Adventures of Radisson (7 page)

Conharassan let out a shrill cry and dashed toward the third prisoner, who, rooted to the spot in terror, refused to advance. His captors shoved him forward. A group broke off from the crowd to beat him. Women and boys battered him senseless. He stood no chance. Wielding her thorn-covered branch, Conharassan joined the pack that was determined to finish him off then and there. Radisson could not bear to watch the savage execution and slipped away when nobody was watching. He ran between the longhouses until he reached the home of the Bear clan, which he entered at full speed.

Once he got his breath back, he saw Katari sitting pensively beside the fire. When Radisson walked over to her, she stood up, opened her arms, and held him tightly against her chest, murmuring in his ear: “My dear son… I am so glad nothing happened to you. I was worried.” Radisson felt a surge of affection for his adoptive mother, the mother who had taken no part in the torture, the mother who had protected him from the same horrible ordeal when he had arrived in the village. If it weren't for her and Ganaha, he realized, he might well be dead. They would have smashed his head in, ripped off his skin, and slashed open his stomach. He did not know how he would have reacted under such a deluge of blows.

Katari told him a story he could only half understand, but he caught enough to guess at the reasons why she didn't attend the beating. Outside, Radisson could hear the commotion of the crowd that had come back inside the village. The Iroquois were preparing a torture session for the two prisoners who had survived.

“I saw my parents die before my eyes,” said Katari, “when I was six years old. The Iroquois tortured them. They had captured us Hurons— their enemies —in an ambush. Because I was a child they spared me. A family from the Bear clan adopted me. Later, I became an Iroquois, a good-looking, hard-working woman who knew how to love. Garagonké fell in love with me and married me. And I loved him too.”

Radisson was struck by the emotion he could hear in his mother's pained voice.

“I never did get used to the torture. I don't want to add to the hatred and the thirst for vengeance that too many of us feel. Killing is no way to strike a balance between the living and the dead, no matter what they say. There is no end to the cycle of vengeance. Death is everywhere now, spread by war and disease. The spirits have abandoned the Iroquois. I adopted you to replace my son who was killed in battle. I asked Ganaha to bring me back a prisoner because that's how tradition would have it, the real tradition that adds a new life for each that is taken away. Adopting new blood makes our family grow and strengthens our hold on life. That's what will save us.”

Katari broke off for a long moment. She looked Radisson straight in the eye, holding his face in her hands. She smiled at him and asked: “Do you know why the spirits are no longer protecting the Iroquois? Do you think they're angry with us? Do you think it is their turn for revenge?”

Radisson did not completely understand the question, but he was sure he did not know the answer. The subject was far beyond what he knew of life and the Iroquois language. He chose to say nothing. Katari looked away and lowered her arms.

“The Great Spirit of the French is powerful,” she continued, staring off into space. “I saw it when the Blackrobe your father captured six years ago spent a few months here living under our roof. He learned Iroquois and would often speak to us of peace, of peace and love. Even though he was our prisoner, he was very powerful. The spirit he worshipped gave him the strength to live and to convince us we were better off selling him to the Dutch rather than killing him. Perhaps he was right about everything.”

Katari looked at Radisson again, with eyes so full of compassion, so sad, and so mysterious that he lost himself in them.

“Garagonké still believes in war,” she continued. “He believes that waging ruthless war against all the enemies of the Iroquois will save our people. May he be right. May the spirits that have always supported him stay favourable to him and bring us victory. But doubt has started to flicker in my mind. I am afraid for him and I am afraid for my people because we are dying in greater numbers than the French and the Dutch. Their Great Spirit is more powerful than the spirits of our ancestors.”

Katari fell silent. Radisson too kept silent, more touched than if he had understood everything. His mother was calling him to her rescue, he thought, but he did not know how to answer her call. Would he ever be able to? He had his doubts. She had saved his life and yet he felt as though there was nothing he could do for her. It was a sad situation, but one day he hoped he could turn around and pay back the debt he owed her.

Also lost in her thoughts, Katari poked distractedly at the fire with the end of a long stick. Radisson asked her why she didn't try to save the prisoners as she had done for him. She threw back her head and gave him a piercing look.

“Because the prisoners were brought back by the Tortoise clan and I am from the Bear clan. There is nothing I can do for them. Listen to them…” Radisson could hear them screaming in the distance. “They have already started to torture them. Tomorrow, they will kill them. But it will be a long, drawn-out affair— they know how to make them suffer. Until then, you will stay here with me. It's not a good idea for them to see a Frenchman. Who knows what might happen to you? The warriors do not know you and might turn on you. Stay here. With me, you have nothing to fear.”

O
NCE CALM HAD RETURNED
to the village, Radisson took his father's advice and organized a short hunting expedition. Serontatié, the only boy he liked spending time with, would accompany him. Despite his youth, he was kind, smart, and quick-witted. And, above all else, he never treated Radisson with contempt, always as an equal. Still, as a token of his friendship toward Serontatié, Radisson had to agree that two of his friends from the Wolf clan would join them. Even though he had no affinity toward the other two, he was in no position to complain. His dog Bo would accompany the party.

While Serontatié and Radisson both opted for a musket, their companions felt more comfortable with bow and arrow. Each one brought with him a knife, a tomahawk, and a fire starter. As a precaution they carried a small reserve of cornmeal.

