PART ONE
10 OCTOBER TO 19 OCTOBER 1720
10October 1720, morning
‘No pain lasts forever,’ she said, in an effort to convince herself that her suffering was temporary. ‘No joy is everlasting,’ she added. Perhaps the phrase had lost its power from so much repetition and now only expressed the disappointment she had experienced over the last few years. She felt like a rag doll coming apart at the seams, trying to mend her spirits at the end of each day. It was only thanks to a courage born of necessity and her own determined character that she had found the strength to survive. ‘Nobody can call me a coward,’ Clara told herself.
Completely hidden beneath a thick layer of hay, she avoided looking at the milky light that filtered through, concentrating instead on individual raindrops sliding down the stalks. Despite this, she occasionally glimpsed the immensity that lay beyond the cart that was taking her to Castamar. When this happened, she had to take deep breaths, because the mere idea of not being enclosed by the walls of a house set her heart pounding. On more than one occasion, such an attack had caused her to faint. How she hated her weakness! She felt vulnerable, as if all the ills of the world were about to fall upon her, and she was overcome by lethargy. This fear reminded her how torn she had felt when Señora Moncada had told her there was a position at Castamar. The burly supervisor of the hospital staff had approached her to inform her that Don Melquíades Elquiza, a good friend of hers and head butler at Castamar, was in need of an assistant cook.
‘This could be an opportunity for you,’ she had said.
Clara had felt compelled to accept but she was terrified at the same time, as it would mean stepping outside of the hospital where she both lived and worked. Just imagining herself on the streets of Madrid, crossing the Plaza Mayor as she used to do with her father, had brought her out in a cold sweat and left her feeling weak. Despite this, she had tried to find her own way to the Alcázar, but was overcome by panic almost as soon as she set foot outside the hospital and had to turn back.
Señora Moncada had been kind enough to speak to Señor Elquiza on Clara’s behalf and to vouch for her culinary prowess. Their friendship went back a long way, to a time when Moncada had been in the service of the Count of Benavente and Señor Elquiza was already part of the Duke of Castamar’s household. Thanks to her, Señor Elquiza had learned that Clara’s love of cooking came from her family, and that her mother had been head cook for Cardinal Giulio Alberoni, a minister of King Felipe V. Unfortunately, the prelate had fallen into disgrace and had returned to the Republic of Genoa, taking Clara’s mother with him. Clara, who had risen to become her assistant, had been obliged to leave the service of the cardinal, who had only allowed the head cook to travel with him. Clara had lowered her expectations in the hope of finding a less exalted position and, in the meantime, had earned her living looking after the poor unfortunates at the Hospital of the Annunciation of Our Lady.
She felt profoundly sorry that her father, Doctor Armando Belmonte, had gone to such lengths to provide her and her sister with an education, only for it to come to this. But she could not blame him. Her father had behaved like the enlightened gentleman he was, until his tragic death on 14 December 1710. All that education for nothing, she lamented. Their governess, Francisca Barroso, had maintained an iron discipline over the girls’ education from an early age. As a result, the two sisters had knowledge of such diverse subjects as needlework and embroidery, etiquette, history and geography, Latin, Greek, mathematics, rhetoric and grammar, and modern languages such as French and English. They also received piano, singing and dancing lessons, which had cost
their poor parents a pretty penny, and on top of it all, they were both compulsive readers. However, after the death of their father, their education had been of no use at all, and they had slid inexorably down the social scale. Instead, it was the mother’s and the daughter’s shared passion for cooking – a passion the father had always complained about – that became the pillar of the family’s survival.
‘My darling Cristina, it is not for nothing that we have a cook,’ Clara’s father used to remonstrate. ‘What would our friends say if they knew that you spend all day in front of the stove with your eldest daughter when we have servants to spare?’
During the good years, Clara had read all manner of recipes, including translations of some Arabic and Sephardi volumes, many of which were censored in Spain. Among them were A Book of Soups and Stews by Ruperto de Nola and A Treatise on the Art of Confectionery by Miguel de Baeza. She had been in the habit of accompanying their cook, Señora Cano, to the market, where she learned to select the best cabbages and lettuces, chickpeas and lentils, tomatoes, fruit and rice. How she had enjoyed sorting through the chickpeas while they were soaking, picking out any bad ones. What pleasure she had taken when she was allowed to taste the broth, or the bitter chocolate obtained by her father, thanks to his connections at court. Once again, she wished she was at her mother’s side, making sponges, biscuits, jams and preserves. She remembered how they had convinced her father to build a clay oven so they could expand their repertoire. At first he had refused, but eventually he had given way on the grounds that it would help make the servants’ lives easier.
After receiving Clara’s credentials from Señora Moncada, Señor Elquiza had accepted her for the position. For Clara, Castamar represented the first rung on the ladder of her aspirations, a return to a real kitchen. Working in the household of the Duke of Castamar – who had been one of King Felipe V’s most distinguished followers in the War of the Spanish Succession – represented a secure life in service. She had been informed the house was an unusual one in that, despite being one of the grandest in Spain, it employed only a
third of the staff one might expect to find in such an establishment. Apparently, the master of the house, Don Diego, had shut himself away following the death of his wife, and his appearances at court were few and far between.
Before setting out for Castamar, Clara had written to her sister and mother. After sending her letters, Clara had had to wait while Pedro Ochando, who was in charge of the stables at Castamar, finished his tasks for the evening. He had loaded the cart with bales of hay at first light next day and was kind enough to collect her from the hospital coachyard so that she had no need to hide her fear of open spaces. Fortunately for her, it was raining.
‘I prefer to travel at the back, if you don’t mind,’ she had told him. ‘That way I can shelter under the hay.’
They travelled along the Móstoles road towards Boadilla in the pouring rain for more than three hours. Occasionally the cart hit a pothole, terrifying her with the possibility that the hay load would shift and expose her to the elements. But she was lucky. Before too long, and with her muscles aching from the ordeal, the cart rumbled to a halt and Señor Ochando, a man of few words, announced their arrival.
She thanked him and climbed down from the cart with her eyes closed. She shivered as the cold rain trickled down the embroidered collar of her dress. Then, waiting until the sound of the creaking wheels had faded into the distance, and with her heart in her mouth, she tied her scarf over her eyes. Peering through a slit so narrow she could barely see the ground beneath her feet and using a crook to guide her like a blind man, she walked towards a small walled courtyard abutting the rear of the mansion. She kept her eyes on her own shoes and prayed the scarf would continue to conceal the rest of Castamar from view. She walked as quickly as she could, her pulse racing and her breath coming too fast as she felt her hands and feet start to tingle. As she passed through an archway into the courtyard, she barely registered that she had crossed paths with a serving girl who was stifling her laughter as she gathered some laundry from the line.
