Dream Catcher

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood … and I, I took the one less travelled by. ”
The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost1

Dream Catcher: A Fantasy2

by3

James Gagiikwe © 20054

5

__________________________________________________________________6

From the archives of the late Sir Richard Gould-Davies, MBE,
Professor of Roman History at the University of Manchester, UK.
_________________________________________________________________7

Dr. Charles Goudineau, Professor of Archaeology8

The Department of Anthropology9

Leacock Building, Room 17G10

855 Sherbrooke Street West11

Montreal, Quebec12

CANADA H3A 2T713

Dear Professor Goudineau,14

I am the retired chair of Roman History at the University of Manchester. 15

Dr. Christian Ouellette, Director of the Vienne Museum, was kind enough to supply your name when I made enquiries about future Gallo-Roman digs southeast of Vienne. I would like to bring a particular site to your attention, as, according to the locals and Dr. Ouellette, there does not appear to have been any excavations carried out there as yet.16

This past summer, while trekking along the Rhone Valley south of Vienne I spent several days in the vicinity of the petit hamlet of Le Bosquet du Gal. Interspersed among various walls and foundations in the village I observed remnants of Roman stonework. I assumed that these were salvaged from some local site. I discussed this with the local inhabitants. 17

On the small plateau above the houses, in the dense copse of trees after which the hamlet appears to be named, I came across some traces of what I believe to be a Gallo-Roman farmstead. I was also able to trace remnants of a water conduit. Some of the plateau is summer pasture, with an unimproved road running from the village through the hills to the Vienne-Grenoble motorway. The copse, approximately 5 acres, is much wilder and denser than the surrounding woodlands. Except for the Maquis during the war, and the occasional farmer seeking firewood or stray livestock, no one
seems to venture often into that thicket. 18

If you should ever organize a dig for this site I would very much appreciate being contacted.19

Thank you very much for your time and attention.20

Yours most humbly,21

Sir Richard Gould-Davies, MBE22

“The Oaks” 23

September 14, 197324

___________________________________________________________________25

Montreal, Canada26

197627

The phone in his office rang. “Good morning, Montréal Museum of Archaeology and History. Henri Dupointe here,” he answered.28

“Bon jour Henri,” the cheerful Frenchman’s voice came crackling through the international connection, “Christian Ouellette calling.” 29

“Christian, Hello! Good news I hope!”30

“Indeed. Your submission regarding Bosquet du Gal has been approved.”31

“Tremendous. Many thanks.”32

“I just received the authorization myself. I’ll airmail the particulars immediately.”33

“In that case I will begin making all the arrangements with the McGill University team. I’ll call you back when I’ve received your post.”34

“Very well. Goodbye, Henri.”35

“Goodbye Christian, and thank you.”36

The curator thumbed through his Rolodex, and dialled a number.37

“Professor Charles Goudineau? Henri Dupointe calling.”38

“Good afternoon Director. How are you?”39

“Just fine, thank you Charles. I am calling to inform you that the Montréal Museum of Archaeology and History, in cooperation with the Vienne Museum, has obtained permission for you to conduct an archaeological dig at Le Bosquet du Gal, Department du Rhone, starting this next season. I would like you to come to my office to discuss the conditions of the authorization. Can you meet me at 9am this Friday?”40

“I certainly can, Director. May I bring some students with me?”41

“Your field assistants?”42

“Yes.”43

“Fine. See you then. Goodbye.”44

“Goodbye Director.”45

The professor reached out, pounded on the flimsy office partition, and shouted for his graduate assistant. “Marie! Marie! Come in here quickly!” A muffled affirmative came back through the partition. Marie Letourneau was used to the head of Archaeology at McGill University not using the intercom.46

*47

Rhone Valley48

June, 197649

After two days’ orientation and discussions with Professor Christian Ouellette at the Vienne Museum, Professor Goudineau and his team took a bus to the petite hamlet of Le Bosquet du Gal, “the Grove of the Gaul”. A large pantechnicon followed them with the team’s equipment. Setting up in a field outside of the village took two days. Local residents wandered by from time to time to see these strange Canadians. Jean Duprey, defacto mayor of the hamlet, came by “officially” several times a day to see that their needs were met. Their ‘dig’ was on his farm. 50

Arrangements were made for the local Café to supply a daily lunch and an evening meal for the team. The Café owner, Duprey’s cousin, looked forward to earning a year’s income in a single summer! He hoped the team would spend several summers here. Duprey benefited also. He not only received a payment for use of his land, but the trees felled to open the site would be removed and milled for him at the university’s expense. 51

Marie Letourneau, PhD candidate and Goudineau’s graduate assistant at McGill, was a master of logistics, and a mildly bossy ‘big sister’ to the other two budding archaeologists, Master’s degree candidates Martin Gudreaux and James Campbell. Letourneau and Gudreaux were both from Montreal, Campbell from Windsor. All were meticulous in the field, and made a good core team around which the undergraduate students could coalesce. 52

Her mental check list ticked off items….Two work tents, three sleeping tents; one for Goudineau, one for the 6 male students, one for the 4 female students, a commons tent..…..Equipment to be stored in one of Duprey’s outbuildings…..Day two, check and double-check equipment….hire & brief 3 local workers…... Day three, begin actual survey of the plateau….53

****54

The whole team, professor/grad students/undergrads/local workmen, sat in the commons tent, nursing their coffee. “Today,” began Goudineau, “we will do a sweep of the woods. Each grad student has been assigned a local workman, and several undergrads as a permanent working party. See the list posted on the sitemap. Starting from the road we will move through the area to the old conduit, marking each item or area of interest with a stake. We will then alternate places, and sweep back over the area, marking anything missed. Then we will chart and measure the larger concentrations, and mark trees for removal. I hope we can complete this and the site clearing by the end of the week.”55

****56

Rhone River Valley57

Autumn - 357AD58

*59

Hearing noises ahead on the game trail, and catching the acrid scent of man, a doe bounds deeper into the forest. Behind her an injured man staggers half-blind through the underbrush, trips and falls into a gravel-bedded gully. Mind drifting, feverish and regressed in a childhood memory, he appeals for aid –60

Grandmother…………………………I am injured, Grandmother61

………….Medicine………….bad pain 62

*63

A brace of rabbits slung from his belt, Brutus moved back along the game trail towards the farm. “Brutus” was neither an ‘idiot’ nor a ‘brute’, but strong, observant, intelligent, and very quiet. Because of these qualities Mistress Cornelia had called him ‘Brutus’ in friendly jest since her childhood. His given name was Appius. Only he, of all the latifundia’s slaves, had the right to call her ‘Cornelia’ to her face. Now, after checking his traps in the deep woods in the mountains above the farmstead, he sensed unease in the forest. He guessed some large animal was moving about. He was wary.64

