The Incredible Escape. The Adventures of Radisson 3 (10 page)

The room was again in an uproar. Men were beating the tables with their fists, cursing like sailors. Father Le Moyne intervened, waving his arms in the air.

“My brothers! My brothers! Calm down! We are not at risk. As the commander told you, we have a plan and we are going to get ourselves out of this mess, whatever happens. Now listen up!”

A murmur washed across the room like a wave, interrupted only by the occasional growl and exclamation.

“Listen to us!” Father Le Moyne repeated. “We're going to need each and every one of you if we are to come out of this with our lives. Listen to your commander!”

Silence was gradually restored, although it was unsteady and fragile.

“We know that the Iroquois will not attempt anything before spring, even if those in favour of war gain the upper hand!” shouted Zacharie Dupuys. “They think there's no way we can escape from their clutches, but that's where they're wrong! We'll all go back to the colony if need be, every last one of us. We'll use our canoes and the flat-bottomed boats we've started building. We'll be ready in time. They won't be able to lay a finger on us. Just listen to our plan…”

“We'll attack their villages!” Dufresne cried again. “Death to the traitors!”

“We'll kill them all! Let's attack!”

Radisson climbed up onto his chair to interrupt.

“The Iroquois will follow you to the gates of hell if you attack their villages! They will kill your children and your children's children! Their vengeance will be without end! I know them. I lived among them. Behind every Iroquois that you kill, ten, then one hundred more will stand up and take his place, until the French have been wiped off the map. Only ignorance and anger can make you think that fifty Frenchmen stand a chance against five hundred Iroquois warriors. If you want to save your lives, listen to what we have prepared. Cunning will save us, not brute force.”

Radisson could see the anger some of the men had for the Jesuits. They had walked them into this trap after turning a deaf ear to the men of experience who had warned them not to come. He could see them shooting daggers at Father Le Moyne. But that didn't change the situation. Anger was a bad counsellor. Commander Dupuys tried to regain control.

“We need you! I am your commander, and you are going to do what I tell you! If we stick together, it's a foregone conclusion. We'll return to the colony safe and sound, if we have to go that far. Rebels be warned: I'll put you in irons if I have to. Saving us all depends on everyone following orders. One false step from one man among us could lead to the downfall of us all. The Iroquois have no idea we know what they're up to. We start with an advantage over them. Allies are still defending our cause. So be quiet and listen to what we have to say. Our plan is working. It's already underway.”

Reason at last won out over anger. Radisson got back down off his chair. There was no need to say anything else for the moment.

R
adisson spent days going around villages with Prudhomme and Racine to meet all the missionaries and find out the latest news. Several sources confirmed that the Iroquois had decided at a grand council of the nation to rid themselves of the French once the big winter hunts were over. There was no hope of a change of heart. A majority of chiefs and clan mothers now openly showed their opposition to the Jesuits, who epitomized all they feared about the French. Officially, Radisson and his companions were there to trade. And trade was brisk. Things would have looked very different had they only been there to exchange goods. But it was their religion, too, their fort, their intrusive ways, and the illnesses the French brought with them that spread panic and had led to the Iroquois rejecting them.

As soon as the Iroquois left the villages for their hunting ground, trade ground to a halt. While there was still time, Radisson took the opportunity to return to Onondaga to spend a few days with the Iroquois who were dear to him: Lavionkié and Andoura.

***

The Turtle clan house was busy, despite the hunters' absence. A handful of Iroquois were gathered two fires down from Andoura's. They were having a great time playing knucklebones, and now and then one of them would suddenly burst out laughing. Radisson tried to ignore the distraction.

The previous day, messengers had come to announce that Father Ragueneau was better. It was the sign they had agreed on to launch the plan's final phase. Radisson, who was still eager to find out just how Andoura had gotten his eagle-head knife, had realized that they had never spoken of it. At his request, Andoura got ready to tell him a story he had told many times before. Ogienda and Lavionkié, who well knew this episode of his life, stayed by his side all the same, close by the fire in a respectful silence.

“I was a young man,” began Andoura, “a little younger than you. It was my first war expedition. I wanted to prove my courage and bring back many scalps. Our chief, who is now dead—taken by the illnesses of the white men—was a man of experience. He had gone to war several times with the nations of the west and won many victories. Shortly before we left, he had a dream he spoke of often during the expedition.”

Sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, Andoura stared straight ahead, lost in thought, as he recalled these distant events. Radisson was hanging on his every word, hoping to shed some light on the mystery surrounding their knives.