All of a sudden, she felt lost in the open space, unable to orient herself by dint of what little she could glimpse from beneath the scarf. She looked up, and on the other side of the courtyard, beneath an overhanging wooden roof, she spied a door. She didn’t care that it appeared to be firmly shut. With her body shaking and her strength waning, she ran towards the door, begging the Lord to save her from falling headlong or fainting. Upon reaching the safety of the doorway, she removed the cloth from her eyes, rested her forehead against the solid wood, no longer thinking about the wideopen space she had just crossed, and knocked with all her might.
‘What’s up with you, girl?’
The voice came from somewhere behind her and had a tone of dry authority that made Clara’s heart miss a beat. She turned around, struggling to maintain her composure. Her eyes met the severe countenance of a woman in her early fifties. Clara held the woman’s gaze for no more than a second, just long enough to register her stony expression.
‘I’m Clara Belmonte, the new assistant cook,’ she stammered, holding out the reference signed by Señora Moncada and her own mother.
The woman slowly looked her up and down, and somewhat reluctantly accepted the piece of paper. To Clara, the moment seemed to last a lifetime; she was almost fainting from vertigo and was forced to lean surreptitiously against the wall. The other woman, seeing that Clara was on the verge of passing out, raised her eyebrows and inspected her. It was as if she was peering into the very depths of her soul.
‘Why are you so pale? You’re not ill, are you?’ she asked, before returning to her reading.
Clara shook her head. Her legs threatened to give way and she knew she could no longer sustain the illusion of normality. However, she also knew that if she revealed her inability to tolerate open spaces then she would lose the job before she had even started, so she clenched her teeth and took deep breaths.
‘Señor Elquiza told me he’d be sending someone with experience. Aren’t you rather young for all this?’
With a curtsy, Clara replied that she had learned from her mother, in the household of his eminence, Cardinal Alberoni. With a gesture of indifference, the woman returned the document to her. Then, with an economical movement, she took out her keys and opened the door.
‘Come with me,’ she ordered, and with a feeling of relief, Clara went inside.
As she walked along the bare white corridor, following in the woman’s brisk footsteps, Clara began to regain her calm. The woman imperiously informed her that the door they had just passed through was always closed and the proper entrance was on the other side of the courtyard, opening directly into the kitchen. This was a relief, as Clara had no intention of venturing outside the house.
They came across three servants with loud voices; several maids who, at the mere sight of the woman, adjusted their uniforms and hurried away; two tired-looking boot boys; and the man who was responsible for supervising the kitchen supplies, Jacinto Suárez. At his side was Luís Fernández, who oversaw the pantry, the vegetable store, and the supplies of coal, firewood and candles. The woman haughtily greeted both men by their first names. A little further along the passageway, they met two lamplighters, who bowed their heads so low that their chins rested upon their chests.
‘You’ll be on probation until I decide otherwise, and if your work or your application are not to my liking, you’ll be sent straight back to Madrid. You’ll receive six reals a day, you’ll be given breakfast, lunch and dinner, and you’ll have one day’s rest a week, which will usually be a Sunday. You will be free to attend mass. You’ll sleep in the kitchen, in a small alcove with its own door,’ she clarified, as two laundry maids passed by. She paid them no attention.
Clara nodded. If she’d been at court – and if she’d been a man –her salary would have been eleven reals a day, but although Castamar might be one of the grandest houses in Spain, it was not the royal palace. And she was not a man. Even so, she felt lucky; there were girls who scrubbed stairs for less than two reals a day. At
least she’d be able to set a little aside for if her fortunes took a turn for the worse.
‘I don’t tolerate idleness or secret relationships among the staff, and absolutely no male visitors,’ the housekeeper continued.
They continued down the corridor, with its elegant, coffered ceiling, until they arrived at a pair of cherrywood doors, beyond which lay the kitchen. Suddenly, another chambermaid appeared, carrying a silver tray. On it was a breakfast consisting of chicken consommé, milk and chocolate in separate jugs, buttered toast sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon, poached eggs, soft rolls and some bacon. Clara noticed the consommé had been over-seasoned, the eggs had been cooked for too long, and the rolls were not properly fired. She noted the absence of a footman to accompany the place setting, bread and food from the kitchen to the master’s table. Only the bacon appeared to have been prepared correctly, finely sliced and fried in its own fat. But what drew her attention most was the presentation. Despite the refined porcelain and the elegant silver cutlery, which included an unusual four-pronged fork, she could see that it had not received the care one would expect in the household of a Spanish grandee. The separation between the different items of cutlery was haphazard, and worst of all, there was a scandalous absence of even the slightest floral decoration; the white embroidered cloth hung over the edges of the tray; the baked goods, consommé, bacon and eggs – which should have been concealed under their respective silver domes to keep them warm –were, instead, in plain sight. One look from the housekeeper was enough to stop the maid in her tracks. She approached, carefully placed the coffee spoon at the correct distance from the breakfast set and rearranged the silver jugs.
‘And don’t let anything move, Elisa,’ she ordered. ‘You can go now.’
Clara understood that the housekeeper had a strong sense of etiquette and protocol, even if she was unaware of the sophisticated culinary presentation associated with the haute cuisine King Felipe had introduced to court circles.
‘Of course, Doña Ursula,’ Elisa replied, performing a curtsy with the heavy tray and waiting for them to enter the kitchen.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed or curtseyed. It was clear the housekeeper was in charge of preparing the duke’s food. At a gesture from her, the activity resumed, and Clara watched as two scullery maids continued to pluck capons for that day’s lunch. Somewhat distractedly, another maid seasoned two pullets, while in the background, a fat woman supervised them out of the corner of her eye while she prepared a mushroom sauce to accompany the meat.
Clara could not help concluding that the staff was small indeed for so prestigious a household as Castamar. It could do with at least three more kitchen maids, several additional footmen and boot boys, and another scullery maid or two to sweep and scrub, and to pluck poultry. However, according to Señora Moncada, the master lived alone on the estate with his brother, and while it was true that some of the finer details were lacking, four people were more than sufficient to cater for his personal needs.
Clara wondered how it was that a housekeeper had achieved such dominance. It was normal, in an aristocratic household, for this person to have all the female staff under her supervision, from the chambermaids and housemaids to the scullery maids, laundry maids and seamstresses. However, this woman appeared to exercise the same degree of control over the male staff. It was more as if she were some kind of steward, charged with inspecting the premises, establishing prices and payments and managing the estate. The royal bureau – the body presided over by the head butler, which administered and managed the court – consisted of several highranking nobles in the service of the king and queen. At Castamar, of course, the bureau would consist only of people of humble birth. For the moment, its two visible members were Don Melquíades Elquiza, the head butler, and this imposing woman who stood before her and who she would soon learn was called Ursula Berenguer. She wondered at the nature of the relationship between the butler and the housekeeper.