As he came to a minor junction in the paths the drone of insects and a noise in the undergrowth caught his attention. He saw that a trail of broken twigs and trampled undergrowth angled away from the Y-junction. He listened intently. Sniffing the air he smelled blood. There - low on a branch - blood - he reached out, touched, tasted – the coppery taste of human blood. Cautiously he followed the trampling into the undergrowth. More blood. The drone of flies was coming from a shallow gully. Looking down he saw a severely injured man barely covered in shredded and bloodstained garments.65

There was no evidence of a weapon by the body. He moved to the man. The stranger was delirious, eyes half open, lips mangled. To Brutus’ ears he was mumbling incomprehensibly. 66

Was he a Barbarian! …. Goth? … Allemanni? Brutus asked himself this knowing there had recently been a battle far north on the Rhine at Argentoratum. All of the Rhone Valley basked in relief at the Legion’s victory. But that was so far away. 67

Flies buzzed and maggots gorged. As Brutus began to examine him the man groaned at the touch but remained unconscious. Brutus estimated the wounds to be several days old, too recent, and Argentoratum to distant, for this man to have been involved. The man’s scalp had been torn, exposing the skull; the right earlobe only mangled tissue. His skin was peppered with gashes and abrasions from shoulder to feet, which were bare and bruised. Chunks of flesh had been gouged from his arm and thigh. Brutus tore the scraps of fabric away from the man’s torso and used them as a bandage to bind the scalp wound. 68

Lifting him like a sack, the farmstead’s overseer carried the butchered figure the two kilometres back to the farmstead. Nearing the rear farmyard gate he shouted “Mistress! Mistress!” Jogging into the courtyard he yelled again “Mistress, help!”, and next cried out for his wife, “Lucia, come quickly!” and then for his daughter, “Fabia, hurry!” 69

Winded from the exertion he laid the bloodied body on a pile of fresh straw by the stable and momentarily leaned against the wall. He was tossing the brace of rabbits toward the kitchen door as Fabia rushed out. Seeing the man’s horrible injuries she screamed once and froze. Cornelia and Lucia ignored her as they ran from the spinning-shed towards Brutus and the flayed man. “He lives,” Brutus commented between winded breaths.70

Cornelia made the sign of the Cross, dropped to her knees and began to examine the stranger. Compassion mixed with caution as she made her assessment. Rising, she commanded “Lucia, run to my father’s! Tell him we have a critically injured man, and would he please send us ‘the Greek’ immediately.” Lucia rushed through the house and down the road towards the villa in the valley.71

“Fabia!”…..Fabia, catatonic, did not respond. Cornelia faced the teenager. “Fabia!” She shook her. “Fabia, Go! Boil water! Bring clean cloths!” She clapped her hands in front of the teenager’s face. “Now Fabia!” The sound broke her stupefaction and she ran to carry out her mistress’s commands. 72

“Brutus, bring some unmixed wine to wash the wounds. We can move him to Justus’ bedroom after the Greek arrives.”73

“Do not kill the maggots, Cornelia, they will help cleanse the wounds,” he advised as he moved to do her bidding.74

“After you’ve brought the wine,” Cornelia ordered over her shoulder, “help Fabia bring the hot water.”75

Cornelia began praying as she pulled off the last remnants of the man’s bloodied clothing. “Lord Jesus, God our Healer, help us now to tend to this man as the Good Samaritan would. I ask that you preserve this man’s life. Give the Greek wisdom. Protect us from all harm. Amen”. 76

Brutus brought back a pitcher of wine, another of hot water, and a small bowl. He started to pick off some of the maggots and place them in the bowl. An apprehensive Fabia carried several old towels and a number of clean cloths. “Cleanse the head last of all,” Brutus advised, “it will require the most care.” 77

*78

The ten-year old grimaced as his grandmother daubed the gash on his knee with her astringent natural remedy. 79

““Ouch!.….. Nookimis? Why do you use the sap of stinging nettles?”80

“It heals the cut faster, my little fox. God gave us good medicines, in the woods, in the flowers. We should use them and be thankful. Now, go. Finish your chores in the orchard. Mishkoomis and your parents will be back soon.”81

“Yes…..Thank you Nookimis.”82

*83

The injured man actually looked worse after the caked blood was removed, the wounds more apparent, and deep bruising was revealed along his legs and ribs. Cornelia and Brutus removed the temporary bandage carefully, attempting to retain as much scalp as possible. Blood flowed freshly from the flayed area. A signet ring adorned his right hand. He wore two necklaces, one a small silver Cross, and the other with metal ornaments. “A Believer?” she questioned aloud. Carefully she put these possessions aside. 84

‘The Greek’ arrived from the villa within fifteen minutes, carrying some of his potions and ointments in a bag over his shoulder. Lucia arrived five minutes later, followed by a gaggle of women from the villa that had come to gawk at the injured stranger. Cornelia sent them into the farmhouse to prepare Justus’s bedroom.85

‘The Greek’, a slave trained as a physician, was Cornelius’ most prized possession. He often ‘rented’ him to other landowners to assist with births and injuries. Being also well versed in animal husbandry made him doubly valuable. He bent down, and listened to the victim’s shallow, rapid breathing. Then he examined the head wound, giving great attention to the exposed skull.86

Turning to Cornelia he said, “Mistress, this man may not live. He already has a fever. All I can do is sew him up, and give you some medicines and tonics to use. He will loose the earlobe, regardless. Only God and rest can cure him.”87

“And if he survives?” she asked.88

“Head wounds are difficult to judge. He may recover all his abilities, or he may not.” 89

“What caused the wounds? A battle? An animal? A beating?”90

The ‘Greek’ looked inquisitively at Brutus, who shrugged his answer. “These are not the marks of a bear or a boar. Perhaps a flagrum or a scorpion , he may be an escaped prisoner or soldier, but I cannot be sure.”91

“Let’s move him now.” Cornelia commanded. “You can work on him in Justus’ room.”92

*93

The maggots Brutus had set aside feasted that morning on the remaining dead tissue. Cornelia removed them once the wounds were cleansed. The Greek, with Cornelia and Lucia’s help, severed the shredded earlobe, cauterised it and several smaller wounds, and begin sewing. The scalp wound he left to last. “The maggots have prepared this well,” he observed as he examined the exposed section of cranium. Removing several small flakes of bone he told Cornelia, “He probably has a fractured skull…” he pulled some skin aside “….see where it is gouged? Whatever hit him did not chop, but scraped along. Otherwise he’d be dead, or paralysed. I won’t have to perform a trephining.”94

