stillness broken only by the whining of a dog and the wailing of a child from amongst the raupo-thatched whares which stood close to the marae. The sweat streamed down the naked flanks of the warriors and formed rivulets in the lines of their tattoo. The hot sun made their bodies shine like polished teak. “Whiti! Whiti!” shouted Rangipakia and his men leaped to their feet and began the tribal peruperu. The ground quivered beneath the pounding feet of the warriors, their faces twisted into the most terrifying expressions of which each man was capable and the thunderous shouting of the words, chanted in perfect unison, rolled across the marae to be thrown back and forth by the encircling stockade. Then with a final shout the dance was finished and as the war party sank to the ground, the visitors rose to their feet and replied, each man trying his best to better the performance of those opposite. At last the visitors were also finished and both groups broke ranks and greeted one another in the normal way with wailing and many speeches and finally feasting. The next day the second band of reinforcements arrived under their chief Matorohanga and the ceremony was repeated. Once again Rangipakia's challenger was too swift for the visitors and the chief's misgivings lessened a little at the thought of these favourable omens. After the ceremonies of greeting were over, came the ceremonies of purification of the warriors. These were many and varied and lasted throughout the whole of the next day. As the shadows began to lengthen all that remianed was the ritual of wai taua—the ceremonial baptism into the service of Tumatauenga, God of War. The warriors trooped down to the river followed by the old men. No slaves or women or boys were allowed to be present at such a tapu ritual. The warriors stripped and entered the water and waited for the tohunga. There was a stir and the throng parted as the priest strode down to the bank. There he took two strips of flax leaf from his girdle, tied them together and entering the running water placed them so that he was standing between the two trailing strips. The tohunga's voice rose high and clear and his chant rang above the sound of the water. He went to the man closest to him, dipped a small branch of karamu shrub into the water and sprinkled a few drops on him, chanting all the while. He moved on to the next and repeated the performance and continued this down the line. As the men felt the water swirling around their thighs, cold and clean, they knew they had stepped out of their old skins into a new body free from the fears and weaknesses of the old. Now the war tapu was on them and they were under the protection of the tribal war god. When the men returned to the pa after the long ceremony, the people were silent. They knew that their men were now separate and apart and no longer of the same world, for one of the restrictions of the war tapu was that the warriors could have no contact with their wives or sweethearts until it was removed. Where before there had been feasting and gaiety and bustle, there was now a hush over the pa as the warriors lay down on their mats for some much needed sleep. One by one the fires died and the night silence was broken only by the voices of the sentries as they recited watch alarms at intervals in loud voices. “Tenei te pa, o ko roto, ko au e…. This is the fort and here within am I….”

II Next morning the village was awake as the first grey streaks of dawn were in the sky. The white smoke from the fires twisted up into the still air as the women busied themselves cooking a meal and the warriors made themselves ready. After eating, the men took their weapons and gathered on the marae for the grand finale of the war dance. All the war parties squatted together in a column five abreast. Suddenly Rangipakia bounded to the front and gave a short call. On the last word the whole body rose to its feet as one man and the dance began. The stamping feet were quiet and almost lazy at first but gradually the beat increased in intensity. Each man held a weapon in his right hand and beat his bare thigh with his left, the whole sounding like the beating of a huge drum. The thunderous chorus reverberated back and forth and the sweat-soaked earth seemed to rumble and quake beneath the frenzied feet of the warriors as if mighty Rauumoko the earthquake god had risen and himself joined in the dance. Then with a great shout that went to the heavens, the dance was finished. A roar of farewell rose from the throats of the people as the men strode off without a backward glance. It was over a day's march to the territory of the mountain people and the war party wasted no time as they moved over the narrow bush tracks. Rangipakia led the way, for although the allied tribes were under their own chiefs, the whole party came under Rangipakia's leadership. Very soon the sounds of the waterfall close to the pa faded to a subdued rumble against the greenery which rose from either side of the path like a green wall. Overhead, the tui called and to Rangipakia it seemed to chant a prayer over and over again. “Tuia! Tuia! Tuia mai tatou—Bind! Bind! Bind! us together!” He begged Tu that it would be so for he knew that his men were much fewer in numbers than the mountain dwellers. Victory would not come easily, but honour must be avenged. His men lacked nothing in courage and training. That night the tohunga selected a camping spot by driving his tupou into the ground. A hurried meal was eaten, sentries posted and then the party slept. The next morning the men rubbed their naked bodies with fat and oil to make themselves slippery and hard to hold when they came to grips