Lands of Red and Gold

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #40: The Christmas Spirit

Given the festive season, I thought it was time for a slightly more light-hearted look at the future of the LRG-verse.

Edit: The sections in blue have been added based on reader feedback from here and elsewhere. I think that they add a little to the piece. If you've already read this post, then you can just check out the blue sections to see what's been added.

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Taken from a discussion thread posted on the allohistory.com message board.
Note: all dates are in the Gregorian calendar. All message times are listed in what would be the equivalent of North American Eastern Standard Time.

Thread Title: AH Challange: Dual state North America

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Original Post

From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 24 December, 9:35 PM

Got a new challenge for you folks. This is a challange inspired buy a novella I’m working on.

The basic sceanrio is that North America must be wholly divided into two great powers: an Anglophone power in the north and east, and a Hispanophone power in the south and west.

These too great states must be the recognised sovereign states for the entirety of North America. There can be small autonomous regions and formal dependencies if you like, but de jure sovereignty has two reside with the two great powers. No protectorates, satellite states, or corporate states allowed.

More, the two states must be predominately English and Spanish speaking, respectively. The sole official language for the nations as a whole must be English or Spanish. It is acceptable to have relatively small minorities who speak other languages – Dutch, French, Swedish, Nahuatl, Congxie, whatever – and those languages can even be official languages of subnational regions. But no single linguistic minority can from more than 10% of the population of either nation. At least 80% of the people in each nation much speak the majority language as their sole native language.

The border between the dual states can be flexible depending on your chosen divergence, but it must includ the Rockies for much of their length. The north-south portion of the border should be somewhere around the southern extremities of the Rockies, or a bit further south than that. Maybe a river border, say the Red River [1], maybe the Rio Neuces, or at a pinch the Rio Bravo [Rio Grande]. Or you can use a border determined by settlement or military division, but it shouldn’t be any further south than the Rio Bravo.

In tems of population, industrial capacity, political structure or other demographics, you can pick pretty much whatever you want. But thw two great powers need to be both stable enough and wealthy enough to be effective geopolitical rivals – one can’t dominate the other.

The divergence date must be no earlier than 23 April 1529, ie after the Treaty of Saragossa ratified the division of the globe into Spanish and Portuguese zones. Ideally the diveregence should be after 1753 – the later the better, as far as I’m concerned.

Have at it, folks!

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From: Hasta la Vista
Time: 24 December, 9:42 PM

What are the borders of North America?

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From: Patrician
Time: 24 December, 9:44 PM

What about Greenland?

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 24 December, 9:54 PM

@ Hasta La Vista and Patrician

Good call, folks!

For these purposes, North America includes all of the mainland of the continent from the Arctic to as far south as, well, I’d prefer it to stretch as far as the Isthmus of Panama. I suppose a lesser challenge would be to have North America defined as ending somewhere no further north than the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.

I don’t care what happens to Greenland or the Caribbean islands. They can be part of either of the dual states, still colonies or dependencies of European powers, or even independent micro-nations. It doesn’t matter. (Althgouh I’d love to hear how Greenland could be part of the Spanish great power!)

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From: Christo Columbo
Time: 24 December, 10:12 PM

@ TLG
Is this novella going to be part of a series? It'd be great to see this setting as part of a broader literary universe like R.R. Floyd's "Hammer of Gold" novels - both series, and the follow-ons. I loooove those books. Favourite moment: when the Atjuntja armies bring Shah Jahan himself for appeasement at the House of Pain. Allohistory needs more writers like him!

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From: Patrician
Time: 24 December, 10:17 PM

Erm, Floyd is a woman. Ruth Roxanne, I believe her initials stand for.

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From: Christo Columbo
Time: 24 December, 10:22 PM

Patrician, are you serious? That doesn't get mentioned in the "about the author" section.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 24 December, 10:24 PM

@Columbine
Have to get the novella finished and sold first before I can think about a whole series.