At the Greek’s suggestion, Cornelia put lavender in the room to freshen the air, and made a poultice of mouldy cheese and crushed juniper berries for the head wound. When finished, they clad him in a loincloth and covered him with a thin blanket.95

The ‘Greek’ had prepared soporifics for the patient. Mixed with wine, Cornelia administered it every time the man stirred toward consciousness. Over the following four days the stranger lingered in the twilight of a fevered semi-coma. Cornelia rarely left the bedside. 96

Brutus carried a divan to Justus’ bedroom for her to recline upon. She continually prayed. Several times, after she had administered the medication, he would yawn and mutter what sounded like gibberish to her. Daily she daubed her patient with a solution made from the juice of crushed laurel leaves and the oil of Chamomile. She had often used this to heal wounds and reduce inflammation on people and animals. As per the physician’s instructions, she renewed the cheese-mould poultice every two days. 97

*98

Her sister “Cornelia the Elder”, four years her senior, lived in Vienne near Cornelius’ magnificent town house, with Claudius, her wealthy wine merchant husband. “Cornelia the Younger” had married his younger brother, Tiberius, when she was sixteen. Her father had given them the smallholding on the plateau as a wedding gift, knowing that Cornelia the Younger loved it so. 99

Justus was four, and she twenty-two when Tiberius died of a fever upon his return from a trip to Rome. Never for a moment had she thought of giving up the management of the Upper Farm. She had always disliked Vienne. The pigs, sheep, goats, fields of wheat, an orchard, a late fruiting vineyard, the aqueduct, the forest and its firewood, herbs and animals. All these absorbed her and filled her with pleasure. In all these things she could honour God. 100

She was a good steward. She’s had had her pick of her father’s slaves, and had chosen her childhood minder, Appius – Brutus, and his wife Lucia, as the overseer. Fabia, their daughter, she mentored as her personal household slave. A goatherd and his family already lived at the far end of the plateau. Seasonal field workers came up from the villa as needed. Her husband had brought one manservant, sent back after Tiberius died. Cornelia, from the first, joined in manual tasks, as she always had at the villa. Making cloth, though tedious, was her special craft. She had all these things, and especially her faith in Christ Jesus, to fall back on when her husband died. Her grief was healthy, not debilitating.101

*102

Often delirious, the stranger muttered incomprehensibly. Once he awoke, momentarily clear-headed, looked straight at Cornelia, and said something in his strange language. The admiring look and the tone were unmistakable, and she blushed. After a draft of the soporific he went back to sleep. That night, as she sat next to his bed praying aloud, he used a scolding tone in a febrile conversation with some phantom of memory. 103

By the fourth day the fever began to abate.104

As the swelling in his face and scalp lowered, his features, though now permanently marred, became more identifiable. His irregular stubble beard could be shaved when the cuts healed some more. His head was long with high cheekbones; a strong chin, an aquiline nose, dark brown eyes and closely cut dark hair now becoming unkempt. He looked about her age. Underneath the wounds his muscles were taut, his skin tan all over, and his hands knew work. He was certainly not Gallo-Roman. He was unlike any of the Germans or Goths in the Legions she had seen. Nor of any of the foreign wine merchants she’d met in Vienne.105

On the fifth morning he stirred, slowly opened his eyes and spoke briefly in a sleepy voice. Falling back when he tried to sit up, he put his hand on his bandaged head and groaned. Then he smiled painfully at Cornelia and looked around the room. He raised his eyebrows in puzzlement and pain.106

Fabia brought some lentil soup, and a piece of bread dipped in honey. He ate ravenously, and motioning for more, held out the bowl. When he had finished two bowlfuls he rested, but was awake again by midday. That afternoon she brought him a new tunic she had made herself. Walking into the room, Cornelia found her patient sitting on the edge of the bed tangled in his coverlet. 107

Instinctively she made the sign of the Cross and thanked God aloud as she untangled him. The man watched her closely, knotting his brows. She helped him put on the tunic, and he smiled. Then, exhausted by the effort, he lay back down and was soon asleep again. 108

*109

Justus stayed down at the villa with his grandparents during the stranger’s early recuperation. Cornelia went to see him every few days, and reported the stranger’s progress to her father and the Greek. Surprisingly, the physical healing process had not been that long. The stranger’s wounds mended quickly, though he was still weak. The mental recuperation was slower. Bones knit, wounds heal. But the mind is another thing. The stranger seemed mildly depressed and very confused. And, even though it was clear that he was beginning to understand basic Latin phrases, he seldom spoke.110

The Greek came and observed his patient for half a day. “I have seen this with head wounds before, Mistress,” he told Cornelia. “Be patient, it may yet heal. Change his quarters; give him something to engage his mind. That may promote healing. And, make a rosehip infusion for him every day; but no more chamomiles.“ 111

In response to the Greek’s advice, Cornelia had Brutus add a bed, table and stool to the spare room in his overseer’s lodgings. Brutus carried him there. Cornelia, Fabia and Lucia followed with sundries. The patient brightened immediately at his new surroundings, and seemed pleased that he now had a room in Brutus’s ample cottage. 112

Justus too was pleased. He could have his own room back, and be nearer the subject of all the local gossip. This gave him additional status with the other children, as if being the grandson of the wealthy villa owner was not power enough. Cornelia soon observed this attitude, and scolded him severely, and Justus chose to sulk for several days. 113

Cornelia would sit for an hour each day between her chores and talk to the patient, her voice quiet and soothing. Once in a while she would quote the Gospel verses or Psalms that she had memorized. Her patient always listened intently when she did this, especially to the longer passages she knew, such as the Sermon on the Mount. He tried to respond sometimes, mixing broken Latin and his own language, resulting in mutual incomprehension. They both laughed at the language barrier. 114

The man was certainly a complex mystery. In watching his behaviour she had come to certain conclusions. Mainly, that he was intelligent, physically strong, and very observant. Ever watchful of people’s comings and goings, he never seemed threatening or shrouding malice. As his mouth healed he smiled more, and spoke gratefully in broken Latin for everything done for him by the Mistress and the slaves. 115

Cornelia was puzzled and intrigued by this stranger. His ring and necklaces indicated some sort of wealth or status; though slaves could have those as well as free men. She had returned these to him as soon as he was fully alert. He put them on with out comment. The silver ring was of great craftsmanship, she could plainly see, as was the silver Cross. The necklace, by comparison looked crude. She could make no sense of the inscriptions on the ornaments, though some looked to be in the Latin alphabet.116

