives and has eluded my son.” Then Rangipakia asked the fareful question on which hung his chance of saving the honour of his family and his tribe. “That is good! And what of my other brother Matorohanga? Has he also escaped?” “He has escaped and presumably still lives. You, Rangipakia, are our only captive of rank!” The lines of pain and despair on Rangipakia's face disappeared. His eye glowed with a fierce light as he got to his feet now seemingly without effort. He drew his shoulders back with dignity and stood with his arms folded across his chest.