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From: Patrician
Time: 24 December, 10:27 PM

Deadly serious. She just uses her initials since male readers are less likely to buy from authors with female first names.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 7:06 AM

Come on, doesn’t anyone have any ideas?

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 7:21AM

In two words: im-possible.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 7:26 AM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> The basic sceanrio is that North America must be wholly divided into two great
> powers: an Anglophone power in the north and east, and a Hispanophone power in
> the south and west.

Partner, not going to happen. Even as few as four sovereign nations in North America is major-implausible territory. Three is space-cuckoo land or wish-fulfillment, take your pick. Two is who rolled the dream grass [cannabis] into your klinsigar?

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From: Hasta la Vista
Time: 25 December, 7:28 AM

Whether North America is defined as ending in Tehuantepec or Panama won't really change things much. Holding that part together is reasonably straightforward. Its the western coast further north which you need to worry about.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 7:41 PM

@ Hasta La Vista
So hwo woudl you keep that part of the Hispanophone great power?

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 7:46 AM

@ Hats and Boldie

Try to be more constructive, folks! This is a challange. It’s not meant to be easy, but help me find a way.

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 7:53AM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> Try to be more constructive, folks! This is a challange. It’s not meant to
> be easy, but help me find a way.

Partner, threads on two- or three- or even one-nation North America come up a lot. They get shot down just as quickly as they deserve. Look them up in the search engine; that’s what it’s there for.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 8:01 AM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> Try to be more constructive, folks! This is a challange. It’s not meant to
> be easy, but help me find a way.

Not my job to make the impossible happen, partner. You want to make it work, you find a way. Just don’t be surprised if you’re shot down in flames when you try.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 8:09 AM

@ Hats and Boldie

If you cant say something helpful, just stay out of this thread, hey?

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 8:18 AM

TLG, since you’re clearly too illiterate to work out how to use the search engine, let me give you a quick-and-dirty summary of why it wouldn’t happen.

During colonial times, everyone wanted a piece of North America. No single European power could defeat all of the others without provoking a general European war. Everyone was too concerned with the balance of power to allow one nation to come out on top in Europe. That always applied to divisions of colonial territory after European wars, too. Colonial borders could get adjusted, and even the odd colony fully handed over, but not on the scale required to divide all North America in half.

And by the time independence came, separate identities were too well-established in North America for the nations to unite.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 8:28 AM

Originally written by Hats:
> And by the time independence came, separate identities were too
> well-established in North America for the nations to unite.

Truth, Hats.

Just to add to that, even colonies by the one power would find it quite difficult to unite when they had been administered separately for so long. To pick the most obvious example, England had lots of colonies in North America, but they didn’t all join together.

Some did unite, of course, both before and after independence, and maybe a few more could in an allohistory. But only if they weren’t too far apart or too disparate in their culture and governance. For instance, can you imagine Alleghania and New England uniting even if Tigeria wasn’t in the way?

Of course, The Last Goober can’t seem to figure that out.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 8:29 AM

@ Hats

Just because your lingo is Hats doesn’t mean that you should talk through it!

This is allohistory, not fixed history. Just because something turned out one way in our history doesnt mean that ith as to work out the same way if the wheel of time was given another spin.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 8:36 AM

@ Boldie

Stop thinking so fixed-historically! Given who you picked your lingo from, I’d have thought you would be more courageous about thinking in new ways.

Don’t you think that if, say, Tigeria fell to the English early enough, that there would be more commonality among the northern and southern English colonies?

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From: Guido the Guide
Time: 25 December, 8:48 AM

Be nice, everyone. This is Christmas. Save your fights for your family, not fellow AH.commers.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 8:59 AM

Originally written by Guido the Guide:
> Be nice, everyone. This is Christmas.

I’m a Plirite, partner. I don’t care about Christmas.

If Goober is going to make stupid pronouncements or ask for space-cuckoo scenarios, I’m going to call him on it, regardless of which day it is.

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 9:04 AM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> Just because your lingo is Hats doesn’t mean that you should talk through it!

