I was in a village on the Connecticut frontier, when your savages came
down upon us. No, I am wrong. They did nothing so manly as to come
down upon us boldly. They slid among us like foul vermin afraid of the
light. They achieved a notable victory, monsieur. I see that you
recognize their prowess, and that the feast you have prepared for them
is lavish. It was a noble battle. I regret you could not have seen
it. There were some hundreds of the Indians, and a scattering handful
of us. A quiet farming community, monsieur, that worked hard, supped
early, and slept the deep sleep of quiet living and sober minds. We
waked to find the scalping knives at our throats, and the death scream
of children in our ears. Look over the bags of scalps, and see the
number of women and old men that your braves had to overcome. You will
be proud of them, monsieur."
I clenched my hand, and wished myself elsewhere. "But our Hurons say
they were neutral," I defended.
He lifted his brows. "You prefer to give all the praise to the
Algonquins?" he asked smoothly. "I understand. Yes, I have heard that
the Algonquins stand even closer to you than your Hurons here. They
are more than brothers.
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