Hello! I've worked hard on this one! Here is a new chapter. Enjoy!
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Thank you Mium, , Ponnu_Samy_2279, Galan_05, AlexZero12, Elios_Kari, Bellnconnue, Ic2096, Daoistjuhlup, Ic2096, bepoed, A_Revolving_Door, paffnytij, Porthos10, Rafael_Fernandes_2952, and KanKarp for the power stones!
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When word of the matriarch's death began to spread throughout the Mohawk village, François could see just how deeply she was loved. Even someone who knew nothing about the culture of these people would have understood that this was not merely a family matter.
Had the matriarch not anticipated her departure, her death could very well have disrupted the balance of the clan as a whole.
The matriarch's body was washed and dressed in her finest clothes and most beautiful jewelry. She was then placed inside her clan's Wolf Clan longhouse for the day. Gifts, flowers, and offerings, particularly food, were placed around her.
A very important period for her soul was beginning.
For the Haudenosaunee, the soul remained in the world of the living for ten days, still too attached to its community and material possessions. Only after this period would it depart for the Spirit World.
At the same time, for the living, the period of mourning began, a time when those who had known the deceased openly expressed their grief.
Cries and sobs could therefore be heard throughout the village. The people also displayed their sorrow in other ways, mainly by untying their hair, blackening their faces, or wearing inferior, dark-colored clothing in a deliberately disheveled manner.
François removed his wig, let his hair loose, and completely opened his coat and waistcoat.
Onatah went further and cut her beautiful black hair. Tehonwaskaron and Rawenniyo did the same.
But Akwiratheka…
François's eyes widened when he saw him emerge from his longhouse.
Dressed like the humblest of men, his head shaved, he had cut his arms and legs repeatedly, making it look as though he had fought a bear with his bare hands. He was bleeding heavily, but did not seem to notice.
François had never heard of such a practice, as it was extremely rare.
He went to his sister and remained alone with her for many minutes. Then he withdrew into his longhouse and completely isolated himself, not even coming out to eat.
Later, Onatah told François that her father had fasted for three full days.
François did not witness this himself, as his leave was only for two days. He therefore left the village late in the afternoon to return to Fort Bourbon, before the matriarch was moved to the platform built by the chief and his two sons in the clearing outside the village.
Before leaving, he did not forget to offer Akwiratheka his condolences, as well as those of the colonel and the King.
Onatah did not return with him, which he naturally understood.
She remained in the village until the end of the ten-day period and also took part in the great commemorative feast marking the resumption of ordinary duties. During the meal, a place was reserved for the deceased.
In a way, it was her farewell meal. Onatah therefore could not miss it.
The meal was all the more important because people came from the surrounding villages, as far away as Canajoharie. When she returned, Onatah told François that more than four hundred people had gathered to pay their respects to the matriarch.
Then life resumed its course.
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The months passed in an almost suspicious calm in the French provinces, and October began. The fine weather gave way to gray skies, regular cold showers, and strong gusts of wind. Temperatures had also begun to fall.
But at Montrouge Manor, they barely noticed.
The love shared by the lord and lady of Montrouge warmed their home like a roaring fire in the hearth.
As the former matriarch had wished, François and Onatah had resumed their intimacy. At first, they had done so timidly, but now…
"Haaa…"
François's lips brushed against Onatah's neck, and a soft moan escaped her in the bedroom, illuminated only by a candle that had almost completely burned down. She closed her eyes and parted her lips as though about to say something.
François kissed her salty skin and continued exploring. But this was familiar territory. He knew every part of his wife's body, and he knew which places were particularly sensitive.
He moved to the side of her throat and followed the line of her jugular vein. Then he slowly descended toward her collarbone and left shoulder.
Onatah loved it when her husband kissed her there.
With one hand firmly clasped around his back, she ran her long, slender fingers through François's loose hair. She gathered several strands that still smelled pleasantly of soap.
François smiled and became more passionate.
Very gently, he nibbled at the beautiful Mohawk woman's shoulder. She did not protest. Quite the opposite.
"Oh, yes…"
For some strange reason, she loved it when he did that there, and on her neck as well. It made her feel like a meal, as though her husband were barely restraining himself from devouring her whole.
He returned to her lips, and Onatah kissed him fiercely, even nibbling at his lower lip. In her eyes, François was also like a delicious dessert, seemingly wanting nothing more than to be eaten.
