The map, similar to the one he’d helped draw, showed a few new trails, possibly those being used by the renegades. The fact they wouldn’t use the regular trails was odd. He set it aside to examine the writing. As he’d guessed, it wasn’t in a language but in the battlefield code he and Pierre had been taught at military school. It didn’t take him long to learn Pierre believed someone was trying to cause trouble between Akhilesh and the French he’d allied himself with. Guy had saved the man’s son back in ‘66, and the Mohawk had pledged himself to him.
Akhilesh’s decision to work with the French hadn’t been a popular one with the Iroquois Confederacy who tended to support the English.
As he read through Pierre’s notes, a second name jumped off the paper and had him cursing a blue streak. He should’ve trusted his instincts. Pierre believed that Gerard Giroux, an itinerant gunsmith recently arrived from France, might be hiding something. The man was good at his job, too good, and could well be involved with the fur traders Pierre had followed, believing them to be renegades. Those men had all carried French muskets, many of which had a brand on the stock earmarking them for destruction since they were faulty. Over a hundred such muskets had disappeared from the armory. In the hands of a talented gunsmith, they could easily be reconditioned and sold. He’d tested the man with a pistol that misfired and knew he was well up to the task.
The trappers Pierre had followed had been English, so he’d been unable to arrest them. The best he could have done was fine them for trapping on French lands, but he’d have had to expose himself as a French soldier and that could have led to his own arrest as a spy. The English trappers had been adamant they didn’t want to start a war with the French, although they knew others who would be only too glad to see the French settlement fail. When questioned about the disguises, the men maintained it allowed them to slip pass the renegades safely. The Indians who’d travelled with them had been Cayuga, not Mohawk. No matter how Pierre had pressed them, they refused to believe those men had attacked the supply wagons and killed anyone.
Pierre’s men had quickly lost the trail of the renegades which he believed were not Mohawk but Oneida, the People of the Standing Stone, with their uncanny ability to vanish. He was convinced there’d been another group who’d purposely led them to the false trails he’d marked on the map. Pierre had taken what he could prove to the governor-general and Talon.
Guy set the papers back on his dresser. How had Giroux gotten his hands on the decommissioned guns? No doubt he’d stolen them. It was possible he’d reconditioned them and sold them legally to the trappers and within the settlement, but Guy doubted it. As an itinerant, he covered a lot of ground, it was true, but sometimes when something looked like a skunk and smelled like a skunk, it was a skunk.
He needed to get back to the hospital and talk to the man again. What didn’t make sense was the severity of his injuries. If he was supplying weapons to the Mohawk, why would they turn on him like that? Jeanne Mance might not like it, but Isabelle’s life was at stake, and he’d do whatever it took to rescue her.
Guy changed into his buckskins and went downstairs where Henri waited for him.
“I’ve spoken with the men,” he said. “They’ll come inside as soon as they settle the animals for the night. I take it we’ll be traveling on foot?”
“For now.” Guy turned to his mother and Sophie who still wept beside her.
“Once Bernard and Marcel are inside, lock the doors, and don’t open them to anyone tonight. I’ll send a message to the seigneurie and get a couple more men back here tomorrow. Let them sleep inside, too. Trust no one else. Do you have your knives?”
Both women nodded.
“Keep them on you at all times. We’ll bring her home; you have my word on it.”
He kissed his mother’s cheek, squeezed Sophie’s hand, and went out the door, giving Henri a moment alone with his wife. As soon as the door closed, Henri came to stand next to him.
“Which way should we go?”
“Back to the hospital.” He told him what he had learned from Pierre’s papers. “I should’ve looked at them the minute she mentioned them.”
“I never trusted that man,” Henri said, shaking his head. “I saw the way he looked at Sophie and Izzy. There was something about him. So, he’s a rat. Had I known, I would’ve fed him to the sharks. Now, I’ll enjoy watching you beat the information out of him.”