Cornelia was breaking social conventions, she knew, by keeping this man at the farmstead; but was obeying the higher command to love her neighbour as herself. Hospitality came naturally to her. She took pleasure in serving others, for Christ’s sake, even though she was the ‘Mistress’ of the “Upper Farm”.117

The Bishop from Vienne came one Sunday, invited by Cornelius. After Mass at the villa he came and spoke to the patient in Latin and Greek; even tried a few phrases picked up from foreign wine merchants. The responses were uninformative. But as the Bishop began to pray and make the sign of the Cross over the stranger, the patient brightened. 118

Later, when they had moved out of earshot the Bishop said. “He is unresponsive to questions, yet his necklace and actions give some indication that he might be a Believer. Perhaps the wound to his head has damaged his memory?”119

“The Greek said it might be so,” agreed Cornelia.120

“You have observed him closely during his recovery. What is your opinion of him?”121

She reflected for a moment, then answered, “He carries an air of restrained authority. I have not seen him angry, as yet. He is observant. He listens politely, even if he may not comprehend. I haven’t felt any malice or insincerity. He is clearly ignorant of our culture, yet he has a bearing that speaks of learning and intelligence.”122

“You have been observant. What else?”123

“He watches and listens closely when I pray or recite Scripture. There is his necklace with the Cross. I have assumed that it has a Christian meaning. When he is strong enough to walk down to the villa and back I will bring him down to talk with you after Mass.”124

“Bless you for your gift of hospitality my daughter. May your charity rebound to God’s glory, and special grace to your household.”125

Leaning on Cornelia’s arm he started to walk out the door and away from the house. “It has been over a year since your husband died. I would be remiss not to remind you that for decency’s sake the Scriptures encourage younger widows to remarry.” He looked hopefully at her, “There are several good single men in the church at Vienne. I have mentioned them to your father.” 126

Cornelia did not respond immediately and they walked on in silence for a while. “I will think and pray on what you have said,” was all Cornelia would allow. It satisfied the elderly man’s pastoral concerns, and they turned back towards the villa.127

“I have talked with your father, and intend to send one of the deacons to instruct your patient. He will stay at the villa for a week.” 128

“That will be very helpful.”129

*130

Brutus would help the patient move outside every sunny day, to allow him to sit in the sun for warmth and healing. When he was strong enough Brutus or Cornelia would walk with him in the barnyard, or through the orchard, or over to the road and back. Once he accompanied her all the way to the cemetery to brush away leaves from her husband’s gravesite. Before they left he spoke softly in his own language. 131

Deacon Michael spent a week with the patient, reading passages of Scripture to him and instructing him intensively in Latin and Greek. “He is a quick learner,” he reported to Cornelia after three days of rigorous tutoring. “If it weren’t for his appalling pronunciation, I would have thought he already knew some Greek, he progresses so quickly. Not so in Latin. But I will work with him for three more days. That should enable him to communicate more effectively. I have tried to question him about his background, and about faith in Christ; but he pleads a loss of memory.”132

Eventually he could communicate sufficiently in the local Gallo-Roman dialect to attempt to answer their questions. “I do not remember” or “I do not know it in your language” were his standard responses to their every pressing question. “We call it amnesis”, said the Greek, when told of the stranger’s answers. “The injury to his head has made him forget much. Give him time, keep him active, and give him work to do. He may yet regain his memory.”133

The villa's household slaves, their children, and her son Justus came to visit the stranger often. She observed that he was especially good with the children. He seemed able to communicate most easily with them, and would join briefly in their play. He practiced his newly acquired Latin with them, and passed on a few words of his language. Soon his enthusiastic exclamation of “Gagatsuhnah!” echoed round the barnyard, and spread to the children at the villa; embellishing their laughter and the small victories of childhood play. She hoped it wasn’t a blasphemous word.134

*135

Brutus and Cornelia spent part of a day with him in the small forge and workshop, and under the house at the hypocaust. They gave him basic instructions of his responsibility to keep it clean, to sharpen axes, repair tools, and bring firewood for the kitchen, forge, and hypocaust. He did this without complaint, and effectively. He was especially gentle with the mule when hauling wood, and yet he managed to cart more than Brutus or the women had ever done. He worked in the vineyard when they did the final pruning for the season. Cornelia was grateful that he was sober and industrious. 136

His status was ambiguous, giving rise to some tensions. If he was a slave, then why treat him as a guest? If he was a guest, why treat him as a slave? But, as an obvious foreigner, who was most likely not a Roman citizen, as was Cornelia’s father, his rights were limited. But what kind of foreigner? Benighted traveller? Brigand? Mercenary? It was a quandary for them all. Especially for him.137

He did not openly question her right to give him orders, but he was never fawning, never deferential. He even called her ‘Cornelia’ to her face, innocently, without any sign of defiance. “Confident” and “quietly assertive” were words she thought fit his manner. Indeed, he appeared as comfortable giving orders as in taking them. On one occasion, even knowing Brutus to be the Overseer, he gave him instructions on the repair of an outbuilding. And, on another occasion he ordered Cornelia to cease lifting a basket that was obviously too heavy for her. He then helped her carry it. He gave orders simply, without arrogance or abuse, never giving any indication that he might not be entitled to do so. 138

On day Cornelia could not find him at his regular tasks. Eventually she located him in the orchard. He had taken a shovel and a hoe, and was clearing the weeds and grass away from each of the 16 apple trees. She watched from a distance, fascinated at his absorption with the gardening; blessed by his returning strength. Cornelia observed that he was relaxed, and, if possible, more conscientious here than elsewhere. Does the orchard have some personal meaning to him? She heard him singing.139

It was melodious, but very different from the singing she was used to. He had a good voice, even though she understood not a word. She watched and listened for quite some time. The man stood at last, acknowledged Cornelia’s presence in his best Latin, “Greetings Cornelia. May the Lord Jesus richly bless you today.” 140

Self-consciously she smiled, and thanked him. To mask her awkwardness she asked, “How is it that you have remembered songs? Can you translate them?”141

“I was not really aware that I was singing,” he laughed, and thought for a while. “They are songs of worship to God our Father, and simply rose up in my heart as I worked. Working with the orchard gives me pleasure, so I sing.”142

She waved her arms around at the work he had completed “The person who cares for an orchard is called Hortius in Latin. May I call you Hortius? Hortius because you care for the orchard, and work well with the vines.” 143

With a small tilt of his head, he said slowly “…..my grandmother…called me…..her ‘little fox’” He paused, wanting to remember more. Finally he shrugged and smiled regretfully. “That is all I remember.”144