Their breathing quickened, and their hearts beat in unison.
And after several minutes of teasing one another, the couple moved on to more serious matters. The bed creaked at a steady rhythm before suddenly speeding up, and genuine little cries of pleasure could be heard.
François, above his wife with his head nestled against her warm, damp neck, could no longer restrain himself, carried away by the desire he felt for her. Guided by Onatah, who was no more willing than he was to slow their pace, he moved against her with the same vigor as in their earliest days.
"Yes… Yes… Yes! Again! Don't hold back!"
He did not answer and continued his rhythmic movements, like a machine, focused entirely on every sensation. The pleasure was so intense that he could concentrate on nothing else.
François kissed her neck more deeply, hard enough that there was no doubt she would have a purple mark there before dawn.
"Haaaa..."
Onatah's fingernails dug into his skin, and François's body suddenly tensed.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
He remained perfectly still as a tremendous wave of relief washed over him, like a vast swell crashing over a seawall.
Onatah felt it, and her body reacted before she could do anything about it. She tensed at the same time.
"G-gu... Yes! Yes!"
Their two bodies, joined together almost as if they had become one, remained like that for a few seconds amid the tangled sheets. Then they both relaxed, overwhelmed by a deep sense of satisfaction.
"Haaa..."
François finally released the breath he had been holding and closed his eyes.
Only moments earlier, he had been completely awake, yet suddenly he felt sleepy. His body was so relaxed that he could almost have fallen asleep right there, in his wife's arms.
Onatah felt exactly the same way.
It had taken them a long time to find their way back to the relationship they had shared before. The bridges that had seemed to disappear after Angélique's death had finally been rebuilt.
Onatah placed a tender kiss on her husband's hair, which tickled her nose, and smiled. She felt so happy. And so relieved.
Eventually, almost reluctantly, they separated, and François moved back to his side of the bed. He did not bother getting dressed again and fell asleep almost immediately, a smile on his lips.
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The following morning, a little after eleven o'clock, as a torrential downpour battered Fort Bourbon and the surrounding region as though it meant to drown them all, the Iroquois chief Akwiratheka and three other chiefs appeared at its gates, asking to see Colonel de Montmorency-Laval.
The small group was invited inside and immediately escorted to the commander's office. The air was pleasantly warm thanks to a roaring fire burning in the hearth, and despite the poor light outside, the room was well lit by the numerous candles that had been lit.
Of them all, Akwiratheka was the most imposing, with the build of a bear. He was also wearing numerous pieces of jewelry that day, along with a thick French-made coat that had been given to the chief as a token of friendship and respect.
The colonel ignored the water and mud the men were leaving behind and invited them to sit near the fire.
"Gentlemen, what brings you here?"
Royaner Brant Canagaraduncka, whom François had briefly met during his interrogation at Canajoharie in 1769, stepped forward and spoke for several seconds in his own language, his deep voice carrying considerable authority.
The colonel did not understand a word, but he did not interrupt him. He let him speak, and only when he had finished did he turn toward his major.
"My colonel," François said, his expression serious, "these gentlemen are influential chiefs among the Mohawks. They have come today to ask us... to inform our authorities in Québec that they wish to send a delegation to Versailles to meet His Majesty."
The young colonel's face paled. He widened his eyes and looked from his major to the strangely dressed men standing before him.
"Y-you're sure you understood them correctly?" he stammered.
"My lord," François replied as politely as possible, "I am certain that I understood their request correctly."
Montmorency-Laval stared at the delegates and did his best to conceal his unease.
"H-hum. May I ask what prompted this… unexpected request?"
François translated the question and waited for the answer.
"They wish to strengthen the ties that bind us and intensify trade between us. That is what they say."
The colonel immediately understood the implication. The man was not telling him everything. But the Vicomte de Laval wisely refrained from questioning his major in front of their guests, for fear of insulting them.
He turned toward the four chiefs and bowed respectfully.
"Please tell them that we can certainly forward their request, but that we cannot guarantee that His Majesty will agree to receive them."
François obeyed, and the spokesman for the small group immediately replied, once again in his own language.
"What did he say?" the colonel asked.
"They are fully aware of that and expected no guarantees when they came here. All they ask is that their request be faithfully conveyed to Governor Vaudreuil."
