The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World (6 page)

“No, ma'am. I live in Trois-Rivières.”

“Trois-Rivières!” the widow exclaimed, turning back to the fire to hide her emotion. “It's simply dreadful what happened there.”

A lump rose in Radisson's throat. What could she be talking about? What terrible thing had happened? Judging by her reaction, it looked as though there had been deaths. But who had been affected? His sisters? Someone he knew? He was anxious to find out, but refrained from asking, not wanting to reveal he had not set foot in the colony for some time.

“Life goes on,” he replied instead, genuinely moved.

He forgot all about his companions, who were eagerly eyeing the long table that awaited them in the next room. They were hungry. But this woman fascinated him, perhaps because her heart leapt along with his at the very mention of New France or because she had news of people he had met over there. He was anxious to stay by her side.

“Twenty-two dead,” the widow added, her head down. “Not counting the prisoners. That's what Marie wrote to me last year. The Iroquois attacked the village, she said. They lured the French into a trap. They tried to free the prisoners, but it was too late. The Iroquois escaped with them. How terrible…”

“Yes, terrible.”

Radisson was completely dismayed. More than the widow suspected. Distraught, he supposed his adoptive Iroquois father might have taken part in the slaughter. How had he ever become an Iroquois? Why had he ever chosen to fight by their side? It was hard to comprehend now that he was far from their lands. He was happy at least to have left them. As for the people of Trois-Rivières, he wondered how they recovered from such a thing. They were probably no more than a hundred now. What a blow!

“Thirty people lost,” the widow added after a moment. “Just imagine what that must do to such a tiny village. You certainly need plenty of courage.”

Catherine Guyard again looked Radisson straight in the eye, so emotional that it seemed she had come down with a fever. She was still under the spell of the strapping young man who, in her eyes, was the very embodiment of the whole colony, the faraway land she had so many times conjured up in her mind as she read her cousin's letters.

“I have so much admiration for Marie!” she exclaimed, her eyes lit up. “You know all about Canada. You understand me, I'm sure. She's earning her place in heaven every day, while the rest of us—”

“We all have our crosses to bear, too,” interrupted Jean Roussin, who was now wondering if bringing the young man along had been such a good idea after all. “Life here isn't easy either, Catherine. You do your bit, and so do we.”

New France was far away and things over there weren't all that rosy. Roussin was beginning to tire of hearing all about her saint of a cousin. Everyone had problems of their own. He had wanted to please Catherine by introducing her to the stranger. What wouldn't he do for the woman he hoped to marry? But he feared his plan might be turning against him. Radisson was stealing his thunder and as Catherine ogled Radisson, talk had yet to turn to the big business idea he had in mind. He could see Touchet was beginning to grow impatient too, and he didn't want to let the chance slip through his fingers.

“Let's eat,” he said.

The widow didn't hear him and went on. “This year, the Iroquois are everywhere, Marie wrote. They are massacring the French. They are burning the harvests. They are tearing the country apart. She says that even though the colony is under threat, she has no intention of returning. She is prepared to end her days over there. She is a saint, I'm telling you, an absolute saint.”

Catherine lowered her eyes and blessed herself as she said a prayer under her breath.

“You, too,” Roussin interjected. “You're a saint in your own way. Now, if you want us to send our wheat to Paris, it's time to sit down together and eat. Bring us some soup and come sit with us.”

Radisson was shaken. So things had gotten worse since he had been captured. The fur trade had no doubt been brought to a standstill. But for the moment it was best to turn his thoughts from the project closest to his heart. The question was now to see if it was still worth returning to New France. Perhaps he could serve the Jesuits and help the people of Trois-Rivières, while waiting for things to improve. But never would he fight the Iroquois.

The two carters and Touchet were sitting at the end of the table nearest the fireplace. The heat and light from the fire reached them through a broad archway. Radisson reluctantly returned to his companions.