“Then you shall be ‘Hortius Vulpis Minor’,” she insisted. “May God bless the work of your hands………but do not eat sour grapes,” she chided in an accidental simile.145

“I am not Aesop!” he teased back. “Though we would all have been better off if Eve had been offered sour grapes instead of the apple,” he said with his lopsided grin. 146

She laughed at his wit, then. Later she pondered over his easy mixture of quotations.147

*148

During his convalescence he had been called many things: mostly ‘barbarian’, even ‘scar face’ – by the crones at the villa. So “Hortius” he willingly became, earning the christening by absorbing himself in pruning, weeding, aerating and mulching, along with his regular duties. He rebuilt the orchard’s irrigation ditches, and fenced off a small area where the pigs could feed without damaging the orchard. With winter approaching, he could do no more. Often, after working in the orchard, he would stand at the lip of the slope and look down at the valley floor and the river. Cornelia observed that at these times he was pensive, brooding, his mind somewhere in the distance. She longed to interrupt his reflections, but dared not.149

*150

Now that he could walk well, Cornelia fulfilled her promise to the Bishop, and took Hortius to the villa. Her father had turned one room into a chapel, complete with a mosaic of the ‘Lamb of God’ in the centre of the floor. Hortius was stared at openly, for his scarred face and the streaks of pure white hair that highlighted the scars in his scalp. He sat outside the chapel with Brutus, who reported to Cornelia that he had made an attempt to follow the liturgy. 151

After the service the Bishop took him aside with Cornelius for questioning. In response to the Bishop’s questions Hortius could only answer, “I do not know”, or “I do not remember.” But when asked about his Cross, Hortius answered immediately. “It is the symbol of the death and Resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. We can be forgiven only on the basis of what Jesus suffered for us on the Cross.” Later the Bishop spoke to Cornelia and her father at length about this. She added it to her catalogue of private observations. 152

*153

In the winter months Hortius accompanied Brutus on his hunting and trapping in the mountains above the farmstead. He was quiet, patient, and could set a snare and follow a spoor, and knew to stay down-wind. Brutus was pleased at the man’s inherent woodcraft. “Who taught you hunting?” asked Brutus as they were skinning rabbits outside the kitchen one morning.154

“My Mishkoomis,” he responded without hesitation.155

“Who?”156

“Mishkoomis……” Hortius answered reflectively, searching for vocabulary….. “Father of my mother.”157

To his surprise, one day Brutus found Hortius fletching arrows in the small joinery. Beside him were two bows strung with sinew, and hand-forged points for the shafts. “For hunting” was Hortius’ explanation. Brutus watched in rapt attention as Hortius worked deftly in silent absorption. He was a craftsman, Brutus saw. 158

“I have no skill with the bow,” Brutus said at last.159

“I will teach you, Brutus. These arrows are easy to use for small game. It simply calls for patience, which you have. You must wound the animal in the leg or shoulder, then track them till they are exhausted.”160

“Were did you learn this?” asked Brutus.161

“Mishkoomis”162

*163

Deep in winter a rumour spread down the valley from Vienne; bands of brigands were in the hills. Several farms had been raided for food, clothes, and women.164

One dawn, while out hunting deer, Brutus and Hortius found boot prints in the snow. 165

Speaking in whispers - 166

“Six men?” querried Brutus.167

“Six, yes. Last night. They are paralleling the wagon path from the Upper Farm.”168

“Do you smell smoke?’169

“Yes. It comes from the next ravine.”170

Quietly, they moved to a vantage point along a ridgeline and hid behind rocks. Below, amidst the trees lay the rough camp of a small contingent of men. As the hunters watched, the camp began to stir to life. In addition to the one who was tending the morning fire, nine others eventually emerged from the snow-covered brush-and-mud shelters scattered among the trees. The hunters watched for a quarter hour, then moved stealthily back to the game trail.171

“I counted ten."172

“Yes. I saw three short swords, and each carries a knife. I am sure these are the brigands we’ve heard about.”173

“We cannot let them raid the farm or the villa. 174

“I will stay and watch them. You go to the villa for some men who can fight. We must drive them from these woods.”175

“Yes,” agreed Brutus, without questioning the younger man’s authority.176

Brutus moved away quietly. Hortius went to find a position to the east within bowshot where he could observe unseen. From his vantage point he could hear snatches of laughter and jesting, and the general activity of the ten men around the camp. He saw who gave orders, who obeyed - and who complained.177

An hour had passed when Brutus, the goatherd, and three men from the villa emerged from the woods above the camp. Brutus brandished his small bow. The others were each armed with a sickle or a large knife. The brigands screamed defiance and brandished their weapons. Then, laughing at the smaller force opposing them, they waited for the anticipated rush of Brutus and his companions. 178

Suddenly the brigand leader collapsed, screaming, with an arrow embedded in the crux of his right knee. In quick succession Hortius loosed three more arrows, each of which pierced someone’s sword arm, or a thigh. The odds equalled, Brutus and his men rushed down the slope. Six brigands ran. Two runners fell to Hortius’ arrows, one hamstrung, the other through the neck. The wounded perished. Four brigands escaped.179

A search of the camp revealed two female captives, raped and brutalised. While Hortius cared for the women, Brutus and his men plundered and burned the camp. Then they took the women back to the villa to be cared for by the Greek, and eventual return to their homes.180

*181

One sunny winter’s day, after returning from the villa, Cornelia called Hortius into the house. “My father sent us this vellum. The Bishop in Vienne has lent it to him. It is very precious, more precious than our lives. It is in Greek, so that you can practice your reading.” She began to read, slowly and awkwardly from the Gospel According to Saint Luke. After a few lines, Hortius leaned over her shoulder, and took up the reading for her. His pronunciation was clear, but with a strong accent.182

She smiled and asked shrewdly, “Did you know Greek before Deacon Michael tutored you?”183

“I did not know how to converse in Greek, but I remember having read this Gospel before,” Hortius answered frankly. “I do not understand all the Greek words, but I can pronounce them. ……I think….…my father….…taught me.”184

Cornelia turned and gazed thoughtfully at him. “Your memory is returning?”185

He smiled regretfully. “Some things have, yes.”186

“Who are you?” she asked boldly.187

Hortius reached out and gently touched Cornelia’s hand. “I am grateful to you. I will not burden you with my life before Brutus found me. I am your friend. Is that not enough? Please do not ask again……”188

“Are you a runaway slave?” She asked anxiously.189

He laughed unapologetically “I have never been any man’s slave.” More soberly he said, “though I am a servant to Christ Jesus.”190

After this conversation, Cornelia went immediately to the villa to speak with her father.191

