The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World (14 page)

“Been a while since you've had a man between your thighs, I'd say. Go on, you know you want it.”

“Don't you touch me, you drunk!” she said again, shoving him harder this time. “Not if you were the last man in Hell…”

The man fell over, dropping his cup. Marguerite grabbed the poker and brandished it at all three of them.

“The next man to say Médard isn't coming back and I'll make mincemeat out of him!”

Radisson had seen the altercation and edged his way across the room.

“Everything all right, Sis?”

“Don't worry, Pierre. I know how to stick up for myself. But if you like, you can throw that one outside. I'm sick of the sight of him!”

Big Latouche tried to sneak away, but he had trouble picking himself up. Radisson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the door. The other two admirers slipped off without having to be asked twice. Radisson let off some steam on the drunk, who was trying to wriggle free. He gave him a shake.

“Open the door so he can get some air,” he said to Mathurin.

Then he threw him as hard as he could out into the snow.

“Don't let me catch you sniffing around my sister again. Otherwise you'll have me to deal with!”

He turned to Mathurin:

“Don't let him back in. The party's over for him.”

“You can count on it. You won't see him inside again.”

Back in the house, Radisson noticed Anne Godefroy had joined the three women to serve the next meal. How had she gotten in? He hadn't seen her come in. But she looked amazing! That much was clear. She attracted him, like magnetic north pulls the needle on a compass. He wanted to go up and speak to her, but he wasn't too sure how to go about it.

Why not help the women hand out the food? He picked up bowls and plates and piled them by the hearth. Once they were full, he passed them around, going back and forth to the fireplace. Each time he got close to Anne, his desire for her increased. He almost dropped a pile of plates when she grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted “Watch out!” to make sure a clumsy oaf didn't bump into him. His chest was on fire. She was so strong, responsible, industrious, full of life, cheerful, good-looking, kind… A couple of times, he saw young Côté, her betrothed, who had no more to offer the fair Anne than he had. Far from it. If he hadn't undertaken to serve the Jesuits, he might have stood a chance. He was going to try his luck anyway. He took a big gulp of eau-de-vie, which left him dizzy.

Trying hard to think about something else, he moved well away from the fire and ate his portion of goose stew and vegetables. The flavours exploded in his mouth. It was absolutely delicious! He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten so well. He licked his plate clean. Hurrah for the women who made men so happy! How lucky were the fortunate few who found one for life! Try as he might, he couldn't turn his thoughts away from the fair Anne. Some revellers had already put down their plates. People were shouting, singing, drinking, making a fuss everywhere he looked. Anne didn't seem to be intimidated by the racket and remained as appealing as the prospect of heaven when his days were done. “Never mind,” thought Radisson. “It's a wedding day and everyone is a mess. Maybe there's hope for me yet.”

He went back to the hearth, where Marguerite caught him on the way by.

“Still hungry? Here, have the rest of this. You won't have a feast like this every day.”

It was really and truly delicious. Radisson savoured every bite as he stared at Anne, who was over by the hearth. She didn't see him. Before he had a chance to speak to her, Marguerite came looking for him.

“Go gather the plates, would you? Take everything you can. And don't break anything!”

Radisson had trouble making his way through the crowd. The revellers were back up dancing. Charles Aubuchon's loud singing could still be heard over the din. Those too drunk to dance clapped their hands half-heartedly. Once Radisson had gathered the plates, he noticed, much to his dismay, that Anne had disappeared. Her parents, too. They had left to make sure their marriageable daughter got to bed safely. Some more eau-de-vie for Radisson…

Claude Volant kept singing at the top of his lungs, still very sober for a groom on his wedding night. Françoise sang along with him heartily, a glint in her eye and a smile almost always on her lips. Radisson hadn't thought she was capable of so much enthusiasm. She was happy. It was there for all to see. He had seen her take a few sips of eau-de-vie, but it was the wedding that had made her so happy. Claude was so delighted that she had chosen him from among so many single men that he showered her with attention. He was quite the gentleman. Françoise felt appreciated and reassured. She had understood she was his little treasure, his promise of happiness, the key to his family and lineage. She had opened the doors to her husband's future for him. She couldn't wait to be with him for good and to begin her new life.

The jokes got ruder as the night progressed. Soon the happy couple would slip off to cousin Mathurin's home for their first night together as lovers. A few revellers went back home to rest for a few hours, but most would stay and party all night. Claude and Françoise made the most of the comings and goings to sneak out. Mathurin walked them back to his house and when he returned he called for a glass and drank to their happiness. Again and again to catch up with the other drinkers. Radisson was still drinking. He was swept away by the singing and dancing until the middle of the night, when the alcohol brought him down. He fell exhausted to the floor, near the fire that the hardier revellers were keeping going, and slept soundly for an hour or two.

