Hello everyone! Here's a new chapter, but first, I have an announcement and a question:
1) Following a comment shortly after I posted my previous chapter, I revised the ending to make it more logical. If you haven't seen the change, I invite you to go back to the previous chapter and check it out.
2) A reader pointed out that, although the title of my novel is understandable, it isn't grammatically correct in English. Should I change it to "I Transmigrated into a French Soldier in the 18th Century"?
Thank you very much, and thank you A_Revolving_Door, AlexZero12, Black_Wolf_4935, Bellnconnue, paffnytij,bepoed, Porthos10, Mium, Galan05, Ic2096, Ponny_Samy_2279, Elios_Kari, Daoistjuhlup, KanKarp, Yako_3972 for your support!
Enjoy!
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On April 1, 1773, François entrusted his duties to his aide-major and set out for Quebec.
He made a brief detour to his estate to say goodbye to his family, particularly Pierre. Unable to give his son his encouragement on the day he entered college in Montreal, he gave them to him instead at the gates of the Montrouge manor.
His eyes red from crying, Pierre accepted them without trying to pretend he did not need them.
François took him in his arms and held him tightly for a long while, until he decided it was time to leave.
Saying goodbye to your family is so painful, he thought, holding back a tear.
He turned towards Onatah, who was holding little Marguerite in her arms. She was too young to fully understand what was happening.
Damn. I'm going to miss her first steps. Will she have started talking by then?
"Come home soon," Onatah said simply, keeping her emotions under control.
"Yes. I think I'll be back with the first snow."
She let a second pass before replying with dignity.
"And make sure my father doesn't bring shame upon us over there. You know his temperament."
François gave a faint smile.
"I think there will be enough of us to make sure that doesn't happen. I'm sure they've taken every possible precaution to ensure that everything goes smoothly. The other chiefs have no interest in seeing this meeting fail either."
The farewell was just as restrained as that. One might have thought François was merely going to fetch eggs from the neighbouring farm.
He left his estate beneath an overcast sky.
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The first week of April 1773 had been very wet, but for the past two days, the Saint Lawrence Valley had finally been enjoying pleasant weather. The air had grown noticeably warmer, and it had an immediate effect on the inhabitants.
It could be seen on their faces, in the way they spoke, and even in the way they moved.
The city of Quebec seemed to have fully awakened.
It was all the more bustling as the delegation's departure drew closer. It might not have numbered a hundred envoys, but the symbolic significance of its journey was considerable. Everyone had the impression that the colony was finally being taken seriously by Versailles, that its full importance had at last been understood.
These vast, still largely forested lands did not generate the same profits as the sugar islands or the trading posts in the East Indies, but their strategic position was far from negligible. The pressure exerted on British territories, although discreet in recent years, remained very real.
As François watched all the labourers and workers carrying enormous canvas bags and heavy crates, he thought back to the day the Picardie Regiment had left New France following the signing of the Treaty of London. In some respects, the atmosphere was similar.
Yet this time, it was not an army preparing to leave.
There would indeed be soldiers, naturally, but also interpreters and servants to accompany the representatives of the various nations, some of whom would be coming from very far away. Several had already arrived in Quebec, waiting for orders to embark with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
Major Boucher de Montrouge had not been given all the details. He simply knew that he was part of the expedition.
He also knew that the Haudenosaunee would be sending seven representatives, including two Mohawks: Akwiratheka and Brant Canagaraduncka. François estimated that there would be just under twenty of them in total.
When he arrived in the city, beneath a radiant sun that pleasantly warmed his face, he went directly to the fort and asked to see the governor.
He was not received immediately. The old Vaudreuil was particularly busy, but he was eventually able to grant François a few private moments. It must have been close to half past five, at that hour of the day when one was no longer quite sure whether to say good afternoon or good evening.
The door to the governor's study closed behind François almost without a sound, and the old man rose.
"François, my boy. You're here."
"Governor," the major replied respectfully, bowing.
