Adventures of Radisson (6 page)

She took him by the arm and led him to the village. They caught up with Ganaha after a few steps and the other warriors immediately formed a circle around them. Despite furious protests from a few angry Iroquois, the twelve men forced their way through the crowd and into the village. Radisson's new mother didn't seem to hear the protests. Straight ahead she ploughed, still leading her new son by the arm.

Once past the stockade, the group made a beeline for a long building made from bark. They moved inside, posting two warriors by the gate so that no undesirables could follow them in. Intimidated at first, Radisson didn't dare move in the half-light. The others motioned for him to move to the middle of the longhouse, where Ganaha quickly untied him. Gesturing and with the help of simple words, pronounced slowly, he did his best to explain to Radisson that he was now safe with his brothers, his mother Katari, and the other members of his clan, the Bear clan.

Even though Radisson understood most of Ganaha's reassurances, even though his keeper appeared to have once more become as friendly as he had been on their best days together on the canoe trip, he still could not quite believe his new-found freedom. His confidence had been shaken. Recent events had made him wary. Radisson was almost certain to have avoided being ill-treated by the other Iroquois in the village. But for how much longer? And why were all those people so intent on beating him? He hoped he would be safe in his new home but, after everything he had been through over the past few weeks, he still had misgivings. His companions' good humour soon put him at ease, though. Concluding that the best policy would be to look happy, he embraced Ganaha and gave his new mother a kiss.

A NEW FAMILY?


T
HE VILLAGE
was almost deserted: all the men had gone off to war. The longhouse of the Bear clan, which Radisson was now part of, was almost empty, even though it could hold at least one hundred. Katari had never seen so many absent at the same time. Only the women, children, and those too old to fight were left behind. And she was not happy. With everyone gone, the women had to do all the work. Radisson was sad there were only young boys to keep him company. He was forced to spend most of his time with Katari's two daughters, who were almost his age. The prettier of the two, Conharassan, showered him with affection, always looking for a chance to caress and kiss him, egged on by her mother. Radisson didn't know how to react. His mother— his real mother back in France, his mother who went to mass every day and was so afraid of sin —would never have allowed a brother and sister to have such a relationship. Radisson was finding it hard to adapt to so many differences all at once. To put his mind at ease, he spent as much time as he could with Katari.

He followed her out to the fields and did whatever she asked of him. He hoed and turned over the soil while she told him tales of the French Jesuit who had spent a few weeks in her village, several years ago. He told them that Frenchmen worked the fields, that they were proud of their work and that the Iroquois should do the same. Katari agreed with him. But Radisson could see that only people from other nations— prisoners —helped the women tend the crops of corn, beans, and squash. He quickly learned from the jibes aimed at him by the youngsters in the village that it was no work for a free man, or a warrior. But Radisson could also see that he was not a prisoner like the others. He stopped fending off Conharassan's advances and made love to her whenever he liked. He was even beginning to appreciate the affection she lavished on him every day. He was also free to come and go as he pleased. He could go hunting just outside the village with the other boys. But those who were kept prisoner were nothing more than slaves, at the beck and call of the village women who ordered them around.

Despite his freedom, he didn't go hunting very often. His young companions were all too keen to laugh at him. He was French, after all, a captured enemy … and he did women's work. He found his life here rather monotonous, truth be told. He had no friends. Conharassan was nice to him, of course, but he had to be careful, to keep his most intimate thoughts and feelings to himself. His best friend was a dog, a big, brown, friendly, clever-looking dog that took to following him around shortly after he arrived. Radisson started feeding it, petting it, and the two quickly became firm friends. He called him Bo, this dog who became his confidant. Whenever the two of them were alone, he spoke to him in French: “You know how I miss them, don't you, boy? You understand, don't you? I miss them all, Marguerite, François, Françoise…” Each time he felt a pang of anguish. He preferred not to dwell on the tragic event that had changed his life forever and brought an end to the lives of his two friends. Would he be able to return to Trois-Rivières and see his family again one day, he wondered. “Can you help me find the way back, boy? Think I can make it? Tell me, Bo. Tell me.” Whenever he talked to his dog like that, Radisson felt guilty for living with the people who had killed his French friends.

G
ANAHA WAS BACK!
Radisson was overjoyed. He hadn't realized how attached he had become to his abductor. Katari hadn't told him that Ganaha had gone to fetch their father, but now he was back with Garagonké, who now became Radisson's adoptive father. Garagonké appeared just as suddenly in Radisson's life as his real father back in France had left it, without a trace. Ganaha had taken three weeks to find him and bring him home. Garagonké had been travelling from one Cayuga and Seneca village to the next, planning the next offensive. Ganaha had spoken so highly of his new son that Garagonké agreed to interrupt his mission.

Radisson was very impressed by the war chief who had put together strings of victories and killed so many enemies. Despite his venerable age, the energy and dignity he emanated reminded Radisson of the traits he so admired in the Algonquin chief at Trois-Rivières. In silence, Garagonké looked his new son over from head to toe for long seconds before addressing him. Radisson felt the invincible warrior's stare pierce right through him.

“Ganaha did not lie to me,” he said. “You are indeed my son, the incarnation of Orinha whom you are replacing. Welcome to our family. The Bear clan welcomes you with joy into its longhouse. Speak to me, now. Your father wishes to hear your voice.”