When he woke up in the small hours of the morning, a dozen or so people were gathered around the fire, telling each other legends and tales of the supernatural, their eyes red with tiredness, their faces puffed up with alcohol. Radisson went outside for a moment to recover his senses in the ice-cold air under the first rays of sunshine. Minutes later, Claude and Françoise came back in to keep the party going, to the great delight of the guests. Radisson was struck by how happy they looked.

“Oh! Oh!” Bailly the carpenter, who still hadn't slept, shouted over. “I see those little Indian girls showed you how it's done, Claude. Just look how happy that wife of yours looks now!”

Françoise looked at the floor. She blushed a little. Trying to appear composed, she took the table, which had been put away along the wall, and put it up on its trestles. She began making pancake mix for breakfast. Claude brought her eggs. Simone Bailly, who had also stayed up all night, wiped down the plates. Claude took a sip of eau-de-vie to get back into the swing of things and started singing. Françoise threw a handful of dry branches onto the crackling fire. She started making pancakes in a pan. Guests who had been dozing came up to the fire for a bite to eat, more to shake off their tiredness than to satisfy any hunger. Radisson ate, too, unsettled by the alcohol and by how happy the newlyweds were.

Anne Godefroy came back, which almost knocked him off his feet. She really was too good-looking, too full of life, too attractive, and he was too much of a fool to have given his word to the Jesuits… He would give everything he had to hold her in his arms. He would marry her right there and then! But she wasn't his to ask. It was impossible. He took another slug of eau-de-vie and moved off to the back of the house.

Marguerite came back at that moment and asked for someone to help her bring in the piece of frozen venison she wanted to roast for that night's supper. Radisson stayed back. Other guests added to the numbers. Soon there would be as many people as there had been the previous day. The singing and dancing picked up again, interrupted by food, stories, and eau-de-vie. Radisson spent the day in an alcohol-induced daze, bitter while pretending to be enthusiastic, until he fell once again into a sound night's sleep.

R
adisson was just about finished tidying the church—what a bore—when Father Ragueneau cried out from afar. He sounded anxious.

“Radisson! Radisson! Come quickly!”

Radisson rushed to the residence, shouting, “What's happened?”

“A group of Iroquois ambassadors! Something must be wrong for them to come in the middle of winter like this.”

Radisson met him at the door.

“You're sure, Father?”

“What do you take me for? An idiot? I know an Iroquois when I see one! They say they have come to talk, but I don't know. Quick, follow me.”

“It's hard to believe!”

“Worrying, you mean. It's very worrying.”

Once he had gotten over his astonishment, the guard at the main gate to the fort of Trois-Rivières had ushered the four unarmed Iroquois inside. As he understood it, they had come with a message for the Jesuits. Father Ragueneau had asked them to wait before the kitchen fireplace while he fetched Radisson, who knew the Iroquois language very well. A gut feeling had put him on the alert immediately. He feared for the fifty Frenchmen who were in Iroquois country.

When Ragueneau and Radisson returned to the kitchen, the Iroquois ambassadors were quietly warming themselves by the fire, dressed in long beaver coats. Radisson was reassured to see them so relaxed. The Jesuit spoke to them in his limited vocabulary.

“Why have you come in the middle of winter? What is so urgent?”

The eldest Iroquois, who seemed to have been most troubled by the cold, walked forward hesitantly. His face was radiant, despite his fatigue.

“We have come to deliver you a message from the Blackrobe who has lived among us for one year now. Here it is. You will no doubt be glad to hear from him. We are here to assure you that our peace and friendship will last for a long time.”

Ragueneau took the crumpled parchment from him without even looking at it, his eyes glued to the old chief.

“Once you have read it, we can parley,” the chief added. “You should know that many Onondaga were unhappy to see so many Frenchmen arriving, with so many bags. We have come to talk with you about how they can settle in our land in such a way that both peoples are satisfied and peace is maintained.”

Radisson picked up on Ragueneau's imperceptible grimace. Unlike the Jesuit, he was not surprised the Iroquois wanted to discuss accommodations, given the difficult negotiations before the French had left the previous summer.

“Why the urgency?” Ragueneau asked. “You could have waited until the spring. Why take such a gruelling trip in winter?”

The old chief caught his breath and glanced at his companions before replying.