*192

The next time the Bishop visited, Cornelius took Hortius and the Bishop aside and led them into his private library. Cornelia was impatient and concerned, for her father had not mentioned his intentions to her. An hour later the three men emerged. Gathering his family and household servants into the atrium, Cornelius stated. “The Bishop has an announcement.”193

*194

In the springtime the orchard flourished. 195

* * * *196

Rhone Valley197

June, 1976198

Within nine days the site preparation had been completed. Two tents had been erected as close to the dig as possible for the cleaning and cataloguing of artefacts. After they had begun two test trenches, the team were certain that they had indeed found the remains of a Gallo-Roman farmstead. 199

One trench started outside the west-facing foundations and would eventually intersect the second to form a T-junction inside what they judged to be the main building. The second trench cut across the interior to form the top of the T. The first layers provided the expected modern detritus: a few cartridge casings from WWII, two vin-ordinaire bottles, the stub of a melted candle, a brass button from the Napoleonic era, a broken meerschaum pipe bowl. And, at the bottom edge of the “modern” layer, very small bits of broken mosaic tile.200

The tiles fascinated Campbell, and he wanted to fossick off at an angle to the trench to follow the vein of fragments. He was vetoed by the discipline of the others. His enthusiasm thwarted, he spent his lunch breaks wandering around unpegged areas, hoping to find something challenging, and ego-enhancing. Hunger got the better of him after three missed lunches, and he took two days off from his private fossicking, then started again. 201

“Professor?” Campbell enquired as he entered the cataloguing tent one evening. 202

“Yes?” Goudineau said, not looking up from a fragment of hypocaust he was inspecting. “What is it Jim?”203

“I found a multiple gravesite…… possibly a whole cemetery.” 204

*205

Situated outside their original survey area, ‘Forest Lawn’, as they soon began to call it after the famous Hollywood cemetery, was on the south side of the former aqueduct’s course. Only one short length of carved concretion had been visible above the soil, among the scrub and trees. It had been enough to motivate Campbell to spend several lunch breaks pulling weeds, carting away fallen branches, and generally cleaning up the site. His modest efforts uncovered the tops of several gravestones. After viewing Campbell’s find Goudineau approved one undergraduate to help Jim clear the rest of the site for serious work. In the meantime the trenches went ahead.206

*207

“Tomorrow,” Goudineau eventually announced to the assembled team, “we will cover the trenches for a few days, and open 'Forest Lawn'."208

*209

Professor Goudineau was a man of procedures, and protocols. He had three goals at every dig, and the standard operating procedures to suit: accurately catalogue all finds, correctly assess all artefacts, and train his students in his methodologies. He supervised, observed and used the Socratic method. Marie coordinated; the grad students did initial assessments; and the undergrads watched and saved their questions for their nightly debriefing session with the professor.210

Campbell was as nervous as an expectant father. He had uncovered 11 gravesites in all. Five of the plots were arranged east/west, and were made of dressed stone. Their headstones, or memorial walls, contained epitaphs in various states of preservation. The best, which appeared to contain three individual burials, was to be opened first. 211

As with most Latin gravestones this one had many abbreviations. No ‘formal’ transcription had been made of the memorial, though all the students had each had a go with varying results. So they bet each other C$20 as to who would be the closest to the professor’s translation. Goudineau brought a campstool and a note pad. “Make sure all the letters are cleaned off more thoroughly, Jim.” Campbell took a fine brush, and began brushing the tool marks clean - for the fifth time. 212

The professor simply waited, and waited. The grad students knew why, but not the village workers and undergrads. “He’s waiting for the sun to hit the stone at just the right angle,” his graduate assistant told them. “That will make the obscure letters more visible.”213

Finally, Goudineau began writing and drawing. Finally he told the team to take several rubbings, and the usual set of photographs. While they did this, he wrote out the translation on another sheet of notepaper. Finally, the professor lifted his Montreal Expos baseball cap and scratched his head, an unconscious signal that he had reached a conclusion.214

“The engraving is somewhat unskilled, with the lettering suggesting a fourth or fifth century dating. We will clarify that in the lab. The inscriptions, the doves in the upper corners, the inhumation with stone, and the east-west alignment all suggest an active Christian community here.”215

“The top two lines read:”216

{JUSTUS MADE THIS IN HONOUR OF HIS FAMILY AND TO THE GLORY OF CHRIST OUR SAVIOUR}217

“You will notice that the next lines are spaced into three sections, roughly in line above the individual graves. From right to left I read it as:”218

{Tiberius Germanicus. Beloved Husband of Cornelia the Younger. Father of Justus} 219

“This suggests to me that husband Tiberius was of Germanic origins, Most likely from those tribes officially allowed to live west of the Rhine.”220

{Cornelia Allobrogia the Younger, Daughter of Cornelius Allobrogius} 221

“Allobrogius, from the name of a Gaulish tribe, this suggests to me that Cornelius the father was a local nobleman of Celtic origins.” 222

{Widow of Tiberius Germanicus. Mother of Justus. Mistress of the Upper Farm. Beloved of Hortius. Friend of Appius – Brutus} 223

“Widowed, and remarried, no children from the second marriage mentioned.” 224

“The third part reads:225

{Vulpis Minor - Hortius. Blessed of God. Husband of Cornelia the Widow. Father to Justus}226

“An odd combination….Perhaps it should be read as a nickname: “Little Fox, the Orchardist”. 227

“The bottom line reads:”228

{May these Rest in Eternal Glory with Christ their Saviour}229

“Pay up,” Marie Letourneau demanded of the other two grad students.230

****231

Martin Gudreaux had been selected to clear the inhumations. Marie would handle the extensive photographing, Campbell the in-situ cataloguing. Goudineau fired questions at each stage, while the undergrads listened in, ran errands and took notes. They used the rest of the day to carefully remove the top stones, take photos, and begin assessing the first grave, that of Tiberius.232

Once the dirt and detritus of centuries had been carefully brushed and trowelled away they found a relatively intact skeleton. Two more days were spent carefully removing wood, bones and subsoil. Then several days in the treatment tents, cleaning and cataloguing. No suspicious cause of death was discovered, but a fistula below the left orbit certainly looked like the site of a massive infection. Rotted wood and textile samples were prepared and sent off to Paris for carbon dating. 233

On the weekend the process was repeated with the middle grave. Again, Martin did the slow removal of the covering detritus. After several hours’ work Goudineau peered into the site and asked, “What have you found, Martin?”234

“The tool marks on the stones are different from those of the first grave. More care, a different thickness. But, probably quarried from the same area. Possibly interred at a later date, with a different stonemason.”235