A tired smile appeared on the face of the man dressed entirely in black. He approached with surprising briskness for a man of his age and placed a broad, wrinkled hand on the officer's shoulder.
"I'm glad to see you again. It's been a long time."
"New Year's," the major confirmed with a faint smile. "Thank you again for the honour you did us, sir, by inviting us. We shall never forget it."
"Oh, come now…"
Vaudreuil gently waved a hand, as though brushing away a fly.
"It was nothing. I wanted to receive you and give my godchildren a few little gifts. And I wanted to meet little Marguerite as well. By the way, how is she?"
"She is in perfect health, Your Excellency. She's growing well and laughs a great deal. She is definitely not an unhappy baby."
Vaudreuil burst out laughing.
"Ha! Good. Very good. Sit down."
He gestured towards an armchair placed opposite his desk, then walked around it and resumed his seat.
"Was the journey too arduous?"
"A little at first, but travelling by canoe is not uncomfortable."
François and the governor exchanged a few more pleasantries before turning to the real subject of their conversation.
"The city is certainly lively today," François observed, absently adjusting one sleeve of his officer's coat. "It's pleasant to see."
"Yes. And it's not over yet. We're still expecting more people."
François slowly nodded.
"How many people will there be in total?"
"Twenty-three, including six attendants and interpreters."
"Oh? I was expecting a few more…"
Vaudreuil folded his hands in front of him.
"It is not actually a small delegation. In fact, it is considerably larger than the one in 1725. At the time, there were only four chiefs and a woman who came from the Mississippi Valley. This meeting is being organized along similar lines, but on a different scale, given the size and composition of our delegation."
"I see. Then it should be remembered for a long time. I imagine everything is ready to receive them and make an impression."
The old administrator frowned slightly.
"If it isn't already, they still have two months—the duration of the voyage—to finalize the last details. Everyone wants this to be a success. Apparently, the British are watching very closely what is being prepared at Versailles."
François briefly looked surprised before realizing that, in truth, he had no reason to be.
"So they eventually found out…"
"It was inevitable," Vaudreuil calmly pointed out. "Rumours travel quickly, and it was hardly a state secret. From what I know, it didn't take long for word to reach King George's ears."
"Hmm. No doubt. I imagine he wasn't very pleased."
Vaudreuil snorted.
"Probably not."
François watched the cotton-like clouds swiftly drifting past the window before turning his attention back to the governor.
"So? How will it proceed? Will we remain at Versailles, or is there any plan to show them Paris?"
Vaudreuil froze for a fraction of a second, then pulled a document from a rather thick file.
"You will board the Sincère with the members of the delegation and sail for Brest alongside several other merchant vessels. The convoy will be escorted by the frigates La Boudeuse and L'Atalante."
"Brest… Very well."
"From there, the delegation will travel under heavy escort to Paris, where they will remain for about ten days. They will then be received by the government, particularly by our new Minister of the Marine, Monsieur de Sartine, by Monsieur de Choiseul, as well as by several people responsible for matters of trade. They will also have the opportunity to enjoy our hospitality, discover our cuisine and finest wines, and visit some of our manufactories, gardens, and royal establishments. They will have more than enough to keep them occupied during their stay."
François smiled as he thought back to his last stay in Paris.
"It certainly sounds that way. There is so much to see… Ten days might not be enough."
"Indeed. But that is not the main purpose of their stay in France. They will then travel to Versailles, where they will discover the Court and meet members of the royal family. They will have the opportunity to speak with His Majesty during an official audience. Naturally, everything will be carefully prepared and governed by a very strict protocol. They will then exchange gifts."
Vaudreuil paused briefly and took a sip of wine.
"However, the King will make no promises at that point. He will simply listen to their requests. The real discussions will take place later, during private meetings with a smaller number of representatives and witnesses. It is during these meetings that the various nations will be able to present their requests to His Majesty and defend their position."
He ran a finger along the document, which was covered in fine handwriting.
"This will continue until the end of August, after which they will follow the Court to Fontainebleau."
"Fontainebleau?"