Troubled by shameful thoughts, Radisson could not think of a single word. What should he say to a war chief from a nation that had killed so many French? Through what metamorphosis could he have become such a welcoming father? Radisson opted to speak to him of hunting and fishing, knowing that an Iroquois must be good at both. He hoped Garagonké would be pleased with him.

“Fine,” his father replied. “You must hunt more often. A man's place is not in the longhouse with the women. Ganaha praised your strength and I see he spoke the truth. You fought an Iroquois who wanted you dead and you beat him. Good. If you fight our enemies with the same conviction, you will bring honour to our family and to our nation. That is what I expect from you. But you are still young and have much to learn. Your two brothers and your uncles will guide you once they return from their campaigns. As for me, I must complete my missions to the other Iroquois nations. We will have time enough to get to know each other this winter.”

The power of his voice, his assurance, and his presence impressed Radisson, who felt even more intimidated. He was not at all certain he was the warrior his father hoped for. He was not even certain he would be able to become a true Iroquois. And yet he knew his life depended on his ability to transform himself. He had to. It was the only path to salvation open to him.

The same evening, Garagonké told Radisson about his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, all valiant warriors from the Wolf and the Tortoise clans. He paid tribute to the woman he had married, Katari, and to the other women in the Bear clan, whose many children contributed to the village's well-being, each in their own way. Once he had finished, in front of all those seated in a circle at the centre of the longhouse, around a fire now reduced to embers, Garagonké moved his hands with a broad, sweeping motion and said to his son: “All this is yours. Now you know the history of your family. Tell me, are you happy to be living among us?” Radisson could only nod his approval. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he replied with conviction: “Yes!” How much better he felt now that he'd met his father.

That night, above Ganaha's bed, Radisson slept soundly on a bed of fir boughs, wrapped in a soft, pliable deerskin. Opposite him, on the other side of the family fire, Katari slept on the bed closest to the ground, her husband in the bed above her. Beside them, Radisson's two sisters slept in bunk beds. But Ongienda's bed lay empty. He had returned to war.

R
ADISSON'S FATHER
and brother left the next day: Ganaha, to the neighbouring Oneida nation to join a war party and Garagonké on his mission to the chiefs of the Iroquois nations to the west in hopes of launching a great offensive the following summer. Radisson once again found himself alone.

A few days later, while Radisson was working in the fields with his two sisters, a rumour began to make the rounds among the women. In no time at all, they were feverish with excitement. Conharassan and Assasné, Radisson's other sister, dashed back to the village without even waiting for him, and many of the other women followed them as fast as they could. Surprised at the commotion, Radisson followed them slowly, observing closely in an attempt to understand what was causing the excitement. As he got closer to the village gate, he could make out a group of armed Iroquois dressed for war in the distance. At the same time, women, boys, and a handful of old men rushed to take up positions outside the stockade, row upon row, on each side of the gate. Once again, each brandished a stick, an iron bar, a pestle for grinding corn, a whip, or a thorny branch. Others still hurried to take their places, jostling for position.

It resembled the scene that greeted Radisson when he first arrived in the village as a prisoner a few weeks before. Curious to see what would happen next, he joined the throng by the gate, ready to slip away if the crowd turned against him. Experience had taught him he could never be too careful with the Iroquois. As soon as she saw him, his sister Conharassan leaped into his arms, beside herself with excitement. She was holding a long switch in one hand and a branch covered with thorns in the other. She thrust the switch into his hand, keeping the more threatening branch for herself.

Nearly everyone who lived in the village was now lined up in one of two long rows on either side of the gate. Assasné ran to take her place with two friends. They quickly positioned themselves at the end of the row. Only Katari was missing. Radisson could not see her anywhere.

The clamour of the crowd welcomed the warriors back to the village after a successful raid. Behind them they dragged three prisoners, held together by a rope around their necks. They were all braves from enemy nations. As they drew closer, the cries grew louder. After a brief hesitation, a first prisoner threw himself between the two lines of villagers, who lashed out at him with all their might. Radisson admired the courage and agility of the man, who covered his head with his arms and managed to dodge an assailant or two. He progressed quickly, not letting the beating slow him down. Conharassan, both arms in the air, was jubilant and struck him on the way past as hard as she could. Ripping open his back with her thorn-covered branch, she shrieked with excitement. Radisson watched the poor prisoner pass by, not moving a muscle. He saw his swollen face and his eyes aglow with terror. Blood ran down from his scalp, off his back and legs. With one final effort, the man flung himself to the ground just inside the stockade, exhausted. Nobody would beat him now. Radisson would have liked to help him, but that would have been too risky. He would probably be attacked as well. He restrained himself.

The roar of the crowd welled up again, signalling that the second prisoner was on his way. As with the first, the women and boys struck him with determined, vicious blows. The man stumbled and picked himself up again. Three people broke ranks to beat him with a stick. The prisoner swayed, zigzagged, and ran into other attackers. His head and body were lacerated and bleeding profusely. Radisson could hardly breathe at the sight of the senseless spectacle. He felt every blow as though it were aimed at him. The man fell a second time, just in front of Conharassan, who restrained herself and did not hit him, perhaps out of pity. More dead than alive, the man crawled on all fours to the village, a woman continuing to whip him all the while. With great difficulty, he managed to cross the boundary line that spared him a further beating.