“Good…...Jim,” Goudineau asked of the other graduate student, “what is your first impression?”236

“The spread of the pelvic region and scaring suggests a female having born children. The individual is of medium height, and medium build. Slightly heavier bone structure than grave one. Unlike the male in grave one she shows signs of heavy work, but not to the degree that we might expect on a field slave. The wear on her teeth, and some damage to the flanges, suggests someone older than the individual in grave one.”237

“Martin?”238

“Again, no grave goods, and a clear east-west orientation. Possible arthritis in the third and fourth phalanges of the left hand. Best guess - Female, Christian, mother ….. fits the widow scenario on the gravestone.”239

“Then let's get working on Cornelia the Younger. Chop, chop!” Goudineau ordered. But he didn’t mean ‘hurry up’. With no coffin, the state of the skeleton required more care. And therefore more days.240

*241

One final grave to open. Again, Martin did the honours. “The stone work appears to be the same as grave two. The grave is longer by over a foot, however. Orientation is east-west again,” Martin summarised as he began removing the cover stones from where the head should be. Carefully he straddled the opening and looked in. Puzzled, he asked for a torch, brushed away some soil, and then looked more closely into the grave. 242

Suddenly he swore loudly and with great passion, “Merde!” 243

Goudineau, and the students interjected simultaneously. “What is it?!” - “What’s wrong?!” - “What do you see?!” 244

Everyone crowded closer.245

In a strained voice and with a feral look in his eyes, Martin answered, “……Dog Tags……”246

*247

Goudineau and the ‘mayor’ sat in the café, drinking a vin ordinaire. Duprey’s pungent Galois cigarette spewed its choking fumes into the already smoky room. 248

“What can you tell me about the pilot?’249

“Of the pilot,” answered the elderly farmer, “nothing. After the Germans had fled we searched the hills, and found nothing but the shredded remnants of his parachute, and later the wreck of his aeroplane. The Americans came later and stripped the weapons. They too found no trace of the pilot. I can assure you that none of us buried him”250

“What can you tell me?” Goudineau emphasised.251

The old man smiled a very wry smile. “Much,” and refilled their glasses. 252

* *253

At false dawn, with morning chorus and the distant sounds of artillery, the eastern side of the Rhone Valley lay in darkness. Closer, passing the village, the sounds of heavy vehicles - General Johannes Von Blaskowitz’s XIX German Army in retreat.254

On a plateau fifty feet above Highway A7 silent figures creep through the trees. In the last 200 meters the trees thicken into a dense tangle of ancient oak, pine and a scattering of knobbly, self-sown apple trees. On the left, six men and three women drop quietly into some ancient ruins. Tree roots and fallen trees add to the natural bunker. Two heavy machine guns, parachuted in by the Allies in the last few weeks, are retrieved from their hiding places among the broken tiles of an ancient mosaic. The squad makes its way cautiously to the overhang.255

Patiently the Maquis set up their ambush and wait for sunrise. 256

True dawn, sun behind them. Wait. Wait for the A7 to come out of shadow. Wait for the expected Allied air attack. Wait for the welcome cacophony to begin. Wait to avenge. The race is on. 257

The snaking, dust-choked, hunted, endless stream of Panzers, 88’s, lorries, horse-drawn wagons, artillery, commandeered civilian cars, Kublewagons and halftracks are grinding north. Flak units are scattered among fields of ripening grain, or at the entrance to vineyards. Here and there a Panzer IV takes up station in a farmyard. To the right of the fleeing German columns, below the plateau, lies the miniscule hamlet of Le Bosquet du Gal. 258

Here the foothills bend out towards the A7. The village is empty, the villagers having fled to the hills two nights previously. 259

Too small for most maps, ignored in the Michelin guidebooks, Le Bosquet du Gal consists of a café with post-box, selling kerosene and benzine pumped from drums; of six houses and a few surrounding farms. An unpaved laneway runs the 150 meters from the A7 into the hamlet. It then traverses the hillside, ventures through mountain pastures and forest until it intersects the main route from Vienne to Grenoble. Up it some Germans might escape. Down it General Stack’s US Army Task Force might come. On it the few Maquis from the Le Bosquet du Gal area wait.260

Within this maelstrom of flight, frightened men look up in pained expectancy, waiting. Waiting for the B25s and P47s to pounce. Waiting for the Maquis to harass. Each knows that every rocket, every bomb, every ambush will slow the retreat, cost lives, reduce their personal chances of reaching Lyon and temporary respite. Up the line-of-march a perceptible shudder rolls, a ripple of unease. Felt, more than heard, the sound of aircraft touches the back of men’s necks. 261

Flak at the distant southern end of the column opens up. A flight of B25s is pounding a highway bridge. Their inherent inaccuracy is outweighed by the multiplicity of tightly packed, random targets. They cannot fail to inflict damage somewhere along the escape route. The Maquis hear the bombing, smile sardonically, and wait.262

Half an hour latter the sun is well up, hiding the Maquis in the summer glare. Their patience is rewarded with the sound of another flight of aircraft. 263

In cab-rank and well spaced, eight P47s dive on the head of the column two kilometres beyond Le Bosquet du’ Gal. As the first Allied rockets strike, the Maquis add their own weapons to the confusion. Now the P47s are weaving back and forth amid the flak, delivering rockets and strafing with their guns. 264

Light Flak converges on one plane as it begins to pull up from its run. The AA fire concentrates. Heavy Flak leads the plane as it seeks altitude. At several hundred meters it staggers, and begins to trail smoke.265

Turning east-by-south the damaged aircraft struggles to rise above the hills. On the plateau the Maquis watch transfixed as the plane begins to burn. A bundle tumbles from the shattered cockpit. The plane, inverted, plumets towards the far side of the ridgeline and disappears from view. Amidst the flak a parachute begins to unfurl. The Maquis turn back to the business at hand. Very soon the telltale sound of an explosion reaches them through the woods, briefly melding with the sounds below them. They will have time to search for the pilot later.266

As the bombardment ends their harassing fire draws attention. Three halftracks separate from the column and speed up the road to the diminutive village. One stops in front of the café, the other two begin to ascend the road to the plateau. The Maquis have already dispersed, moving back through the woods to set an ambush further up the road should the Nazi vehicles foolishly venture that far.267

**268

From the Montreal Gazette June 17,1976269

McGill Students Excavate Enigma270

A team of students from the McGill University archaeology department have uncovered a mystery from WWII. Professor Charles Goudineau, leader of the McGill team said that while excavating a Gallo-Roman villa in the Rhone Valley the students discovered the burial place of an American pilot. “The enigma”, said Professor Goudineau “lies in the location. The pilot was buried next to the graves of a Christian man and woman from the 4th century AD. All three graves were lined with stone in the ancient way, and the bodies face Jerusalem. 271

