Sorceress (17 page)

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32

Le Grand

My captor’s name was Le Grand, but that was all he told me. He offered no other information, about himself or why I had been taken. I was conducted to a chamber; a Huron girl brought food, and water for me to wash, but when she left the door was locked. I went to the window. There was no way down and soldiers stood sentry in front of the building. I was a prisoner. Escape would not be easy.

That night I slept between sheets for the first time in seventeen years, but I dreamed of the forest. I was a girl again, and Jaybird was chasing me. I could hear him calling and his laugh echoing as I ran from him. He was gaining on me; I could hear him getting closer and closer. I slowed deliberately for him to catch me, whirling round with quick anticipated desire, but he just smiled and turned away. I chased him now, but he kept just out of my sight.

I came upon a cave and entered, thinking I might find him there, following down a winding labyrinth of tunnels until I became lost in the maze. At the centre sat White Eagle in his Chamber of Visions. He looked up from the fire burning before him. He stood up when he saw me, and his shadow became a monstrous bird on the wall behind him, wings spread like a thunderbird.

I cowered back and felt the shadowing of great wings over me. I thought to see an eagle but the cloaking feathers were dusty black and ragged like a raven’s. I struggled and fought but great scaled claws, talons as sharp as razors, held me pinioned and the great bird settled upon me as a crow settles on carrion. The long beak struck at me, ripping open my deer-skin shift, seeking to tear the very heart from my breast.

I woke in a sweat, at a loss where I was. In a room, in a house – the very idea was strange to me after so many years sleeping under bark and matting. I lay back staring at the close-worked wood of the ceiling. A fire glowed in the hearth. I rose by its light, thinking to dress, and found that my clothes had been removed while I slept.

When the Huron girl returned to my chamber, I spoke to her in the common tongue. I did not know whether I could trust her, but I asked her to get word to Black Fox. I wanted her to tell him where I was, that I was closely guarded but no insult had been offered me, and no harm had come to me – yet.

She did not reply, but nodded as if she understood. I did not say more, not knowing how far I could rely upon the girl, but I’d said enough for my son to know that I could not easily escape on my own and that any kind of direct assault was pointless. All I could do was see what awaited me, and glean what information I could from the Frenchman. Other than that, I had to trust in Black Fox to find a way. The thought of my son brought comfort to me, for he had great cunning and was as wily as his name. If anyone could get me out of here, he could.

The Huron girl filled a tub for me, and laid linen for me to dry myself, then she left. To bathe in warm water was a very great luxury, and I own that I lingered long in the perfumed water. She returned with clothes for me: a dress with full skirt and petticoats, slashed sleeves and a tight-fitting bodice. The European garments felt strange and restricting to my body, but I had to don them or go naked. My moccasins had been taken along with my clothes, but I would rather go unshod than squeeze my feet into the shoes I was supposed to wear.

I spent the day alone, locked in my room. Then towards evening the girl returned. She had come to conduct me to her master, but she also carried word from Black Fox. She told me that although Naugatuck had returned to Missisquoi, Black Fox and Ephraim were keeping near. They were staying hidden. Le Grand’s men were searching for Ephraim and word had gone out that Le Grand was offering a reward for him.

‘Your son said, “Do not worry, they will not find him.” He also said ...’ She frowned as if trying to remember something that made no sense to her. ‘He also said to remember Coos and the autumn hunt.’

He’d been no more than a boy of nine or ten. Coos had forbidden him from joining his hunting party, saying his lack of experience would scare off the game. Black Fox had followed them anyway, stealing into their camp, taking not only their choicest pelts but also Coos’s fletching knife. His stealth had become a matter of legend. I smiled at the memory, but I was struck full of fear for him. This house was a fortress, and getting in here might prove too much even for Black Fox.

The Huron girl said she would find out more that night, but she was anxious not to keep her master waiting. She brought me into his presence with her eyes cast down.

Monsieur Le Grand – Jean Le Grand – sat at the head of a long table in a large room set with many candles. The light shone warm on polished wood and winked off glass, brass and silver. The walls were hung with richly coloured tapestries. I had never seen such luxury, or thought that it existed in any of these rough-hewn colonies. He invited me to dine with him. We ate off tableware finer than any I had ever seen before and drank from glasses of great thinness, but I found the food not to my taste, at once too salted and too refined, and the wine made me giddy.

‘I will not stay here. You cannot make me.’

He spread his ringed hands. ‘You will find that I can.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am a merchant, a trader, an entrepreneur, although your own countrymen have other names for me. They call me a privateer.’

‘A buccaneer?’

He grimaced as if he found the term offensive.

‘I act on behalf of France, but I have been known to stop ships outside Boston harbour and divert their cargoes elsewhere.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘You are my guest here until such time as your fate is decided. The governor is very interested in your presence. It was he who asked me to look out for you and entertain you here.’

‘How did you know about me?’

‘We have been watching out for you. The boy, too. A Captain Peterson came to Quebec asking if any captives were among the bands fleeing from the south. I see you know the name.’ He had been observing me closely. I saw no reason to deny it. ‘He particularly asked for any news concerning a woman and a boy who travelled together but were of no kin to each other.’

‘Why would that be?’

Le Grand half smiled at me. ‘He seemed to think the boy might be in jeopardy.’

‘How could he be?’ I stared at Le Grand in astonishment. ‘I would no more harm him than my own son.’

‘Exactly. Your son is
sauvage
. You mated among them and have taken to their heathen ways, so Peterson says. Peterson is a righteous man and fearful for the boy’s soul. He is most anxious to remove him from such a ménage and return him to his kin.’

‘The boy has no kin.’

