“Please tell me again, why is there a dead Franciscan in my office?” said Legardeur.
“My apologies Legardeur de Saint Pierre, we had no other place to keep him to be examined by the physician,” said the lieutenant. He spoke haltingly in a half bow. “I assure you that he is being removed as we speak.”
“There had better not be a whiff of corpse in my office when I return from dinner,” said Legardeur.
The lieutenant regained his composure, bowed, turned, and left as quickly as he could without appearing hasty. “Hardly one of King Louis’ finest,” thought Legardeur.
The dead monk was the least of his worries now that Repentign had returned and translated the letter. After reading the document, it was, as he feared, a completely ridiculous proposal. “The so-called Governor of Virginia expects us, with our obviously superior position, to leave the Allegheny valley. English posturing at its finest,” he thought as he glared out of his temporary office window and across the courtyard.
The French already controlled the northern lakes and the southern delta, and next year, expected to control the Forks of the Ohio and all river traffic west. “We will take the Ohio country from the savages and block the English from further expansion,” thought Legardeur. “We will push the English east and throw the Protestants into the sea. And there isn’t anything they can do to stop it, especially not with this offensive letter from that idiot, Dinwiddie.”
So Legardeur did what any civilized Frenchman would do. He invited the English lackeys to dinner. He made sure to have his top officers attend so they could witness his rejecting this rubbish first hand. All this, while enjoying the best game this land had to offer — quail, duck, venison — and some of that maize the savages practically worshiped. With a generous portion of French wine, cheese, and bread of course. “At least the English lapdogs will get a good meal before they drag themselves back to Virginia with their tales between their legs,” he thought.
He heard a knock on the door, and a small, unimposing figure of a man walked into the room. One glance at the man’s simple attire and he was sure that it was one of the monk’s brothers. No doubt concerned about arrangements for the body. This shouldn’t take long, he thought as he motioned the monk to sit. “Welcome, brother.”
The lieutenant’s office was not as accommodating as the Legardeur’s, but it had comfortable chairs and a small area near the fire for conducting conversations. He sat opposite the monk and waited for him to make his inevitable plea for shipping the body back to France at the King’s expense.
“I have some concerns about brother Fillipe’s effects,” said the monk. “Some things are missing. Actually one in particular, and I wish to have the savages’ village searched for it.”
The Legardeur was shocked. Searching the entire village for a monk’s possessions was preposterous. “Franciscans don’t even own anything,” he thought.
“And what would the Franciscan order be searching for in a savage village?” he asked.
“The last journal of the monk, Legardeur,” he said. “It seems that he has a complete journal up to a week before his death. He had to have started another, but it was not among his possessions.”
“Catholic journals do not concern me, Father. Why should they be so important out here in the middle of the new world?”
“All I can reveal is that Brother Fillipe’s journals are very important to the Franciscan order. Enough to warrant a search,” said the monk. “I would handle it myself, had I the men and your resources, Legardeur.”
As a rule, monks were not very deft at persuasion. The fact that Peter tried to flatter the Legardeur did not impress him. But he saw no harm in allowing the search as long as it didn’t antagonize the Indians.
“I will arrange for a party to meet you at the gate tomorrow at 10 AM,” said Legardeur. I will give specific instructions on how I want the savages treated during the search. We cannot afford to make them feel uncomfortable. At least, not yet,” he thought.