Lands of Red and Gold
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The map is prior to the plauge wave. The Dutch didn't settle that area until after the plauges struck.Shouldn't there be an orange blob on the South African coast?
Lands of Red and Gold #43: Drumming the Pods
Lands of Red and Gold #43: Drumming the Pods
“I stood on the royal road to Kirunmara
And saw a pillar of fire, even as a wheel
Of flame descending from the abyss [heavens].
It spun from west to east, the sun turned backward
Consuming land, tree and beast alike in fury untamed
As abyss and earth prepared for the Last Battle.”
- Yadji verse describing the coming of the Nedlandj [Dutch] under Pieter Nuyts, and comparing it to their religion’s view of the apocalypse. Attributed to Prince Gunya Yadji, just before the battle of Kirunmara (1638)
* * *
Water falling from the abyss; the steady dripping that fed the Land and its waterworks, but made for bad listening.
Usually, Bidwadjari, senior commander of the armies of Prince Gunya Yadji, had little use for rain. It mattered to farmers, but its infrequent visits made battle manoeuvres far more difficult, and interfered with transportation anywhere off the royal roads.
This evening, though, with the news from the west, he welcomed the rain. It would delay the invaders. The seemingly invincible Raw Men. The pink men who had chained the thunder of the abyss into weapons.
At first, Bidwadjari had thought that these Nedlandj were just trouble-makers, foreign mercenaries who had been come to support the Yadilli in rebellion – and claim some of the gold of the Land. His prince had thought the same.
Now, he knew better. These Nedlandj and their leader One True Egg [1] were the true drivers. They brought their thunder and their beasts with them, and they stirred up revolution. Whether for gold or for some other reason, they brought war to the Land. A new and terrible form of war, about which he had to learn.
“You tell me not enough of how the battle fared,” Bidwadjari said, to the handful of men he had gathered to him.
They were all survivors of the second great battle with the Nedlandj. It had gone no better than the first. Thunder, fire, giant beasts, unknown manoeuvres, defeat, and massacre of the survivors. The Nedlandj were emboldened, and had found more allies. The Yadilli, the Mutjing and now the Tiwarang [2] joined them. For plunder, surely, with the Tiwarang, not the Plirite bleating which had lured the earlier allies.
“I must know,” Bidwadjari added. It could not be due to incompetent commanders. Not twice. Illalong was a good warmaster, and he had certainly led more men than the Nedlandj and their rebel allies, but he had found only defeat.
“Their soldiers know no fear,” one said.
“They bring thunder and hard iron where they march,” another said.
“Not their character. Speak of how they deployed in battle,” Bidwadjari said.
“In a wall of smoke,” one said. Another added, “Riding giant dogs down one flank, and a wall of hard iron along the other.”
Piecing the details together took too long. There were too few survivors, and it sounded as if they had seen little of the battle anyway. The Nedlandj on their strange big dogs can run too fast, and cut down too many as they fled. These survivors had only escaped because there were so few Nedlandj on dogs and so many men fleeing in panic that not all of them could be caught.
Still, after much going back and forth, Bidwadjari began to understand something of the battle. The Nedlandj had formed a line of battle with a core of their own men on a low hill. Their raw soldiers wore hard iron and wielded weapons which belched smoke and spit thunderbolts that could kill at a hundred paces or more. On the hilltop, they had strange carts [3] that used chained thunder to hurl balls of solid iron fast enough to dismember men.
On the flat ground, they used their Mutjing and Yadilli allies to form a defensive line. That Plirite rabble were not soldiers to match proper Yadji warriors, but they were good enough that they did not break instantly. That let the Nedlandj use their iron-hurlers to hit the back Yadji ranks – and then their dog-riders to hit the flanks of the engaged soldiers, breaking them. Illalong had been ridden down somewhere in that mass of men, and most of the survivors were those who had been held in reserve, then fled.
As to what the Nedlandj had done after their victory... there, he did not need to hear from the survivors. His own scouts – those that had returned – had reported that the Nedlandj had turned off the royal road before Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]. The rain would slow them down, there, but it made him wonder what they wanted.
The royal road was paved against the worst of weather, but following it would also mean that the Nedlandj had to capture or bypass town after fortified town. So did they fear the fortifications, did they manoeuvre to receive reinforcements from the Tiwarang, or were they just contemptuous enough of Yadji arms that they thought that a march straight on Kirunmara would bring them conquest?
“Did anyone hear tale of the parley before the battle?” he asked. If there was one, of course.
That produced another round of argument. No-one had witnessed the parley, but rumours about what was discussed had spread. The soldiers talked about how the Raw Men had admitted to being part of the Cleansing. That this time of blood and fire marked the first blow fought by the servants of the Lord of Night, as time marched to its end.
