Hello everybody! Here is a new chapter!
Enjoy!
Thank you for the support Microraptor, p_raj, Dekol347, George_Bush_2910, Shingle_Top, Mium, Porthos10, and First_Time_****!
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Adam brought a piece of stewed meat to his mouth with a trembling hand and nearly dropped it on himself as his hand shook.
He felt so constricted in his uniform that he thought he might burst like an overinflated balloon. His belt squeezed him, and every fiber of his body screamed at him to stop, warning him that this bite would be one too many.
The food wasn't bad—far from it—but the amount he had eaten was far too much. His stomach had been full for a long time.
C-come on, just a little more...
It wasn't the first time he had encouraged himself like this. Adam felt like he was self-hypnotizing, forcing himself to believe he had a bit more room to finish the bowl.
I... I don't even know how many bowls we're on anymore...
Slowly, his lips parted just enough for the piece of meat to enter this body that begged for mercy. Adam could no longer taste the flavors or feel the textures.
Like a machine, he opened his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
Oh...
A violent gag seized him, but fortunately, nothing came up. It would have been a huge humiliation, especially in front of Onatah, who silently encouraged him from her seat.
G-gulp!
He swallowed the piece of meat and looked at the two Mohawk warriors facing him. Both seemed fine, but a closer look revealed a few beads of sweat forming on Tayohseron's forehead.
He hid it well, but he was struggling too.
On the other hand, Akwiratheka seemed impatient. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he watched Adam and waited for him to finish so he could call for another serving.
"Can you hurry up, Frenchman? We don't have all day."
A sly grin spread across his lips. He radiated satisfaction.
"Or admit your defeat," he continued, his voice almost syrupy.
Adam shuddered and looked at the bottom of his small bowl. Not much was left, but it seemed enormous to him.
Those two pieces of meat, floating in the colorful sauce, looked like two mountains to be climbed one after the other.
Go... Go to hell!
"Maybe you need help? Want me to feed you like a child? You're so slow."
And you're too fast," the officer replied with a sly growl. "Do people tell you that often? I bet they do."
The chief frowned and turned to the matriarch, but she had fallen asleep. He wouldn't get a translation from her, so he looked to his apprentice, who shook her head, indicating she hadn't understood either.
Reluctantly, he glanced at his daughter, but she too signaled she didn't understand.
"Tch, whatever. Hey, little stomach, mind if I help myself while I wait? This has made me hungry."
Tayohseron and Adam stared at the Mohawk chief as he served himself another portion, even more generous than the last. They both wore the same horrified expression.
M-monster! He's a monster! Where does he put it all?!
Adam felt his motivation evaporate.
He glanced back at his bowl and closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment.
As if lifting the weight of the world, he picked up a piece of meat with a simple spoon and brought it to his mouth.
But his mouth rebelled and refused to open.
The piece of meat fell onto Adam's coat, leaving a rusty stain, and ended up on his breeches.
"..."
Everyone stared at him intensely, except for the matriarch, who was still peacefully breathing in her corner.
"I give up," he finally muttered in Iroquois.
Immediately, the chief burst into laughter, a great roar of joy! He stood and made strange gestures of victory.
Then he turned to his son, a fierce gleam in his eyes.
"It's between you and me now, son. Eat!"
Tayohseron paled and looked at the dish as if staring at a battlefield from which he would never return.
Feverishly, he served himself, determined to at least outlast his French brother. He knew he couldn't beat his father.
The chief sat back down, emptied his bowl in an instant, and turned to his son.In the end, after this bowl, Tayohseron had to surrender.
Meanwhile, Adam had shifted into a more bearable position. He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if awaiting a divine revelation, hands resting on his swollen belly.
It was terribly bad manners, but no one judged him—he had eaten enough for an army.
"Looks like the little Frenchman is dying," Akwiratheka chuckled. "Maybe he's thirsty?"
"I can't take anymore..."
"Weakling. Next time, don't overestimate yourself. You never stood a chance."
An Indian woman, apparently of lower status, cleared the dish and this time did not return with a fresh serving. The smell, however, lingered in the chief's longhouse.
"Well, let's get to the serious matters," Akwiratheka declared. "Why did you come to my village, Frenchman?"
Adam's mind awoke.
As he painfully straightened up, he managed to put some order into his thoughts. He had somewhat forgotten the reason for his presence, but it all came back to him immediately.
The matriarch also woke up—unless she had been pretending the whole time.
Let's be clever! Come on! No blunders!
"Chief, I have come today on behalf of my superior. As you surely know, Fort Bourbon was besieged by the British. If I am here, you understand, it is because this siege has been broken."
The matriarch immediately began to translate Adam's words in a hoarse and measured voice. The chief merely nodded in silence, showing no emotion.