‘There is only one week until the annual commemoration of our beloved Doña Alba, the master’s deceased wife,’ Doña Ursula told her, solemnly. ‘It’s very important for the duke. The event is
attended by every aristocrat in Madrid, and by Their Majesties the King and Queen. We must do the occasion justice.’
Clara nodded and the housekeeper looked over to the far side of the kitchen.
‘Señora Escrivá,’ she said, sharply, ‘let me introduce your new assistant: Señorita Clara Belmonte. Inform her of her duties.’
The fat cook came over and Clara felt that she was scrutinizing her with her piggy eyes, as if she were a piece of meat. The housekeeper departed, leaving a tense silence in her wake. While the other women didn’t take their eyes off her, Clara took the opportunity to observe the kitchen more closely. Her mother had always told her that a kitchen’s appearance spoke volumes about the cook. After seeing the breakfast that was on its way to the master, she wasn’t surprised to observe that the stove was black with soot, the oven had not yet been cleaned, the utensils were all muddled up, the drain was blocked, and the well cover was open. On the shelves, the spice caddies were smeared with grease, and it was impossible to tell on what basis they were organized. Next to them were the flour chests, from the bottom of which hung yellowish threads of lard. The high double windows overlooking the north courtyard were dirty, and on the work surface were remains of blood, wine, spices and entrails from earlier preparations, concealing the colour of the wood and telling her that, although it might have been cleaned daily, it had not been scrubbed with the necessary vigour.
‘What a scrawny pigeon they’ve sent me,’ said the head cook, casting her a pitying glance.
Clara started and took a step back. When she placed her foot on the slippery tiled floor, she felt something crunch beneath her boot. Señora Escrivá smiled as she observed Clara lifting her foot to reveal a squashed cockroach.
‘You’ve already started to muck in, that’s one less to worry about. It’s impossible to get rid of them, however much we try. They’re like a plague,’ she said, and everyone present laughed. ‘I’m Asunción Escrivá, the cook here at Castamar, and these two are María and Emilia, the scullery maids. Over there, preparing the poultry, is my
help, Carmen del Castillo. And down there is Rosalía. She’s as mad as a goose. The master took pity on her. She carries and fetches things.’
Clara looked down and discovered a fifth person beneath the table. Rosalía looked at her and greeted her with a sad smile. Then she held up her hand and showed her another cockroach.
‘I like how they crunch,’ she said, with some effort. Clara was smiling back when Señora Escrivá took the girl roughly by the arm.
‘Start peeling those onions,’ she ordered. ‘Hurry up! You’re here to work, not to daydream!’
The cook reminded Clara of a fat old sow, squealing in her sty. Any illusions she might have had of working under the orders of a great chef vanished in that instant. It was enough for her to look at Señora Escrivá’s fingernails, grimy with food and soot, to understand that there would be little to learn from her. It was clear the master of Castamar had given himself up to a routine of food presented without decorum and prepared without the necessary hygiene. No self-respecting noble household would have tolerated such neglect.
10October 1720, midday
Men liked to be in charge of situations, but Ursula had learned the painful lesson that she must never again allow anyone to bend her to their will. And so the arrival of the new assistant cook, without her approval – indeed, without any warning before the appointment was made – had unleashed her fury. From time to time, Don Melquíades challenged Doña Ursula’s dominion over the household but hers was the louder voice, as the butler was only too aware. If he were to confront her, he stood to lose far more than his job. It would have been better for everyone if he had departed some time ago, taking his dark secret with him. That would have left everything
at Castamar under her careful supervision, running as smoothly as a meticulously adjusted pendulum clock.
Lost in these thoughts, Ursula made her way along the corridor, passing the stairs to the upper floors on her right, and coming to the door of the butler’s office. She gave two light knocks, trying to hide the turmoil inside her. From the other side of the door, the deep voice of Don Melquíades invited her to enter. Ursula closed the door behind her. The butler was writing in one of his scarlet notebooks, a book that nobody would ever read. She was sure his prose was deplorable, sprinkled with learned words and phrases designed to give the impression that he was a highly educated man. He filled his diaries with all manner of details, striving to convey on the page the dedication he brought to his life as a butler. A dedication which, in Ursula’s opinion, had gradually been diluted over the years until he had become a servant to routine, lacking any ambition to improve. She waited until he raised his head from the book. A weighty silence followed, one of those that she found deeply irritating. Don Melquíades glanced up briefly, then continued to write as he spoke.
‘Ah, it’s you,’ he said, laconically.
She ignored the disrespect and waited like a hunter in the dark, before humiliating him for his failed attempt to impose his authority.
‘I have come to inform you that the new kitchen assistant has arrived,’ she said. ‘I hope she is suitably qualified and—’
‘You only have to read her references, Doña Ursula,’ he interrupted drily, without raising his head.
She fell silent again, and he raised one of his bushy eyebrows and looked her up and down, as if trying to make her feel uncomfortable. Ursula waited. She knew the game would end in her victory.
‘Perhaps we should prepare one of the rooms in the east wing for the commemoration dinner,’ she said, changing the subject.
He didn’t reply, continuing to write instead. She told herself that the silence no doubt made him feel powerful, as if it was up to him to grant permission for such an action. Even so, she did not allow a sound to pass her lips, while he remained mute for a few more seconds.
‘As you see fit, Doña Ursula,’ Don Melquíades finally replied.
She allowed a moment to pass before striking the fatal blow. She approached the desk and scrutinized him as if he were an insect.
‘Don Melquíades, would you do me the favour of putting down your pen for a moment and actually listening to me?’ she asked, in a courteous tone.
‘I apologize, Doña Ursula,’ he replied immediately, as if he hadn’t realized she was still there.
With a faint smile, Ursula came a little closer, making him seem smaller and more hunched. Then, smoothly, she let drop the hurtful words, the words she knew would inflict most damage on his pride, as a man and as a servant.
‘Don Melquíades, you are the head butler of Castamar, please behave accordingly.’
The man blushed and stood up angrily.
‘Especially in my presence,’ she concluded.
Don Melquíades wobbled like a jelly that had just been turned onto a serving dish. She deliberately delayed saying anything more until he was about to speak.
‘Or I will be forced to speak to his lordship about your little secret,’ she cut in.
Don Melquíades, knowing he had no choice but to capitulate in the face of such a threat, assumed an air of dejection, while glaring at her with an offended expression in an attempt to maintain what was left of his dignity.