“If the bastard doesn’t die on me first,” Guy mumbled, terrified he would do just that. If he did, how would he know where to start looking. The wagon had been attacked northeast of the town, the same place Marie had mentioned farms had been raided, and that was a large area to search.
They’d only gone a few steps when Guy heard someone call to him from the shadows. He stopped.
“What is it, Luc?” he asked as the Huron brave stepped out of the shadows.
“Lieutenant, I was coming to speak with you. I went to see where the attack happened as you asked me to. It’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was no attack there. The man was injured, yes, but not by renegades, not by Mohawk. I was there, but the signs say it’s not true. I followed the wagon’s path. It came from the river, not the city gate. Coureurs were there, not Mohawk, but Mohawk were at the river. The wagon traveled two paths—One with cargo to the river from the settlement, another lighter but not empty to the place it was found. I picked this up near the river bank where the wagon stopped.”
He handed Guy a blue bonnet.
“That’s the hat Izzy was wearing when she left this afternoon,” Henri said, his words dropping off at the end.
Guy turned to the Huron.
“Take us where you found this,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Henri. “We’ll deal with Monsieur Giroux after we rescue my fiancée.”
* * *
Isabelle’s head throbbed. Her body ached in a way she would never have believed possible. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around, realizing she was outside, lying on the ground. Her hands and feet were bound. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but night would fall soon. The smell of wood smoke filled her nostrils, and she turned her head toward the sound of fire crackling nearby. Around it stood several men, including a couple she recognized from Gerard’s treachery. She shivered.
How long had she been unconscious? By now, Guy had to know she was missing, had to be looking for her, but would he know where to look? Had he fallen for Gerard’s story and the false trail? Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Thank God, you’re awake,” a woman whispered in French.
Turning toward the sound, Isabelle was surprised to see a white woman bending over her.
“I’m Marianne Rioux and these are my children.” She pointed to a small girl and boy, sitting on the ground beside her, playing a game with sticks and stones. “They’ve been worried about you and your injury.” She indicated the men by the fire. “I’ve cleaned the cut, but you’ve been unconscious a long time.”
“My head aches, my stomach’s unsettled, and I feel bruised and battered, but nothing feels broken. I’m Izzy,” she said, trying to sit up and unable to do so. She held herself off the ground as best she could, the position awkward and making her abdominal muscles burn, adding to her nausea. “What are they going to do to us? Kill us?” She swallowed her growing panic. Men could do far worse to a woman than that. “Do you know where we are?”
“Drink this.” Marianne held a water skin to her mouth.
Isabelle swallowed the cool liquid, feeling the nausea ease. While she’d rarely drunk plain water, nothing had ever tasted so good.
Marianne moved the skin away.
“As to where we are, I’m not positive, but I think we’re on the south shore of the Saint Lawrence near the mouth of the Richelieu. We’ve been here almost a week. We must’ve been waiting for Akhilesh, he’s their chief. He brought you here a few hours ago. The men who traveled with him have gone already.” She swallowed and smiled w
eakly. “You don’t have to be afraid. The Mohawk don’t slaughter women and children.”
“How do you know that?” Isabelle asked, not in the least reassured, trying to remember the map Guy had shown her. How far was this from the settlement?
“We had a Christian Mohawk with us last year. I helped deliver her child, and she told me about her people. They aren’t the blood-thirsty monsters we’ve been led to believe they are.”
Unable to hold herself like this any longer, Isabelle collapsed back onto the ground causing her head to throb anew. How would Guy ever find her here? Tears filled her eyes. She wouldn’t give up hope. She was alive, and as long as she lived, there was a chance Guy would find her.
“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked, realizing that the woman wasn’t tied up like she was. “You’re not tied up. Why haven’t you run away?”