All meaningless speculation, as far as Bidwadjari could tell. None of the soldiers had heard, so they gossiped. He doubted that this involved the end of time. For all that Gunya Yadji had ordered priests killed for spreading rumours, for all that this was a time of strangers and strange weapons, he doubted that this marked anything supernatural. These Nedlandj had the feel of men to him, more alien than the Tjibarr or the folk of the Cider Isle, but men in search of plunder and conquest. That much, he understood.
He just wished he could think how to stop them.
* * *
Maurice Redman thought that he should have been more impressed by the Yadji royal palace.
The Yadji could build wonders. He had expected that from his first glimpses of the temple at Gurndjit. It had been confirmed by his journey to the royal city, with the endless dams, canals, lakes and swamps which the Yadji maintained for no good reason. Fish was a decent enough meal, if hardly worth so much effort, but it bespoke the Yadji construction talents. Even their royal road was an impressive highway: wide, well-paved, and well-maintained.
The Yadji ruler – Gunya, although no-one uttered that name in his presence – offered an impressive sight, too. Some sort of woollen tunic dyed into a bright pattern of blue and scarlet, with gold, silver and pearls decorating his chest, and a headband of gold decorated with brilliant feathers.
So why in the name of all that was good and holy did he rule from so plain a building?
A palace should have been larger, especially for a people so wealthy as the Yadji. It should have been filled with gold and ornamentation and all the other splendour which he had witnessed on a smaller scale in the temple in Gurndjit. It should not be a small place of largely plain stone, apart from a few tapestries [4] hung from the walls.
Why would the Yadji royal residence show such a lack of magnificence [5]?
Redman knew not to ask that question aloud, but he doubted anyone would have answered him anyway. This was supposed to be an audience with the Yadji emperor, but some old soldier in front of him just asked a lot of questions, while Gunya listened in the background.
The old soldier – nameless, like his ruler – wanted to know much about European weapons and tactics. He asked about horses, about steel, but most of all about gunpowder.
“What drives the thunder of your stringless bows?” the old soldier asked.
After some back and forth, Redman realised that he meant the gunpowder in muskets. “A black powder that burns,” he said.
“You make thunder from fire?” the old soldier said, a sharp edge to his voice.
“From this special powder, yes,” he answered. “It burns fast enough to push out objects. Small pellets in muskets, or large balls in cannon.”
That produced an even longer exchange where Redman had to explain that muskets and cannon both fired solid objects.
After that, the old soldier said, “Where do you find this special powder?”
“It is not found, it is made,” Redman said. He did not want to reveal much more. Knowledge like that should not be given away for nothing. It sounded as if selling guns and powder would be a major market with these Yadji, if the Dutch raiders could be driven off. In any case, he did not know the exact formula of gunpowder, only that it involved some mixture of brimstone, saltpetre and charcoal.
“How is it made?”
Inevitable question, Redman supposed. “I am not entirely sure. I know how to use muskets, not how to make powder.”
The old soldier gave him a long stare. He had a most penetrating gaze, firm and full of suspicion.
Redman offered, “I know that it involves charcoal” – a word which needed further explanation – “but not what else is required.”
The questions kept coming, but eventually the soldier accepted that Redman knew nothing useful. The questions moved on to more general military tactics, of which he knew less, but where he was more willing to answer.
The old soldier said, “Can spears be used to hold off... horses?”
Redman nodded, then remembered himself and changed it to a shake of his head. “They can, if used properly.” Pike was not a word he knew how to say in the Islander language. “Only if their lines remain unbreached. If the horsemen break into the line, then spears do not work much.”
“Or if cannon break our soldiers’ lines apart,” the old man said. “Or fire from a line of your muskets.”
This soldier is no fool, Redman realised. Of course, this man commanded the side which was apparently winning the Yadji civil war. Perhaps he was much of the reason for that.
“How do your armies fight against foes with cannon, muskets and horses?” the old soldier asked.
“Mostly, by having cannons and muskets of our own,” he said, which got him another sharp look. “I am not a soldier, so I do not know for certain, but I know that weight of numbers can account for much.”
“Truth,” the old soldier said. After a few moments, he added, “This black powder burns, you say? How does it fare in rain?”
“It will not burn if it is too wet,” Redman said. “Fighting battles is much harder in damp conditions.”
The old soldier smiled. “That gives me much to think about.”
Only then did Gunya Yadji speak. “Your words have been heard, man of the Inglidj.” He clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward, carrying some form of cloth. “Give this to the masters of your Company to mark my gratitude.”
