The Sea Peoples(34)
“There’s an iron ladder set into the wall here,” she said softly.
Deor opened his mouth to reply—to urge caution—when an eerie screech sounded, muffled by the stone and brick around them but still shatteringly loud. For a moment he thought it was some huge beast screaming in rage and fear, and then he knew it was a machine, probably the warning sirens Moses had mentioned. The city above was about to meet its fate. Their only hope was that the trapdoor above led somewhere else.
“Up!” he shouted through it. “Now, now, now!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HILO
CAPITAL CITY, AUPUNI O HAWAI?I
(KINGDOM OF HAWAI?I)
NOVEMBER 26TH
CHANGE YEAR 46/2044 AD
órlaith had heard the far-faring merchant skipper Moishe Feldman of Newport describe Hawaiian feasts, and had prudently eaten nothing but a few ship’s biscuits and some local fruit bought from the bumboats that clustered around the fleet that morning . . . though it had been hard to stop with one when she tasted her first mango.
Restraint was advisable, but those smells are making me dribble, the which would not be dignified!
The luˉ?au was held outdoors, though she noticed that there were big pavilion-style tents ready to be deployed in an instant. Hilo had a wet climate, even by the standards of Montival’s own coast where it went stretching up through rain forest miles into Alaska. Tonight the sky was clear and the stars were many and bright; torches and baskets of burning wood on poles cast a flickering light, beneath the more prosaic glow of incandescent-mantle pressure lamps.
The tables were low and flanked by cushioned wicker benches that were only about six inches above the short-cropped green grass and the woven-leaf mats that covered it; fragrant mounds of sweet-smelling pink and blue frangipani and almost overpoweringly sweet night-blooming jasmine and musky guava blossoms competed with the smells of food. Palm trees rustled overhead, and there was a chattering that died away as a herald entered and boomed in Hawaiian and English:
“The King comes! The Chief!”
Musicians struck up, and the crowd went to one knee briefly before they rose and sang. órlaith’s Sword-trained ear translated:
Hawai?i pono? ?ˉ,
Hawai?i’s own true sons,
Naˉnaˉ i kou moˉ ? ?ˉ,
Be loyal to your king,
Kalani ali?i,
Your country’s liege and lord
Ke ali?i!
The chief!
Makua lani eˉ,
Father above us all,
Na kaua e pale,
Who guarded in the war,
Me ka ihe!
With his spear!
The band then politely added the themes from Nihon’s “Kimigayo” and Montival’s “Voices Speak of Home,” which latter meant they’d really been paying attention since it had been adopted very recently.
One song that was first heard in Japan when Charlemagne was King of the Franks, one that was made in Queen Victoria’s time, and one that was written by my aunt Fiorbhinn last year, órlaith thought. The which is the respective antiquity of our three dynasties and kingdoms, too. Ah, well, all traditions are new when they start and they all start somewhere.
Kalaˉkaua II’s entourage entered between the lines of cloaked and ceremonially bare-chested spearmen; their working dress that afternoon had included light torso-armor of leather and steel, practical domed helmets and stout round shields. A tall noblewoman reverently bore the folded yellow cloak that was too precious to risk by actually wearing very often since it was fashioned from the feathers of the long-extinct mamo bird, and another had the golden ring of state on a cushion. Men carried the dove-headed staff that symbolized the royal line, and the two tabu-staffs crowned with black and white cloth that showed his sacred link to the Gods of the land.
Kalaˉkaua himself was dressed in a kikepa of shimmering blue and gold silk knotted over one shoulder and leaving the other bare. He was a good-looking man in a leonine fashion, though she thought he’d be thickset in later life unless he worked very hard at it. Both he and Queen Haukea wore flowers in their locks, apparently a sign of informality and festival here.
They also both wore niho palaoa around their necks, hooked ivory ornaments made from sperm whale teeth strung on human hair, a symbol of noble blood like an Associate’s woven-wire ring or jeweled dagger.
Protocol governed the almost-identically-equal bows the Hawaiian monarchs exchanged with her and Reiko. Apparently that ended the formalities, for then the local overlords sat with her and Reiko to either side, and much more lively music started. The dancers that swept in between the tables certainly looked festive, with a style that switched between a fast rhythm based on swift stamping and hip-movements that made their grass skirts quiver and a slow languorous one with swaying and hand-and-arm gestures that probably meant something complex. It was certainly pretty even if you didn’t know the conventions.
“We’re about as private here as possible,” Kalaˉkaua said as the first course was served. “And it doesn’t draw the eye like closing a door.”
The starter was bowls of poke, very fresh cubes of raw ahi tuna tossed with soy sauce, sesame oil, a touch of honey and chopped sweet onion, garnished with dried green seaweed and scallions. órlaith signed hers with the Pentagram, murmured the blessing that ended:
“. . . and blessed be those who toiled with You
Their hands helping Earth to bring forth life.”