At the start of their journey, the four young men wandered through the forest without encountering any sign of big game. They amused themselves killing hares and squirrels along the way. Through his innate sense of pride and because he felt he had to prove his worth to Serontatié's two friends who were enjoying making fun of him, Radisson tried his best to impress them with his shooting prowess. Ever since he saw the prisoners tortured then put to death, he had felt an even greater need to show off his strength and skills. But to show their superiority the two fools accompanying them fell back on their bows and arrows, weapons they mastered much better than Radisson. Radisson suffered their jibes in silence, but he could hardly wait to shut them up the first chance he could get. Wisely, he managed to keep everyone focused on hunting, the passion they all shared.

As the four companions were looking for a good spot to set up camp, they met an old man out hunting alone in the woods. He introduced himself as an Algonquin by birth, adopted by the Iroquois in a neighbouring village four years ago. He enjoyed his new life. His only regret was not becoming an Iroquois earlier, he said. And he was not shy about his talents as a hunter and warrior. Impressed, the four young men held a quick confab to decide if they should press on with this experienced hunter. Later that evening, they would share a stew with him, made from two of the hares he had killed along with their own. And then in the days to come, they would be able to rely on his experience to flush out bigger game. The arrangement suited them and they quickly agreed to continue with the Algonquin.

As the hares were roasting over the fire, the man could not stop talking. He went on at length about his hunting exploits, complaining that there wasn't much game around the Iroquois villages compared to where he came from, north of the St. Lawrence. He knew a great place to hunt, he told them, east of where they were, and offered to take them there the next day. There, he told them, they'd be close to the Dutch colony, where almost nobody hunted, and where they'd be sure to bag themselves some big game. The young men agreed.

A little later, having noticed that he looked different, the Algonquin questioned Radisson about his origins.

“You're not an Iroquois, are you?”

“I'm French,” replied Radisson. “I was adopted two months ago by a family from the Bear clan. I live in the village of Coutu, not far from here. I am happy there.”

Since the situation was clear enough for all to see, Radisson's companions felt a little uncomfortable, but preferred not to let their feelings show.

“I've met a Frenchman or two in my time,” the former Algonquin continued. “If you ask me, you'll be far better off with the Iroquois. They're the best warriors in the world. Great hunters, too— although not as good as the Algonquins.”

Enthralled by the incessant chatter of their new acquaintance, the three young Iroquois let him take over the conversation completely. Radisson found it all somewhat strange.

“That your dog?” he asked.

Radisson nodded. “Come here, boy. Here's something to eat.” The Algonquin threw Bo a scrap of meat, which he swallowed with a single gulp. “You know that a hunting dog can come in very useful?” he continued. “I'll show you tomorrow. Unless you've been bad to him, he'll help us track our game. You'll soon see I know what I'm doing. Like hunting, do you?”

“Yes,” Radisson replied.

“Like travelling, do you?” the mysterious Algonquin asked him again. “The best hunting grounds are far from here, you know. We could all head west together, head for the mountains.”

No one replied.

“I'll lead the way,” added the Algonquin. “You'll see, Radisson. Have some more, boy.”

And the Algonquin threw Bo another chunk of meat. His interest in the dog was beginning to get on Radisson's nerves. Like he was trying to win it over. It was his dog, after all, his faithful companion, not some stranger's. Anyways, there was no way he'd be telling him its name.

“When I was back home,” the man went on, “every winter we would go hunting with our dogs, great big dogs, much bigger than this one here. And we would always return home with more game than our toboggans could carry.”

At nightfall, after turning the young men's heads with his fine words, the Algonquin stepped away from the fire for a moment. A bit later, he motioned to Radisson to join him: he wanted to show him tracks he said had been left by game. But no matter how closely they stared, Radisson couldn't see a thing. Bo didn't either, although that didn't stop him from sniffing all around them excitedly. As soon as they had their backs turned and the three Iroquois couldn't hear them, the man asked Radisson under his breath if he spoke Algonquin.

“A little,” he replied.

Delighted, the man continued in his mother tongue.

“Want to go back to Trois-Rivières?” he asked. “I know the way. It'll be easy if there are two of us. What do you say?”

Taken aback by a proposal that came completely out of the blue, in a language that reminded him terribly of Trois-Rivières, Radisson was speechless.

“Do you understand me?” the man continued, repeating his question and this time motioning with his hands. “You,” he pointed to Radisson. “Go back to Trois-Rivières with me.” He touched his chest. “Trois-Rivières.” He held up three fingers. “You and me together.” He wrapped one finger around the other. “What do you say?”

Radisson nodded to show he understood the question. But the Algonquin's eyes lit up immediately. In his mind Radisson had just said yes.

“Here's my plan,” the Algonquin went on. “We'll bump off your three companions in their sleep, then make a run for my canoe, which is hidden close by. What do you say?”

Radisson shook his head violently, but the Algonquin wasn't taking no for an answer.

“The Iroquois hate the French! Sooner or later they'll kill you! I'm your only way out! Do what I say and everything will be fine! Let's go. Your friends will be getting suspicious.”

Radisson was rattled. He tried to convince himself that he had misunderstood. But he knew enough Algonquin to understand that this man wanted to kill his companions and run off with him to Trois-Rivières. TROIS-RIVIÈRES! His head seemed to explode at the very thought of it. His sisters, his friends, his language, and the stockade he should never have left. He was giddy at the very prospect. But he didn't want to kill his companions, especially not Serontatié, his friend. What was he to do? His stomach was tying itself in knots. His belly was so sore he had to bend over. And yet he couldn't give anything away in case his companions suspected they might be in danger. If they did, they would kill him.