The cloth was a long rectangle of white and gold background, with a dark bird woven into the centre. The bird looked like an eagle, he thought. When he took the cloth, Redman felt the weight, and he realised that the golden colour in the cloth came from woven gold thread. God preserve me!
He bowed his head. “I will give this to them, along with your words.” Unless he could figure out a way to use this gift to escape on his own. No. Baffin would be back, and the Yadji ruler would be sure to ask what happened to his gift.
Gunya said, “I will not send you or your countrymen back to Gurndjit yet. For your safety, you must remain here in Kirunmara.”
The old soldier said, “We have not heard that these rebels are on the royal road, but they may move quickly. Once these Nedlandj have been defeated, you can return to await your ships.”
* * *
When the Inglidj soldier had departed, Gunya gestured for the other servants and soldiers to depart, too. Only Bidwadjari remained.
“Will his words help you prepare for the great battle?” he asked.
The old general said, “I will consider them. Fortune may favour us. Particularly if rain comes on the right day.”
Gunya’s lip curled. “The Neverborn has other things on his mind to organising that, I expect. Or so his priests would assure more. Those who still remain.”
“Bailgu brought too many priests with him,” Bidwadjari said. “Even if all of the others had fought their last battles, we would not be spared the bleating of these newcomers.”
“Let them talk, for now,” Gunya said. He risked much on this one gamble. A great battle here, if won, would end the civil war. Bailgu’s position was already weakened, and a victory here would ensure that the other princes abandoned him. Even if Bidwadjari could not arrange for Bailgu to be among those who died in the battle.
Gunya added, “What the priests say will matter for naught if you can bring victory against these Raw Men.”
Bidwadjari said, “Much I have to consider. Numbers may be the answer, but if your soldiers stand too close together, more will die from this black powder. If they stand further apart, less will die from this black powder, but they will not do well when they reach the Nedlandj lines if they are too far apart. If we attack them from the flanks, we risk having their horsemen grind us from front and rear.”
Gunya said, “I would not complain if you deployed Bailgu’s troops to the front line, in merit of their courage.”
Bidwadjari said, “Alas, he has so little trust as it is. He would recognise it as a ploy to get them killed.”
“Truth,” Gunya said, although he hated to admit it. “But I am sure of one thing: there is no better commander in the Land than you. If you do not discern how to defeat these Nedlandj, none of us will.”
* * *
[1] Pieter Nuyts, would-be Dutch conquistador. His name, to Junditmara speakers, sounds similar to the phrase “one true egg”.
[2] The Tiwarang are a Gunnagalic people who live in the north-westernmost reaches of Yadji territory, around historical Naracoorte and Penola in South Australia.
[3] The Yadji have invented the wheel, although with no real beasts of burden larger than dogs, they do not have that many uses for it. “Cart” is the best approximation of a Yadji word which describes almost any wheeled vehicle; their most common forms are carts drawn by hand or by teams of dogs.
[4] What Redman thinks of as tapestries are not actually much like European tapestries, being made of linen rather than wool. They are also a sign of great wealth in Yadji culture; the effort required to create them means that only the most wealthy can afford to use them, and then only in the most valued locations. The Yadji tapestries here are actually more valued than most other forms of ornamentation.
[5] This is because Gunya chooses not to occupy the royal palace, but the House of the Dawn – the most sacred ground in Yadji religion, and usually only occupied to hold a vigil for a departed comrade. Gunya claims that he rules from here in honour of his departed cousin. This is a break with tradition, but one which he has so far got away with because of his claim that his cousin is not truly laid to rest until his successor has been named. Of course, no-one among the Yadji would bother explaining this to an outlander such as Redman.
* * *
Thoughts?
P.S. Still working on the “shorter” posts experiment. Next post will be, hopefully, the resolution of the whole Nuyts-Yadji sequence.
“I stood on the royal road to Kirunmara
And saw a pillar of fire, even as a wheel
Of flame descending from the abyss [heavens].
It spun from west to east, the sun turned backward
Consuming land, tree and beast alike in fury untamed
As abyss and earth prepared for the Last Battle.”
- Yadji verse describing the coming of the Nedlandj [Dutch] under Pieter Nuyts, and comparing it to their religion’s view of the apocalypse. Attributed to Prince Gunya Yadji, just before the battle of Kirunmara (1638)
* * *
Water falling from the abyss; the steady dripping that fed the Land and its waterworks, but made for bad listening.
Usually, Bidwadjari, senior commander of the armies of Prince Gunya Yadji, had little use for rain. It mattered to farmers, but its infrequent visits made battle manoeuvres far more difficult, and interfered with transportation anywhere off the royal roads.
