The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 40

Over the next few weeks, Brebeuf appeared distracted, no longer seeking to win souls for Christ. More withdrawn, he now steeled himself for what he believed was his ultimate end: Martyrdom.

"I must suffer as our Lord did...Why should my life be spared? I am not worthy to kiss the shoes of my Saviour...."

Thunder Cloud's death had most certainly unsettled the Jesuit which he made clear to anyone close enough to hear him or would listen.

The ominous cloud was so thick you could taste it.

Thunder Cloud's murder had the desired effect...only upon one.

Brebeuf.

****

Peter hadn't thought much of the small priest upon first meeting him. He wasn't much to look at and had a meek, mouse-like quality, preferring to work alongside the women. He was simply an extra mouth to feed, his presence was tolerated because Peter had given him as a present to his wife.

Because of Peter's love for his bride, he spared the man's life. However, as the months passed, the man in question gained their trust showing he genuinely cared for the tribe. Now, Peter was watching him become unhinged, his ramblings, just that - ramblings.

It was clear from the beginning that he was a weak man. A slim balding man of short stature who wasn't much to look at at all. Now, he moved around the camp with almost unseeing eyes rambling about death and suffering for Jesus. It might sound all well and good, but he was single-handedly draining their courage and resolve.

Peter was losing his respect for the man who had brought them the Gospel.

****

While clearly distracted, the French, and specifically Jesuits, made their way to the fort, setting up camp within the wooden walls.

One of the taller men, frowned, speaking with Peter.

"The white ones need to be returned. It is only right."

Peter cocked his brow, "What are you trying to say?"

"The white captives you have must be returned to their families. It is not right that they are kept as captives when they have families looking for them - missing them."

Peter shook his head no.

"Brown Sparrow no longer has a pale face husband. She has nothing to go back to..."

Was that a twinge of guilt? He hurried on.

"Dark Star, my wife, belongs here with me. There is no family that awaits her or the children."

The man with a thick accent frowned, hurrying to explain before he caused offense.

"I didn't intend to overstep..." He began tentatively, "However, I have first-hand knowledge of the tribes who are allies with the English..."

"Go on," Peter frowned, knowing exactly which tribes he was referring to.

Suddenly feeling incredibly awkward, Brebeuf swallowed in quick succession, causing his Adam's apple to bob up and down erratically.

"They scalp the captives and sell the scalps to the English..." His voice trailed off as he recalled the gory sight, "We must be different, following our Saviour's example. The pale ones must be returned."

Peter was tired of the conversation although thankful for the information on the rival tribes. Were they working for the English? It would seem…

"The pale faces you see here in my tribe have nowhere to go and no one waiting for them." Peter's dark eyes bored holes in the Frenchman's, causing the poor man to squirm. "They are home..."

****

"Why do you think we're going to die?" Brown Sparrow lowered her voice until it was just a whisper.

"You don't feel it?" Brebeuf looked at the young woman incredulously.

"No...not particularly," she answered honestly, glancing over at Falcon.

Truth be told, she felt hopeful, looking forward to building a life together...and expanding their family, she blushed softly. Brebeuf didn't seem to notice.

"No, we will die. I know it. We will die as martyrs for the sake of our faith." Frowning, he continued, "I will send word to Quebec...they must hear of Thunder Cloud's murder."

Dark Star nodded. It was more than a coincidence that they found Thunder Cloud's mutilated remains. She had hoped her husband would have discovered who the killers were, but there were no leads. The Iroquois were naturally suspected, but she had heard rumors that it looked like the work of the Wyandotte, only adding to the confusion.

Peter cast a sideways glance at Brebeuf as he stepped closer to the fire. Wyandotte men were trained from youth to be brave in the face of torture and death. In contrast, Brebeuf's constant whining about death was getting on his nerves.

Dark Star noticed the change in her husband's demeanor but didn't approach him. His scowl kept her at bay. Weighing her options, she chose not to interrupt him.

"Not everyone wishes to move into the fort," Strong Oak approached his chief.

A little off-topic it would appear, but Peter didn't acknowledge him.

Unfazed, he continued, "I speak not only for myself but..." Strong Oak halted for just a moment, "Many of us wish to continue as we have been. We do not feel that the building of a fort is necessary and that cross in the center of the fort is offensive to us. We will not accept this new religion."

Peter glanced up from the fire burning in the center of the longhouse. He knew he couldn't force his people to embrace his new God, however, if they were divided…

"Now is not the time for this discussion," Peter spoke, his voice showing there was no room for argument. "We move together as a tribe. It is my duty to protect our people and within the barricades of this fort, we will be safer than we have ever been."

"Are you saying you believe these pale faces have our best interests in mind? That they have built the fort for our benefit?"

Peter couldn't answer that question.

"I need to protect our tribe and now more than ever now that ThunderCloud has been killed..."

Strong Oak nodded before standing to his feet. They'd played their cards and lost. Killing Thunder Cloud had never been his plan, but that didn't make him feel any less guilty. Now they had nothing to show for it.

Chest squeezed painfully tight, Strong Oak strode out the door in the opposite direction of the fort.