The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. It was the usual victory – one she had first inflicted on him many years ago and one which he needed to be reminded of from time to time, a victory over male power and over the repressive society that had once done her so much harm. Don Melquíades’s little shows of insubordination had become less and less frequent, until one day, he had finally accepted that the big decisions at Castamar were not taken in his office but instead were delivered to him there as faitsaccomplis. Ursula turned to leave, as usual. However, when she reached the door, she decided the butler needed to show greater capitulation.
‘There’s no need to be so annoyed,’ she added. ‘We both know who really runs this house. We’re like an unhappily married couple,
keeping up appearances.’
Don Melquíades stroked his moustache. His face bore the expression of a defeated soul. Ursula turned again to leave, observing as she did how the head butler slumped back onto his pathetic throne.
2
11October 1720, morning
Clara rose early and spent more than four hours washing pots and pans and scrubbing chopping boards. She sanded down the worktable and scoured the soot-stained walls and floor tiles until they regained some of their original colour. The cockroaches fled to the courtyard. Then she arranged the spice caddies in alphabetical order. She tidied the flour chests, the honeypot and the earthenware jugs. Finally, she drew four tubs of water from the kitchen well, washed the cloths and sluiced out the pails, all before anyone appeared. She knew she could be making trouble for herself, but she couldn’t work somewhere so filthy. Any day now, someone could fall ill from eating food cooked there.
To her surprise, Doña Ursula was the first to enter. Clara did a small upright curtsy and lowered her head. From the corner of her eye, she detected a hint of surprise in the housekeeper’s impassive face as she breathed in the scent of lye. She sauntered around, admiring the fruits of Clara’s labour, before fixing her eyes on her, as if trying to decipher the motives behind all the cleaning. She ran her hand over the braziers, the knife handle, the saucepans and even the stove. Then she directed her gaze towards the spice racks, scrutinizing them without saying a word. At last, radiating authority, she looked at Clara with the trace of a smile.
The door opened and the rotund Señora Escrivá stopped in her tracks. Clara greeted her politely, but the cook didn’t even respond. From her expression, Clara could tell she barely recognized the
kitchen. When her eyes met Doña Ursula’s, her face was a mask of terror.
‘I see, Señora Escrivá, that you’ve fulfilled your duty of cleaning and tidying the kitchen,’ Doña Ursula said as she walked out. ‘I want it to always be like this.’
The housekeeper’s voice faded in the corridor. The head cook surveyed the scene with a frozen smile on her face, trying to locate her familiar smells, her pots and pans, her soot-covered stove. She observed it all as if some conjurer had completely transformed the kitchen. Her indignant, boar-like stare came to rest on Clara. She took two steps and slapped her across the face. Clara’s lip burst open and a few drops of blood trickled down her chin. She had to make a huge effort not to return the blow. She looked at the cook in a rage and reached for the rolling pin. Señora Escrivá came no closer, but held up her index finger.
‘Now we’re all going to have to work harder, thanks to you. You can make cleaning the kitchen one of your daily chores!’ she roared. ‘Leave it like this every day or I’ll beat you to a pulp.’
When the head cook had turned away, Clara also turned her back and, without uttering a word, focused on basting the lamb with lard.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed something through the crack in the door. On the other side, Doña Ursula was watching over everything. She remained there for a few moments before walking off, no doubt satisfied. Clara directed her gaze outside, her face still throbbing from the blow. Drizzle was already falling from the heavy clouds, presaging a storm. If things continued this way, she feared her time at Castamar would be brief.
She finished greasing the lamb, then washed her hands over the sink and began covering some tarts with a reduction of honey and almonds for the master’s breakfast. Her mind wandered to more pleasant memories, when life had been simple and her father had provided them with everything they needed. Whenever she pictured her father’s round face, with his neat moustache, she felt as if no time had passed. Ironically, those days, when a bloody war was being waged for the Spanish throne and European hegemony, and men of all nations killed without mercy in the name of King Felipe V
or Archduke Carlos, had been the happiest of her life. Her father was a cultivated man, who had travelled in his youth and loved books, and his only wish had been for that savage war to end as soon as possible. As a doctor, the Hippocratic oath was sacrosanct, specifically the principle of ‘do no harm’ or primum non nocere, which obliged him to safeguard human life. And as an educated man, war went against all reason, not to mention against God.
However, it was not his ideas on the subject of war that had made him one of the most renowned doctors in Madrid, but rather his constant studying and love for the profession. This had allowed him to rub shoulders both with the Spanish aristocracy and with those who had arrived from France with King Felipe. The poor man had always hoped his daughters would marry into houses of nobility or, if that was not possible, at least ones of good repute. This goal had not been shared by Clara, but her sister, Elvira, who was more naive, had always dreamed of being introduced into society and finding a good husband – one who was rich and handsome and who loved her at least as much as her parents loved each other. However, the war had cut this short when every potential suitor had been recruited into the army, and Elvira became a lost soul, walking around the house with a glazed expression in her eyes.
‘At this rate, once the war is over, there won’t be any marriageable young men left,’ she had often said.
Clara was cut from a different cloth. She preferred being around books and the charcoal-fired heat of the kitchen to spending her time searching for a husband. If she wished for anything in life it was not merely to find a husband but, rather, to find a suitable one. She had believed that King Felipe’s victory would present them with an endless supply of illustrious Habsburgs who, having fallen into disgrace after the war, might view with great favour the prospect of marrying the highly respectable Belmonte family’s two heiresses. And yet, their father had also striven to give them an appropriate education.
‘You know I always wanted to have a male child to follow in my footsteps in the field of medicine,’ he had told her one afternoon as the two of them ate freshly baked pastries, ‘but the Lord blessed me
with two girls. Although you cannot be doctors, my dear, your being women does not mean you cannot employ reason the way men do.’
As a man of science, her father had based his life around the precepts of experimentation and reason. Thus, he affirmed that, scientifically speaking, there was no conclusive evidence that feminine reason was incapable of study and understanding. In fact, he believed that a suitable education would make them excellent mothers and better spouses and not, as some claimed, drive them mad. Of course, this would not equip them for other tasks which, in every sense, belonged to the orbit of men, such as finance, the military or matters of State. In such matters, especially in politics, Clara’s father always maintained that women had a diminished capacity for theoretical reasoning because of their sensitive nature and were only capable of finding solutions to practical problems. This was quite apart from the purely physical professions, where, obviously, women could not compete with a man’s skills and strength.
Clara had responded to such claims with ideas from other authors who argued for the equality of the male and female intellects.
‘They come from an English author called Mary Astell. She concludes that women should be educated in the same way as men, with the goal of doing the same things.’
‘The same things, poor woman! Her theory lacks common sense,’ Clara’s father had answered incredulously.
