Witi Ihimaera - The Parihaka Woman

For the third time, Erenora attended the courthouse with Te Whiti and other elders. ‘I want you to accompany me,’ he told her; how proud she was of his regard for her. She shielded the prophet as they entered the courtroom and abuse was hurled at him. ‘It should be you on trial, Tay Witty ,’ a settler called, ‘but we’ll get you.’

The party passed through the crowd to the public gallery where Erenora took a seat. Across the courtroom she caught sight of Piharo, the fair-haired gentleman settler. In a mocking manner he took off his hat and bowed his head to her. It was the first time she had seen him since the whipping and she was not prepared for … his face . Now it was marked by a series of parallel scars across his eyes and nose. And despite the skill of the surgeon who had attended him, nothing would ever repair the loose flap that now functioned as his left eyelid.

Quickly Erenora turned away and tried to keep calm as the first batch of twenty-five prisoners was brought into the courtroom; Horitana, Riki and Paora were not among them.

Settlers in the courtroom began baying for blood. ‘Give them the noose!’ they cried.

The presiding magistrate found the twenty-five ploughmen to have caused damage estimated at 5 shillings. Was that all? Then surely they would only have to pay the fine to be let go. Instead, ‘You are sentenced to two months’ hard labour in Dunedin Gaol,’ the magistrate said. ‘You are also required to pay £200 bail to ensure that on your return to Parihaka you maintain good behaviour for a period of no less than ten months.’

Who had £200? ‘Nobody?’ the magistrate asked. ‘In that case, you are all sentenced to hard labour for a year.’ A loud wailing arose among the Maori women in the courtroom; this was tantamount to a sentence of death.

‘Hip, hip, hoo- raah !’ the locals roared. It might not be the noose but it was good enough.

The remaining prisoners were brought to the dock. Erenora saw Horitana, Riki and Paora among their number. When she gained Horitana’s attention he smiled at her. Cast aside your fears, Erenora, and don’t be sad. I will always look after you .

And then came the sentencing. ‘You will all be taken to Wellington and there you will be held without trial,’ the magistrate said.

The words flowed over Erenora. She swayed with puzzlement and her head started buzzing. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said to Te Whiti. ‘Held without trial?’

The magistrate went on to explain that, to accommodate the prisoners, the military barracks at Mount Cook, a rise on the outskirts of the city, would be removed and the site prepared for a gaol. ‘Hip, hip, hoo- raah !’ the settlers cried.

The magistrate waited for order to restore itself. ‘Would the prisoner known as Horitana step forward?’

Erenora began to panic. She saw the magistrate exchange a glance with Piharo. ‘Because of your previous involvement in the Taranaki Wars fighting with Titokowaru,’ the magistrate said, ‘you have had your sentence reserved pending receipt of all the facts pertaining to your actions against the state.’

Someone shouted, ‘The Maori has a price on his head, Your Honour!’

The magistrate nodded. ‘Until all charges are brought before this court and a separate trial can be organised, you will join the others imprisoned at Mount Cook.’

Erenora looked again in Piharo’s direction; he was smiling in triumph. The smile chilled Erenora’s heart. She rose from her seat and cried out to Horitana:

‘Taku tane! Horitana! Kia tupato te ’e o te tangata nei! Husband! Horitana! Beware the evil of Piharo!’

Ah, Piharo .

Erenora was right to be concerned. Piharo had been able to subvert the course of justice and, by brilliance and bribery, had taken his revenge against Horitana.

Let me therefore interpolate another scene as Piharo returns from the trial to his estate. At first he is elated by his triumph, consuming with great gusto the evening meal prepared by his housekeeper. But as the night deepens, so does his excitement diminish.

Think of him now, brooding through the evening and staring into the fire that has been lit for him in his library. He has a goblet of red wine in his hand and he holds it up to the fire’s light, twirling it by the stem. Then, in a sudden movement, he stands and flings the glass into the flames.

‘I thought, Maori warrior,’ he rages, ‘that putting you in prison would give me satisfaction … but it is not enough. It is not … sufficient …’

Piharo paces back and forth and his shadow is like the dark stone that Erenora glimpsed within him, a crookbacked thing pacing with him.

He looks around the room for support. Above the fireplace is the family coat of arms. Along one entire wall are Pakeha classics: Machiavelli, de Sade and popular novels by Poe, Dumas père and Hugo. Lining another wall are items in his developing Maori collection: carvings, weapons of war, greenstone mere and ’eitiki — and three tattooed mummified Maori heads of which Piharo is particularly proud. Trafficking in the heads is so brisk that warriors fallen in the most recent Taranaki battles against the Pakeha have been harvested for purchasers with sufficient money to acquire them; Piharo is such a buyer.

Frustrated, Piharo goes up the stairs to his bedroom. ‘What can I do to punish you, Horitana?’ he asks himself. ‘What will be … what is the Maori word for it … fitting ootoo ?’

Throughout the night, he moans, tosses and turns; he cannot let go of the question. Then, around dawn, he takes up a hand mirror and looks at the scars on his face. And though the doctor says his appearance will improve, actually, the scarring looks rather beautiful … like the Maori facial tattoo.

He begins to laugh and laugh. That’s it !

Piharo rings for his foreman. ‘I require a silversmith,’ he says. ‘I wish to give him a particularly intricate and exquisite task. Bring him tomorrow.’

Not long afterward, Erenora was able to have a few moments with Horitana before he and the other prisoners were taken away. Among them was Wiremu Kingi Te Matakatea. Too late the government realised the injustice of sentencing ‘The Clear-Eyed One’ and offered him his release; Matakea would accept it only if his men were freed also, a request the government would not entertain.

‘Will I ever see you again?’ Erenora asked Horitana.

‘I will write from Wellington,’ he answered. ‘Once I know when my court case will be held, I will tell you. Have faith, forget your fears and look to the day when we are reunited.’

Erenora tried to smile at his gentle comforting, but tears began to stream down her face. ‘I’m sorry, husband, I’m so afraid.’ She didn’t care that Riki and Hori and other prisoners — Te Whao, Ruakere, Rangiora and Whata — were looking on.

‘Don’t fear,’ Horitana answered. ‘Our imprisonment isn’t a sentence of death. There is always the promise of release and of resurrection. Tell the other wives that, won’t you? We’re all orphans in a storm, but, like all things, even storms do pass.’

The day was darkly lowering when, shackled to each other, Horitana, Paora, Riki and the other men were marched on board the prison transport. Distraught, the three sisters watched as the ship set sail and turned southward. Just as it disappeared into the stomach of the night, strange lights began to illuminate the sky, and seagulls circled and clawed away as if trying to escape. Bitter rain came rushing landward.

‘It’s all Horitana’s fault,’ Meri screamed. ‘If he had commanded Riki to stay home, my husband would never have been arrested.’