Lands of Red and Gold #23: The City Between The Waters
“She is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.”
- William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II, Scene IV
* * *
Excerpts from “My Life in the South-Land”. Written by Pieter Stins, a sailor who served in de Houtman’s first and second voyages to what would come to be called Aururia.
Our ships sailed into the harbour of Witte Stad [1] on 26 July. Even before we came ashore, we knew we had reached a city like no other in the South-Land. Buildings covered the shore, some in a large city in the main harbour, and a smaller quarter across the water. Neither quarter had walls, and even from a distance it seemed as if everything had been built on a colossal scale.
There were docks aplenty; unlike the smaller cities, Witte Stad had boats in abundance. A few boats moved in the harbour, most of them small vessels like those of the other cities. One was larger and completely strange; twin hulls, lateen rigged, steered with a rudder rather than steering oar. One of our translators said that this was an Islander ship, from some subject people who live in the east and who sail west to trade and to honour the native emperor.
The city officials had known we were coming. They declared that only Captain-General de Houtman and thirteen other men could come ashore into the main city at any one time. The rest would have to stay at the foreign quarter across the water.
The Captain-General did not trust them, and had our ships stay well out to sea in the main harbour. The natives were meticulous in watching and counting who came and went; throughout our time there, we would only ever have fourteen men ashore at any one time. I was fortunate enough to be among the thirteen whom the Captain-General chose to accompany him into Witte Stad...
My memories of Witte Stad are confused in their order and their sense. Throughout my time there, especially the first few days, it felt as if I were walking through a dream. This is a city like no other, the jewel of the Orient, a place of mystery, splendour and horror combined. Here, the native emperor has gathered everything important in his realm into one place; gold, stone, gardens, animals, men, and heathen gods.
Everything in the city has been built to be larger than life. A man cannot walk down any street without being dwarfed by statues, whether of men or idols, looming over him wherever he walks. It is crowded, thronging with men from all quarters of this realm. I know not the numbers, but there must be tens of thousands, or hundreds of thousands. More men and women dwell here in any city of the Netherlands, or any European city I have seen. Some cities of the Orient may be larger, but none that I have seen or heard of have been built on this scale designed to make men feel like mice [2].
Two sounds I always remember from my time in Witte Stad. One is the noises of construction and maintenance. Seldom can a man walk far in this city without witnessing the toils of those who serve their emperor. Men labour to move materials, to shape and repair statues, to smooth and maintain the roads, to build in wood and stone, to clean and polish buildings [3]. When their work itself is silent, then the natives provide their own noise, chanting and singing as they labour. I could not decide whether the music is because they are joyful to work or to take their minds from their endless labour.
Another sound I will never forget is the endless sound of water. It is not as loud as the toils of labour, but it is always present. Rare is it indeed to find a place in the city where a man cannot hear the sound of water, whether flowing, cascading, bubbling from fountains, or dripping from the mouths of statues.
The natives adore the sound of water, and devote much of their labour to ensuring that it can always be heard. Fountains are numerous throughout the city. Sometimes water spouts from elaborately carved statues, sometimes it cascades over rocks in melodies which the natives find pleasing, and often it fills basins where a man can drink his fill whenever he chooses.
Nowhere do the natives use water more lavishly than the place they call the Thousand-fold Garden [4]. This is a veritable wonder of nature, of carefully shaped stones and plants. An endless array of trees and shrubs, a maze of flowers and beauty, trod by ducks with feathers of a thousand hues. Amidst the Garden is always the sound of water; cascading over rocks, flowing down falls, or bubbling from artfully arranged fountains that mimic the natural world...
When I first witnessed the Garden, I thought that the natives must have heard of Eden as God made it in the beginning, and that they had done their best to create a replacement for it in this fallen world. Alas, I soon learned how mistaken I was in this regard.
The natives’ beliefs are a corruption of Christianity. They refer to the Lord, but believe that they must make endless sacrifices. They know not that Christ died for all our sins, and kill men or shed their blood slowly in the name of pain. I will not commit to paper a full report of the bloodthirsty abominations they commit in the name of their perverted gospel. Theirs is a heathen religion of torture, the twisted worship of a false Christ, a malformed degradation of all that is good and holy...
The natives of Witte Stad are divided into two peoples. The people who call themselves the Atjuntja are the rulers; not all the people of this stock are considered noble, but they all think of themselves as better than their subjects. In skin and in features, there is naught to distinguish an Atjuntja from their subjects, but all of their men wear full beards, and they do not permit the same to their subjects. Most all of the Atjuntja have black hair.
