Читать книгу The Champlain Road - Franklin Davey McDowell - Страница 13

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Father garnier stood with Godfrey on the low shore of Isiaragui. Before them the shallow waters, green with splotches of wild rice beds, rounded out in a two-league circle; behind them the meadowland stretched away for a furlong to terminate in the slope of the gully. Here was the site that Godfrey had in mind for the new village. He pointed it out to the priest, eyeing him with warmth of feeling.

Charles Garnier was held in esteem by all in Huronia. To his fellows of Fort Ste. Marie he was a saint come to earth. His slender figure and beardless face suggested perpetual youth and his large, burning eyes were as lamps of his soul that glowed with the intensity of his faith; a faith which sustained him in tasks beyond his physical strength and inspired him to shape realities out of the fabric of his dreams. Godfrey glanced quickly at him and shook his head with a troubled frown. He knew that the beardless Garnier was accounted handsome by Huron standards and that many younger women of the Cord Clan showed a robust lack of respect for the cassock. The quiet, youngish-looking priest was not a man upon whom it was safe to presume. He spoke their tongue with the force and fluency of a polished orator and his soft voice could become as hard as steel in denunciation. Godfrey wished to avoid unpleasantness at all costs. He decided to take Thodatouan into his confidence and have the chief pass word around that Father Garnier was a great ondaki of the Tobacco people and must be treated with becoming respect.

All unknowing of the artifice planned for his peace of mind, Father Garnier was studying the new village site carefully. “I have seen many Indian villages with less natural defensive advantages.” He looked about. “The raft is approaching. We must prepare to unload the stores.”

Godfrey had marked a plot of ground close to the shore. Three polemen and two soldiers made quick work of the unloading, arranging the bags of crushed corn to form a miniature rampart, better to discourage the thieving instincts of the Hurons. At each end, a pole was driven into the ground and a notched crossbar lashed into place. Over this an oiled cloth was slung as protection against rain to men and foodstuffs. The polemen had barely started upon their return trip to the fort when the flotilla canoes paddled into the lake.

The journey had left marks of fatigue upon all. Even Arakoua’s shoulders drooped as she walked. Godfrey sought out Thodatouan, explained Father Garnier’s presence to him, and outlined a system of rationing the survivors. It was simplicity in itself; the people would be divided according to the houses they had once occupied and two representatives of each house would draw the necessary food. It was an efficient means of distribution but in effect it made the refugees the more dolorous. The tremendous losses incurred were advertised for all to see. In some cases there were only one or two of a house of ten fires; in others, not a single survivor was left.

Arakoua walked slowly to Godfrey. The uprooting of the clan was as juice of the bitter root to her soul. “Some day, O Guardian of the River, the Hodenosaunee will pay tenfold for what they have done.”

Godfrey nodded absently. He was disturbed by Father Garnier going among the children, blessing and baptising them. In their embittered state the Hurons offered a fertile field for Totiri to sow seeds of dissension. Arakoua smiled maliciously. “You have brought a beardless ondaki with you. For me?”

He snapped to attention with a growl. “Father Garnier is one of the great chiefs of the mission. He did not come here for any woman to eye.”

“Yet I looked upon him, O Teanaosti.”

“Father Garnier is a man of the Great Spirit. He is not here as a target for the shafts of your pagan women.” Godfrey glared at her. “He is here to help your clansmen in their trouble.”

“That is not according to the words of wisdom which came from the mouth of Totiri.”

“He lies if he says ought else.”

“I did not look with favour upon the beardless one. I saw that the hair on his face had never grown. It was not shaved off by the cutting edge of a hunting knife. So, I looked again at my Guardian of the River and my heart said, ‘Here is a man and a warrior, not a barefaced boy’.” She looked to the rising moon with a tantalizing smile.

“My mind is not interested in what your heart said.” Godfrey grasped her roughly by the shoulders and spun her to face him. “For the last time, what did Totiri say?”

“Ah, you are a man, O Teanaosti. See! I shake as a leaf under your touch and my blood runs as hot as the sunbeam I am named after.” She stood before him, vitality and desire surging in every vein of her.

Godfrey reddened and turned away.

“I will tell you, my Guardian of the River,” she cried. “Totiri said the ondakis had bewitched the land and the okis had turned their faces from the people who sheltered them. They would be destroyed unless the black robes were driven away.”

He looked at her sternly. “You have not spoken all his words.”

“No, there is more. Totiri says another ondaki, this Ouaracha—” she used Father Garnier’s Indian name—“has come uninvited among us. He will build another house of magic and bewitch the new village. Then the okis will bring back the Hodenosaunee to punish us.”