‘That is not what Peterson says. There is an uncle in Rhode Island, anxious to trace him. He is offering a rich reward.’ He smiled. ‘Peterson’s concern does not stop at the boy. His anxiety runs to you too. It is an offence to him – to all Englishmen – that you should live as you do.’

‘What does he want with me?’

‘He wants your return. What he plans for you then, it is not for me to say.’ Le Grand laughed. ‘Do not look so alarmed. You are in French territory, and English captains hold no remit. Your fate has not been decided.’

Despite his words, my mind ran on apace. If I were taken back, how soon would it be before my whole story was discovered? The colony was a small place. There were those who would know of my flight from Beulah, the reasons for it, and the suspicion that had centred on me there. What judgement would fall on me once my error was compounded by living with savages?

I sat lost in thought. A servant entered and whispered in his ear. Le Grand nodded quickly, as though this was intelligence for which he had been waiting. The servant withdrew and Le Grand turned to me.

‘There is someone come who wishes to speak with you. Father Gerard.’

‘A Blackrobe?’

‘He would prefer to be called Jesuit. He is head of the order here. He wants to convert you.’ He regarded me steadily. ‘I’d say he would have more luck trying to convert the wild beasts in the forest, never mind the savages, but these Jesuits are stubborn. He is another who wants to save your immortal soul. You are honoured, Mary. Come. He is waiting in the library.’

He rose from his seat, indicating for me to follow.

We went into a room lined with shelves of leather-bound books and set with tables for study. A priest sat by a fire blazing high in the wide stone-built hearth. The burning logs gave out great heat, but he leaned forward as if he craved more. His chair was drawn up close enough to scorch the skirts of his robe. He was grey-haired and bearded, his drawn face grooved with deep furrowed lines of the kind etched by chronic pain over a long period of time. He did not seem discomforted now, although he did not rise to greet me. He kept a stout stick close by his side. His hands lay along the arms of the chair; one hidden inside his robe curled into a fist, the other hung down heavy with rings that glistened in the firelight.

‘I am Father Gerard.’

He indicated that I should sit opposite him. I knew now the cause of the pain etched in his face. He was missing all the fingers on his left hand. What I had taken to be a fist was a knuckle covered in puckered pink skin. I had seen this mutilation before, a result of torture employed by the Iroquois. Each finger had been sawn off using the sharpened edge of a piece of shell. It took a very brave man to endure this ordeal without screaming or crying out. I looked at the Jesuit with new respect. He must have remained silent or he would not be with us now.

‘I have been waiting for you, Mary.’ He pronounced my name the French way. ‘If you had not come to us, we would have come for you.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Father Luc Duval. His field notes alerted us to your presence in the territory.’ He held up a small, stained notebook that had been resting on his knee. ‘At first he was concerned for your welfare. For a white woman to be living among savages is not, ah ... ’ He searched for the correct word. ‘Satisfactory.’

‘I live with them by choice,’ I said simply. ‘I do not want to be rescued. Where is Father Luc?’ I looked round expecting to see him, fresh-faced and clean shaven.

‘He is not here. He has gone on another mission. This time to the Iroquois.’ A look passed between the two Frenchmen. ‘I fear that he seeks martyrdom. Before he went, however, he wanted me to look out for you. He was most insistent upon it.’ The Jesuit’s black eyes flickered over me. ‘He fears for your immortal soul, you see. Certain, certain events described here –’ he thumbed through the buckled water-stained pages – ‘have to be taken very seriously. If, if they were true, or were
proved
to be true ... ’

I looked from him to Le Grand.

‘I’m sorry, I do not understand.’

The priest looked at me, his eyes bright, beady as a raven’s in his ravaged face.

‘Let me put it more plainly. They say that you are a sorceress. That you killed a man. A man called Frenais.’

‘
Le
Frenais,’ I corrected.

‘You know him, then?’ the priest asked.

‘Of course.’

‘So? Is this true? Did you have a hand in his death?’

‘I did not touch him. Life here is dangerous, in the winter even more so. A mistake, any mistake, can be fatal. Le Frenais drank. Drink makes men stupid and careless of themselves, their lives and much else besides.’

‘Hmm.’ The Jesuit regarded me steadily. ‘They say there is more to his death than that. The Indians say that he was seen running over the ice at the height of a storm, shrieking as if the Devil himself were after him, fleeing from some dark pursuing thing.’

‘Why wouldn’t they? It is a good story to tell round a winter fire. The Indians like a good tale. They do not differ from us in that.’

The Jesuit snapped the book shut. ‘I am not here to try you, Mary. I hope it won’t come to that. The native people are credulous and superstitious. Your fame has spread among them. To have a white woman among them revered as a sorceress? It will not do. We have enough trouble converting them as it is. There are some –’ he glanced at Le Grand – ‘who would hand you back to the English, but I am not sure any more how that will serve. I am arranging for you to stay with the holy sisters while I decide what is to be done. I know the sisters will do their best to bring you to the Church. Listen well to their teaching, for your life may depend on it.’

He stood up, leaning heavily on his stick, using his good hand for leverage. He hobbled towards the door, shrugging off any help from Le Grand. The Jesuit’s gait was grotesquely skewed. From the way he walked I judged he had been born with one foot clubbed and that leg much shorter than the other. To come to this place in that state, to live the life, bear the hardship! These Jesuits were tough, as tough as the natives they sought to convert.

‘What did he mean?’ I asked Le Grand. ‘Why will my life depend on it?’

I knew well what was meant, but in order to decide what to do, I needed his confirmation.

‘To convert such a one as you would bring others flocking to the fold. Otherwise ... ’

‘Otherwise what?’

He did not answer directly. Instead, he picked up the notebook Gerard had left and waved it in my face.

‘They call you Loup Garou.’

I recognised the words. I had heard them before at Missisquoi.