In the spirit of the season, and given that a guide has already warned you about it, I’ll ignore this comment for now.

> This is allohistory, not fixed history. Just because something turned out
> one way in our history doesnt mean that ith as to work out the same way
> if the wheel of time was given another spin.

Allohistory does not mean anything goes. It means picking an event which might have gone differently, and then extrapolating what might plausibly have happened from there. Some things may have changed if history had gone differently, but you can’t just ignore the causes of why particular historical events or trends happened.

There’s nothing wrong with the principle of picking an outcome you want and see if there’s a plausible way for it to happen. But you’re ignoring that there are reasons why North America ended up as we know it today. Flapping your arms won’t change that.

Go back far enough, and you might be able to create a two-power NA scenario, but 1753 is far too late. 1529 is too late. Even 1492 is probably too late, although you might be able to make a case for a post-Columbus scenario where things change. (Maybe, just maybe, if John Cabot survives for longer and is much more successful.)

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From: Guido the Guide
Time: 25 December, 9:05 AM

Kumgatu, just cool it. Speak civilly of other members. Take the argument to individual messages, if you really must, but even then, remember that good conduct is still in effect. I don’t want the Admin to come back tomorrow and have to start evicting people for things they wrote on Christmas day, of all days.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 9:17 AM

Originally written by Guido the Guide:
> I don’t want the Admin to come back tomorrow and have to
> start evicting people for things they wrote on Christmas day,
> of all days.

Partner, how many times? I’m a Plirite. I’m not a Christian. I DON’T CARE ABOUT CHRISTMAS.

You worshippers of a dead god can believe what you want, but don’t try to impose it on me or the world.

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> Stop thinking so fixed-historically! Given who you picked your
> lingo from, I’d have thought you would be more courageous about
> thinking in new ways.

Stop being such a patronising piece of donkey’s vomit.

> Don’t you think that if, say, Tigeria fell to the English early enough,
> that there would be more commonality among the northern and
> southern English colonies?

A few more things in common, maybe, but not enough to matter. It was hard enough getting Virginia and Cavendia to unite. Wine, hemp and tobacco growing free farmers didn’t get on that well with rice and tea growing, slave-owning planters. How well do you think it’s going to work if you throw in whatever mercantilists you have in ex-Tigeria and puritans in New England?

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From: Emerald
Time: 25 December, 9:26 AM

Originally written by Kumgatu the Bold:
> You worshippers of a dead god can believe what you want, but
> don’t try to impose it on me or the world.

So you want balance instead of Christmas peace? Just don’t give us the harmony which comes through self-detonation.

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From: Kumgatu the Bold
Time: 25 December, 9:32 AM

Fuck you, Emerald. Fuck you with a 200-metre redwood up the arse.

The worst part of it is, you can’t even be creative with your baiting. You could at least have come up with something smarter like “partner, you have a really explosive personality”.

Instead, it was just a boring insult. The only thing you left out was calling me a black-heart or nigger or something equally puerile. It’s as bad as if I called you a ritual cannibal, which I won’t, because it would be predictable.

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From: Guido the Guide
Time: 25 December, 9:47 AM

@ Emerald, that was disgraceful. I’ve deleted your second message, since it was even worse. Consider yourself locked for a week. It would be longer, but that’s the maximum I have the authority for. Whenever the Admin checks back in, I’m sure he’ll evict you permanently.

@ Kumgatu, what Emerald wrote was reprehensible, but you were steaming even before that. You’re locked for seventy-two hours to give you a chance to calm down.

@ TLG, you’re still pretty new around here, so I’ll settle for a warning in your case: be more civil to people. This isn’t a playground, and you’re not Mighty Mouse.

As for the rest of you, anyone who tries to keep any baiting going will get the same punishment as Emerald. Anyone else who tries to derail the thread some other way will be summarily locked for twenty-four hours.

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From: Jason Markham
Time: 25 December, 10:51 AM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> The basic sceanrio is that North America must be wholly divided into two great
> powers: an Anglophone power in the north and east, and a Hispanophone power in
> the south and west.