Godfrey saw the snare Totiri was laying to destroy Father Garnier and the influence of the entire order. There was an expediency which he might try as a last resort. He turned on her in sudden fury. “You have not spoken everything. There is more to tell.”

“I have no more words in my mouth,” she cried surprised.

“You have not told that Totiri is making magic for my death, that he said the sun would not smile upon the land while I lived.”

Her eyes widened and blazed. All primitive passions arose in a red flare. “He, that worm, dared to do this to you, to my Guardian of the River!”

“He did.” Nor was Godfrey’s charge entirely fictitious: Totiri and he had long been personal enemies.

“I must take counsel,” she said in a harsh voice. “Be not dismayed.”

“I fear nothing. What is Totiri to me?” He laughed carelessly.

“You are, a man, O Teanaosti.” She walked stiffly away to a far corner of the meadow where shadows were gathering as a dark mist settling upon the land.

Father Garnier returned to voice his worries. “I am completely at a loss. I understood Father Daniel had accomplished excellent work at St. Joseph, yet these people act as thorough-going heathen. Although we are doing our best to help them, even to the extent of feeding them, they appear to regard us with gravest suspicion.”

“They may be cowed by fright,” Godfrey offered with a cheerfulness he did not feel.

“I should say there is something else, something sinister.”

“We will be able to judge better in the morning, Father. If you like, I will look into it on the morrow.”

“Do so, Captain, by all means.” Father Garnier withdrew to the camp for evening devotions.

Godfrey sat back against the bags of crushed corn and stared at the stars. Mosquitoes flitted about him but he was long immune to such annoyance. He had no conceit that Father Garnier was deceived by his evasions. Had the truth been told, the fearless priest would have insisted upon confronting Totiri, and the arendiwan, shrewd to take any advantage, would have tricked the hysterical people into accepting the truth of the charges. Not until the moon was high in the sky did Godfrey make a decision. He would leave the matter entirely to Arakoua and act the part of a disinterested observer. That such a course would probably merit the wholehearted condemnation of Father Garnier troubled him not at all. He was pitting guile against guile.

In the morning Father Garnier’s worst fears were confirmed. Less than a score of Indians attended mass. He stood sorrowfully eyeing the line drawing rations. “I know, now, that one of the sorcerers is at work. I must investigate.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Father, I should rather look into this myself. I know most of the clan personally.”

“Perhaps that would be the better way. I have my report to write and one or two things to look after.”

Godfrey left to seek out Thodatouan and Enons to discuss the day’s work. He had gone but a short distance when he saw the warriors gather in a semicircle before the two chiefs. In front was Totiri gesticulating frantically. As he threw both hands up to the heavens, an axeman stepped behind him. His arm flashed upward. Totiri’s magic would trouble no one again.

The speed of the trial and the execution astounded Godfrey. It was against all Huron usage. He knew that when a charge of witchcraft is made, evidence is heard by the village elders and the verdict long debated; and that the accused is neither notified of the charge made nor the decision reached. Only in execution did the trial of Totiri adhere to custom. Godfrey thought of these things and withdrew until a more convenient time to meet the chiefs.

He waited until men and women were scattering to the woods to fell saplings for the framework of their houses, or to rip bark from living trees to cover the framework; waited until he saw thin blades of fire licking the grass tops to clear the new site for building, then casually strolled to the shore. Thodatouan joined him and gravely watched the progress of the flames. He pointed to the centre of the meadow. “See, the red tongues dance where Totiri lay.”

Godfrey looked his surprise. The body had been removed so quickly he had not seen it done. “He is now weighted down with stones, under the pine trees,” Thodatouan continued. “He was an evil man and spoke with evil spirits.”

“Your words are true, O Chief,” Godfrey said formally. “His mouth was foul.”

“It did not matter, the evil spirits speaking against the ondaki or the men from Te Iatontarie, but when he permitted them to lie about our brother, Teanaosti, then we knew that Totiri was a witch, and we put him away quickly lest he cast an evil spell upon the new village.”

Thodatouan had spoken simply, as one would discuss a casual incident of life. Godfrey knew that behind his words was the greatest compliment one man could pay another. He reddened with pride and put out his hand. “I have no words to thank you for the honour done me, O Thodatouan. My heart swells and chokes my voice.”

The chief’s dark face lightened with gratification. “It is well, O Teanaosti; you are a warrior and I am a warrior, and we are of one mind.” He raised his head as Enons came toward them. “My work is done here. I now return to my people. My brother Annaotaka cannot say that I did not do my best for him.” He ceremoniously raised his hand in a farewell gesture and left.

“The ground is purified, even as the fire of the sun purifies the aronhia above us.” Enons thus dismissed Totiri and his affairs. “It is good for the new village to arise. You will mark the place of your house of magic.”