“I can’t leave my children. They’re tied to that tree. You can’t see the leash around their ankles. I’ve tried to undo the complicated knot, but I can’t.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with defeat. “And, even if I did, where would we go?” Isabelle heard the hopelessness in the woman’s voice. “Those men know the forest. I don’t. They would find us and probably punish us. So far, we’ve been treated well. I don’t understand their language, but that one,” she pointed to an older man. “His name is Balavas and he speaks a few words of French. They’re coming this way. For the sake of my children, please don’t anger them.”
Isabelle nodded. How could she deny a mother’s plea?
She cringed when the Mohawk at whose feet Gerard had thrown her pulled a knife from his belt as he walked towards her. Was Marianne wrong?
The man grabbed her hands, and in one quick motion sliced the leather thong holding them. Pain filled her wrist as blood flowed into her hands once more. He repeated the process with her ankles, and then lifted her upright so that her back rested against the tree to which she was still tied.
“Sàkien,” he ordered, putting up both hands as if to order her to stay put.
“Akhilesh,” he said, pointing to his chest. “Akhilesh.” He repeated the word.
Isabelle realized he was trying to communicate with her. For the sake of Marianne’s children, she would cooperate. Guy would find her. All she had to do was give him enough time to do it.
“Akhilesh,” she repeated pointing at him. “Izzy.” She indicated herself.
“Izzy,” he repeated, before nodding and walking away.
Within minutes, Balavas brought wooden boards covered with food. He set one down near the children and handed another to Marianne.
Her mouth watered. Was she expected to share the woman’s food the way the children were?
“Tesatskà:nhon,” Akhilesh said, standing beside her once more, a tray similar to Marianne’s in his hands.
The smell of roasted meat made Isabelle’s stomach growl, and the man laughed.
“Tesatskà:nhon,” he repeated as he handed her the food, then mimed eating.
Too hungry to even think of refusing it and mindful of her promise to the woman beside her, Isabelle ate everything on her trencher. The rabbit was delicious as were the tubers and the strange bread-like substance she’d been given. No matter what happened, she needed to stay strong for Guy’s sake. She thought about everything he’d told her about the Mohawk. He believed them to be a people who valued honor.
Within a few minutes, Akhilesh came back with a gourd filled with water, and Isabelle slaked her thirst once more.
She turned to Marianne. “I need to relieve myself,” she said. “They don’t expect us to just ... How do I ask?”
“Balavas,” the woman called and he hurried over to her. She whispered to him and pointed to herself, the children, and Izzy.
Balavas laughed. He walked over to the girl, cut the thong on her leg, and then came over to her, slicing through the leather string around her waist that held her to the tree.
“No run,” he muttered crossly in guttural French, his accent making his words hard to understand.
Izzy nodded.
“Kà:ts”, he growled indicating she, Marianne, and the young girl should follow. He led them into the woods, only deep enough to allow for some modesty, the glow of the fire providing their only light. He stopped and grunted. “Wà:s,” He turned his back on them.
“This is as private as it gets,” Marianne said. “They keep Jean with them because they know I won’t leave without him.”
Once she’d attended to her needs, Isabelle rejoined Marianne and her daughter, and the three of them followed Balavas. This time, instead of taking them to the trees, he led them closer to the campfire where Akhilesh waited. The chief handed her a thick fur mat and made signs that she should follow Marianne. Balavas picked up other furs and handed two of them to Marianne and one to another brave who had jean by the hand.
“Tewanínehkaráwanions,” he said, pointing to the sky where occasional flashes of lightning could be seen.
Isabelle’s terror grew. How could she survive a storm out here?
Marianne nodded and turned to her.
“Don’t be afraid. There’s a storm coming. You need to wrap yourself in the fur. We’ll sleep under the canoes tonight. We did it the first night we were here. It’ll be fine. It’s going to rain, and they want us to stay dry. They’re concerned about our health, especially yours and the children’s. Jean will sleep with Balavas under the other canoe. I know he won’t harm him. For some reason, we seem to belong to the man, almost as if we’re his family. I think you belong to Akhilesh.”