Very difficult one, TLG. Maybe not space-cuckoo difficult as some have suggested upthread, but still a very hard thing to pull off.

You’d certainly need an early divergence. 1753 is right out. I think that you’d need to have New Amsterdam fall to the English before it gets properly established. I’m not up on the military and naval history enough to work out the latest date when that would be possible, but once the whole New Netherlands are in place, it’s too late. Even if they fall to the English later, there’s still too much of a sense of separation among England’s disparate colonies.

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From: The Profound Wanderer
Time: 25 December, 11:11 AM

Maybe have New Amsterdam fall to someone else first. Sweden maybe, or France? Having one set of foreign overlords might mean that the people there have a weakened sense of identity, then if the English take over later, its less of an issue.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 11:21 AM

@ PWanda

Yeah, that mihgt work. Doesn’t help that much with the Spanish half, though. Can you think of a divergence which would help with that?

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From: Neville Maximum
Time: 25 December, 11:24 AM

Keeping California part of the Spanish great power is going to be a bitch!

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From: Cuchulainn
Time: 25 December, 11:32 AM

You've set yourself quite a task here, TLG. I'm afraid I do not see any way to help with the scenario as a whole, but I recommend that you read everything that Stayman has written on the history of Virginia and Alleghania to give yourself some idea of the requirements for unification.

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 11:39 AM

Keeping the French out of North America entirely is going to be hard. New France is easy enough to have them lose pretty much any time, even Canada, but Louisiana is a ’hole other story.

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From: The Profound Wanderer
Time: 25 December, 11:55 AM

Originally written by Patrician:
> Keeping the French out of North America entirely is going to be hard.
> New France is easy enough to have them lose pretty much any time, even
> Canada, but Louisiana is a ’hole other story.

There can still be significant numbers of French speakers, remember. Just a 10% minority of the whole population. If you can hold the rest of North America east of the Rockies into one nation – I know, I know, but finding a divergence for that is the challenge – then Louisiana won’t be that big a proportion of the people.

It would have to fall to the English eventually, or even the new sovereign nation after it wins independence.

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From: Alex 1001
Time: 25 December, 12:03 PM

Originally written by The Profound Wanderer:
> It would have to fall to the English eventually, or even the new
> independent nation after it wins independence.

Or after the English grant them independence.

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From: The Profound Wanderer
Time: 25 December, 12:09 PM

Originally written by Alex 1001:
> Or after they win independence.

Yeah, I suppose. Given what’s already happened in this thread, though, I don’t want to derail things by getting into the ever-contentious arguments about whether independence was better granted by the pen or the gun barrel.

From a macro-level it’s pretty much irrelevant anyway. You have go figure out how to make the English colonies the only ones north of the Spanish great power. Once you’ve worked that out, the details of how independence is achieved will be relatively minor.

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From: Lopidya
Time: 25 December, 12:14 PM

Everyone’s forgetting about the Spanish half of the challenge. How to create a super-Mexico or preserved New Spain which stretches from Alaska to Panama? That’s a major undertaking in itself, never mind combining the anglophone half of the continent too!

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From: The Profound Wanderer
Time: 25 December, 12:21 PM

Originally written by Lopidya:
> Everyone’s forgetting about the Spanish half of the challenge. How to
> create a super-Mexico or preserved New Spain which stretches from
> Alaska to Panama?

Personally, I’d see the English-speaking half as the greater challenge. Find a divergence which can accomplish that, and the Spanish unification might follow from that – if only as a response to the threat posed by this English great power.

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From: Neville Maximum
Time: 25 December, 12:28 PM

No-one’s answered how any Super-Mexico is going to hold onto California as a single country!

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 12:41 PM

Originally written by Neville Maximum:
> No-one’s answered how any Super-Mexico is going to hold onto
> California as a single country!

Oh, please. No Californian Migration scenarios are commonplace around here. Learn how to use the search engine.

