The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [677]
Roger gave a faint groan.
“Oh, God,” he said. “What did they mean to do—assassinate Christopher Columbus?”
“Not quite,” I said. “He meant to arrive before 1600, he said. What happened then, do you know?”
“I dinna ken what happened then,” Jamie told me, rubbing a hand through his hair, “but I ken well enough what he thought he was doing. His plan was to go to the Iroquois League, and rouse them against the white settlers. He thought that there were few enough settlers then, that the Indians could easily wipe them out, if the Iroquois led the way.”
“Perhaps he was right,” Ian said softly. “I’ve heard the old people tell the stories. When the first of the O’seronni came, how they were welcomed, how they brought trade goods. A hundred years ago, the O’seronni were few—and the Kahnyen’kehaka were masters, leaders of the Nations. Aye, they could have done it—had they wished to.”
“Well, but he couldn’t possibly have stopped the Europeans,” Brianna objected. “There were just way too many. He didn’t mean to get the Mohawk to invade Europe, did he?”
A broad grin crossed Jamie’s face at the thought.
“I should have liked to see that,” he said. “The Mohawk would have given the Sassenachs something to think about. But no, alas”—he gave me a sardonic look—“our friend Robert Springer wasna quite so ambitious.”
What Otter-Tooth and his companions had had in mind was sufficiently ambitious, though—and perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . possible. Their intention was not to prevent white settlement altogether—they were, just barely, sane enough to realize the impossibility of that. What they intended was to put the Indians on their guard against the whites, to establish trade on their terms, to deal from a position of power.
“Instead of allowing them to settle in great numbers, they might keep the whites bottled up in small towns. Instead of allowing them to build fortifications, demand weapons from the start. Establish trade on their own terms. Keep them outnumbered, and outgunned—and force the Europeans to teach them the ways of metal.
“Prometheus redux,” I said, and Jaime snorted.
Roger shook his head, half-admiringly.
“It’s a crack-brained scheme,” he said, “but ye do have to admire their League nerve. It might just possibly have worked—if he could convince the Iroquois, and if they acted at the right time, before the balance of power shifted to the Europeans. It all went wrong, though, didn’t it? First he comes to the wrong time—much too late—and then he realizes none of his friends have made it with him.”
I saw goosebumps rise suddenly on Brianna’s arms, and caught the look she sent me—one of sudden understanding. She had abruptly imagined just how it might be, to arrive suddenly out of one’s own time . . . alone.
I gave her a small smile, and put my hand on Jamie’s arm. Absentmindedly, he put his own hand over mine, and squeezed it gently.
“Aye. He nearly despaired, as he says, when he realized that it had all gone wrong. He thought of going back—but he didna have a gemstone anymore, and this Raymond had said ye must have one, for protection.”
“He did find one eventually, though,” I said. Getting up, I reached to the top shelf and brought down the big raw opal, its inner fire flickering through the carved spiral on its surface.
“That is—I’m assuming there can’t have been multiple Indians named Otter-Tooth, associated with Snaketown.” Tewaktenyonh, an elderly Mohawk woman, and leader of the Council of Mothers, had given me the stone when we went to the village of Snaketown to rescue Roger from captivity. She had also told me the story of Otter-Tooth, and how he met his death—and I shivered, though it was warm in the room.
The big smooth stone felt warm in my hand, too; I rubbed a thumb gingerly over the spiral. The snake that eats its tail, he’d said.
“Aye. He doesna mention that, though.” Jamie sat back, running both hands through his loosened hair, then rubbing a hand over his face. “The story ends with him deciding that there’s no help for it; whatever year it may be—and he had no notion—and whether he was alone