This evening, though, with the news from the west, he welcomed the rain. It would delay the invaders. The seemingly invincible Raw Men. The pink men who had chained the thunder of the abyss into weapons.
At first, Bidwadjari had thought that these Nedlandj were just trouble-makers, foreign mercenaries who had been come to support the Yadilli in rebellion – and claim some of the gold of the Land. His prince had thought the same.
Now, he knew better. These Nedlandj and their leader One True Egg [1] were the true drivers. They brought their thunder and their beasts with them, and they stirred up revolution. Whether for gold or for some other reason, they brought war to the Land. A new and terrible form of war, about which he had to learn.
“You tell me not enough of how the battle fared,” Bidwadjari said, to the handful of men he had gathered to him.
They were all survivors of the second great battle with the Nedlandj. It had gone no better than the first. Thunder, fire, giant beasts, unknown manoeuvres, defeat, and massacre of the survivors. The Nedlandj were emboldened, and had found more allies. The Yadilli, the Mutjing and now the Tiwarang [2] joined them. For plunder, surely, with the Tiwarang, not the Plirite bleating which had lured the earlier allies.
“I must know,” Bidwadjari added. It could not be due to incompetent commanders. Not twice. Illalong was a good warmaster, and he had certainly led more men than the Nedlandj and their rebel allies, but he had found only defeat.
“Their soldiers know no fear,” one said.
“They bring thunder and hard iron where they march,” another said.
“Not their character. Speak of how they deployed in battle,” Bidwadjari said.
“In a wall of smoke,” one said. Another added, “Riding giant dogs down one flank, and a wall of hard iron along the other.”
Piecing the details together took too long. There were too few survivors, and it sounded as if they had seen little of the battle anyway. The Nedlandj on their strange big dogs can run too fast, and cut down too many as they fled. These survivors had only escaped because there were so few Nedlandj on dogs and so many men fleeing in panic that not all of them could be caught.
Still, after much going back and forth, Bidwadjari began to understand something of the battle. The Nedlandj had formed a line of battle with a core of their own men on a low hill. Their raw soldiers wore hard iron and wielded weapons which belched smoke and spit thunderbolts that could kill at a hundred paces or more. On the hilltop, they had strange carts [3] that used chained thunder to hurl balls of solid iron fast enough to dismember men.
On the flat ground, they used their Mutjing and Yadilli allies to form a defensive line. That Plirite rabble were not soldiers to match proper Yadji warriors, but they were good enough that they did not break instantly. That let the Nedlandj use their iron-hurlers to hit the back Yadji ranks – and then their dog-riders to hit the flanks of the engaged soldiers, breaking them. Illalong had been ridden down somewhere in that mass of men, and most of the survivors were those who had been held in reserve, then fled.
As to what the Nedlandj had done after their victory... there, he did not need to hear from the survivors. His own scouts – those that had returned – had reported that the Nedlandj had turned off the royal road before Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]. The rain would slow them down, there, but it made him wonder what they wanted.
The royal road was paved against the worst of weather, but following it would also mean that the Nedlandj had to capture or bypass town after fortified town. So did they fear the fortifications, did they manoeuvre to receive reinforcements from the Tiwarang, or were they just contemptuous enough of Yadji arms that they thought that a march straight on Kirunmara would bring them conquest?
“Did anyone hear tale of the parley before the battle?” he asked. If there was one, of course.
That produced another round of argument. No-one had witnessed the parley, but rumours about what was discussed had spread. The soldiers talked about how the Raw Men had admitted to being part of the Cleansing. That this time of blood and fire marked the first blow fought by the servants of the Lord of Night, as time marched to its end.
All meaningless speculation, as far as Bidwadjari could tell. None of the soldiers had heard, so they gossiped. He doubted that this involved the end of time. For all that Gunya Yadji had ordered priests killed for spreading rumours, for all that this was a time of strangers and strange weapons, he doubted that this marked anything supernatural. These Nedlandj had the feel of men to him, more alien than the Tjibarr or the folk of the Cider Isle, but men in search of plunder and conquest. That much, he understood.
He just wished he could think how to stop them.
* * *
Maurice Redman thought that he should have been more impressed by the Yadji royal palace.
The Yadji could build wonders. He had expected that from his first glimpses of the temple at Gurndjit. It had been confirmed by his journey to the royal city, with the endless dams, canals, lakes and swamps which the Yadji maintained for no good reason. Fish was a decent enough meal, if hardly worth so much effort, but it bespoke the Yadji construction talents. Even their royal road was an impressive highway: wide, well-paved, and well-maintained.