The Guyard home was big enough for employees to eat there, day or night. Carters, day labourers, and servants all had meals there, as well as the family. Catherine Guyard's husband had died ten months earlier and she had taken over the job of running the transportation company and the farm. Fortunately Jean Roussin and his brother helped her out. She wouldn't have made it otherwise. It had been a tough year.

Catherine served up a big bowl of soup, her face kept low. In her heart of hearts, she thanked God for sending her a real Canadian who had walked on the same ground as Marie. She almost felt as though she could reach out and touch her through this third party, that Radisson was bringing her closer. A fine-looking loaf of white bread landed on the table—the finest bread reserved for the big occasions—and Roussin got stuck into it, passing around a hunk to the rest of the table. It wasn't just the treat of white bread with no bran, rye, or barley to detract from the delicate flavour that left him more talkative than usual: he also hoped the boatman—who struck him as the grasping kind—would bring to fruition a plan he had been mulling over for several weeks.

Roussin reminded Radisson that news from Paris was very bad indeed. Thomas, who had stayed there until the fall, until the fighting had ended, said the city had become unlivable. He had chosen to return to his family in Tours because there was nothing to eat in Paris. The people who lived in its faubourgs said the wolf was at the door. Even in the city itself, only the very rich were able to eat. Unless things changed, a lot of people were going to die. Out of Christian charity, Catherine was keen to do her part. She planned to send grain so that the farmers could sow it in the springtime and harvest in the summer.

“Catherine isn't exactly rich and the harvests were nothing special here,” explained Roussin. “But she thinks it's our Christian duty to help those in need. And I want to help her.”

Radisson was speechless. The unrest had already started when he left Paris four years ago, but how had things gotten so bad?

“What fighting?” he stammered.

Everyone was surprised he had heard nothing of the unrest affecting much of the country.

“It's a real war zone!” Touchet exclaimed. “Have you been living in a cave or something? There's a war between the rebel princes who want to usurp the throne and those who are faithful to the real king! The country has been turned upside down.”

“The soldiers have ravaged everything,” Thomas chipped in. “Fields, animals, homes—they've pillaged and burned everything around Paris.”

Radisson was fearing for his mother, who lived in the faubourgs.

“That's why bread costs an absolute fortune,” Roussin explained. “But Catherine wants to give her grain away to the poor. The rich don't need her charity.”

“The officers have kept all the money for themselves,” Thomas continued. “The soldiers paid themselves by looting the wheat lofts, down to the very last grain. They set homes on fire to keep warm. They killed men for sport. They raped women. Things are bad there. Really, really bad.”

Catherine kept quiet, while Radisson listened with dismay.

“Paris is dangerous,” said Touchet. “There are thieves everywhere. I'd stay well clear of it, if I were you.”

Roussin was disappointed to hear the boatman sum up the situation in such uncertain terms. He had thought the boatman was heading there. But he wasn't going to be put off.

“There's good business to be had for merchants not far from Paris. The bakers, it seems, have moved ten leagues outside the city. All to the same place. When their bread is ready, they come into town in an armed convoy to sell to the highest bidder. They're making a fortune and buying up all the wheat they can lay their hands on at sky-high prices.”

Touchet was beginning to understand the piece of business the carter wanted to talk to him about.

“There's no way I'm gonna go get myself killed over there!” he exclaimed. “If that's why you brought me here, you got the wrong man!”

“Who said anything about getting killed?” Roussin replied, rubbing his hands together contentedly. “Any merchant worth his salt won't go as far as Paris. Charenton is where it's at. That's where the bakers buy up wheat at any price. They're far from the unrest; they're safe there.”

“Too risky,” Touchet replied, but this time sounding less sure of himself. “I'm going no further than Orléans.”

“The bakers have thought of everything,” Roussin insisted. “They have everything they need right by the Seine, far from the people who are starving to death. It's in your hands if you want to be just as rich as they are.”

