descended from the Norse or Welsh?
‘I thought you were besotted with Aurora,’ Magnus put in. I ignored him.
Aurora was watching our tableau from a distance, disapproving, and I enjoyed paying her back some discomfort. If I could provoke enough jealousy of Namida, maybe the British tease would be more willing to renew our intimacy. I was considering just how to organise my campaign when my gaze was noticed by Red Jacket and he snapped something to Cecil.
The Englishman came over to speak. Aurora was also watching, her look towards the girl malicious.
‘The squaw looks different than her race, doesn’t she?’ Cecil said.
‘I didn’t know Indians had that colouring.’
‘I’ve heard of it and seen it. Welsh, some say. Some Indian words sound Welsh.’
‘Or Norwegian,’ Magnus said.
The aristocrat’s brows rose. ‘Do you think so? Imagine if your distant ancestors came this way! I think I’m beginning to understand your enthusiasm, Magnus. Although if it were the Welsh that settled Namida’s country … well, that would make Louisiana British territory by first right, wouldn’t it?’
‘Or so confuse history that none would have rightful claim at all,’ I said.
‘Stay away from those squaws,’ Cecil warned. ‘I’ve heard the Mandan maidens are positively ethereal in their beauty, the most attractive women on the continent – but this pair is Red Jacket’s property. He has a temper. He might have eaten the liver of the man who wore that coat.’
‘He’s a cannibal?’
‘They all are, when they want to destroy their enemies and imbibe their strength. I’ve seen Indian braves devour hearts and their squaws fry the liver. But if it ever comes to that you’ll long to be eaten, because the pain that comes from the torture before is indescribable. Women like those two there will be the cruellest, and they’ll heat sticks in the fire and insert them in every orifice.’
I swallowed. ‘I’m only looking.’
‘Don’t even look. One does not quarrel with Red Jacket and survive. Just ignore them – unless you’ve already tired of my cousin.’
‘Lord Somerset, it is she who seems to have tired of me.’
‘I told you, patience. She favours few men with a hunt.’
‘And favours even fewer with anything else.’
He laughed and walked away, nodding to the Indian chief.
That night I bedded down by myself, tired of pursuing Aurora and tired of my companions commenting on it. I’m not averse to playing the fool when I think there’ll be sweet reward at the end, but there’s a limit to humiliation even for me. The game with Somerset had turned sour, and I decided to swear off women entirely.
Then there was a quiet footfall near my bedroll and a female whisper in the dark, in the French that dominated the fur trade.
‘
Then Namida crept away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We pushed on the next day, hugging the north shore. The lake was cold, the air crisp and flawless, the mountains a glittery granite. I’d thought the French to be tireless paddlers, but the Indians seemed even more so, impatient at our pauses to smoke. But then they, too, would drift alongside to beg twist tobacco to put in their pipes.
‘They’re just in a hurry to get to Grand Portage to drink,’ Pierre scoffed.
‘No, I think they can paddle longer than the great Pierre,’ Magnus teased him.
On and on we stroked across a vast blue universe, my arms and torso turning into twisted steel from this unrelenting labour, day after long summer day. Storms would pen us periodically, all of us dozing in camp as wind and rain lashed our tarps, and then the tempest would pass and we’d go on. At camp each night Namida kept her distance except for an occasional wary, pale-eyed glance, while Aurora was even more aloof now that Red Jacket accompanied our party. It was as if he was a wilderness duke who demanded propriety. She retreated alone to her tent and spoke nothing to the Indian women, nothing to me, and nothing to Red Jacket. Occasionally she sat alongside her cousin to have long, earnest conversations, gesturing towards all of us.
I, meanwhile, wondered if this Namida or her plainer friend, Little Frog, could shed any light on the Norwegian’s mysterious map, given that she came from the tribe and area that interested Jefferson.
My chance came on the fourth day after I first spied her bathing, when I was sitting apart from the others for a moment’s privacy and she came up to shyly offer some corn mixed with molasses. ‘I flavoured it with berries from the forest,’ she said in French.
‘Thank you.’ I ate with my fingers. ‘You come from the west?’
She cast her eyes down.
‘You are Mandan?’ I persisted.
‘Awaxawi, their cousins.’
‘Have you ever heard of Wales?’
She looked confused.
‘Why are your eyes blue?’
She shrugged. ‘They have always been blue.’ Suddenly she leant close to whisper. ‘Please. I can guide you.’
‘Really?’
‘Take me home and my people can help.’
‘You know what we’re looking for?’ Now that would be disconcerting!
‘Your giant’s ancestors left cave pictures of themselves. We have red-hair writing. Old writing on a magic stone. I can help.’
‘A stone?’ I was stunned. That sounded like the inscriptions I’d seen in the Orient! ‘What kind of writing?’
‘We don’t know. It is secret.’
‘Secret? Like a cipher?’
But Red Jacket snapped something at her and she hurriedly retreated.
The fact that she gave her corn mush treat to no other voyageur didn’t escape notice. ‘So now you have a serving wench, my friend,’ Pierre congratulated.
‘She thinks we could help get her back home. She claims her tribe has some kind of old writing. Somehow she surmised we’re going beyond Grand Portage to look for Magnus’s ancestors.’
‘All the camp knows that. Old writing? From where?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No matter. She’s Red Jacket’s now.’
‘I don’t see him treating her with any respect.’ I kept eating. The sweet-sour berries added some interesting flavour, and there was also a crunch of seeds. ‘She deserves better. I want to rescue her.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, then her spell is already working!’
‘What spell?’
Pierre pointed to my food. ‘Indian women are well-practised in love charms. The Ojibway swear by the seeds of the gromwell to capture the heart. Oh yes, American, she is bewitching you.’
‘She didn’t need seeds to do that.’ I grinned. ‘Have you watched her hips?’
‘Keep your head, or you’ll lose your hair to Red Jacket.’
I glanced over at the Indian, who indeed seemed to be eyeing my scalp. I made a face at him and he darkened and looked away. Aurora frowned too, which gave me even more satisfaction. That girl had her chance, didn’t she?
Maybe she’d come crawling to me at Grand Portage.
Except that now there was Namida.
As we paddled on, I spied a long, low island on the southern horizon.
‘Isle Royale,’ Pierre said. ‘Forty miles end to end, and dotted with curious pits. You can still see chunks of