François raised an eyebrow, then frowned.
A distant, hazy memory resurfaced.
That was so long ago…
Another life. Another name. Another face. A completely different era. Peaceful and predictable.
I went there once. To the Palace of Fontainebleau.
He saw himself again, young and foolish, getting off the bus that had brought him there with his class. He had been surrounded by his little group of friends, just as unruly as he had been at the time.
He had long since forgotten their faces.
All he remembered were the days they had spent hanging around certain parks or in downtown Lille, smoking cigarettes while criticizing the world, as well as their petty shoplifting in shopping centres.
A memory as mundane as it was useless, and yet it was still there.
"What are they going to do in Fontainebleau? Tourism?"
Vaudreuil raised an eyebrow.
"Pardon?"
François immediately caught himself.
"Nothing."
Vaudreuil studied the young major for a second, but did not dwell on the unfamiliar word. He continued his explanation.
"The members of the delegation will take part in various activities alongside the Court and the royal family. As in 1725, they are expected to be invited to participate in hunting parties."
François thought for a moment.
"That's a good idea. And I'm certain that, even though the forests of France are different from ours, they will manage to impress His Majesty and the Court. They are very skilled hunters."
"Hmm… Perhaps. But I'm almost certain they will prefer to hunt with their bows and arrows."
The major suppressed a laugh.
Then his expression became serious again.
"And the return? When is that expected to take place?"
"At the latest, the delegation will set sail again at the end of October to avoid difficulties along the way. The later they leave, the greater the risk of encountering a storm. If everything goes well, they should be back by the end of November."
Vaudreuil fell silent.
For several seconds, François stared at him with an intensely serious expression. His lips were pressed tightly together, and his eyes never left the governor's.
"Is there a problem, François?"
Vaudreuil tried to keep his tone neutral, but a slight tension in his voice betrayed him.
The major held his gaze.
"You tell me, Governor."
"…"
Vaudreuil remained silent.
And he understood.
François drew a deep breath. He was not yet certain what his children's godfather was hiding from him, but there was now no doubt that he had not told him everything.
"Sir, didn't you notice? Throughout your entire explanation, you have been speaking in the third person. As though none of this concerned me."
He paused, letting his words explode like a bomb thrown into the middle of the room.
The officer leaned slightly over the broad desk and folded his hands in front of him. His gaze grew more intense, but his voice remained controlled. He had not forgotten the considerable difference in rank between them.
"Please, Governor… be honest with me. What is really going on?"
For several seconds, Vaudreuil remained perfectly still.
Finally, he sighed.
"First of all," he said in a low voice, "you must understand that I am not supposed to tell you any of this. So, my boy, pretend to be surprised when you are officially informed of what I am about to tell you."
François slowly nodded.
"You will indeed be part of this journey… but only for the outward voyage. You will accompany the delegation as far as Paris, but you will not be with the Indigenous representatives at Versailles."
The major gradually tensed in his chair. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins.
He could guess the answer, but he asked the question anyway.
"Where would I be, then? Still in Paris?"
Vaudreuil did not look away.
"No. You will be in New York."
The study suddenly became as silent as a crypt. Even the beautiful pendulum clock at the back of the room seemed to fall silent.
"New York…" François repeated.
He lowered his eyes and stared at his hands.
"So… we no longer have any agents there."
Vaudreuil solemnly nodded.
"Indeed. At least, the last network we had—the one you established during your previous mission—has suddenly gone silent. We do not know what happened. For the past nine months, we have received so little information that it has become impossible for us to know what is really happening in that city."
He paused. His gaze settled on a portrait of Louis XV hanging on the wall.
"Versailles does not like this silence. His Majesty and his government need someone they can trust to report the situation to them accurately."
François raised his eyes.
"And they thought of me… Didn't they have a better candidate?"
"François, you spent three months there under a false identity. You know the city and some of its inhabitants. Above all, you managed not to arouse suspicion until the very end, and that is no small achievement."
The man dressed in black straightened slightly.
