It happened that the fight was lost
And she and her retinue took flight
Ferrying by night across the bay
To the island of the guarding light
Where in the small comfort
Of a deserted, half-ruined fort
Those who remained loyal
Made ready for their encirclement.
And as morning dawned, sails appeared
Seeking the promise of final vengeance
And she, taking counsel with her defenders,
Agreed it best to leave to avoid disgrace
Boarding a skiff brought full-sailed
To the wave-beaten broken walls
Of an ancient quay in shadow -
Breaking out into the crimson dawn.
And when those who loved her
Were overwhelmed and put to slaughter
Her enemies found her gone
With only her last pitiable treasures
Left for ransack and despoiling -
Though a servant boy, a beloved slave
Sought to save his life the while
By betraying the manner of her escape.
Then the winds fell quiet and the skiff
Became becalmed. At first sighted
And then hunted down by long ships,
The sea-hounds of their wronged lord,
Bearing down with their oarsmen
Chanting of her treachery and oath-breaking:
Of her poisoning of the cellar meads
At the treaty gathering for her betrothal.
She the long-limbed, wilful beauty,
Enchanter of the warder troops
Sent by her father to accompany her,
Unwilling to bend to the needs
Of dealings and the apportionment of lands,
She who took the gifts and dowry
And divided spoils among the conspirators
Promising the sacred ring to the boldest on her behalf.
Brought at last to the fastness keep
Of her dishonourable suitor and his father,
Her followers slaughtered or enslaved,
War now afoot across the wide lands,
She refused to kneel before the throne
And was cast down with violence
Summarily judged the instigator of evil
A harpy who had raised the flames of hatred.
At which the old king, at his son’s bequest
Asked whether there was anything to be said
And she in reply promised a song so wistful
And yet so wise it might save her life.
‘Sing then to those who you would ****
Those who may still die in battle at your behest’
Said the king:‘Let us hear the siren song
For you are surely now within our power’.
At which she rose upright to answer boldly:
‘Kinsmen and Foemen alike, I am no chattel
To be bought or sold, gifted or pledged,
To settle feuds or mark out or borders
And my song is only the song of freedom -
I was not the cause of your ****** skirmishes,
Your enmities and intransigence existed
Before I was bright-arrayed and brought in offering’.
Though my song condemns me, I save myself
For life is of little worth if lived beholden.
I dreamt and wondered on a distant land
While mystic witches cast a twilight spell
With oaths of runes and carven bones at hand
In deep reflection at the fateful well
From which the tidings from the depths unfold
A curse that any future life must fail
When those betraying honour see it sold
And stain of gold is left to tell the tale.
There are much better mortal gifts to gain
There is a prize my sacred self holds strong
A treasure that will grace an inner realm
To which the best of me may yet belong.
The die is cast as I affirm my right -
Safeguarding freedom in the fading light’.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
It happened that the fight was lost
And she and her retinue took flight
Ferrying by night across the bay
To the island of the guarding light
Where in the small comfort
Of a deserted, half-ruined fort
Those who remained loyal
Made ready for their encirclement.
And as morning dawned, sails appeared
Seeking the promise of final vengeance
And she, taking counsel with her defenders,
Agreed it best to leave to avoid disgrace
Boarding a skiff brought full-sailed
To the wave-beaten broken walls
Of an ancient quay in shadow -
Breaking out into the crimson dawn.
And when those who loved her
Were overwhelmed and put to slaughter
Her enemies found her gone
With only her last pitiable treasures
Left for ransack and despoiling -
Though a servant boy, a beloved slave
Sought to save his life the while
By betraying the manner of her escape.
Then the winds fell quiet and the skiff
Became becalmed. At first sighted
And then hunted down by long ships,
The sea-hounds of their wronged lord,
Bearing down with their oarsmen
Chanting of her treachery and oath-breaking:
Of her poisoning of the cellar meads
At the treaty gathering for her betrothal.
She the long-limbed, wilful beauty,
Enchanter of the warder troops
Sent by her father to accompany her,
Unwilling to bend to the needs
Of dealings and the apportionment of lands,
She who took the gifts and dowry
And divided spoils among the conspirators
Promising the sacred ring to the boldest on her behalf.
Brought at last to the fastness keep
Of her dishonourable suitor and his father,
Her followers slaughtered or enslaved,
War now afoot across the wide lands,
She refused to kneel before the throne
And was cast down with violence
Summarily judged the instigator of evil
A harpy who had raised the flames of hatred.
At which the old king, at his son’s bequest
Asked whether there was anything to be said
And she in reply promised a song so wistful
And yet so wise it might save her life.
‘Sing then to those who you would ****
Those who may still die in battle at your behest’
Said the king:‘Let us hear the siren song
For you are surely now within our power’.
At which she rose upright to answer boldly:
‘Kinsmen and Foemen alike, I am no chattel
To be bought or sold, gifted or pledged,
To settle feuds or mark out or borders
And my song is only the song of freedom -
I was not the cause of your ****** skirmishes,
Your enmities and intransigence existed
Before I was bright-arrayed and brought in offering’.
Though my song condemns me, I save myself
For life is of little worth if lived beholden.
I dreamt and wondered on a distant land
While mystic witches cast a twilight spell
With oaths of runes and carven bones at hand
In deep reflection at the fateful well
From which the tidings from the depths unfold
A curse that any future life must fail
When those betraying honour see it sold
And stain of gold is left to tell the tale.
There are much better mortal gifts to gain
There is a prize my sacred self holds strong
A treasure that will grace an inner realm
To which the best of me may yet belong.
The die is cast as I affirm my right -
Safeguarding freedom in the fading light’.
Echoes here of Maori legend - and the temporary escape of Tamairangi (a high-ranking woman of strong character and great beauty) from her refuge at the pa or fort on the small island of Tapu-te-ranga in Island Bay, Wellington, evading her adversaries the Ngati Mutunga in 1824 - and of her being taken under the protection of the Great Chief Te Rangihaeata after he was beguiled by the charm and pathos of the wiata or poetic song that she sang to her captors.
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