The Yadji ruler – Gunya, although no-one uttered that name in his presence – offered an impressive sight, too. Some sort of woollen tunic dyed into a bright pattern of blue and scarlet, with gold, silver and pearls decorating his chest, and a headband of gold decorated with brilliant feathers.
So why in the name of all that was good and holy did he rule from so plain a building?
A palace should have been larger, especially for a people so wealthy as the Yadji. It should have been filled with gold and ornamentation and all the other splendour which he had witnessed on a smaller scale in the temple in Gurndjit. It should not be a small place of largely plain stone, apart from a few tapestries [4] hung from the walls.
Why would the Yadji royal residence show such a lack of magnificence [5]?
Redman knew not to ask that question aloud, but he doubted anyone would have answered him anyway. This was supposed to be an audience with the Yadji emperor, but some old soldier in front of him just asked a lot of questions, while Gunya listened in the background.
The old soldier – nameless, like his ruler – wanted to know much about European weapons and tactics. He asked about horses, about steel, but most of all about gunpowder.
“What drives the thunder of your stringless bows?” the old soldier asked.
After some back and forth, Redman realised that he meant the gunpowder in muskets. “A black powder that burns,” he said.
“You make thunder from fire?” the old soldier said, a sharp edge to his voice.
“From this special powder, yes,” he answered. “It burns fast enough to push out objects. Small pellets in muskets, or large balls in cannon.”
That produced an even longer exchange where Redman had to explain that muskets and cannon both fired solid objects.
After that, the old soldier said, “Where do you find this special powder?”
“It is not found, it is made,” Redman said. He did not want to reveal much more. Knowledge like that should not be given away for nothing. It sounded as if selling guns and powder would be a major market with these Yadji, if the Dutch raiders could be driven off. In any case, he did not know the exact formula of gunpowder, only that it involved some mixture of brimstone, saltpetre and charcoal.
“How is it made?”
Inevitable question, Redman supposed. “I am not entirely sure. I know how to use muskets, not how to make powder.”
The old soldier gave him a long stare. He had a most penetrating gaze, firm and full of suspicion.
Redman offered, “I know that it involves charcoal” – a word which needed further explanation – “but not what else is required.”
The questions kept coming, but eventually the soldier accepted that Redman knew nothing useful. The questions moved on to more general military tactics, of which he knew less, but where he was more willing to answer.
The old soldier said, “Can spears be used to hold off... horses?”
Redman nodded, then remembered himself and changed it to a shake of his head. “They can, if used properly.” Pike was not a word he knew how to say in the Islander language. “Only if their lines remain unbreached. If the horsemen break into the line, then spears do not work much.”
“Or if cannon break our soldiers’ lines apart,” the old man said. “Or fire from a line of your muskets.”
This soldier is no fool, Redman realised. Of course, this man commanded the side which was apparently winning the Yadji civil war. Perhaps he was much of the reason for that.
“How do your armies fight against foes with cannon, muskets and horses?” the old soldier asked.
“Mostly, by having cannons and muskets of our own,” he said, which got him another sharp look. “I am not a soldier, so I do not know for certain, but I know that weight of numbers can account for much.”
“Truth,” the old soldier said. After a few moments, he added, “This black powder burns, you say? How does it fare in rain?”
“It will not burn if it is too wet,” Redman said. “Fighting battles is much harder in damp conditions.”
The old soldier smiled. “That gives me much to think about.”
Only then did Gunya Yadji speak. “Your words have been heard, man of the Inglidj.” He clapped his hands, and a servant stepped forward, carrying some form of cloth. “Give this to the masters of your Company to mark my gratitude.”
The cloth was a long rectangle of white and gold background, with a dark bird woven into the centre. The bird looked like an eagle, he thought. When he took the cloth, Redman felt the weight, and he realised that the golden colour in the cloth came from woven gold thread. God preserve me!
He bowed his head. “I will give this to them, along with your words.” Unless he could figure out a way to use this gift to escape on his own. No. Baffin would be back, and the Yadji ruler would be sure to ask what happened to his gift.
Gunya said, “I will not send you or your countrymen back to Gurndjit yet. For your safety, you must remain here in Kirunmara.”
The old soldier said, “We have not heard that these rebels are on the royal road, but they may move quickly. Once these Nedlandj have been defeated, you can return to await your ships.”
* * *
When the Inglidj soldier had departed, Gunya gestured for the other servants and soldiers to depart, too. Only Bidwadjari remained.
“Will his words help you prepare for the great battle?” he asked.
The old general said, “I will consider them. Fortune may favour us. Particularly if rain comes on the right day.”
Gunya’s lip curled. “The Neverborn has other things on his mind to organising that, I expect. Or so his priests would assure more. Those who still remain.”