“I belong only to my fiancée,” Isabelle stated with more determination that she felt. “Where will the others sleep?”
“They’ll take turns. Three sleep while three go into the woods to guard the camp.”
Isabelle took the fur and followed Marianne to the canoe closest to the fire. It had been pulled far from the water onto a grassy mound. It seemed to be the most comfortable spot in the camp. Isabelle and Marianne lay head to head with the child tucked in close to its mother, and bundled themselves into the furs. Despite the heat during the day, the night was cool and damp. The lightning was still far off in the distance and there was no thunder. Maybe whatever storm they got here would be a mild one.
Grateful not to be sleeping alone, Isabelle did the best she could to get comfortable. When she stopped squirming, the canoe was overturned on them, blocking out the lightning in the distance.
“Sèn:ta.”
“It means go to sleep,” Marianne said. “You need your rest.”
Exhausted from the events of the day and despite the rumblings in the distance, Isabelle fell asleep. The rain and wind came during the night, waking her, but when the thunder and lightning didn’t, she went back to sleep.
Isabelle had just awakened, momentarily startled by the darkness, when bright light assailed her eyes as the canoe was lifted off of them.
“Bonjour, Maman,” Jean, bending down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Balavas says today we leave for our new home. How will Papa find us?” he whispered so softly Isabelle barely heard him.
“Don’t worry,” Marianne reassured her son and daughter who suddenly looked ready to cry. “Papa loves us too much not to look for us. Now, go and eat, but remember do not mention Papa. He’s our secret.”
As he’d done the previous evening, Balavas escorted them into the woods and then, down to the river to wash up. When they returned to camp, they were given porridge mixed with nuts and berries that was delicious and very filling.
She and Marianne sat off to the side while the canoes were carried to the water and filled with the items that had been part of their camp.
“How can you be so sure your husband will come for you?” she asked Marianne.
“When the men attacked our farm, Alain and his brother had gone to their trap lines. The men burned the house, turned the animals loose, and killed my brother, but I believe my husband is safe and will move heaven and earth to find us. Don’t you
think your fiancé will do the same?”
“I do,” Isabelle answered. “He will find me.” Or die trying to.
“Tohsa sata:ti,” Balavas said as the men dismantled the camp.
“He wants us to stay quiet,” Jean explained, proud of his knowledge of the language. “If we stay quiet, we might see some animals along the river. If we talk too much, they’ll all hide, and we’ll go hungry tonight.” He frowned and cocked his small head to the right. “Why would we go hungry? Okwaho is the best hunter ever. The animals can’t hide from him.”
“Shush,” his mother said. “If Balavas says to be quiet, then we must listen. I want to see the animals, and so do Lucie and Izzy.
The boy nodded and sat next to his mother. Isabelle watched the men finish breaking down the camp. To her inexperienced eyes, she’d never know there’d been a camp there. Her spirits, so hopeful just moments ago, plummeted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was mid-morning when Guy and Henri and their two Huron scouts entered the clearing. At the river’s edge, in their canoes, the two men they’d come upon last night when they’d crossed the river waited. Alain Rioux, a trapper turned farmer, was looking for his wife and children. With him was his brother, Lucien. They’d come back three days ago from checking their trap lines to find the house burned to the ground, his animals scattered, and the remains of his wife’s brother in what was left of his barn. Now, he not only wanted his family back, he wanted to wreak revenge on the men who’d destroyed his future.
Wanting to avoid a full-scale war and knowing Luc believed white men were masquerading as Mohawks to cause trouble, Guy invited them to join their party, explaining that he was looking for his fiancée as well. He’d shared the information he had about the damage being inflicted by irate coureurs de bois, but Alain found that hard to believe.
Strangely, his brother didn’t. Since his livelihood still depended on the pelts he brought in, he claimed there was a lot of dissatisfaction among the trappers where the colony and the crown were concerned, but the thought they could stoop to murder worried him. Why would white men kill their own like that?
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 33
