Daughter of the Reef (21 page)

In full ceremonial dress, Matopahu walked swiftly to the open area where other courtiers, priests, and nobles stood about the audience rock. A crowd of common people had also gathered, a few to plead their cases before the high chief, the rest to gape at the spectacle and finery of the court. The one man he wished not to see, Ihetoa, stood in his usual place and did not acknowledge Matopahu's presence.
 

The boom of drums and the whistle of nose flutes announced the chief's impending arrival. Criers shouted above the noise and the words were taken up by other voices.
 

“The high chief flies to his people,” called the royal herald. “Like the bird of paradise, like the sea eagle, he flies. Look up and behold him as he comes!”
 

Every gaze lifted, for the exalted man rode above the sea of heads, over nobles and commoners a like. He did not need as fine a costume as others in his court, his brother knew, for what was mere adornment compared with such elevation? Knotted-cord passed like a god among men, carried on the shoulders of his sturdy human mount.
 

It did not matter that his paunch pressed heavily on his bearer's neck, or that his skin had a pallid yellow-brown hue. To the gathered crowd, he was above all mortal failings and they worshiped him.
 

I could have been the one carried on those shoulders, adored by those eyes
, Matopahu thought, letting the envy seep through.
But I would not have let myself become as pleasure-ridden and lazy.

He remembered, with chagrin, that his brother had said almost the same thing long ago. Matopahu shook his head as he recalled the strong young man whose ideals and good intentions had been lost. Knotted-cord's corpulence had grown much faster than the wisdom and greatness that it was supposed to represent.
 

Yet Matopahu did not flatter himself with the notion that he could do better in resisting the temptations of the office. Perhaps everyone who accepted the chieftainship must pay such a great price. Matopahu looked warily at the faces about him, knowing that even thoughts carried danger. Here stood the high chief's orator, his sorcerer, his counselors, all ready to act should they sense any threat to Knotted-cord's power. And Ihetoa, the high priest, was the most dangerous of all.
 

Matopahu watched as attendants lowered his brother carefully, placing him on the audience rock and arranging his garments. Other attendants came up behind him, using feather-tipped sticks to chase off any flies that might dare to land on the chief. Knotted-cord held the long carved staff of his office, tapping it against the rock while he gazed, with a bored expression, at the crowd.
 

There were several petitioners to be heard that day. Matopahu took his place among the dignitaries and listened while his brother pondered cases that had been judged by underchiefs, but not to the plaintiff's satisfaction. Knotted-cord was in his usual hurry, eager to send the people away as quickly as possible.
 

At last Tepua and the fisherman came forward. Matopahu glanced once at his brother, though Knotted-cord had warned him to expect no help. Matopahu feared now that he had even harmed Tepua's prospects by mentioning her.
 

“The woman first,” said the chief, leaning forward to squint at Tepua. “Who are you and what do you want of me? I am told you were under the protection of Pigs-run-out.”
 

Matopahu watched Tepua hesitate before she spoke. He hoped she had been properly instructed by his retainer on how to behave before the chief. He regretted that he had not gone personally to prepare her for the audience.
 

Her bronze skin glowed in the afternoon light that slanted down across the lagoon. Her dark hair, cascading in waves over her shoulders, gleamed as she bent to place the token offering his servant had supplied—a trussed white fowl—at the high chief's feet. She was like a vision evoked by the chants of the storytellers... No, Matopahu caught himself. She was just a
motu
woman, and one who might prove irksome.
 

“Glorious chief,” she began. Matopahu saw that she kept her gaze averted slightly from the sacred person, as custom required. “I cast no aspersions on Pigs-run-out,” she said. “He took me into his household and granted me his protection.”
 

“Then why do you come to me?”

“Your underchief also offered his aid to a trader from the atolls, a man who entered his district recently. I learned that this trader meant to harm me. To avoid giving Pigs-run-out the difficult task of choosing between us, I left.”
 

Matopahu, studying her face as she spoke, noted signs of duplicity that he had seen in her once before. This woman always seemed to be hiding something. He glanced at the chief, whose bored expression had not changed. “It might be interesting to learn, noble brother,” said Matopahu openly, “why this trader would want to harm the woman.”
 

The chief grunted. “Answer,” he ordered.

“I have enemies in the atolls,” she replied in a strained voice. “The trader wanted to take me back to them. He planned to use force, and he found men who were willing to help him.”
 

“Yet you said you belonged to the underchief's household,” the chief said. “Your interests would come before the trader's.”

“Pigs-run-out took me in as dancing teacher to his daughter,” said Tepua. “But the girl made little progress and her father thought I was to blame. Perhaps he welcomed the chance to be rid of me.”
 

“Hmm.” The chief propped his chin on his plump hand and scowled into the distance. There was an awkward silence and Matopahu thought his brother might simply dismiss her. Before he could plan his words carefully, he cleared his throat and moved up beside the high chief's seat.
 

“Noble brother,” Matopahu said quietly, “I have visited the underchief's household, and I think there is more to the story. This is a spirited noblewoman before you, not a servant girl. When Pigs-run-out tried to offer her favors to his guests, she sometimes refused.”
 

The chief's bored expression suddenly brightened. “Refused? That must have caused a commotion!”

Matopahu knew his brother liked nothing better than to see his underchiefs made fools of. “Yes. It happened once when I was there. I had to intervene—somewhat delicately—to save her from his wrath.”
 

The chief nodded. “I would have enjoyed seeing him swell up like a puffer fish. That is what Pigs-run-out looks like, you know. Especially when he gets angry.” The chief turned to Tepua. “I find your plight amusing,” he said in a kindlier tone. “What is it that you ask of me? To take refuge here? Or something more?”
 

