Chuck's Books

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Telephone: 1-780-727-2989

The Isle of Demons by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One -- The Request

    The dark-haired girl shook her head sending her thick tresses flying.  Her green eyes sparkled merrily.  Her voice tinkled.  "Uncle, I'm so happy to see you again."
    The tall, robust man in the azure velour cape and the tall, black felt hat opened his arms wide in invitation.
    The girl flung herself into his arms, her arms entwining around his neck.  He folded her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head.  "My dear, how I've missed your sweet, smiling face.  I'm sorry that I couldn't be here in your sorrow, but I was thinking of you as your father was laid to rest."
    She stepped back and looked up into his face.  "I know you would have been here if you could."  Her voice was sober. She surveyed the man before her; at forty-one years old, her uncle, Jean-Francois de la Rocque, Sieur de Roberval, was a handsome man.  He looked like the courtier that he was.  His dark brown hair, neatly trimmed, curled in soft waves to the layered collar that enclosed his throat in a wide, white band.  His grey eyes flashed in his deeply tanned face while his narrow mustache wriggled in unison with his animated mouth.
    "Uncle, you look as if you've just come from the court."
     His eyes twinkled.  "I have.  I came as soon as I heard that your father died.  He and I had important business to discuss."
    She cocked her head.  "What was that?"  Her green eyes peered at him, searching his face.
    "It's in the will, my dear.  Your father was always interested in my activities.  He invested in the settlement that I plan to establish in the New World in Canada."
    "Oh, yes, I heard him talk about it many times.  That's the land that Jacques Cartier discovered, isn't it?"
    "Yes, it is, my dear.  At this moment he's there with five ships and about 400 settlers.  I'll join him as soon as possible.  It's too late this fall, so I'll be leaving in the spring...with three ships and 200 more settlers."
    "Oh, Uncle, that sounds exciting."
    "Oh, it is.  I hope this will lead to the Orient...to spices...or to gold, like the Spanish in their colonies...to other riches...and, of course, it's a great opportunity for glory...a chance to convert the inhabitants of the land to the true God.  My salvation will be assured."
     She moved toward a small, ornate table where two upholstered chairs stood on either side of it.  She waved her hands toward them.  "Uncle, you must join me for a glass of claret and some sweetmeats."
    He waited till she sat down, then he joined her.  She took a tiny, silver bell from a small tray and tinkled it daintily.  Its chime drifted through the room.
    A white-haired servant in dark livery glided into the room, approached her, and bowed at the waist slightly.  "You rang, Mademoiselle Marguerite?"
    "Please bring us some claret and some sweets."
    The servant left quietly as she turned back to her uncle.  "That will be the first French settlement in the New World?"
    "It will, my dear.  And I'm happy that our gracious King Francis has made me his viceroy and lieutenant-general.  It's a great honour."
    "Uncle, you've served him well in the wars.  It's only right that he should reward you so.  Where is this land of which you speak?"
    His eyes grew animated.  He smiled.  "It's far to the west, beyond the great fishing banks that our fishermen go to each year.  It's beyond the land where they dry their fish and replenish their water supply.  It's in the land of the strange people that Cartier brought to the king's court on his second voyage...the one he ended in 1535.  I'm sure your father spoke of these strange men that Cartier brought to court."
    "Oh... the Redskins, I think he called them."
    Roberval laughed.  "Yes, but they don't have red skin.  It's more brown than red.  They're Indians."
    "Will they let you settle in their country?"
    "I'm sure they will.  They're friendly with our fishermen.  They want to trade everything they have for our metal tools.  It seems that they don't have much metal...or metal tools.  But they don't have much to trade."
    "What do you mean, Uncle?"
    "The only thing they trade with us is furs--beaver skins, sealskins, wolf...and others."
    "What can we do with those furs?"
    "Our people use them for clothes.  Our hatters find the beaver fur the best kind for making felt hats.  But I'm sure there's gold in their lands...and other precious metals."
    "Why do you want to start a French settlement there?"
    "Look at what the Spanish have done in the south.  They've found gold...and silver...and sugar.  Our country needs settlements like that if we are to get wealth from that land.  And we'll start a new society...one that's perfect."
    She laughed, and her laughter rippled through the room.  "Uncle, how will you do that?"
    He looked at her carefully, studying her smiling face.  But he did not smile.  "My dear, if people live in a perfect society, they'll become perfect.  We'll live in harmony with each other as Our Lord wanted us to.  I'll be the commander of the colony; there'll be an enlightened aristocracy and the rest of the people will be treated fairly and honestly."
     "Where will all these perfect people come from?"
     He paused, then answered slowly.  "Many of my friends at court have joined me.  Many have come from the farms.  Many..."
    "Uncle, I've heard that most have come from the prisons."
    "Yes, that's true, Marguerite, but I've chosen them with care.  Most are poor debtors.  Their only crime is that they cannot pay their debts.  So I've given them a new chance.  Some are even nobles who have lost their lands and money."
    That was true, because she knew of a young man of her acquaintance from Amiens who was one of those unfortunates.  She remembered his handsome face.  His dark eyes flashed before her, and she recalled when they met.  That was a year ago when he and his family attended a party at the neighbouring castle.  His wit and smile had captivated her.  He was interested in her too, but a few weeks later she learned that he was thrown in jail because he could not pay his debts.  Last week she heard that he would be going with her uncle to the new land.
    "Uncle, do you think you could take me with you?  There's nothing for me here.  Now that father's gone, I'm alone.  You're my nearest relative, and I do have an interest in your project."  She looked at him through her eyelashes.  "Some of my money is invested in it."
    His eyebrows raised.  The idea had never entered his head.

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