Kiwi Wars by Garry Douglas Kilworth Page B

you’re going up to the Waikato – you need a whole company. And I ain’t got ’em, Captain. I’ve been depleted of men for some time now. If you’re going to do it, you’ll have to hire some civilians from the town. But if I were you, I wouldn’t. Most of them have no idea of the bush. They’re townies, or at best farmers. Take the roof away from their heads and they get frightened by the stars.’
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ Jack said. ‘I like a plain-speaking officer.’
    It was only when he was on his way back to his quarters that Jack realized his headache was gone. His brain was as clear as crystal. Whether it was because he needed to be worrying about something or his brain needed to be busy, he did not know. He was just relieved that the pain was gone, even if only temporarily. He felt guilty for doubting the Maori woman, whose powders had finally worked.
    He bathed, dressed in bush clothes, armed himself, then went in search of Wynter again. Jack found the soldier ready to go. Wynter had already been to stables to saddle and bridle two horses. He had been given a little trouble by the NCO in charge of the stables, but Wynter had told him his captain had ordered it. The pair then went to the stores and begged provisions for a journey into the bush. Finally, they went down to the alehouse which was frequented by friendly Maoris and Jack asked if any of them knew of a man called Potaka.
    At first he was greeted by sullen looks, but after buying a round of drinks, one of the Maori said, ‘You may find him at the old L-shaped
pa –
but do not go there, Captain, or you will be killed.’
    Jack thanked the man, gave him a coin, then he and Wynter set out for the L-shaped
pa,
which had been the scene of an earlier battle in this war. Wynter did not complain, which was a miracle in itself. Jack supposed the soldier was anxious to redeem himself, but it was quite unlike Wynter to admit, even by inference, that he was in the wrong. In past times he would rather be burned alive at the stake than give any credit to rules and regulations. Here he was, however, silent and stoic, ready to ride into the halls of death for the sake of his captain.
    When Jack and Wynter were three hundred yards from the
pa,
Jack dismounted and called, ‘I wish to speak to a man named Potaka. Is he here?’
    Wynter shifted uneasily in his saddle, turning this way and that, wondering from which direction death would come to him. In what form would it be? A rifle shot? A spear? A flung stone axe?
    ‘Potaka,’ shouted Jack again, as the wind soughed through the fern trees. ‘A man named Potaka.’
    The
pa
looked deserted. Jack could discern no movement within. The silence made the wait seem long. A hawk passed by overhead, letting out a wild cry. Wynter ducked an invisible missile.
    Suddenly a voice rang out, which made Wynter start in his saddle.
    ‘Go away!’
    Jack had no intention of going away.
    ‘I must speak with Potaka,’ he insisted at the top of his voice. ‘I have business with Potaka.’
    There was another period of silence, then a young Maori woman stepped out from behind a palisade. She was beautiful. Long black hair tumbled over her broad, covered shoulders. As she walked towards Jack and Wynter, Jack could see her wide, brown eyes gleaming in the light which lanced through the trees. She was barefoot, wore a blanket wrapped tightly around her body, and the two men could discern a trim figure beneath its folds. There were some small square-keyed tattoos on her chin and at the back of her head were two tall eagle’s feathers – dark with white tips.
    The woman stopped not far from the two men and stared at them.
    ‘Go away,’ she repeated, ‘or you will be killed.’
    Quietly Jack said, ‘I am looking for my friend, Potaka.’
    ‘Does he know he is your friend?’ asked the woman, tilting her chin.
    ‘I think so. He kept me alive, at least.’
    She smiled, wryly. ‘That does not mean he will not kill you if he sees you