Their subjects go by a variety of names; the one most common I heard was Yaora, but sometimes they call themselves Yuduwungu and Madujal [5]. Most of these Yaora have blonde or light hair, though their skins are much darker. With some of the Yaora men, their hair is darker, especially those who have grown older, but not yet old enough for their hair to turn gray or white. The men among them do not all shave, but those who have beards keep them trimmed short. Our native interpreters told me that among the Atjuntja, light hair is considered a sign of common blood, although the other Yaora do not care about it in the same way...
While Witte Stad is unlike the smaller towns and cities of the South-Land in many ways, it seems to me that most of all it is designed to be a spectacle. In its construction, its waters, and its streets, it is shaped to ensure that all who visit here know that this is the residence of their emperor.
It is kept that way by most careful arrangement. For these Atjuntja do not even allow animals to wander free and disturb the streets. While these people know nothing of sheep, horses or pigs, they have nooroons [emus], dogs and ducks, but they do not allow them to roam the streets, except for the multi-hued ducks in the Garden. They even keep out the pole-cats [quolls] that they use to hunt vermin. Perhaps animals are kept away because they are so fastidious about keeping their streets clean; I do not know. But I do know that this city is a place of wonder.
* * *
July-August 1620
Witte Stad / Milgawee [White City]
D’Edels Land / Tiayal [western coast of Australia]
A cool breeze swept across North Water into the Foreign Quarter. Standing on the shore, looking west to the twin peaks at the heart of the greatest Ajuntja city, Yuma thought that the wind was most appropriate. It brought the tangy aroma of salt water, diluted slightly by fragrances of eucalypts and shrubs, a silent reminder that these Atjuntja worshipped nature instead of understanding it. Still, more important than the smell, the wind blew from the direction of the three strange ships that waited silently in the other harbour, West Water.
Yuma, third-most senior trading captain of the Tjula bloodline, was not usually a man given to indecision. Few Nangu trading captains were. In a world where the greatest profit went to the boldest, a captain who hesitated would be lucky if his bloodline elders did not strip him of his command or find his crew deserting for captains who earned greater wealth and glory.
Now, though, he had found himself watching for two days, and he had still come no closer to a decision. He was the captain of the last Nangu great-ship of the winter’s trading fleet to remain in Milgawee. The rest had departed over the last two weeks. Those with better captains carried cargoes of sandalwood, spices, gold and fragrant oils; those with weaker captains bore mostly iron, silver, or dyes.
Yuma himself had brought his ship, the Restless, to these western lands with a cargo of kunduri, Tjibarr jewellery, and gum cider. He had carefully negotiated a series of exchanges of most of this cargo for sandalwood and gold. He could have finished his trading a week ago, but had held on to the rest of his loading of kunduri to see if he could bargain for a better deal once the Atjuntja realised that the other ships were gone and that no more kunduri could be had until the next trading fleet arrived months later.
Thanks to that delay, and perhaps the guidance of the sixth path, he had been the first Nangu captain to glimpse these strange ships enter the harbour. Ships larger than even the finest Nangu great-ship. Perhaps not as manoeuvrable, but an intimidating sight nonetheless. He had known instantly that these were foreigners; the pitiful Atjuntja knowledge of shipbuilding would not allow them to build anything remotely approaching the quality of these ships.
Word from across the water at the main quarter of Milgawee brought endless rumours of the strangers who used these ships. Raw-skinned men from beyond the world, as the Atjuntja understood it. Men with strange skills and crafts, none more awe-inspiring than that they could bind thunderbolts and use them as weapons. Men who had visited the western coast the previous year and killed Atjuntja soldiers, but who had returned speaking of peace. Apparently the commander of these raw-skinned men had been admitted to the Palace of a Thousand Rooms to meet with the King of Kings.
Yuma doubted that last part of the rumours, at least. The myriad complexities of Atjuntja protocol would not allow the King of Kings to meet with any stranger so easily. Not that it would matter; the Atjuntja conducted such negotiations through intermediaries anyway.
Still, no matter what the Atjuntja babbled about, he knew that these strangers must be men like any other. No-one had ever heard of any western islands worth visiting before, and the King of King’s edict against western exploration meant that few Nangu had tried to find such islands. But it was only sensible that such lands existed. After all, if the Maori came from Aotearoa beyond the sunrise, why should there not be other islands beyond the sunset?