Still, he acknowledged that, where study and comprehension were concerned, he had no doubt whatsoever that the differences between men and women were minimal. He had considered the question from every possible perspective.
‘That God created Adam in his image and likeness and that Eve was born from the rib of the former does not in any sense imply that the latter had less of a head for study or understanding,’ he had stated.
A few days before his unexpected death, he had tenderly confessed that he did not regret having no male heir, that God had blessed him with a good life, since he saw in Elvira an extension of himself, and in Clara an extension of his wife. This was certainly
true. Her younger sister had inherited her father’s calmer, more level-headed soul, while Clara had been touched by her mother’s resolute, decisive spirit. Now, with each sister living a very different life, it was clear that the paths they had taken were simply the outcome of their different characters.
As Clara ground the almonds for the master’s pastries, she wondered how Elvira’s life in Vienna was going, in those cold and distant lands. What deep longing she felt towards those memories, which chimed away like the hours on a clock: uncontainable, incessant, fleeting. And yet, they brought her such comfort! She smiled as she recalled those beloved days before Don José de Grimaldo had enlisted her father for King Felipe’s war, when all Madrid was preparing for King Felipe’s arrival from Valladolid, and the three women were waiting for the master of the house. They had imagined he’d be tired from doing the rounds of his patients –wealthy aristocrats who had remained in the capital.
That day, she and her mother had served a slow-cooked stew of pig’s trotters and tail, beef shank, capon thighs and breasts, chorizo, morcilla sausage, ham bones, tender chickpeas, cabbage, turnips, carrots, a good stuffing made with breadcrumbs, garlic, minced pork, a sprig of parsley and finally their special touch: a handful of new potatoes. When he had arrived, her father only had to inhale the aromas to know they’d spent all day at the hob. How he wished they would spend more time tasting food than making it! But his protests had fallen on deaf ears, and despite knowing it was unconventional for women of their social position to spend the day cooking, he had not been a man to deny them anything. He had enjoyed their stews, and with the passing years had become so accustomed to them that if they didn’t cook he would feel the loss. Even so, he had often feigned objection.
After twenty-six years of marriage, her father, who had lacked a refined sense of smell, was nonetheless able to distinguish the aromas from the drawing room: mutton hotpot, duck with quince, braised pig’s trotters, roast bream, stewed chickpeas, and their signature stew. Whenever he inhaled that fragrance, a smile would spread across his face, and he had to make a real effort to feign
seriousness. The poor man had only just finished uttering his reproach when he had been subjected to his wife’s piercing gaze.
‘The eyes have defeated you, Father,’ Clara had said to him, as she often did.
Even so, Armando Belmonte had tried again and again. Clara always assumed it had more to do with finding a way to soothe his own fears, since clearly, deep down, he did not want his wife to abandon the stove.
That meal was the last happy memory Clara had. Moments later, Venancio, the butler, had come to announce the arrival of a letter from Don José de Grimaldo. The War Secretary had requested that her father join the Bourbon troops. This memory was followed by others, all of them painful. Clara treasured that scene in her mind, summoning it whenever she was in need, recalling its smallest details with a faint melancholy that dispelled her tears and made her feel safe. Most nights, when sorrow came in search of her soul, she resisted and pulled it up by the roots. Some nights, however, when her spirits were down, she found herself defenceless and took refuge in that image, dwelling on every tiny detail. Then she would inhale sharply, trying to remember the essential oils of rose and lavender her father had been buried with.
11October 1720, midday
Diego had been riding since first thing that morning. He often did this to refresh his tired mind, and even more frequently at present, with him feeling so out of sorts. He was always miserable about everything. To avoid falling into an even greater state of apathy, he had fetched that morning’s mail from Madrid himself. He had discarded the letters of engagement, and picked out the one from his mother, Doña Mercedes. After tucking it into the cuff of his jacket, he had left the estate to avoid seeing his brother or any
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Lanioaka, god of Aiohikupua, 408.
Lanipipili, 408, 414.
Lapakahoe, name of Pakaa’s paddle, 72, 74, 78
Lau fishing, 668
Lauhala, 656–658 used in mat making, 626–628 thatching for houses, 640, 644
Lauhiki, the first woman who braided mats, and taught others, 656, 658
Laukona, indigenous cane, 582.
Lauoho, not known as food, 246.
Laupahoehoe, 468.
Legends:
Halemano, 228.
Hiku and Kawelu, 182.
Hinaaimalama, 266.
Iwa, 284
Kahalaopuna, 188
Kalaepuni and Kalaehina, 198.
Kamapuaa, 314.
Kapakohana, 208.
Kapunohu, 214.
Kaulu, 364.
Kawelo, 2
Keaweikekahialii, 262
Kekuhaupio, 452.
Kepakailiula, 384.
Kihapiilani, 176.
Kuapakaa, 78. Kulepe, 172
Maikoha, 270
Maniniholokuaua and Keliimalolo, 164 Maui, 536.
Namakaokapaoo, 274.
Oopu god, the, 510
Opelemoemoe, 168
Pakaa, 72
Palila, 136, 372.
Pamano, 302.
Piimaiwaa, 376. Punia, 294.
Puniakaia, 154
Uweuwelekehau, 192
Lehokukuwau, 140
Lehoula, 506, 508, 548
Lehua, or ohia lehua tree, (Metrosideros polymorpha), 190 arrow wood, 280. blossoms, 38, 102, 230. floral emblem, 230. trees at Kaula, 152.
Leina a ka uhane, (soul’s leap), 574
Leiomanu (leiomano), a shark-toothed weapon, 468
Lele (Lahaina), Maui, 74, 238, 240, 436, 442, 540
Leleiwi, rain at, 250
Keaau and Iwa land at, 288
Lepe, cunning man of Hilo, 422, 424
Lihau, 520, 532, 534
Liholiho, heir to Kingdom of Kamehameha, 478, 480
Lihue, Waianae, Halemano next to, 228, 250, 274 waterless waste of, 240. the wind of, 252, 310.
Liionaiwaa, 548.
Lilikoi, kukui grove of Maui, 674.
Limakaukahi and Limapaihala, hands of Kaulu, 366, 370.
Limaloa, 342, 344, 346, 354 [xii]
Limu, seaweed, 494
Lobster cave, 294, 296
Lohiau, husband of Pele, 518
Loin cloth, 408, 702
Lolehale, place for Kilu game, 246
Lolomauna, temple at, 168, 198
Lomilomi, massage, 354
Lono, god, 456; father of Pamano, 302
Lonoaohi, priest, gifted with fore-knowledge, 320, 322, 324
Lonoapii, King of Maui, lived in Waihee, 176–180
Lonoikamakahiki, renowned King of Hawaii, brother of Pupukea, famous Lono of tradition, 436–450.