"We knew you were besieged, but we could do nothing, as it would have meant taking sides in this war against our English friends. I heard the English came in great numbers this time. Driving them back is very impressive. Your commander is a brave man. Bréhant, isn't it?"
Adam nodded.
"Yes, Great Chief. Monsieur le Marquis de Bréhant defended this fort. However, we owe our victory to Monsieur le Marquis de Montcalm."
Akwiratheka raised an eyebrow upon hearing that name. It was well known among the Iroquois, and not in a favorable light.
"Montcalm is back in the region? I thought he was in Montreal…"
"You didn't know? He arrived at the crucial moment and prevented the fall of the fort. He crushed the redcoats in his path. Didn't your warriors tell you about the battle? I heard some were seen on the way to the fort as it was about to fall.
"..."
"It's a shame some of the enemy's high-ranking officers managed to escape before our reinforcements arrived. Regardless, it's a great victory!"
"Hmm, yes. Montcalm's reputation will only grow. And so?"
Adam took a deep breath.
"Our fort suffered significant damage, but it will soon be repaired thanks to everyone's efforts. What worries us is the shortage of food. After such a long siege, our supplies are nearly depleted. Monsieur de Montcalm has thus entrusted me with the mission of humbly asking for your help. Of course, we will pay you more generously than usual."
Akwiratheka listened to Adam's proposal through the old matriarch and remained silent for long minutes.
Adam felt a lump form in his throat. Had he been too direct? Or was it just the gargantuan meal he had eaten trying to escape?
Onatah, on her side, watched her father anxiously, secretly hoping he would agree to help the French.
She secretly hoped he would help the French. If the bonds between the Mohawks and the French were strengthened, her chances of staying by Adam/François's side would increase.
She knew his secret. Her brother, Tayohserons, had revealed his true identity to her, although he hadn't been able to go into details.
What a fascinating revelation! This handsome officer seemed cloaked in mystery—something surely unseen for generations! Those were the matriarch's words.
She had been warned, told that eventually, he would disappear forever to return to his time, but hadn't the Great Peacemaker chosen to stay? Had he not had many wives and an army of children?
That happy future—she had glimpsed its shadow during one of her lessons when the conversation had drifted to that charming young man. Since then, she could no longer—and would no longer—let him escape.
When the young woman had first questioned her aunt about what the future held, she seemed to indicate it would depend on Adam. He would have a decision to make.
Onatah had repeated her question but received the same answer.
She still hoped for a long and fulfilling life by his side. But if her father made the wrong decision, if Adam in turn made the wrong decision, what would become of her happiness? What would become of her dreams?
After all, the matriarch had not said that her shared future with Adam would depend solely on him.
He could very well make the wrong choice and get himself killed, which would lead to the same result: a dull and sad life.
What was certain was that as long as this war continued, the life of the man she had fallen in love with would be in danger.
"The French are hungry," Akwiratheka said, breaking the heavy silence as if it were glass, "and they wish to strengthen trade between our peoples. The fact that they are at war with our English friends should not concern us. Nothing forces us to ignore their pleas, just as nothing prevents us from providing food if our English friends ask for it, correct?"
The chief turned to the matriarch, whose furrowed brow resembled parched earth that had not seen a drop of rain in years.
She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"I don't think so, Great Chief. The neutrality treaty signed with Governor Vaudreuil forbids us from supporting their adversary militarily. Here, it's only a matter of trade. However, there is a line not to be crossed: we can help with food, but selling military equipment would be seen as interference."
This way of thinking was easily debatable, and there was no doubt their English brother William Johnson would have been outraged. He would have declared that any help would be seen as a form of interference. If they wanted to remain neutral, they should have turned a deaf ear.
The matriarch twisted the truth to the French's advantage, thinking that helping them now would benefit them later. They could receive lands and control over interesting trade routes.
Above all, she had immense faith in what Adam had revealed about the future. At no time had she detected the slightest hint of a lie in his unsettling words for her people.
Akwiratheka and the others listened attentively to the matriarch's explanation and were convinced.
The Mohawk chief agreed to the French request, though he specified they could only sell a reasonable amount to avoid endangering the ecosystem (though these were not his exact words, the idea was the same).
Finally, he addressed the thorny issue that had brought Adam to this remote wooded area.
"Matriarch, you confirm that he mentioned... Haudenosaunee warriors on the day of the battle?"
"Yes, that's what he said," firmly replied the old woman with closed eyes.
Akwiratheka's gaze hardened.
"Ask him if he is sure of himself?" the chief demanded coldly.
The matriarch obeyed and turned once more toward her "young" adopted brother as soon as she received a response.
"He says that the Marquis de Montcalm was adamant. His face does not lie, chief."
The great warrior frowned and clicked his tongue.
"But that dog Montcalm can lie! His word is worth nothing!"
The matriarch understood the chief's anger. Many of their own had perished because of that man.