The lure of making a tidy profit started to nibble away at Touchet's doubts and he worked out how long it would take him to get there and how much money he could make. He at least wanted to listen to Roussin's offer. Radisson was also on the lookout, seeing that he could reach Paris easier than planned.

“Thomas and I,” began Roussin, leaning in toward the boatman as though telling him a secret in strictest confidence, “we'll come on board with you to hand out the wheat to whoever we like once we get there. Thomas knows people we can trust, good people we want to help. We have more of the risk because we'll have to get the grain to their farms, but that's our problem. You've nothing to fear. You'd stop off in Charenton, sell your share of the wheat to the bakers, then wait for us for a day or two. Then you'd drop us off in Orléans, if that's fine with you, or bring us back to Tours. It's up to you.”

“How much wheat would be in it for me?”

“I'm getting to that,” Roussin replied. “Catherine and I would sell you half the wheat we can load onto your boat, at the Tours price. Judging by what we hear, you'd be able to sell it for three or four times the price in Charenton. What do you say?”

“I'm in!” interrupted Radisson. “You can count on me, Roussin. No harm will come to the four of us!”

Catherine cast an admiring glance at Radisson. In her eyes, he embodied the derring-do required to live in New France. But Touchet could have done without Radisson getting involved. This greenhorn wasn't going to decide if he was going to put his life and barge at risk on such an undertaking. Nonetheless, he was reassured to hear he could count on the daring young man who knew how to defend himself.

Catherine looked at her friend Jean. He was leading the negotiations on her behalf with such skill. She knew he wanted to marry her and was touched by his patience and perseverance while she was in mourning. He was even showing courage by taking this risk to remain true to his word. Touchet said nothing but seemed more and more interested. Roussin went on, encouraged.

“If we take the new Briare canal, we'll be there in less than ten days. I've a hard time believing you'd turn down an offer like this, Touchet.”

The boatman pulled a face, hoping Roussin would up his offer.

“Tell me, what else can you transport at this time of the year to turn a profit like this? Catherine and I are even prepared to buy two barrels of salt to make more room for the wheat.”

“Buy four,” Touchet raised him, “at two
écus
each and we can talk about a price for the wheat. We'll see if it's as worth my while as you say it is. I'm still not convinced.”

Radisson thought back to the many times he had sat in on haggling like this as his father reached a price with his customers. He enjoyed the tension as each party defended his interests and profit. The best price always went to the man with the most skill and tenacity. Judging by how little money found its way back to their home, his father seldom came out on top.

Roussin and Touchet were nearing an agreement. The boatman had wangled a concession or two more out of the carter, who was prepared to go no further.

“One
écu
per sack of wheat,” countered Roussin. “That's already less than the Tours price. And the bakers will welcome you like the Messiah over there. You're about to make yourself a lot of cash, Touchet. Don't take advantage of a helpless lady who wants to do a good turn. That's my last word.”

Touchet knew he wasn't going to get a better offer. But he was pleased. He had managed to sell four barrels of salt at a good price and would be able to transport twenty-five or thirty sacks of wheat for himself, making two
écus
on each. That more than made up for the risk of making the trip.”

“It's a deal!”

Catherine was happy with how Jean had led the negotiations, and with the outcome. He would be able to get at least twenty sacks of seed to the poor peasants Thomas had known there. She could do no more to help them and ease her conscience at the same time. While Roussin went to fetch the wine that would seal the deal, she asked Radisson for a favour.

“Would you be so kind as to deliver a message to my cousin in Québec?”

“With pleasure.”

The rain was falling so hard they had to wait a full day until they could load
La Louve
. Radisson spent a second night in the small room he had been given underneath the eaves. He tried to form a clear idea of what the future held in store for him as he listened to the rain drum against the roof. All things considered, the crisis that showed no signs of abating in New France hadn't dampened his desire to go back. But he felt more eager to serve the Jesuits. Trading was at a standstill and he would rather not fight, would rather not kill, again.