“Bailgu brought too many priests with him,” Bidwadjari said. “Even if all of the others had fought their last battles, we would not be spared the bleating of these newcomers.”
“Let them talk, for now,” Gunya said. He risked much on this one gamble. A great battle here, if won, would end the civil war. Bailgu’s position was already weakened, and a victory here would ensure that the other princes abandoned him. Even if Bidwadjari could not arrange for Bailgu to be among those who died in the battle.
Gunya added, “What the priests say will matter for naught if you can bring victory against these Raw Men.”
Bidwadjari said, “Much I have to consider. Numbers may be the answer, but if your soldiers stand too close together, more will die from this black powder. If they stand further apart, less will die from this black powder, but they will not do well when they reach the Nedlandj lines if they are too far apart. If we attack them from the flanks, we risk having their horsemen grind us from front and rear.”
Gunya said, “I would not complain if you deployed Bailgu’s troops to the front line, in merit of their courage.”
Bidwadjari said, “Alas, he has so little trust as it is. He would recognise it as a ploy to get them killed.”
“Truth,” Gunya said, although he hated to admit it. “But I am sure of one thing: there is no better commander in the Land than you. If you do not discern how to defeat these Nedlandj, none of us will.”
* * *
[1] Pieter Nuyts, would-be Dutch conquistador. His name, to Junditmara speakers, sounds similar to the phrase “one true egg”.
[2] The Tiwarang are a Gunnagalic people who live in the north-westernmost reaches of Yadji territory, around historical Naracoorte and Penola in South Australia.
[3] The Yadji have invented the wheel, although with no real beasts of burden larger than dogs, they do not have that many uses for it. “Cart” is the best approximation of a Yadji word which describes almost any wheeled vehicle; their most common forms are carts drawn by hand or by teams of dogs.
[4] What Redman thinks of as tapestries are not actually much like European tapestries, being made of linen rather than wool. They are also a sign of great wealth in Yadji culture; the effort required to create them means that only the most wealthy can afford to use them, and then only in the most valued locations. The Yadji tapestries here are actually more valued than most other forms of ornamentation.
[5] This is because Gunya chooses not to occupy the royal palace, but the House of the Dawn – the most sacred ground in Yadji religion, and usually only occupied to hold a vigil for a departed comrade. Gunya claims that he rules from here in honour of his departed cousin. This is a break with tradition, but one which he has so far got away with because of his claim that his cousin is not truly laid to rest until his successor has been named. Of course, no-one among the Yadji would bother explaining this to an outlander such as Redman.
* * *
Thoughts?
P.S. Still working on the “shorter” posts experiment. Next post will be, hopefully, the resolution of the whole Nuyts-Yadji sequence.
Thought there were more mini-states in the southeast of the continent, but I suppose they might be too petty to bother with. Similar situation in Aotearoa.
Edit: Hanging in the balance.... Sweet.
Last edited:
Thande
Donor
Rain would indeed counter the advantages of gunpowder. On the other hand, this is Australia, where it stereotypically never rains...
The disappointment at the palace (or lack thereof) reminds me of a quote from a Dutch trader in this period about the palace of the King of Bornu in West Africa, where he described how big it is in terms of the size of the Amsterdam Stock Exchange. Always amused me because it reminds me of the BBC's habit of describing the size of things in terms of double decker buses.
The disappointment at the palace (or lack thereof) reminds me of a quote from a Dutch trader in this period about the palace of the King of Bornu in West Africa, where he described how big it is in terms of the size of the Amsterdam Stock Exchange. Always amused me because it reminds me of the BBC's habit of describing the size of things in terms of double decker buses.
Eastern Aururia looks about right.
For western Aururia, what's the coloured blob around OTL Bremer Bay? It's too far east for Milgawee/the White City (OTL Albany), and in any case there's no permanent European presence in the White City in the pre-plague period. There are a couple of small Dutch outposts on the west coast (*Fremantle and *Geraldton), but they're small enough to barely show up on the map. Even after the plague period, the third Dutch outpost is a bit further east (*Esperance) - but it wouldn't be around yet.
Most of the broader world's political borders are unchanged at this point - although the different Spanish-Dutch war has changed a few colonial borders here and there. There may also be some differences in North America - the Franco-British war fought around this time included some adjustments in North America when compared to the OTL resolution (more British territory, basically), but I can't remember offhand whether that ended before or after the plague period.
Edit: For Anglo-French relations, I was thinking of the Treaty of Suza (1629), which had some odd clauses which said that post-treaty conquests would be restored as they were at the date of ratification of the treaty. This had some repercussions since Quebec (and Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island) fell to English forces about three months after the treaty was signed. It would only be restored by the Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye (1632).