"But what if it were true?" insisted the matriarch.
A deep silence fell over the group. Akwiratheka needed to think.
"Tell him we will handle this ourselves. You may inform him that there are many villages in the region and that some have remained very close to the English. We will start with those, especially the villages linked to the English through marriage."
Akwiratheka did not speak his name, as if hoping it was not true, but he was thinking of William Johnson, who had many Haudenosaunee wives.
The matriarch bowed slightly in a sign of respect and faithfully translated her adoptive brother's words.
But because of the subtle differences between their two languages, Adam had the impression that the idea of an independent action unauthorized by the Council was being subtly suggested.
He could not, however, insist any further.
The matter was settled, and Adam prepared to leave.
Just then, a warrior Adam recognized as the chief's eldest son entered the longhouse. For a brief moment, their eyes met.
It was difficult to read the emotions on those distinct faces. Adam thought—though he was not certain—he saw hostility, but he did not pay it much mind.
Kahionhes walked past him and approached his father to greet him.
Taking advantage of Akwiratheka's attention being diverted by his eldest son, Onatah slipped away and accompanied Adam to the edge of the village.
She had not improved her French during this encounter, but she had managed to admire Adam's features as much as she wanted. They were now etched into her memory, but she craved more.
Onatah did not dare cross a line and watched sadly as the Frenchman departed with his men, who had been forced to make do with their meager rations.
***
At the same time, Akwiratheka faced his eldest son. They looked so much alike physically that it was unsettling.
Kahionhes simply had fewer muscles and far less experience.
"Kahionhes, you have been away from the village for a long time. And without informing anyone. Are you going to tell me where you were and what you were doing?" asked the Iroquois chief in a glacial tone.
The young warrior lowered his head, adopting a respectful posture.
"I was serving our clan, great chief. I just returned from Albany."
Akwiratheka's glare stabbed at his son without a word. However, his expression and bulging veins made his anger clear.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"Serving the clan," he hissed through his teeth. "It is my right to decide what is good or not for the clan. You have not answered my question, Kahionhes. What were you doing?"
"I was observing," the Indian replied simply, holding his father's gaze while concealing his nervousness.
Akwiratheka raised an eyebrow, surprised by the bold response. He had expected his son to buckle under the pressure. But he saw no fear, no hesitation.
His eldest son remained upright, gaze unwavering.
"And what did you see?"
"Great chief, the English were forced to lift the siege of the fort held by the French, near the great river. They... They fled like rabbits, leaving behind their dead, their wounded, and all their equipment. Less than three thousand men returned to Albany when they had five thousand at the start of the siege. Many seem to have simply gotten lost."
A strange glimmer appeared in the chief's eyes, but it vanished as if it had never been there.
"Interesting. But that is not what I want to know."
Kahionhes felt a crushing weight settle on his shoulders. Despite all his muscles, he felt like nothing more than a child, as fragile as a twig in a giant's grasp.
"What I want to know," continued the great chief, emphasizing each word, "is if you were in Albany all this time... or with the English during the battle."
"I-I... I was there..."
"Speak clearly," the great chief growled. "Were you in Albany, or with the redcoats?"
"With the redcoats, but I did not fight."
"But you acted as a scout for them, didn't you?"
"F-father, I..."
"Didn't you?" Akwiratheka insisted, on the verge of standing.
The young warrior clenched his fists on his knees, now slick with sweat.
"Yes," Kahionhes admitted in a faint voice.
He closed his eyes and began to pray silently that his confession would not further inflame his father's anger. He knew how much he despised lies and half-truths.
He decided, then, to hide nothing.
"With others, we watched the roads to warn the English if danger arose. That's what we did, and it allowed many soldiers to flee the battlefield in time."
"Do you know that you were spotted? That's why this Frenchman came."
Kahionhes paled as he understood the implications.
"I... I didn't mean to cause you trouble, Father, or the village."
"Lucky for you, you didn't make the mistake of fighting alongside them. You didn't kill any Frenchmen, did you?"
"Yes! I mean, no! We didn't kill any Frenchmen!"
The great chief scrutinized him for a long time, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
"Good. Tell me who was with you."
"From our village, it was only me... and Rawenniyo."
At the mention of his third son's name, Akwiratheka froze, then changed color. A thick, purple vein appeared on his broad forehead, so swollen it looked about to burst.
"What?! You involved your brother?!"
"He insisted on coming!" protested Kahionhes. "I told him 'no' several times, but he threatened to tell you everything if I refused!"
Kahionhes's voice faltered at the end, realizing the full extent of his mistake.
"Is that all?"
"Yes... There were mostly brothers from the village of Canajohari. They were led by Thayendanegea."
Akwiratheka was not surprised. That boy was very close to the British and had a hot temper. He was also William Johnson's brother-in-law.