"You are not a professional spy, and I will not pretend otherwise, but you are one of the men best suited to this particular mission."
He hesitated for a moment, then added:
"And according to the message I received, His Majesty wanted it to be you."
François's eyes widened.
"He… wanted it to be me?"
He imagined the scene.
A study even more magnificent than this one. Gilded wood panelling. Massive chandeliers and a painted ceiling. Several highly influential men gathered around an imposing armchair occupied by the King of France.
The major allowed himself to imagine that the King of France had remembered his name, read his file with the utmost attention, and confidently spoken his name for this high-risk mission.
He shook his head.
Reality was probably very different.
But that did not prevent the idea from deeply unsettling François.
"François," Vaudreuil said, his expression serious, "these are orders from His Majesty. This time, it is not a request."
The major's fingers clenched until his knuckles turned white.
In other words, I have no choice…
He immediately thought of his family.
Then of the men he had met during his previous mission to New York.
François could not help feeling a slight pang in his chest when he thought that he himself had recruited every member of that network.
"How long has the second network been silent?" he finally asked.
"Since last summer. We waited, hoping the messages would resume, but it is now clear that there will be no more. So we have been practically blind to what has been happening in New York for nine months, and as you can imagine, we cannot afford to remain so. Especially at a time when things seem to be changing faster and faster."
"I understand."
He thought for a moment.
"But that also means the mission will be far more dangerous than the last one. The local authorities will be much more vigilant."
"Indeed," Vaudreuil said, reaching for a glass, filling it with wine, and sliding it toward François. "His Majesty knows what he is asking of you. Your advancement and your future will naturally be taken into consideration upon your return. The service you render will not be forgotten."
François looked at the wine in his glass without touching it.
"If I return."
Vaudreuil flinched. Perhaps he was imagining Onatah's and Akwiratheka's anger if, by some misfortune, the young man never returned.
"There is no reason for things to go badly this time. You are competent... and lucky. I have confidence in you. Of course, on our side, we will do everything in our power to ensure that you return quickly to the warmth of your home."
François remained motionless for a moment before taking the glass. He took a sip and let the alcohol, with its sweet notes, glide across his tongue.
"How long, exactly?"
The old governor pursed his lips.
"Three to four months. No longer. You will resume your old identity, since it worked perfectly and has not been compromised."
François set the glass down on the desk.
"And how does Versailles intend to get me into the British colonies without arousing suspicion? Besides... it has already been two and a half years since I left New York. Two and a half years of silence. That's a long time."
Vaudreuil shrugged slightly.
"I have not been informed of everything, to be perfectly honest."
His gaze briefly drifted toward the door of his study before returning to François. He lowered his voice even further.
"I imagine certain people have made sure that James Wood continued to exist during that time. A few letters, just enough to avoid giving the impression that a man named Wood had simply vanished... and to allow us to use him again if necessary."
François remained thoughtful.
"And then?"
"Once you reach Paris, you will receive your orders. From there, you will have to travel to the United Provinces and resume the identity of James Wood. It is far safer than traveling there directly by sea from Brest. I do not know where you will be instructed to go, but I have no doubt that by then, all your papers will be in order. You will probably receive all the information you need once you reach Paris."
The United Provinces? Hmm... A neutral state.
He nodded inwardly.
It's doable. Even simpler and safer than what I did the first time. But still...
"Sir, does Versailles really want me to travel to the United Provinces before making my way to the British colonies? Won't that cost us valuable time?"
"I admit that this plan is not without its flaws, and Versailles is aware of that as well. Even so, it is a cost we can accept. The most important thing is that you are not discovered before you even leave. The British probably already know that you are accompanying the delegation, but as soon as you arrive in France, their attention will be focused primarily on the representatives. They will be particularly interested in learning what will be said at Versailles."
François narrowed his eyes.
"If I understand correctly, in theory, they will not notice my disappearance, nor make the connection when James Wood reappears on the docks of New York. Is that it?"
Vaudreuil hesitated for a second.
"That's it."
François stared at the governor for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face.
"In theory."