Which left Yuma in an odd position. He was, for now, the only Nangu trading captain to know about these strange ships from beyond the west. A few Nangu lived here permanently, but they were of no consequence for his purposes. No-one else back on the Island would hear word of these strangers for months unless he carried it.
So he had to decide whether to approach them, and how to find out what he could. If these raw-skins were wealthy, trade with them could prove to be very valuable. Unfortunately, there was another problem. The bearded Atjuntja buffoons were always wary of any Nangu captains who sailed further west; they preferred trade to flow through their home ports. They would be very suspicious of anything which they saw as an attempt to bypass them.
Then he had to consider these strangers themselves. They had been told that they could dock in the Foreign Quarter, if they wished, but they had chosen to keep their ships well out in the harbour. These actions spoke of a people who were full of suspicion. Any surreptitious attempts to sail to those ships would be more likely to bring an attack than a conversation. And the few strangers who went ashore to the main quarter of the city were being closely watched, he was sure. It would be difficult to speak to them without the Atjuntja finding out.
As he stared across the water, Yuma decided that for now, it would not be worth his while trying to contact these raw-skinned strangers. They were only three ships in one visit; they would not have that much worth trading for directly. Better to finish his own trading for now and sail back to the Island.
Once back home, he could consider other ways to take advantage of this new discovery. Perhaps take a great-ship further west into the sunset, to see if he could find these stranger’s home islands. Or he could bring a more carefully-chosen cargo next time, with more samples of many goods, to find out what these raw-skinned strangers wanted to trade for.
For now, though, he decided, these strangers should be left alone.
* * *
Lerunna Mundi, chamberlain of the palace, most favoured servant of the Petal Throne [6], reached for the kunduri pouch at his waist. Only a small ball, of course; enough to relax, not to stupefy. During an important negotiation, only a fool would drop a boulder into the stillness [7].
Still, he welcomed the double blessing the kunduri brought. For one, he had a welcome break while he rolled the ground leaves into ash from a lantern, shaped them into a ball and chewed them. That let him force the raw-skinned commander – dee Ootman, he called himself – into blessed silence for a few moments.
For another, the blissful relaxation of kunduri let him rebuild the aura of calm and relaxation which His Exalted Majesty had ordered in all dealings with these Raw Ones. Oh, this dee Ootman was not a complete fool, as far as such things went. But this outlander was so wrong-headed in his expectations that the difference was sometimes difficult to remember.
With the kunduri chewed and his spirit’s essence restored, Lerunna turned his attention back to the outlander. As patiently as he could, he said, “You will not be admitted to see the King of Kings. You are not of the blessed; you cannot hear his voice.”
How could even an ignorant outlander have so much difficulty grasping such a fundamental truth? No-one would be allowed to hear the Voice of Divinity without being of the right birth. Being an outlander was a disadvantage, but not an insurmountable one. Some of the Thousand Rooms had hosted outlanders as imperial guests, usually some desert chieftain who needed to be pacified, or occasional eastern delegations from the Islanders, Mutjing or Gunnagal. “If your western sta-tjol-der comes himself or sends one of his kin, perhaps His Exalted Majesty will grant his blessing and allow an audience.”
The peasant interpreter looked worried when he had to translate that. The conversation between the two went back and forth for some time; Lerunna supposed that the interpreter was taking the opportunity to explain some truths to dee Ootman.
Taking advantage of the pause, Lerunna made a closer study of this outlander. His clothing was a mixture of marvel and stupidity. Made of some fibre called wool, or so he understood from the previous conversations, that was suppler than even the finest linen. Yet it was woven into strange tubes wrapped around arms and legs, and belted closely at his waist, in a form that seemed far too hot and uncomfortable.
This dee Ootman knew enough of proper appearance to wear a full beard, yet several of the outlanders with him did not. All of these men had pink skin which showed when they flushed. Likewise, his beard and hair were coloured orange-red; an odd hue for a commander. Some of his men had dark hair, and others had blonde, but the colour of their hair did not appear to correspond to any difference in rank.
Odd, very odd. Easterners all had dark hair, so they could not use that to distinguish amongst themselves. These westerners, though, had different classes and different hair colour. Why did they not use this information?
After the interpreter finished explaining a few truths, dee Ootman said, “If your King of Kings will not meet me, how can I be sure that he has agreed to terms of trade?”
Even the bliss of kunduri could not stop Lerunna from nodding in sheer disbelief at this outlander’s ignorance. He composed himself, then said, “His Exalted Majesty has chosen me to speak on his behalf. I bear his message, I speak with his words. His Majesty is minded to allow trade, or he would not invite me to speak with you at all.”