“Peace is worth a few frozen toes. The season is favourable to discussion and agreement. In the spring, you will no doubt be preparing a new expedition. In the summer, we will be ready to welcome other Frenchmen among us. We had to come now. But first read the letter from Father Le Moyne. He will explain everything. In the meantime, tell us where we can sleep and get something to eat. Our travels were exhausting. We will need to get our strength back.”

Once the Iroquois had been put in the only spare room with a fireplace, the fire had been lit, and straw mattresses had been brought up, Brother Leboeme prepared them a hearty meal. Back in his office, the Jesuit checked with Radisson that he had understood.

“That's right,” Radisson confirmed. “He says other Frenchmen will go to their lands next summer. Sounds encouraging.”

“I'm not so sure. He also said there were things that had to be negotiated to maintain the peace between us.”

“True.”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“You know, Father, it's a big step passing from being an enemy to a friend. It seems to me it's normal to still have a few issues to settle.”

His eyes trained on the floor, Ragueneau thought hard as he stroked his chin with his long fingers.

“First I'll read what Father Le Moyne has written. Come back tomorrow morning before we meet with them again.”

Dear Paul,

How can I express my satisfaction following the arrival of the expedition you prepared? True, we had to negotiate hard to set ourselves up as we wished, for even our friends here did not expect us so soon, or in such numbers. The Iroquois ended up accepting our presence among them. They marked out a spot perfectly suited to our intentions, some distance from their largest village. From here, we are within easy reach of four or five Onondaga villages. We are welcome everywhere we go. At the moment, Father Le Mercier is going around the neighbouring villages with Father Ménard and Father Dablon. He has been gone for several weeks, but messengers assure me all is well. For my part, I regularly preach with Father Frémin in the biggest village in their land, Onondaga. It is very close to here and at least one thousand live there. We are on good terms with our allies, and they are influential.

We have finished building our cabins for the winter. We put up a small enclosure to keep out the animals. We intended to erect a proper palisade, but the Iroquois forbade it. The emissaries who brought you this message will discuss the matter with you.

I am confident they will allow us to build the fort we so desire, which will enable us to establish ourselves here securely. In any event, the Iroquois are more conciliatory than upon our arrival.

The most important thing is that they be open to the word of God. Which is the case. Many among them come to listen to me and ask me questions.

I enclose a list of goods that would be of use to us. You may bring them with you next summer, for the Iroquois have told me they will guide other Frenchmen to where we are. The emissaries to whom I handed over this note told me this before they left. We shall need more munitions and muskets, as much for us as for the Iroquois. Bring more goods, for they would like to trade more. We are already running out.

I would like to share with you in person the hope that grows in my heart each day regarding the rich harvest that awaits us here. The Iroquois are curious, attentive, and perspicacious. There are great minds among them. They can see that our presence in their land is to their advantage.

Do not be worried. We lack for nothing. We cannot complain.

May God help us.

Simon Le Moyne

* * *

The meeting between the four emissaries, Father Ragueneau, and Radisson was held in the kitchen the following morning. The two Frenchmen had consulted each other just before. This time, the old chief, very much weakened, remained in the background. The strongest member of the group took over.

“We want the French to repair our muskets,” he said. “The Dutch do it for the Mohawk nation and we know the French also repair theirs. We no longer want to trade our furs for new muskets every time they break. You say you do not have many new muskets for us, so we want those we already have to last longer.”

The Iroquois stopped talking, arms folded across his chest, back straight as a post. His expressionless face contrasted with the old chief's attitude the previous day. Father Ragueneau turned to Radisson to be sure he understood.

“Is he asking us for more muskets or simply to repair those they already have?”

“He wants us to start repairing all their muskets. But he wouldn't say no if we gave him some more.”

“We'll recruit a gunsmith from Québec and bring him with us. That's not difficult. Tell him we agree. But ask him what they will give us in return.”

For the first time in a long time, Radisson prepared to speak to an Iroquois. He took a second or two to calm his nerves and thought about which words he wanted to use.

“We will go back with you next summer with a man who repairs muskets,” he said. “It is a reasonable request and the French accept. We want to know if that will be enough to allow us to build the fort we desire.”

“No,” the big man replied. “Repairing our weapons is the first condition. There is also a second.”

A third emissary moved forward to speak. His attitude was bordering on the aggressive.

“The Frenchmen arrived among us in great numbers. We welcomed them despite our surprise. Five Blackrobes are now walking around our villages explaining to all that the God of the Frenchmen is the most powerful. We listen to them. But the Frenchmen are behaving like enemies. They want to build a huge palisade around their homes. They say it is for their protection. We asked them to stop acting in this way because they are living among us and we are protecting them. They are our brothers. The Blackrobes and the chief who always wears a sword on his belt responded that it was a tradition of the Frenchmen, wherever they go. We are prepared to accept your traditions. Provided you respect our own.”