Tepua's mouth fell open, as if she had not expected so generous a response. She turned for a moment, glancing at the fisherman behind her. When she faced the chief again, Knotted-cord smiled faintly, and Matopahu thought that his brother, too, must be struck by the odd beauty of this woman. “I am listening,” the high chief said.
 

Tepua seemed to gather her resolve. “On my journey here I saw a performance house, nearby along the shore. I thought it might be where the Arioi dance.”
 

“Do you wish to watch them?” the chief asked. “They will perform again in a few days. But that will not help your problem with the underchief.”
 

“I wish to do more than watch, honored one. I have prayed that the god Oro will inspire me. I wish to enter the ranks of the Arioi.”
 

Behind her, Matopahu saw the fisherman's jaw drop. Evidently he had expected some other request. A ripple of surprise went through the assembled courtiers as well.
 

“Ho-ho!” the chief laughed, turning to Matopahu. “You are right, noble brother. This one is no meek servant.”

Tepua pressed her advantage. “I ask that you grant me permission to stay here until the performance. Then I will learn if the god has chosen me.”
 

“And if he has not?”

Tepua lowered her gaze toward the ground and did not answer.

“You must have hard bones and be able to dance all night,” the chief said. “My Arioi are the best in the island. They are often called to other districts as traveling players.”
 

“It will be as the gods decide,” Tepua said firmly.

“That is so,” said the chief, dismissing her with a shake of his staff.

Now Matopahu watched the fisherman standing alone before the chief, another white fowl fluttering in his grip. The man looked so taken aback by Tepua's words that Matopahu could only shake his head in puzzlement. What, he asked himself, was the relationship between these two?

“The man next,” the chief said, growing impatient. “And last.”

Matopahu's servant had to prod Rimapoa; the fisherman stumbled forward to drop the offering at the high chief's feet, then stepped back and bowed his head.
 

“Are you asleep, fisherman?” the chief boomed. “State what you want or I shall decide it for you.”

“I brought—Tepua here—to keep her safe from the trader and his companions,” he managed in a quavering voice. “By doing that, I made enemies in my district. Now I cannot return home.”
 

“You also wish to remain here?”

He nodded without speaking.

“There are already too many fishermen in my district. Since you have gone to the effort of bringing this woman, I grant you permission to stay until the next new moon. Do not linger beyond the time I grant you.” The chief lifted his heavy staff. “The audience is done. Bring my bearer.”
 

Matopahu watched briefly as the court began to disperse. He itched to speak to Tepua again, but his concern for appearances held him back. In Tahitian eyes, after all, she had no standing. She was merely an atoll woman.
 

It would not do for him to show an interest in her. If he were merely after pleasure, and handled it discreetly, then no one would take notice. But he felt drawn to her in a way that he could not take lightly. He caught himself wondering what might happen if she did gain entrance to the Arioi. Through that means, and few others, a woman of no importance might rise to prominence.
 

He smiled and shook his head, trying to push aside these thoughts. Yet he continued to watch her through the dispersing crowd.
If you can dance all night, atoll woman
, he wondered,
what else can you do to please a man?

When the audience ended, Tepua walked away in a daze. She wished she had planned this better, and had shared her hopes with Rimapoa. She had intended merely to ask for refuge, yet the chief's expression had softened briefly, and somehow—even with Matopahu staring at her—she had made her bold request.
 

She was sorry that Rimapoa had been startled and hurt by it, but she had made him no promises. She sighed, turning to see the fisherman standing under a breadfruit tree with his back toward her, his gaze on the ground. “Rimapoa, I did not know what would happen,” she said as she came up behind him. “We came to him together. How could I foresee that the chief would send you away?”
 

Rimapoa would not look at her. “You are leaving me. That is all I care about,” he said harshly. “This is my reward for saving you from Tangled-net's kin!”
 

She gasped, feeling as if he had struck her, yet she could not blame him.

“I did not plan it this way! If you will only listen—”

“No matter what you planned, I have lost you.” He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Where is my shark' s-tooth flail?”

She felt her eyes begin to sting. After all he had done for her, must they separate with such bitter feelings? One part of her wanted to embrace him, to say that she would cast aside her dreams and do whatever he wished. “Rimapoa, listen. The Arioi have influence with the high chief. If they take me in, perhaps they can also help you stay here.”
 

“Now you listen to
my
plan,” he said, turning to her, his face twisted with anguish. “It is far simpler, and does not need any help from this overstuffed chief. You can become my wife. We can take refuge somewhere else, in a distant part of the island. If you did not think so much of your high birth—”
 

She stamped her foot on the hard ground. Despite her anger, she felt the strong bond that had grown between them, forged by affection as well as necessity. “Do not blame everything on my birth! I have to refuse for another reason, and that is simple survival. My troubles will not end because one atoll trader was killed. Other men will come looking for me.”
 

“If anyone tries to take you, he will die. I will be the great blue shark that protects the royal child.”

“Oh, Rimapoa! Even a great shark will be worn down by many barracudas that circle him. I do not want you to spend your life fighting and fleeing.”
 

“And how will your life with the Arioi be any safer?”

“The Arioi are warriors as well as performers. You know that. They protect their members, and there are hundreds of them.”

“How can you be so certain about these people you have seen only once?”

“I talked to Hard-mallet and her friends. If I am accepted, I will live among the Arioi, inside one of their large compounds and away from the gaze of passersby. When I perform, I will always be masked or painted, and part of a large group. Even someone who knows my face will not recognize me.”
 

“There is still a risk.”

“Yes. But remember, Oro-the-peacekeeper watches over the Arioi. They have special immunities. Even when two chief's are at war, one side dares not harm the Arioi of the other.”