As the interpreter laboriously relayed his words into the outlander tongue, Lerunna reflected how frustrating it was to work through a peasant interpreter. Not to mention another sign of this dee Ootman’s wrong-headedness. Any outlander who came to the White City to trade and negotiate should have taken the time to learn the Atjuntja tongue. The Islanders, warped through they were in other ways, had long known that. So did the few desert chieftains who had been permitted into the White City. Why did these raw-skinned outlanders not do the same?
Maybe, Lerunna wondered, dee Ootman was more cunning than he appeared. Maybe this bearded commander had learned the Atjuntja language, but chose not to reveal it. So far, dee Ootman had not shown any signs of understanding when he heard Lerunna speak, but maybe that was a ruse. Perhaps this outlander kept silent because he had more time to think while the interpreted relayed the words, or in case he overhead conversations. Lerunna decided that he would have to be careful speaking in the Atjuntja language in the presence of any outlanders, even if the interpreters were not present or not translating.
Dee Ootman said, “Your King of Kings’ willingness to trade is welcome. Yet it is frustrating that we have had to wait so long before we could meet anyone to discuss trade.”
Again, Lerunna wondered how this outlander could misunderstand something so simple. “You are in the dominion of the King of Kings, who fears nothing in the mortal realms. Here, you will follow his timing and his wishes. If you were in the realm of your sta-tjol-der, then you would do as he pleased. Here, you will wait on our pleasure.”
Dee Ootman nodded when that was translated. The interpreter hastily explained that amongst these outlanders, a nod meant agreement rather than distrust or disapproval.
After that, they settled down to discuss trade terms. The negotiations were leisurely, drawn out over three days of production of samples, exchanges of gifts, presentation of food, and other appropriate courtesies. Dee Oootman learned quickly; by the end of the negotiations, he had become much more polite in his dealings.
The terms of trade which they eventually agreed were much as Lerunna had expected, of course. For all of the courtesy, exchange of gifts and marvellous products which these outlanders offered, they were strangers to this land. They had to accept His Exalted Majesty’s terms if they wished to trade at all.
As per his instructions, Lerunna thus secured agreement to trade terms barely changed from what the Islanders followed. Trade was to be conducted at two ports on the western coast, with the land for the trading posts negotiated with the local governors. These outlander ships were not to make landfall anywhere other than the two trading posts, except in emergency if they needed food or repairs. If their ships had to land, then they should stay no longer than needed for repairs, food, or favourable weather for sailing.
Only the named trade goods were to be exchanged at the trading posts, and nothing else of value. If the outlanders had new goods which they wished to trade, they must first gain the approval of His Exalted Majesty or one of his governors. The outlanders could live and worship within the bounds of the trading posts, but when venturing outside, they would not speak of their own faith or seek to convert any of the King of Kings’ subjects.
In all of the negotiations, only two matters gave Lerunna any real surprises. The first was when he stated that while the outlanders could build their own dwellings within the trading posts, they could not build any fortifications.
“What if we are threatened?” dee Ootman asked. “There are other nations whose ships may try to attack our trading posts.”
A meaningless answer, as far as Lerunna was concerned. The whole of the Middle Country lived under the King of King’s peace, and his sovereignty. His Exalted Majesty would protect people, and he would not suffer walls to be built around subject cities which might be used to support rebellion. The only exceptions came in frontier areas where the desert dwellers might raid. Even then, any wall-builders were carefully watched.
He said, “If you fear for your safety, ask of the governors, and they will provide Atjuntja troops for your protection.”
The other surprising matter came when dee Ootman wanted to write the terms of the trade agreement. Very good to want it in writing, of course. Yet he presented some flimsy stuff which he called paper, and wanted the trade agreement written on that. Lerunna threw back his head and laughed at that nonsense. Oh, this lightweight material might perhaps be more useful than parchment for everyday messages and records, but what kind of fool would present it as a binding pact of trade?
He said, “What use have we for that material which is even more crumbling than parchment? No treaty set on parchment will last. Our agreement will be written in stone here in the White City, and repeated on land-stones at the sites of your trading posts.”
* * *
Captain-General Frederik de Houtman stood on the stern of the Assendelft, watching as Witte Stad faded into the distance. First the trees and flowers blended into the background, then the shapes of the statues became impossible to discern, and then the docks blurred into insignificance. His last sight of Witte Stad was of the Twin Peaks, clad in green and stone, slowly vanishing in clouds that blew in from the west.