Lonoikiaweawealoha, love-making god of Kamapuaa, 330, 338, 342, 352.
Lonokaeho, king of one side of Kahiki, 326–330, 336, 370.
Lonomakua, Pele’s agent, 340, 342.
Lonomuku, woman who leaped to the moon, 658, 660.
Lopa, (law-forming class), souls of, 544.
Loulu, palm tree, “hiwa” (Prichardia martii) and “lelo” (Prichardia gaudichaudii), 364, 656.
Lua, a bone-breaking contest, 210, 282.
Luahenewai, Waikiki-kai, 488.
Luahoomoe, priest, 514, 516, 662.
Luakaha, 460
Luau, young taro leaves, 494, 684
Lulana, 630
Luluupali, 698
Lupea, sister of Hina, 148 Palila, the ward of, 150
Lupeakawaiowainiha, a warrior, 138, 140
Luukia, daughter of Olopana, born on Kauai, 194–196 and Uweuwelekehau, queen and king of Kauai, 198. daughter of Hamau and Hooleia, of Puako, Hawaii, 564–568.
Maakuakeke of Waialae, fishing instructor and companion of Kawelo, 6, 8, 10, 12, 18.
Maakuiaikalani, Kapa of, 10.
Maba sandwicensis, (Lama), 56.
Maeaea, Kaiaka and Anahulu, brothers of Halemano, 228.
Maemae, Kaheiki adjacent to, 474.
Mahiki, Hawaii, route of army, 448, 500.
Mahimahi (Coryphaena hippurus), 270.
Mahinahina, wife of Kapapauoa, 506
Mahinui, daughter of Hina, mother of Palila, 136, 144, 372 portion of Olomana, 146, 374
Mahoe, 468
Maiauhaalenalenaupena, deceiver of peddlers, 426
Maihuna and Malaiakalani, parents of Kawelo, 2, 10.
Maika stones (ulu), 688.
Maikoha, legend of, 270
Maile, (Alyxia olivaeformis), a fragrant vine, 240, 614–618
Makahi, story of, 564–568
Makahiki or New Year’s sports, 436
Makaia, definition of, 176
Makaioulu, warrior of Kamehameha, in Nuuanu battle, 488, 490
Makaiula fishing grounds in Kaelehuluhulu, 258
Makaiwa, surf riding place of Wailua (Kauai), 242
Makakuikalani, Maui chief, younger brother of Kama, King of Maui, 436–450
Makalii, King of Kauai, 252, 316–320, 326, 334, 346–352, 364, 368 Ieiea and Poopalu, fishermen of, 600. season, 664.
Makaliikuakawaiea, 348.
Makaliua, residence of Maui’s parents, 536, 538.
Makamakaole, Maui at, 536. meaning of name, 536. oopu god of, 514.
Makapuu point, 220, 286, 374.
Makaulele, lehua tree of, 256
Makawalu (eight-eyed), signifying all-seeing, wise, 314
Make hewa, definition, 416
Makoa, fast runner, 490
Makolea, beautiful woman of Kona, 384, 386, 388, 390, 394, 396, 404.
Makua, bone breaking at, 490. one of Waianae valleys, traditional home of the “olohe,” 490
Makuakeke, fisherman of Oahu, 696, 700
Makuu and Popoki, two lands near Puna, 234
Malae, high priest of Kauai, 322, 324
Malaekahana, image, at Hauula, 236
Malaiakalani, mother of Kawelo, 2
Kawelo’s sister, the ward of, 46.
Malaihi, chief over Hamakua, Waimea and Kawaihae, 486, 488.
Malailua, 28, 30.
Malama, 256.
Malio, 668, 692.
Maliu surf of, Kauhola point, 240–242, 248.
Malo, David, antiquarian writer, 520.
Malo (loin cloth), 164, 688.
Malolo, an indigenous cane, first named Puahala, 586.
Malulani, sister of Kaohelo, 576–580.
Mamaki (Pipturus albidus), 284, 636.
Mamala, entrance of Honolulu harbor, 8, 428. channel, 396.
Mamalahoa, Kamehameha’s beneficient law, 478. law, derivation and application, 468–470, 490, 492 “rain outside of,” 56 “spears made from rafters of,” 40
Mamane (Sophora chrysophylla), a hard wood, 156, 638.
Mana, Kauai, a place of spirits, 196.
Luukia and husband banished to, 196 people came to, 198 Polihale at end of, 62
Manana, in upper Ewa, 188.
Manauea stream, 500.
Manawaikeao, 12.
Manawainui, 546.
Man-eating dog, 412, 416.
Manienie, woman of Kau, 384.
Manini (Teuthis sandwicensis), surgeon-fish, 98.
Maniniholokuaua, of Molokai, noted for speed and strength, 164–166.
Manoa, Oahu, 188, 192, 458.
Kahalaopuna born at, 188.
Peapea resides in, 458. rain at, 188
Manono, wife of Kekuaokalani, 480
Mauiakekai, 26
Manulele, indigenous cane, 584
Mao, attendant of Keaweikekahialii, 262–264
Maoleha, net of Makalii, 368
Mats, 626–628 used by stowaways, 702.
Mau sphere, region next below the “waokele,” 496.
Maui, son of Hinalauae and Hina, 536–544, 560–564. army of Umi set sail for, 178 becomes dry, 516
ghosts of, 428
Kahekili, king of, 452, 454, 472.
Kalaiopuu arrived at, 452, 454, 472.
Kahekilinui, king of, 458.
Kaiuli, king of, 302.
Kakaalaneo, king of, 386
Kalaehina, king of, 484
Kamalalawalu, king of, 206, 436
Kepakailiula’s army sets out for, 390.
Kapakohana sails for, 208.
Kekaa, capital of, 540.
Kihapiilani king of, 180
Lele, (Lahaina) on, 436
Lonoapii, king of, 176, 434, 436, 442, 444–450, 460, 472
[xiii]Makakuikalani in control of, 436, 442, 446, 448, 450.
Oulu, warrior of, 452.
Pamano, king of, 306.
“peleleu” fleet at, 470. people slaughtered by Kamehameha, 474 rock as large as, 366 war carried on in, 180
Mauihope, last or after Maui, 560
Mauiites, 450, 454
Mauikiikii, definition of, 560.
Mauimua, first born or elder Maui, 562.
Mauiokalana, 560.
Maumae, beneficient law, 478. heiau, Palolo valley, 478.
Maumauikio, warrior, 704.
Maunahoomaha, 534.
Maunakea, 124.
Maunakepa and Hooleia, of Kauai, parents of Kaoheloula, 580.