“It is good of you, O Enons, to give me this privilege. I must say in reply that I am a warrior, not an ondaki. If your heart says I may speak to Ouaracha, it will please me.”

“My heart is one with yours. We will build from the ramparts until we know Ouaracha’s mind.”

Godfrey acquiesced with a smile which barely creased his face. Enons had told him that defences would be raised. Whether ditch and breastwork would be strengthened by palisades he could not ask. He must wait and plan against erection of strong fortifications as he might. With these disturbing thoughts he came to Father Garnier, busy with quill and paper.

“Ah, Captain, I saw you speaking with the chief. You may know the cause of our troubles!”

“Yes, Father. It was the sorcerer Totiri.”

“An evil man.” He carefully placed a stone upon the written page and arose. “I must confront him at once.”

“Totiri was executed this morning.”

Father Garnier’s burning eyes darkened to the black smoke of a fresh fire. He stared at Godfrey as one tried beyond endurance. “I need not particularize upon what has been done, no matter how laudable the motive. A soul has gone to judgment unrepentent. I should have known of this, this trial. I might have saved him.”

“I did not know of it myself until the thing was done,” Godfrey answered shortly. “He was a thoroughly bad lot. He wanted you murdered.”

“My life is of no consequence,” Father Garnier answered stiffly. “It is God’s to dispose of, how He will.”

“There are the living to consider. Enons wants you to select the site of the church.”

“It is thoughtful of the chief to make this concession. I will do so at once.”

Godfrey smiled inwardly and moved to where Philip stood guard. The soldier drew himself to attention.

“I just can’t help thinking how clean the ground is, Captain, and how filthy it will be after the village is built.”

“The Hurons are not a clean people.” Godfrey mopped his face, for the full heat of the day had come. “Those alleys of theirs are filthy things. I don’t wonder pestilence comes upon them and carries off a third or more, every now and then.”

He gazed at the torpid Isiaragui in hostile silence. His thoughts flitted to Arakoua. He had not seen a trace of her since she had so effectively disposed of Totiri. Doubtless she was supervising the women working in the woods. He could not imagine one of her imperious spirit stooping to manual labour except under duress. With Annaotaka at Quebec there could be no compulsion. He dismissed thought of her in the discomfort of the moment and mopped his face again. “Deerskin may be excellent for wear and tear of the trail. It’s not designed for heat of the clearing.”

“No, sir, it’s not.” Philip was all but swaying on his feet. “I had a swim this morning. In that pool the Indians call aronto, or something.”

“Where the tree has backed up the water and is used as a bridge. I know the place, an excellent, secluded pool.” Godfrey nodded. “There is no need to keep guard, or wear that jerkin and cap. Get rid of them and stay in the shade of the cloth. You’ll be more comfortable. When Louis returns tell him the same.”

“Thank you, sir. Louis has gone to the forest to keep cool.”

The pool of the fallen tree was a friendly one in a sheltered nook. Cedars and black elms pressed together on its banks in neighbourly companionship, the one to form a sweet-smelling, verdant screen, the other to arch its branches high overhead in whispered confidences and cast queer shadow-dapples upon its placid surface. In springtime and through early June days, wildflowers bloomed by its waters in a profusion of blue, white and violet, and during the summer vines trailed aimlessly along its edge, dipping their leaves comfortingly in the cooling waters. From within their agreeable shelter the cricket sounded measured cadences. As Godfrey approached, he saw a scarlet tanager flitting in the high branches, scarlet tunic flashing as aerial fire in the shafts of the sunbeams. Lower in the trees bluebird mates teetered upon a stout twig and answered the blurred notes of the shimmering minstrel overhead with bursts of uncertain sentient song. It was as though one stood close to the benign Creator and sensed His presence in the peace and beauty of all things. The discomforts of the day dropped from Godfrey as the cloak is dropped from weary shoulders. With joyous heart he tossed his clothes upon a cedar bough and plunged into the pool. He was resting happily upon a floating log when the rustle of the bushes tensed him with its warning. A second later he groaned in anguish of spirit. Arakoua tripped out on the fallen tree trunk.

“Yes, my Guardian of the River, I knew that you would seek out the best pool for cooling, so I came here too.” She sat in the centre of the big bole, drew up her knees and clasped fingers about them.

Godfrey stifled a second groan. “You saw me come?”

“Your words are true. I left the slaves to labour by themselves and came to be with you.”

“So my eyes see,” he said bitterly. “You were not with Thodatouan this morning.”

“It is no place, even for the daughter of a great chief, when a death council is held. Totiri has gone past the Standing Rock.” She spoke with virtuous satisfaction.