Continued page 9272

The pilot’s remains were skeletonised, and only his ‘dog tags’ and dental work identified him as a modern burial.”273

French police and a forensic team from the US Air Force Mortuary Affairs are investigating the circumstances of his death and inhumation. The name of the pilot will not be released until proper identification is complete and the next of kin notified274

“The area was fought over during the Nazi withdrawal in August 1944. The Maquis may have buried the pilot after one of the local skirmishes,” a USAF spokesman surmised.275

The McGill students will remain at the site for several more weeks to complete their archaeological research.276

Reuters, Paris277

**278

POSTSCRIPT279

An Air Force blue Chevy sedan turned onto the dusty street and pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the small chapel. “Nottawaseppi River Presbyterian Church, Rev. John Petoskey, Pastor” read the sign. To the right rear of the building lay a cemetery, well looked after and surrounded by a white picket fence. A white clapboard house stood at the left of the church building. Between them a small orchard bore evidence of great care and fruitfulness. A senior officer exited the passenger’s side of the Chevy, mounted the porch steps and knocked on the door. The driver, a lowly Second Lieutenant, followed him. 280

“Pastor Petoskey?” the officer enquired when an elderly man eventually answered his knock. 281

“Yes. I’m Pastor Petoskey,” the gentleman answered quizzically.282

“Sir, I am Colonel Winslow, Chaplain at Fort Custer, and this is Lt. Donaldson. May we come in please?”283

“Yes, certainly.” As he stood aside to let them in he called out, “Sarah, we have company.” He led them to the small parlour and asked that they be seated. The Victorian furniture marked the era in which the house had been built. Christian paintings and family pictures hung on the walls. The framed photo of a young military officer took pride of place on the mantelpiece. Mrs Petoskey came in; her nutbrown skin accentuated by her plaited grey hair, and asked if they would like coffee.284

“That is very kind of you Mrs. Petoskey, but no thank you, not just yet at any rate. Would you care to be seated? I’d like to talk to both of you…..”, he paused as she sat next to her husband…. “about your son.”285

He reached into his briefcase, and took out a signet ring and a golden Cross on a chain. “Can you identify these?”286

----------------------------------------------------------------287

Newspaper clippings:288

From the Battle Creek Enquirer July 5, 1976289

WWII MIA ‘Coming Home’290

Fort Custer: Lt. Donaldson, Air National Guard community liaison officer, announced today that the remains of WWII Army Air Corps pilot Lt. Robert Petoskey of Fulton, had been located and retrieved in the Rhone Valley, France. 291

Lt. Donaldson said that Lt. Petoskey, a P47 pilot, was shot down on August 21st, 1944, while flying a mission against retreating Nazi forces in the central Rhone Valley. His aircraft was recovered in late 1944; but his body was not found at that time, and he was listed as Missing in Action/Presumed Dead. His participation in Operation Anvil, the Allied invasion of Southern France, followed his air combat experience in Italy, and over occupied France. He is survived by his parents, Rev and Mrs. John Petoskey of Fulton. A Memorial Service for Lt. Petoskey will be held at the Nottawaseppi River Presbyterian Church, Fulton, at 9am, Saturday. 292

Lieutenant Robert Petoskey was the great grand nephew of Chief Ignatius Petoskey, headman of the Bear River village, and sponsor of the Town of Petoskey in Grand Travers Bay. 293

A Mortuary Affairs recovery and forensic team supervised the exhumation with the assistance of the Department du Rhone. He has been re-interred at the US military cemetery outside Marseilles.294

Lt. Petoskey attended Alma College prior to volunteering for U.S. Army Air Force service in 1942. Lt. Petoskey’s remains were discovered by archaeology students from McGill University, Montreal, Canada during their excavation of Gallo-Roman ruins south of Vienne, France. It is not known who buried the body, or just when or how the lieutenant died. 295

Friends and relatives of Lt. Petoskey may make memorial donations to the Nottawaseppi River Presbyterian Church – “Native American Education Fund”, c/o the Gratiot County Bank, Athens, Michigan.296

**297

From the Gratiot County Reporter 298

July 11,1976 299

Tribes Gather for Funeral Service300

By Betty Jean Stoneham301

Over 500 Potawatami, Ottawa and Ojibwa tribal members assembled from across Michigan, Wisconsin and Indiana to attend the memorial service for Lieutenant Robert Petoskey last Saturday. Gathering at the Nottawaseppi River Presbyterian Church in Fulton, the mourners were led in their memorial by the lieutenant’s father, Reverend John Petoskey.302

Lieutenant Petoskey died in southern France in 1944, but his remains were only recently discovered. 303

Colonel George Winslow, USAF Chaplain, and an honour guard of officers from the Air National Guard unit at Fort Custer attended the Fulton service. Chaplain Winslow presented Rev. and Mrs. Petoskey with the American flag that had accompanied the coffin to the French war cemetery. Lt. Petoskey has been posthumously awarded the Air Medal and the Purple Heart, which Chaplain Winslow presented to the parents. Several 12th US Army Air Force veterans also attended to honor their fallen comrade.304

Miss. Marie Montreaux of the French Consulate in Chicago represented the French government. She presented the parents with a posthumous 'French Commemorative Medal of Liberation: City of Vienne' and the thanks of the French people for Lieutenant Petoskey’s ultimate sacrifice on their behalf.305

Donations to the church’s “Native American Education Fund” may be made at the Gratiot County Bank, Athens. 306

**307


From the Montreal Gazette September, 24, 1977308

McGill Archaeologist’s 2nd Successful Season 309

McGill University’s Dr. Charles Goudineau, of the Department of Anthropology, and his team of graduate students has completed a second successful digging season in the Rhone Valley, France. On a plateau overlooking the valley they have uncovered a Gallo-Roman farmstead dating from the 1st century BC.310

Said Dr. Goudineau on his return from France last week; “The site appears to have been occupied continuously by Romanised Gallic people from 60 BC until about AD 500. While invading Frankish-speaking peoples probably burnt the upper storey, a great deal of the hypocaust and plumbing system remained undisturbed during the intervening centuries. Farm tools, pottery, and other implements were found in abundance. A Gallo-Roman family cemetery was excavated. It indicated that family members had been Christians for at least the last 250 years of habitation.311

McGill plans to sponsor one more season’s dig in 1978. The Vienne Museum will bring the site’s artefacts to Montreal for an exhibit in 1979.312

**313

END314