Maunakilika, formally called Alea, 140
Maunalei, Lanai, Kalapanakuioiomoa settles at, 264
Maunaloa, servant of Keawenuiaumi, 200
Maunu (bait), necessary for “anaana” priest, 570
Medicine (weapons), 476
Meles, 74
Metrosideros polymorpha, Lehua, variety of ohia, 152, 190, 638
Mikioi wind, 252
Milky Way, 118
Milu, god of Hades, 50, 184, 186
Mischief-maker, 170
Moa, trunk-fish (Ostracion camurum), 194
Moanalua, Oahu, 368
Moanonuikalehua, 150, 152, 374
Moeawa, Hill of (Puu o Moeawa), 500.
Moelana, Kaaealii at, 238. Koolau people at, 238.
Moemoe, 538, 544. and Maui at Kekaa, 544.
Moi (Polydactylus sexfilis), 98.
Moikeha brought the awa from Kauai to Oahu, 606.
Mokapu, 286.
Mokolii, islet, 370. wizard, 370
Mokuhooniki, land known as, 394
Mokulau, Maui, Halemano lands at, 258 Pamano at, 302 “lehua blossoms of,” 250.
Mokuohai, scene of Kamehameha’s first battle for the throne, 466.
Mokuola, Coconut Island, Hilo, 248.
Mokupane, high priest, 200, 202.
Moloaa, 138.
Molokai, home of Pakaa, 74. home of Pele, 526.
incidents relating to, 74, 80, 102, 112, 116, 132, 134, 148, 164, 166, 176, 180, 238, 284–5, 394, 428, 496, 526 winds of, 102
Molokini (islet), 518 myths concerning, 514, 518, 534.
Momoa, part of a canoe, 280.
Months of Hawaii calendar, 102.
Moo, or lizard-god, 412, 520.
Moomooikio is killed, 48.
Morinda citrifolia (noni), 334.
Morning star, 118.
Mualea, see Muolea.
Mud-hen, origin of fire obtained by Maui from the, 562 why head of the, is red, 564
Muolea (on Maui), 140, 372
Myth concerning Molokini, 514; of Poo, 528
See also Legends.
Mythical Tales, 506. 562–64.
Naaimokuokama, companion warrior of Makaioulu, 488.
Nahanaimoa, grandfather of Kawelo, 58.
Naihe and Hoapili, 480.
Nakinowailua and Hokiolele, spirit-sisters of Pamano, 308, 310, 312.
Nalu, warrior, 484.
Namahana, daughter of Haalou and wife of Keeaumoku, 688.
Namakaahua, brother of Hua, 514.
Namakaeha, chief of Hilo, 476, 506, 508, 570.
Namakaeha, killed by Wakiu, 510.
Namakaokalani, called the warrior of Moloaa, 138; defeated, 372 king of Hawaii, 280 meaning of name, 372 ruler of half of Kauai, 276, 136, 372.
See also Kukuiaimakaokalani.
Namakaokaia, a chief of Hawaii, 276, 280, 282.
Namakaokapaoo, legend of, 274–282.
Namalokama, chief priest of the king of Kauai, 432.
Nananuu, a place of offering in the temple, 350.
Napuelua, legend of, 500, 502.
Nawaahookui, 204
Nawahinemakaikai, definition of, 234
Necklace, ivory, 468
Nehu (salted fish), 176
Neneleau, sumach (Rhus semialata), 500, 640
Nenue, rudder-fish (Kyphosus sp ), 300
Neritina granosa (Opihi), 296
Neue and Keawehala, daughters of Niulii, 218
Niau Kani, musical instrument and chronological era, 692
Nihopuaa (hog’s tusk), name of awa sprouts, 608
Niihau, mats of, 56 persons from, 164, 166.
Niuaawaa, 572.
Niuhelewai, location of, 368, 498. people of Oahu defeated at, 498.
Niulii, a section of Kohala, name also of its chief, 216–218, 220.
Niumalu, name given to, 224.
No’a, game, 574.
Noio, fishing bird, 508.
Noni, (Morinda citrifolia), 334. house timber, 652.
Nothocestrum breviflorum (aiea), 636
Nounou hill, 32, 38, 40, 42, 44, 48, 50, 58, 60.
Nualolo cliff, 142.
Nunulu, high chief of Kohala, 246
Nuu, place name, 546, 572
Nuuanu, 430, 458, 460
Nuuanu battle, 474
Nuukole, red-tail mudfish, 512
Nuumealani, Hawaii, birthplace of Pele sisters, 576, 578
Nuupia, father of Puniakaia, 154, 156 pool at, the home of Uhumakaikai, 162
Oahu, battles on, 278, 474, 498 chiefs of, 488, 494.
kings of, 4, 142, 222, 238, 276, 280, 320, 374, 394, 396, 428, 456, 458, 492, 498.
legends of, 12, 142.
general references, 42, 142, 144, 146, 160, 162, 166, 170, 220, 238, 278, 280, 282, 324, 326, 346, 394, 404, 428, 432, 458, 460, 470, 472, 474, 476, 564, 694, 696.
Offspring of chiefs to be killed, 198, 206.
Oha and aae, young taro shoots, 682.
Ohaikea, 448.
Ohe (bamboo), 588.
Ohele, stream, 256.
Ohelo, berry (Vaccinium reticulatum), 576, 578; legend regarding, 582.
Ohia, or lehua ahihi (Metrosideros polymorpha), 152.
Ohiakuikalaka, Kamalama received blow from, 710.
Ohiki, sand crab (Ocypode, sp.), 16.
620–624, 638 [xiv]
Ohiohikupua, name of the pandamus or lauhala, 656
Oilikukaheana brought the awa plant from Kahiki, 606
Ointment, calabash of (Kakele), 80
Oio, bone-fish (Albula vulpes), 158
Okolehao, a liquor distilled from the ti-root, 670
Ola, king of Kauai, and builder of the Hanola temple, 208
Olaa, place known by ancient traditions as Laa, 112 kapas of, 284.
Olana, or Nana, month, 116.
Olapa, shrub used in scenting kapa, 112.
Olena (circuma longa), root furnished a yellow dye, 640.
Oloa kapa, 140.
Oloalu, or Olowalu, place near Lahaina, 514, 516.
Olohana, “all hands,” nickname given to John Young, 426.
Olohe, a robber skilled in bone-breaking, 210.
Olomana, a warrior, 146, 374.
Olomea (Perrottetia sandwicensis), 640.
Olona (Touchardia latifolia), Hawaiian hemp, 202, 606.
Oloolohio, method of taro cultivation, 680.
Olopana, son of Ku, legends of 192, 194, 196, 198, 220, 316, 320, 322, 324, 350.
