In the Land of the Long White Cloud

to make an appropriately grand entrance.
    Marama stepped in between the two men. She recognized that Tonga was wearing warrior’s jewelry, and he was not only wearing paint—the young chief had had himself tattooed in the traditional style over the last few months.
    “Tonga, we will negotiate fairly,” she said softly. “Kiward Station is big; everyone will receive his share. Paul does not want to be your enemy anymore. He is my husband; he belongs to me and my people. So he is also your brother. Make peace, Tonga!”
    Tonga laughed. “Him? My brother? Then he should also live like my brother. We will take his land and level his house. The gods should reclaim the land on which the house stands. You two can live in our sleeping lodge, naturally.” Tonga approached Marama, his gaze roaming salaciously over her bare breasts. “But then again you might want to share your bed with someone else. Nothing has been decided yet.”
    “You damned piece of shit!”
    As Tonga reached his hand out to Marama, Paul pounced on him. A moment later, the two were rolling, brawling, screaming, and cursing on the ground. They punched and grappled at each other, scratched and bit, did whatever they could to harm the other. Marama observed the fight apathetically. She had lost count of how many times she had seen the two rivals in a similarly ignoble confrontation. Children, both of them.
    “Stop it!” she finally screamed. “Tonga you’re a chieftain! Think of your dignity. And you, Paul…”
    But neither one of them listened to her. Instead, they stubbornly continued to strike each other. Marama would have to wait until one of them had pinned the other down, though both of them were about equally strong. Marama knew that the fortunes of battle hung in the balance—and she would wonder for the rest of her life whether everything would have turned out differently if fortune had not been on Paul’s side, for Tonga finally found himself pinned down. Paul sat on him, out of breath, his face scratched and beaten bloody. But he had triumphed. Grinning, he raised his fist.
    “Do you still want to question whether Marama is my wife, you bastard? Forever and always?” He shook Tonga.
    Unlike Marama, the youth who had led the chieftain there watched the fight full of rage and consternation. For him, this was no petty fistfight but a power struggle between Maori and
pakeha
—tribal warrior versus oppressor. And the girl was right: this sort of fight did not befit a chieftain. Tonga could not tussle like a boy. And he had been beaten too. He was just about to lose his last shred of dignity…the boy could not allow that to happen. He raised his spear.
    “No! No, boy, no! Paul!” Marama screamed and tried to seize the young Maori by the arm. But it was too late. Paul Warden, crouched over his pinned opponent, fell over, his chest pierced through by a spear.

16
    J ames McKenzie whistled happily. The mission that lay before him was delicate, but there was nothing that could ruin his good mood today. He had been back in the Canterbury Plains for two days, and his reunion with Gwyneira had left no desire unfulfilled. It was as though all the misunderstandings and all the years that had passed since their then-young love affair had never existed. James smirked when he recalled how hard Gwyneira had worked to not ever talk about love back then. Now she did so openly, and there was no trace left of the Welsh princess’s prudery.
    Who was to make Gwyneira feel ashamed now? For the time being, the Wardens’ manor belonged to them alone. It was strange to enter the house not as a barely tolerated employee but as someone taking possession of it—of the chairs in the salon, the crystal glasses, the whiskey, and Gerald Warden’s first-class cigars. James still felt most at home in the kitchen and in the stables—which were, after all, where Gwyneira spent most of her time. There still was no Maori staff, and the white shepherds were too important and above all too proud to perform simple household tasks. So Gwyneira carried the water, harvested vegetables in the garden, and gathered eggs in the chicken coop. She rarely had fresh fish or meat anymore. Gwyneira did not have time to fish, and she could not bring herself to snap the chickens’ necks. The menu expanded when James began living there. He was happy to make her life easier, even though he still felt like a guest in her feminine bedroom. Gwyneira had told him that Lucas had