“Our chief had dreamt that beyond all the territories where he had been, he would find a country that was richer, more abundant in game, more fertile, and almost as beautiful as the land where our ancestors lie. He was determined to make it there, and convinced us to follow him right to the end. We paddled and hiked for days and days. Whenever we met our enemies, he ordered us to hide. We clashed with no one. Further on, he said, we would find greater spoils and better opportunities to distinguish ourselves in combat. Our nation would be proud of the land we were to discover.”

This wonderful mirage still shone brightly in Andoura's eyes. Radisson thought back to his expedition in the land of the Erie.

“The further we advanced into unknown territory, the more excited our chief grew. We were only seven. The danger was great. I was the youngest and I was afraid, but I followed my chief without complaint. I wanted to become a man. One night, while we slept, a great number of warriors took us by surprise and captured us. They brought us to the large village where they lived. We did not know their language, but a prisoner who had become their slave spoke our language well. The man was not mistreated. They had cut off two fingers from each hand so that he could no longer fight. He served a shaman and perhaps himself knew the language of the spirits. He was a good man.”

Andoura broke off to take a sip of water and calm the emotions that were still raging twenty-five years later. Radisson was impressed, as always, by the daring of the Iroquois warriors.

“That man saved our lives,” Andoura went on. “He spoke with his heart when he translated my words to justify our being in the land of the nation that had made us prisoners. We had killed no one. We had no scalps with us, no spoils. I spoke to him of Deganawidah. I told him we had ventured so far because our chief had a vision. He wanted to propose peace with the great people we were going to meet so that the Iroquois would form a strong, united nation with this people. The interpreter believed me and translated my words with conviction. From an apprentice warrior who had not yet killed or wounded a single person, that day I became a voice for peace. My lie saved us, because the village chief accepted the alliance I was proposing. He promised to send us back safe and sound to our country to announce the news to our people. From that day forward, our two nations would be united forever. My words of peace had earned us a great victory. My future had been plotted. The spirits had been clear.”

“And the knife?” asked Radisson. “You haven't mentioned the knife.”

Andoura unsheathed his knife and rested it in the palms of his hands as he had done in Trois-Rivières. Radisson and he watched it carefully in the light of the fire.

“The village shaman made it. Before we left, he took the iron knife I was wearing. Nobody in the village had ever seen iron, aside from the interpreter. A few people had small bits of copper on them, which they had gotten from neighbouring nations they traded with. But they had never seen such big pieces of metal—so hard and sharp—as our iron knives and axes. They were very impressed. The shaman made the handle of my knife from the horns of an animal we saw over there. It was huge and very strong. It gave them all they needed. They called it a buffalo. He fashioned the handle into an eagle head because we had come from far away, from an unknown land, as though we had flown over lakes and forests. I swore I would take care of it as a sign of the alliance between both our peoples, an alliance that went beyond our differences, like an eagle soaring in the sky and coming back down to earth to feed.”

Andoura looked up at Radisson and appeared stunned.

“I do not understand why your knife is identical to mine. It was made for me, and you never went there. I do not understand…”

Radisson was just as mystified as he was.

“And yet it was the same person who made them. I don't see any other explanation.”

Their eyes met. It was a fascinating story that confirmed all that Radisson had been through since leaving his Iroquois family. He was moving in the right direction, along the path of peace, like Andoura. But all was not yet clear.

The two women stood now that Andoura's story was over. Lavionkié tried to get Radisson's attention, and he was pulled from his thoughts, enchanted by her beauty. Lavionkié looked at him differently that evening. Her gaze was full of light, more intense. She wished him goodnight with a knowing look, then retired to her bed, in the half-dark at the side of the house. Radisson still felt as though she were beside him. Her shadow filled his heart. Ogienda went off to bed, too. Andoura and Radisson were alone.

A few fires down, the laughter from the group of Iroquois had died down. Only two or three of the men continued to chat around the dying embers of the fire.

“The chiefs met again,” Andoura said, looking worried. “A grand council was held before the hunters left.”

Radisson knew this already, but pretended not to. Their plan depended on his discretion.

“The efforts you made to honour us did not change the opinion of the majority of chiefs. The French are now in great danger. You must take care, when the hunters return. The Iroquois might attack you.”

Radisson feigned surprise, delighted by Andoura's honesty. Then he puffed out his chest.

“No one will ever take our fort!” he replied, firmly but quietly so they would not be overheard. “The French fear nothing. If your warriors are foolish enough to attack us, then so be it! We will fight and defeat them. Too bad for them. But I am sure that your chiefs can still be convinced otherwise. We will host them for another important festival—Easter—which coincides with Father Ragueneau being back on his feet, I was told yesterday. The Iroquois will never have seen a celebration like it. I still want to fight for peace, Andoura, as you have done. Please do not abandon me. I ask that you stay strong. We can still do it.”