ITTL, the butterflies from the Aururian plagues delay the end of the Anglo-French War by a few months - England being more willing to push on with the siege of La Rochelle being abandoned due to the deaths. North America was insulated for longer against the Marnitja epidemic, and Quebec still falls to England on schedule in July 1629. The eventual peace treaty will be a bit different for North America, and more in England's favour. But the map could still be argued as accurate since the war isn't over until after the Aururian plagues end.
Shouldn't there be an orange blob on the South African coast?
Yup. *Cape Town was founded in 1637.
Would be entertaining, although I don't have precise borders in mind for a lot of that time, anyway. I could probably work something rough out if it's really needed, though. One at the height of the Watjubaga Empire, perhaps.
There are city-states and mini-kingdoms along much of the eastern seaboard, but Daluming (around *Coffs Harbour) is the only really big state. The Patjimunra (*Hunter Valley - the southernmost of the three lands shown on AE's map) were a kingdom for a while, but have reverted to city-states. The Kiyungu (the northernmost) are also mostly city-states - there's a loose alliance of sorts in their southern lands, but that's mostly to protect against Daluming raids. The people in *Sydney are almost populous enough to be worth depicting, but not quite - yet.
I haven't gone into any sort of detail of what's in Aotearoa, but they have some pretty decent-sized states by now. The Land of the Long White Cloud supports a much higher population density than anywhere in Aururia except for the Yadji heartland and along the *Murray and its tributaries.
One of these days I have to get around to revealing more of the Maori, but so many other topics to cover first - and the Maori are really the last place to be significantly affected by European contact.
One more post away from being resolved, one way or the rother.
Quite. The gap in technology and cultural sophistication is less than between the Old and New World. Plus the one advantage of having fought a long civil war is that the Yadji armies have needed to try new things to secure victory - they've fought each other much harder than they've ever fought their neighbours.
Soon, soon.
Donkeys haven't made it as far east as the Yadji. They've mostly been imported into *Western Australia, with a handful just starting to make it into Mutjing lands (*Eyre Peninsula).
The first direct Yadji contact with Europeans was Baffin's vist a few months ago, and he didn't bring horses. No Yadji have ever laid eyes on one before, and their civil war has stopped all but the vaguest of tales reaching them about what Europeans have been up to elsewhere.
Maybe, although I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to eat them instead. The Yadji aren't stupid, in their own way, but they don't have a clue how to breed or maintain large mammals.
True, but the Aururians have a number of advantages which the Andeans lacked. For all that the Inca had entered the early bronze age, their weapons and armour were actually less effective against Europeans even than the (mostly) stone age Aztecs - the Aztec obsidian etc weapons were better at killing Europeans. (Not that it helped much in the long run). Inca metallurgy was more for decorative purposes, I suppose.
The Yadji, though, are in the early iron age. They can field armies in the tens of thousands who are equipped with iron scale armour and enough metal to arm their soldiers with maces, spears, axes and even some swords (the latter mostly for elite units). This is hardly a match to Europeans, but the gap is much smaller than for the Incas or Aztecs.
Europeans still have a great technological advantage, of course - steel is a lot better than wrought iron. But the Yadji don't really need to achieve technological equality. If they can figure out a way to be even on the wrong side of a 5:1 kill ratio against Europeans, they'll still win. (The native allies are not as good as the Yadji veterans in one-to-one combat - the Yadji are veterans and better armed).if the Yadji can figure out a way
On the other hand, the Yadji don't have any cavalry, and horses are a real force multiplier, both in direct battle and in reconnaissance and communications.
It never rains, but it pours... Just ask the Victorians or Queenslanders who currently have what amounts to inland seas gradually making their way along the inland rivers. Historically it's been even worse. If I remember right, the worst floods along the Murray (in 1956) were over 100km wide in places and took about six months to fully recede.
Of course, one point is that the Yadji do know how to control water once it's reached the ground.
Do the Beeb use London taxis as a smaller standard measurement where required?
The other fun thing, of course, is that Redman will probably see the real Yadji royal palace at some point.
Glad you like it. Events are moving toward a conclusion...
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Well, on the one hand, numerically superior and well-disciplined early iron age warriors were able to destroy rifle-armed and very well trained, but numerically inferior European armies as late as 1879 (Isandlwana). It might suggest that the musket-and-pike armed Dutch of 1630s should be even more vulnerable to such defeats.