With the great city fading, de Houtman allowed a broad smile to creep across his face. “I do believe we will be congratulated for what we’ve accomplished here.”
Captain Cornelisz de Vries nodded. “So we should be. A city like that... As God is my witness, never have I been so bittersweet about leaving a port. How can those people combine such wonder with such depravity?”
De Houtman shrugged. “They won’t inflict their heathen rites on us.” Of all the astonishing things in this city of wonders, the greatest was that the victims of this sacrificial blood-letting had all freely volunteered. “I’m not happy to witness those events, but it won’t stop us trading with them.”
Negotiating a trade treaty had taken much longer than it should have, especially the endless frustration of never getting any meeting with their emperor. Still, he had achieved the most important part of his mission: a trade agreement.
And what riches it would bring!
He knew, now, what trade goods would be preferred here. Even if when finding out, the Atjuntja had refused to call what they did trade. They had called it exchanges of gifts, since trade was only permitted to Dutchmen on their western coast. For now, anyway; that prohibition would not last forever.
The exchanges had been an acceptable substitute for trade, and had told him what he needed to know. These Atjuntja had been impressed with cotton textiles, with tin and steel, with rum, and most of all with the lacquered chest from Coromandel. They were not at all impressed with Brazilian tobacco, but then he did not like their version of tobacco, either. He had seen that some of it was brought on his ships anyway, naturally. Maybe others would find it more palatable. If not, sometimes any tobacco was better than none. Besides, he had a few samples of their kunduri, which was better than tobacco, in his estimation. Even if the Atjuntja had been horrified when he tried smoking it.
Regardless of how valuable this kunduri might prove to be, this land had many other goods of worth: gold, silver, sandalwood, indigo and other dyes, and salt. Some of their other produce might be valuable, too. The gum of their wealth-trees resembled gum arabic; perhaps it could be sold for a suitable profit. Their peppers had a hotter taste than any which de Houtman had ever experienced; maybe they, too, could be sold as a spice.
De Vries said, “Are you sure you want to sail no further east?”
“Quite. We have fulfilled our instructions,” de Houtman said.
Enough of the instructions, at least. He had explored, charted, recorded and negotiated. He had secured a trade agreement and permission at two sites to be chosen – no doubt this Archers Nest, and somewhere else he would leave to the Governor-General to consider. He had brought enough gold and silver to pay for the cost of this expedition, even if everything else he had found turned out to be worthless.
Oh, he had not quite fulfilled everything. He had not secured any of the natives by force, judging that it would do too much harm. One of his sailors had brought back a native mistress, but that woman would hardly be available for the Company’s use. Nor had he extended the Netherlands’ protection to these Atjuntja, but no-one could have achieved that.
He had accomplished everything that the Company could have hoped for, and more besides. As the three Dutch yachts navigated out of the harbour and began the slow journey west, de Houtman could only look forward with eager anticipation to the new tomorrows which awaited him.
* * *
[1] Witte Stad is Dutch for White City. It acquired this name because the native translators have a habit of translating the meaning of names, where they have such meanings, rather than transliterating them. So they consistently translated the city’s component words into Dutch as Witte Stad. Thus, this became the name by which the White City would become known in the wider world. For a while, at least.
[2] Amsterdam, the largest city in the Netherlands at this time, had around 50,000 people. Rotterdam was smaller. The White City at its fullest holds around 200,000 people, and this expedition is visiting at a time when workers are not needed in the fields, so most of the drafted labourers are in residence. There were certainly larger cities at this point (Beijing is thought to have been the largest city in the world), but none which Stins has visited.
[3] The construction and repair of the White City is not always this laborious, but de Houtman’s expedition visited during the peak season of the year, when drafted labour is present in large numbers, and when most of the maintenance is performed.
[4] This name is a mistranslation from the real Atjuntja name, which would be more accurately translated as the Garden of Ten Thousand Steps. The native translators did not yet have a complete grasp of the Dutch language.
[5] Stins has misunderstood the relationship between the peoples of the Middle Country. Originally, Yaora was the collective name for all of the related peoples who occupied the south-western portion of Aururia, including the Atjuntja themselves. The name is still sometimes used in that sense, but the more common modern usage is to refer to any non-Atjuntja subject people within the Middle Country. Yuduwungu and Madujal are the names of two of the subject peoples, and who are numerous enough that they make up the most common labour draftees to the White City.
[6] In his own mind, at least.
[7] This Atjuntja metaphor can be approximately translated as “only a fool would cloud his sense.”
* * *
Thoughts?