Radisson watched a wave of concern wash over Father Ragueneau's face.

“We have already adopted many Hurons,” the Iroquois went on firmly. “Now they live among us, according to our customs. We want to adopt more.”

Ragueneau couldn't help but give a start.

“The Hurons' place is with us. Those who live with the Frenchmen would be happier in our land. We offer them the chance to return to their families, their brothers, their customs. If the French now want peace with the Onondaga, if they want to remain among us for a long time and build this fort, they must bring Hurons with them next summer. That is the second condition.”

Ragueneau could barely contain his anger. He looked visibly on edge. Radisson could see him clench his fists. The Jesuit's intuition had not been wrong: this second condition outraged him. The Iroquois emissary was waiting for an answer that did not come. A heavy silence weighed over the six men. None of them moved. At last, Ragueneau recovered his powers of speech. He tried to mutter something noncommittal, his voice scrambled with emotion.

“I cannot give you a reply today. I must first speak to our grand chief, the governor. But I am surprised by your request.”

The Jesuit turned to Radisson to ask him to translate his thoughts more exactly.

“Ask him why he wanted to adopt Hurons when his people massacred them by the thousand not even six years ago! Ask him what has changed. Why should we trust them? What guarantee can he give me that his people will not harm the Hurons we bring to them? Ask him that.”

Radisson faithfully translated the Jesuit's words, toning down the outrage the Iroquois had surely detected.

“The French and we were at war, but now we are at peace,” the Iroquois responded. “The time has come to make peace with the Hurons also. They are our brothers.”

“You are your brother's keeper,” Ragueneau muttered to himself.

He turned back to Radisson.

“Ask him why they demanded our Indian allies be excluded from the peace. I don't believe him when he says he wants what's best for the Hurons. He's lying. I'm certain of it.”

This time Radisson could not translate all Ragueneau had said without causing a deadlock. The Iroquois hesitated all the same before replying to the question, long enough for the fourth emissary to speak in his place. He was the friendliest of the lot. He had remained calm throughout the discussion and Radisson could see kindness in his eyes.

“I understand your surprise,” he said in a reassuring tone. “We arrive in your land unexpectedly and speak of a great change in our hearts. I know you were living among the Hurons when we attacked their land. You know that some of them joined with us and that no harm came to them. Today, hundreds of them live among us as brothers. We invite the Hurons who took refuge with the Frenchmen to come join us. The time is coming when we will all be at peace: Frenchmen, Hurons, Iroquois, Algonquins, and all who wish to join us beneath the great tree of peace as foretold by Deganawida.”

Deganawida! The name reminded Radisson of the impassioned words of his adoptive father, words that he could hear again and again in his dreams. He also remembered that the great prophet had led many Iroquois warriors to take arms against those who did not respond to their invitation, his father Garagonké first among them. Yes, peace was possible… provided the Iroquois got what they wanted. Radisson nevertheless had faith in this chief. He seemed sincere. Radisson was sure he was a true advocate for peace.

“I understand that you must discuss with other chiefs from your nation before giving us an answer,” the Iroquois went on. “But you must understand that we cannot return home with our hands empty. We have made a very long journey to come speak to you frankly. We bring with us the requests of all our nation. The Onondaga want to rekindle our friendship with our Huron brothers and we are waiting for encouraging words from the Frenchmen on this matter. This is the condition upon which the French will still be welcome among us and will be able to settle in our lands according to their traditions.”

“Shall I translate for you? Radisson asked Ragueneau.

“No. I understood. Besides, I've heard enough for today.”

The Jesuit appeared shaken.

“We will pick up our discussions tomorrow,” he declared, turning on his heel.

Radisson followed him out of the room.

The four Iroquois returned to their room, helping their old chief, who could no longer walk alone. Given his worsening condition, Brother Leboeme brought him a warm broth. The Iroquois refused, saying they had all the remedies they needed to cure him.

Once back in his office, Ragueneau asked Radisson to translate every word the last emissary had said.

The Jesuit was not in the least reassured. His face pale and his back hunched, Ragueneau stayed quiet. Radisson had never seen him in such a state.

Ragueneau had not thought the Iroquois would ask for so much. He felt betrayed. He was under no illusions and scarcely believed the last chief's kind words. In his eyes, the Iroquois had not come so far, in the midst of winter, for a simple request. It was a demand. If the French did not comply by transferring a number of Hurons to their lands, peace was in jeopardy and the fifty men in Iroquois country would be in grave danger.