But, on the other hand, the Boers during the Great trek won against the Zulus whenever they managed to force the latter to attack a well-manned laager, even despite the fact that technological gap between the Boers and various African tribes in 1830-1840s was somewhat narrower than between the British Army and the Zulus in 1870s. (Of course, worse average quality of trekboer handguns and absence of cannon might be more than offset by trekkers' greater experience and sniping skills).
What I mean is that if the Nuytses, despite their arrogance and racism, decide to go on defensive against Yadji main force, then the Dutch may still win, even with initial force ratio of, say, 10 Yadji warriors per 1 Dutchman. At the same time, if their feelings are that 'all Natives are nothing against a Christian army' and/or if the Dutch command finds it necessary to attack (say, because they are short of food/water) - then there is strong possibility of disastrous reverse, much worse than Isandlwana, as the Nuytses are on their own, without any reinforcements in sight.
But, on the other hand, the Boers during the Great trek won against the Zulus whenever they managed to force the latter to attack a well-manned laager, even despite the fact that technological gap between the Boers and various African tribes in 1830-1840s was somewhat narrower than between the British Army and the Zulus in 1870s. (Of course, worse average quality of trekboer handguns and absence of cannon might be more than offset by trekkers' greater experience and sniping skills).
What I mean is that if the Nuytses, despite their arrogance and racism, decide to go on defensive against Yadji main force, then the Dutch may still win, even with initial force ratio of, say, 10 Yadji warriors per 1 Dutchman. At the same time, if their feelings are that 'all Natives are nothing against a Christian army' and/or if the Dutch command finds it necessary to attack (say, because they are short of food/water) - then there is strong possibility of disastrous reverse, much worse than Isandlwana, as the Nuytses are on their own, without any reinforcements in sight.
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Merci. More is coming soon - if I can stop getting distracted with other ideas.
That's a marketing opportunity they've missed, then.
Thankee. I've changed the map now.
Nice map. At some point I need to get around to describing the different borders in colonies and in the mess (aka Holy Roman Empire). Too many other things to do first...
Bidwadjari is clever enough, in one sense, but the choice may not be his. The Dutch have been forced by their Plirite allies to adopt a "take no prisoners" approach - literally. This has not been popular on the Yadji side. The temptation, and indeed the political pressure, would be to return the favour in the event of a Yadji victory. 'Twould be a question of whether long-term gain can overcome political expediency.
In the longer term that may not matter anyway, though. If the Yadji can fend off Nuyts's little filibuster, then they will probably have the option of trade with the EIC. If they can do that, importing horses and trainers would be easy enough.
Of course, there is the minor detail that they need to defeat Nuyts first.
Interesting question. The rate of fire which the Dutch troops could manage would probably be worse than that which the British or Boers had. I'm not sure whether the Boers would have been using percussion caps, although I presume that the British were.
The Dutch mercenaries would have, at best, early flintlocks - I don't recall offhand whether the changeover would have been complete by the mid-1630s, or whether the Dutch might still have been using older firearms.
So, in the best case, they would be firing 4-5 rounds a minute - probably more like 2-3 rounds. Better than a matchlock, but still not great. Would that, plus pikes, be enough to hold off a determined Yadji foot assault? Perhaps, particularly if the flanks are protected and pikemen can help keep the foot from closing. But if the Yadji do close to hand to hand, the Dutch had better hope that their cavalry are somewhere handy to attack the enemy in the rear.
So far, the Dutch have won both battles by standing on the defensive and encouraging the Yadji to attack them, and holding off the attackers thanks to muskets, cannon and pikes - and native allies guarding their flanks. In the first battle, that alone broke the Yadji. In the second, it took a cavalry charge to do it.
I doubt that Nuyts will want to change from what's worked so far. Still, the Yadji will have learned (somewhat) from the previous experiences, and the numerical odds are slightly in their favour.
After battle casualties and swamp rash victims, Nuyts has roughly:
1100 European infantry (musket and pike in roughly equal numbers)
250 European cavalry
600 Mutjing infantry (including reinforcements)
3000 Yadilli infantry
2000 Tiwarang infantry
I haven't worked out exact numbers for how many troops the Yadji have brought to Kirunmara, but it's certainly in excess of 30,000.
So the Europeans are looking at the wrong side of 20+:1 odds. Their native allies will help restore the balance, of course, but the Yadji are better-armed and armoured than any of the native allies, and more experienced and disciplined than any except the Mutjing.
In short, it could go either way.
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How is the development of steel coming in the Yadji empire? Mixing carbon and iron together to make steel shouldn't be to hard for the Yadji to achieve considering they have already invented iron.
Is the old soldier mentioned in the update the only European advisor the Yadji have at the moment surely not?
Is the old soldier mentioned in the update the only European advisor the Yadji have at the moment surely not?
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