Olowalu, landing place, 470, 514, 516.
Omaokamau, warrior of Umi, 180, 380, 382.
Omaumaukioe and Owalawalaheekio, 346
Onionikaua, officer and general of Aikanaka, 32, 34, 36
Oo, bird (Moho nobilis), 258, 478 gardening implement, 414, 586, 680
Oopu god, legend of, 510, 514
Oopuloa forests, 176, 180
Oopuola, home of the ghost Kaahualii, 434
Oopus, goby-fish (Eleotris fusca), 510, 512
Opelemoemoe (the great sleeper), legend of, 168, 170
Opelu (Decapterus pinnulatus), 16.
Opihi shell (Neritina granosa), 296.
Opiko, or Kopiko (Straussia sp.), 640.
Opuaanuenue, probably Lonokaeho, 328.
Opukea, an indigenous cane, 584.
Opule (Anampsis evermanni), 16, 510.
Ostracion camurum (moa), trunk-fish, 194.
Ouholowai, scented kapas made from mamaki, 112, 284.
Oulu, warrior of Maui, 452, 454, 456.
Our, complimentary use of pronoun, 438.
Oven, 132, 400, 402. use of in death penalty, 128, 404, 472.
Owaia, a cruel king, 660.
Owl, possessing “aumakua” attributes, 574.
Paa, battle at, 372
Paauhau, locality in Hamakua, Hawaii, 410
Paddle, sign of authority, 122
Pahapaha, seaweed, 62
Pahee, game of, 214 grave called, 570
Pahia of Hilo, 494
Pahoa, a dagger, 298, 680 locality, 322, 324.
Paholei, name for awa, 606.
Pahulu, Lanai, ghosts at, 428.
Pahupahua, battle at, 480.
Pai, coconut trees at, 30.
Paiai, kalo pounded stiff, 668.
Paio bird. See Elepaio.
Pakaa (servant of Keawenuiaumi), story of, 72–77.
Pakaalana, temple of, in Waipio, 290.
Pakaka, portion of Honolulu below Queen street, 486.
Pala-a (Davallia tenuifolia), fern supplying a red dye, 640.
Palahola (plant), bark used in making kapa, 240, 636.
Palake, canoe builder of Kamehameha I., 478.
Palani, surgeon-fish (Hepatus sp.), 298, 300. an indigenous cane, known also as palanihao and polaniula, 584
Palanquin, 142, 144
Palila, legend of, 136–153
Paliuli, battle at, 416 the Hawaiian paradise, 384, 406, 410, 412
Palm leaves as peace offering, 122 a hiding place, 364.
Pamano (famous as a singer and chanter), legend of, 302–313.
Panaewa, unknown locality mentioned in meles, 250, 256.
Panuhunuhu (Callyodon ahula), 154.
Paoo, fish (Salarias sp.), form of taken by Kauli and his wife, 266.
Paopele, warrior, 220.
Papa, a class or code of Kamehameha’s laws, 692.
Papa kahuia, place of the “anaana” priests’ ceremonies, 640.
Papaa, indigenous cane, 582.
Papahawahawa, 548–550.
Papai, landing place of Kamehameha I., 468.
Papai hale, shelter hut on double canoes, 702.
Papakolea predicts that Palilo will conquer Oahu, 144.
Papawai, locality mentioned in chant of Halemano, 246.
Pa-u, given to Laenihi, 234.
Pauhuuhu, fish, 154.
Pauoa, valley, 188
Pa’upa’u, hill of Lahaina, 520–522. battles at, 520 burial place of David Malo on, 520 fauna and flora of, 522 heiau on, 520. legend regarding, 520. refuge place on eastern side, 520.
Paritium tiliaceum (hau), 148.
Paved roads, 176, 180.
Peapea, a celebrity in time of Kahekili, 508, 548, 550.
Pekua, to ward off, 702.
Pele, (goddess of the volcano) ancestry, 524. incidents relating to, 332, 334, 336, 340, 342, 346, 354–6, 508, 518, 524, 526, 534, 536, 546, 572, 574, 576, 580
Pele and Hiiaka, 546, 576, 580 and Kamapuua, 334, 336, 338, 342, 354. and Kanilolou, 534. and Kapiolani, 576. and Lihau, 534. and Namakaeha, 508 and Paao, 656
Peleioholani, king of Oahu, 172, 174
Pelekumulani, abductor of husband of Pele, 524 incidents relating to, 332, 334, 336, 340, 342, 346, 354–56, 508, 518, 524, 526, 534, 536, 546, 572, 574, 576, 578, 580.
Pelekunu, chiefs of Molokai, 496.
Peleleu, fleet of large canoes, 470, 690.
Perrottetia sandwicensis (olomea), 640.
Pi-a, a measure in house building, 644.
Piauwai, battle of, 218
Pig’s ear, cutting of as king’s mark, 52
Pihana, warrior chief of Oahu, 474, 476 and Kalaikupule, 474 and Kalaimoku, 476
Pihehe foretells death of Namakaeha, 508, 510.
Piihonua, Hilo, home of Ku, 192, 256.
Namakaeha sacrificed on altar at, 476.
Piikea, Princess of Hana and wife of Umi, 176, 178, 250, 604.
Piilana and Laieloheikawai, 176.
Piimaiwaa, warrior of Umi and Keawenuiaumi, 178, 180, 376, 378, 380, 604. legend of, 376.
Piko, cutting (in house building), 646.
Pikoi, weapon, 54, 500.
Pilali, gum of the kukui-tree, 636.
Pili grass (Heteropogon contortus), as thatch, 640, 644–46.
Pioholowai, land named for, 216.
Piper methysticum (awa), the intoxicating plant of Polynesia, 606. [xv]
Pipturus albidus (Mamaki), 284, 636.
Playthings, 222, 234–236
Poalima (Friday), king’s service day, 708
Poe, company or large body of men, 460
Pohakea, place near Ewa, 188, 192
Pohakuawahinemauna, visited by Hina, 540
Pohakueaea, 148, 286
Pohuehue vines, 390
Pokai (mother of Namakaokaao) 274, 276
Pokai, place in Oahu, 168, 170, 210, 252
Poki, in Waimea, 222
Pokii, Kauai, temple at, 168
Pole, method of carrying burdens on a, 314
Polihale, site of a famous temple, 62
Pololu (spear), made from koaie wood, 150
Polypodium keraudreniana (akolea), 686.
Pomaikai, hala trees at, 250.
Poo, story of, 528–532.
Pooamoho in Halemano, Aikanaka’s army at, 238.
Popolo and fleas, as food, 700.
Potato culture, method of, 662–64. prayers for fruitful fields of, 662–64–66.