Andoura answered with silence. He held out little hope of turning things around. Hardly any Iroquois now made a case for the French. Awenissera had been marginalized. The Mohawks and the Hurons had persuaded almost all the Onondaga to put an end to the French living among them. Now that the League of Five Nations had regained its cohesion, the disadvantages of allying with the French outweighed the advantages. It had been decided. Radisson shared this opinion, but he had to play his role right to the end.

“I promise you one thing,” Andoura responded. “I will speak up for you. We will need an interpreter to negotiate with the French in the future. You know both languages well, and many Iroquois trust you more than any other Frenchman. Your life will be spared. I can promise you that. I will do for you what the interpreter I met so long ago did for me. I will not let you down.”

“Thank you, Andoura. I am moved by your promise. But I do not want to think we will reach that point. The feast of Easter will be celebrated in style and we will implore our powerful God to come to our aid. Everyone will eat as much as they please, as is your tradition. The chiefs will have to come. Again I am counting on you to convince them to attend this great celebration.”

“I admire your determination. I will help you, for it is my destiny. But keep in mind that the battle will be hard and perhaps in vain.”

“Garagonké told me that it takes more courage to bring about peace than to win a war. I have this courage.”

“So do I.”

Andoura, too, went to bed for the night. Radisson remained alone, gazing at the flames that were born and died in the embers, flickering like the final steps of exhausted dancers. For all that, the embers were no less hot, and the trance was no less intense in the hearts of the shamans who had danced themselves to exhaustion. Radisson had no doubt that their plan was going to work now that Father Ragueneau had given the signal for the final stage. He was returning with valuable information from his stay with the Iroquois. He had not come in vain.

He had not heard the young woman come up to him, but suddenly he felt Lavionkié's warm hand on the back of his neck. He turned to speak to her, but she put a finger to her mouth right away to tell him to be quiet.

“Shh.”

Lavionkié picked up a twig from the ground, set it alight in the embers, and held it up to Radisson's mouth. It meant “I want to make love to you.” He blew on the flame by way of reply: “Me too.” She led him by the hand to the area vacated by the neighbouring family, several members of which had gone hunting. Those left behind had temporarily moved in with another family. Lavionkié had it all planned out. She unfurled the bear and beaver pelts she had left on the ground and undressed. Then she helped Radisson take off his own clothes and remove the sheath for his knife. She pulled him to the ground beside her and covered him with another pelt. She kissed him passionately. Radisson grabbed at her, under the spell of his beautiful Iroquois.

***

From where he was, Radisson watched Ogienda get up first. She saw the couple lying in each other's arms beneath the pelts, but didn't take much notice. She had seen it coming for a while. It was too early to start worrying about the marriage their romance might lead to. Better to let them enjoy themselves in peace for the time being. Love could be fickle.

Radisson had woken up before everyone, as soon as the darkness had cleared. He intended to enjoy his last moments with Lavionkié, his wildflower, his sweetheart. He caressed her hips, her waist, her breasts, her face, her hair, her arms, her belly, her thighs, as soft as the silkiest fur, as warm as the most comforting hearth, as beautiful as the sun in the springtime. He would never tire of it. She was still half asleep, pressed tight against him, her back buried in his stomach, embedded in his flesh. She was a wonderful woman and he was free to marry her since they weren't from the same clan. But today he had to leave forever. It was better this way, even though it hurt. He didn't want to live his life among the Iroquois.

Andoura's offer hadn't changed his mind. There was no way he would allow himself to be a prisoner/interpreter. No way he would spend his days living in dread, afraid he would be executed because of a dream or because a chief was angry. He had already said no to this way of life. He would not be going back. He didn't want to bring Lavionkié with him either, far from her brothers and her country. She would be hated and despised by the French, just as he suffered here. Their love was a gift from heaven, wonderful but fleeting, like a ripe fruit that had to be enjoyed at just the right moment.

Radisson looked down at the eagle-head knife lying on the ground in front of him. For once, it wasn't pressed tight against his skin. He took stock and better understood the meaning he was to give it after Andoura had told him his story. Ononta did not know why the handle had been made. He did not know the powers the shaman from another country had invested in it. He had not been able to tell him everything.

Radisson could see more clearly now: his destiny would not stop here, nor in New France. He would have to go far out west to where the knife had been made, to where the knife was pulling him. It was showing him a direction to follow. His life was one of travel, discovery, and peace. His flight would have to take him further.

When he closed his eyes, Radisson felt as though he were slowly taking off, like an eagle spreading its wings. He felt completely free, ready to leave. The Iroquois were turning a deaf ear to the invitation extended to them by the French, but other nations might listen. It was up to him to find them.