“An accusation was made.” He drew himself further upon the log in eagerness to discuss the subject.

“You have great strength in bone and muscle, my Guardian of the River,” she said approvingly.

Godfrey followed the flight of a tanager to a branch above the tree-bridge. “See, the red bird is over your dark head and knows what’s in your mind. He says you think one thought and speak another.”

She laughed. “Totiri! He could kill all the ouimchtigouches, for me. When he made death magic for Teanaosti, he went too far. He bewitched the village.”

She rocked back and forth on the log, eyeing him judiciously. “I think, O Guardian of the River, you would look the great warrior that you are if your head were plucked as my father’s.”

He gaped at her. In his mind arose the grim visage of Annaotaka with stiff bristle of coarse hair rising in a black ridge. “You are truly a woman of two tongues,” he answered with difficulty. “I speak of Totiri and you talk of my hair.”

“It is good hair and you neglect it,” she said severely. “You could become the great war chief of all Ouendake if you were not a barbarian.”

Godfrey slid from the log to float back, shaking his head. “You were telling me of Totiri.”

“Oh, that liar!” she said impatiently. “I had Thodatouan close his mouth. Thodatouan’s eyes saw Totiri strewing thorns in your path. He is a warrior as you are a warrior.”

“And Enons?”

She shrugged contemptuously and glanced upward. “Voices spoke to him that and other things. See, the red bird is gone.” There was a finality in her voice that closed the subject.

Godfrey had heard enough to piece together some of the dark pattern of clan intrigue. Thodatouan and Arakoua had conspired to protect him and had forced the weaker Enons to do their bidding. He said slowly, “I thank you, O Sunbeam, you and the chief.”

She laughed vibrantly. “You are a man among men, my Guardian of the River. When you saw me last I was a wolf bitten by Hodenosaunee bitches and there were blood and welts on my skin. Am I not now more beautiful?” She stood full height upon the bole, arms upraised, fingers linked above her head.

“Damn!” he groaned. “She’s at it again.”

Slowly she paced the log, graceful as the wild thing that she was, the bronze of her skin splashed with sun dapples which made intricate lacy patterns of light and shade, and long, black hair, parted in a straight line from forehead to nape of neck, fell in two heavy braids to thighs. “See, my Guardian of the River, it is I, Arakoua, the sunbeam from the loins of Annaotaka; and my sons will be great chiefs and rulers of our people. You and I, we will rule Ouendake and our sons after us.”

Godfrey eyed the reflection of her in the pool, a sharp outline that stretched out toward him only to be lost in the mass of darker shadows. Arakoua, he reflected, spoke no idle words, for, no matter what the glory and authority of the man, in the primitive matriarchy of the Hurons, all titles and possessions were transmitted through the woman. “As our words would speak, you are a great noble,” he said lamely.

“Are those the only words you have for me, I who have been desired by many and given myself to none!” Her eyes glowed dangerously.

“What of Andouch, your beaver skin?”

“He was my beaver skin, a soft skin, warm to touch.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Your ondaki took him from my arms. Now he wears an arensa about his neck and he is mine no longer. My mouth said to him, ‘Come and we will enjoy each other,’ and he ran away clutching his string of beads. Your ondaki made him as cold as andeskara.”

“Why speak of ice on a day like this,” Godfrey mumbled, with difficulty, stifling a laugh at Arakoua’s candid recital of a new convert wearing a rosary to protect himself against her wiles. “And then there was—”

“He is gone, too,” she laughed. “He had only the form of a man. I kicked him away. There is only you, my Guardian of the River. Why is it your blood runs cold? Should I call you andeskara?”

“An icicle, eh?” he snickered. “I have overstayed my time. I must return to camp.”

“It is the river that has chilled your blood.” She dove from the fallen tree, as graceful as an otter.

Godfrey scrambled ashore. She watched him from the pool, as he rubbed himself dry and wrung out his shirt before pulling it over his head. No false sense of modesty sent him into the concealment of the bush to have his skin pinched and torn. He ignored her critical scrutiny of him but he could not close his ears to her words.

“I know now why you are as an icicle. Your skin is like an icicle when the sun strikes gold and red upon it. I am as your knife-hilt of bronze.” She leaned on the floating log, eyed her arm thoughtfully.

Godfrey methodically continued dressing.

“Yes, my Guardian of the River, you are a man among men. Your muscles, your sinews are those of a sire of men, and you are lean with the strength that is tireless on war path and hunt. I, Arakoua, can say to all that Teanaosti is truly a man of men.” She burst into a peal of laughter and ducked beneath the water. Godfrey made the best of his misadventure. With a smile and a wave of the hand he disappeared down the trail, her banter and laughter following him.