"Very well. In that case, we should begin by drafting a formal letter."
He paused for a moment, looking at these men with their dark skin and, in some cases, tattooed faces.
"Suggest that I write it in front of them, so they may witness our goodwill. If they are not satisfied, or if they wish to add anything, they can let me know."
The chiefs nodded silently.
Akwiratheka, who spoke a little French, gave no indication of it and remained slightly behind the others, his arms folded across his chest.
Colonel de Montmorency-Laval took out a blank sheet of fine-quality paper and settled behind his desk. He dipped his quill into the inkwell.
With his brows furrowed, he began writing the customary formalities in his finest hand, knowing that the letter would be read by men far more important than himself.
The silence lasted for a long time, broken only by the crackling of the fire, the rain beating against the roofs and the parade ground, and the scratching of the quill across the paper.
The Iroquois chiefs and François barely moved, so still were they that they might have been turned to stone.
François discreetly exchanged a glance with Akwiratheka, but the latter remained beside his companions.
At last, the Vicomte de Laval raised his head.
"Very well. Translate this faithfully, Major, if you please: Excuse me for keeping you waiting. This is what I have written."
He paused briefly and took the paper in both hands.
"Fort Bourbon, this 19th day of October, 1771,
To His Excellency the Marquis de Vaudreuil,
Governor and Lieutenant General for the King in all New France,
at Quebec.
My Lord,
I have the honor of reporting to Your Excellency a request made to me today by Chief Brant Canagaraduncka and several of the principal men of the Mohawk nation.
Following several discussions held among the families and principal chiefs of their nation, they have expressed to me their desire to establish even closer relations with His Most Christian Majesty than those presently existing between their people and the French.
To this end, they wish for a delegation of their chiefs to travel to France, where they might be presented to His Majesty the King and personally express to him their attachment to the friendship that unites their two peoples.
They have informed me that the principal purpose of this undertaking would be to strengthen their ties with the French, to promote trade between their nations and His Majesty's settlements in America, and to seek means of increasing such exchanges in the future.
I have refrained from giving them any assurance as to the reception that His Majesty or his ministers might give to this proposal, limiting myself to explaining that such a matter could not be decided in these territories and that their intentions should be made known to Your Excellency.
I must nevertheless observe to Your Excellency that the disposition shown by these chiefs appeared to me sincere and deliberate. As far as I have been able to judge, this is not a resolution taken lightly, but rather a project to which they attach considerable importance.
The fidelity with which these nations have thus far maintained their relations with the French settlements, as well as the value their trade may hold for the colony, leads me to believe that it might be advantageous to examine this proposal with due attention.
I leave it, however, to Your Excellency to determine whether it would be appropriate to inform the Minister and request the necessary orders from the Court before I provide the interested parties with any definitive answer.
I shall conform exactly to whatever instructions Your Excellency may be pleased to send me.
I remain, with the deepest respect, My Lord, Your Excellency's most humble and most obedient servant,
Mathieu-Paul-Louis de Montmorency-Laval,
Colonel of the Régiment de Nouvelle-Aquitaine, Commandant of Fort Bourbon."
He raised his eyes from the letter and nervously waited for Major Boucher de Montrouge to finish translating.
Fortunately, the chiefs appeared reasonably satisfied.
The only alteration made to the letter was, at Chief Akwiratheka's request, the addition of a mention of his own wish to be part of the delegation.
That simple addition forced the colonel to rewrite the letter, which was sent to Quebec the following day.
***
November 1, 1771, was a gray day, though noticeably less humid than the days before. Only a fine drizzle was falling, barely visible, so that the city of Quebec seemed almost to be shrouded in an innocent mist.
That morning, as was his habit, the old governor was going through his correspondence.
Among the various letters arriving from all corners of New France, one caught his attention. Not because it looked any different from the others, but because it had come from a frontier fort where a certain young man whom he considered very promising was stationed.
He opened it and read through it quickly, an expression of surprise appearing on his face.
When he reached the end, he immediately read it again, this time with a serious expression.
Finally, he leaned back against the comfortable backrest of his favorite armchair and let his gaze wander into the grayness outside. From where he sat, he could see nothing but an uniformly gray sky and droplets lazily running down the windowpanes.
He remained motionless for a moment, lost in thought.
