In the middle of the night, towards the dawning, when sleep is heaviest on the senses, Taurau, where he slept in the men's "whare," sprang from his couch. In his ears rang a woman's scream, shrill and piercing. He heard his name called in affrighted accents. Love's ears are quick to distinguish. It was the voice of Heruini.
With a shout to his comrades to follow, he raced across the "marae" to see, in the moonlight, Heruini struggling in the arms of Parema and some of his followers! All unarmed as he was, he sprang on Parema and bore him to the ground. In the confusion the trembling girl escaped.
Taurau was dragged from Parema's throat. Yet, ere they could slay him, the Ngatahi were borne back by the rush of the enraged Ngatitoa. A comrade thrust his forgotten weapons in Taurau's hand, and he leapt into the fray.
Then there rose on the still night air a confused clamour of shrieks, yells, the clash of weapons, and screams for mercy. Kokako raged in the midst. Taurau's "mere" (battle-club) drank its fill of blood. "Slay, slay! Let not one escape," was the cry. The gates of the stockade were closed, preventing egress, and the work of death went on, whilst the sobbing women clung together, shuddering, in their quarters. A party of the Ngatitoa had meanwhile sallied forth to fall upon the sleeping camp beyond the walls. It was done. Through a broken gateway some twenty of the Ngatahi broke from that riot of blood and death to struggle, fighting, to the shore. Launching one of the canoes, battered, broken, and wounded, with scarce ten men at the paddles, they made their limping way across the bay. Of the Ngatitoa, some fifty had been slain.
It was dawn. The first rays of the sun lit the dark waters. High on the rock-shelf sat Taurau and Heruini. Behind them lay the mouth of the dark cavern, before them the precipice. He had been on watch since the midnight hour, and his love came to him with the morning.
Night and day had the sentinels looked across the bay from the lofty cliff. Six months had passed since the deed was done, yet had Ngatahi made no sign. Nevertheless, Ngatitoa knew that they would surely come to seek "utu" (vengeance) for the slaying. So, in the dawning, Heruini listened to the "korero-tara" (love-talk) of her lover.
Suddenly, with a cry of "Ai, Ngatahi, Ngatahi!" she pointed across the sea. Far away under the distant headland appeared a dark blot upon the face of the waters. As they gazed, the blot became a line of little dots, that grew as they came.
Taurau sprang up. Shouting, "E tana, e tana!" (the foe, the foe), he raced down the narrow path.
At once the sleeping "pah" stirred to preparation. The outlying folk were gathered within the walls, and Ngatitoa sat grimly down to await the enemy.