This was not the first time an Indigenous nation had expressed a desire to meet representatives of the King. Discussions and exchanges of gifts had always been part of the political life of the colony, but crossing the Atlantic to travel to Versailles was an entirely different matter.
Vaudreuil tore his gaze away from the window and returned his attention to the letter. The wording was cautious, and the requests mentioned in it seemed perfectly reasonable.
Perhaps a little too reasonable.
"Expanding trade," he muttered to himself. "That would benefit everyone… but do they really need to cross an ocean to accomplish that?"
He narrowed his eyes.
Thanks to his extensive experience, he could imagine a thousand different possibilities. He knew, in particular, that the Iroquois were ambitious, and it seemed unlikely that their sole objective was to increase trade with the French and strengthen their bonds of friendship.
His gaze then fell upon a second letter from Fort Bourbon, also addressed to him. The sender was the same.
Intrigued, he opened it and discovered its contents. His eyebrows furrowed as soon as he had read the first few lines.
In this letter, the young Colonel de Montmorency-Laval explained that after the departure of the Mohawk chiefs, he had taken the time to discuss the matter more freely with his major. François. He confirmed some of his own impressions: the commercial reasons officially given by the Mohawks were almost certainly sincere, but probably incomplete.
The colonel—though this was clearly François's opinion, as he knew these people far better than his superior officer did—believed that their true objective was broader. He suspected that they wanted to see with their own eyes what the leading men of France thought of their people and of the situation on this continent. Whether the French took their diplomatic relations seriously. Perhaps they even wanted to know what France's long-term intentions toward them were.
They might even wish to gain a better understanding of French power before making certain decisions concerning the future of their people.
The detail that attracted the governor's attention most was something the colonel and his major had noticed: the Mohawks had not asked for their delegation to officially represent the Haudenosaunee as a whole. There had been no clear mention of the Oneidas, Onondagas, Cayugas, Tuscaroras, or Senecas.
That was unusual.
But perhaps not so strange when he thought about it carefully.
Vaudreuil had always regarded the Iroquois Confederacy as a single political entity, but in reality it was far more complex. Much like France, or any European state, for that matter. Each nation retained its own interests while participating in a broader alliance.
"If this is an initiative taken by the Mohawks alone… it won't carry the same weight as an undertaking made on behalf of the entire Confederacy."
It was a tremendous opportunity, and although he showed none of it, Vaudreuil was actually quite enthusiastic. Versailles would have little reason to refuse, considering the many advantages involved.
The mere possibility of humiliating their traditional enemy a little further might be enough for His Majesty to agree to receive the delegation.
"The ideal would be for chiefs from every nation to travel to Versailles."
He could already imagine the reaction of the British and their king. They would certainly be alarmed by such a rapprochement, and furious that the Iroquois had chosen to go to Versailles rather than London.
"The other five Iroquois nations won't be pleased either if they aren't involved. That could be… problematic."
Vaudreuil rose and took a few steps across his spacious office, which was as quiet as a church outside service hours. A log cracked in the fireplace.
The silence stretched on, and eventually he made a decision.
"We need to buy some time. Just enough for the rest of the Confederacy to be informed of what is being planned. Or perhaps… we could contact them and ask whether they intend to send representatives of their own."
The old man returned to his desk and took out a sheet of writing paper. He quickly drafted a letter to Marshal de Contades, who was then in Halifax, informing him of the situation.
Vaudreuil then wrote a second letter, addressed to Montmorency-Laval, thanking him and commending him for the manner in which he had handled the matter. He asked him to convey a similarly cautious response, requesting additional information from the chiefs, particularly the list of representatives they intended to send and the gifts they planned to offer His Majesty.
Finally, he wrote a letter to a Seneca chief and warrior he knew, a highly respected man renowned for his keen sense of justice, named Sayenqueraghta.
He had not the slightest doubt that the man would react quickly to his letter.
After all, he had fought against France alongside his British friends more than once. He certainly would not pass up the opportunity to observe the heart of this nation.
In the end, however, it proved unnecessary, for the news reached him naturally.
At the beginning of the Canadian winter, when snow and frost had replaced the rain, five Iroquois chiefs, including Sayenqueraghta, traveled to Quebec and asked to meet with the French governor.
A move that escaped neither the Mohawks nor the other Indigenous nations.