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From: Neville Maximum
Time: 25 December, 12:45 PM

@ Hats

California is a problem coming and going, partner. If there’s no migration, then there’s not enough people to make it worth Spain’s trouble to hold onto it, either!

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 12:52 PM

@ Hats and Maxxie

Actually, for the scenario I have in mnd, I’d prefer it if California does have a large population.

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From: Neville Maximum
Time: 25 December, 12:59 PM

Then you’re stuck, partner. If California has the migration, then it won’t be part of any super-Mexico. If California doesn’t have the migration, then how can it have so many people?

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From: AlyssaBabe
Time: 25 December, 1:01 PM

Originally written by Neville Maximum:
> If California doesn’t have the migration, then how can it have so
> many people?

Cali-fornication...

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From: Tin Man
Time: 25 December, 1:06 PM

Gunfighter, do you have a map of the borders you have in mind?

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 1:10 PM

So, would a fall of Tigeria – when still the New Netherlands – to Sweden or France be possible?

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From: Special Jimmy
Time: 25 December, 1:14 PM

@ Patrician
Not bloody likely. Sweden had too much else to worry about in Europe during the seventeenth century to pick a fight over Tigeria. France didn’t have the navy to hold it until it was too well-established to be conquered and bargained away at the diplomatic table.

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 1:19 PM

So it’s down to England conquering it directly, if anyone does?

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From: Special Jimmy
Time: 25 December, 1:21 PM

@ Patrician
Hard to see who else could do it. Spain couldn’t even beat the Dutch in the Netherlands, not like they’re going to bother taking New Amsterdam.

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 1:26 PM

Originally written by Neville Maximum:
> California is a problem coming and going, partner. If there’s
> no migration, then there’s not enough people to make it worth
> Spain’s trouble to hold onto it, either!

That’s oversimplifying to the point of absurdity. It would be worth less, not worthless. A near-empty California give less motivation to keep it, but it’s easier to hold with fewer rebellious locals around, too.

This has come up before. Many times. Check out Red Dawn’s excellent “When We Were Young” timeline, which is based on a variant of the No California Migration premise, or Orb’s seminal “Night and Steel” timeline, which has a near-empty California as a flow-on.

Or, failing that, use the search engine to find the dozens of discussion threads on this topic. You’re not discussing anything new here.

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 1:28 PM

So basically we need a specific divergence which gives the English early control of Tigeria.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 1:36 PM

Everyone, this thread is drifting. Does anyon have any ideas for how to solve both halfs of the challenge?

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 1:38 PM

@Tin Man
No, don't have a map. Would you mind drawing one based on what I've described?

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 1:41 PM

Originally written by The Last Gunfighter:
> Everyone, this thread is drifting. Does anyon have any ideas for
> how to solve both halfs of the challenge?

No, because it can’t be done, as you’ve already been told. We’ve moved on to discussing whether one half or the other of your challenge can be accomplished. That might be possible, and more interesting to boot.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 1:47 PM

@ Hats
Stop being a spoilsport. If you can’t think of a way to make it work, don’t disencourage everyone else from trying.

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 1:49 PM

TLG, stop being a jackanape. If you’re so precious about your scenario, tell us exactly what you have in mind and we’ll see if we can help.

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From: Hats
Time: 25 December, 1:54 PM

Wow, TLG, you are a piece of work. Since Guido has already had to drop a warning over conduct in this thread, I won’t say anything else except welcome to my eyes shut list. Population: you.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 1:56 PM

@ Patrician
Dont want to give too much away, but it’s mostly set in Africa.

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From: Patrician
Time: 25 December, 1:59 PM

If that’s the best you can do, goodbye. I have better things to do on Christmas than help someone who refuses to be helped.

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From: Neville Maximum
Time: 25 December, 2:16 PM

Those timelines are much too long. You can’t expect me to read all of them!

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From: Pierre Dubois
Time: 25 December, 2:53 PM

Much as it pains me to agree with Hats about anything, he’s right in this case. TLG, you might as well be farting into the wind.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 3:48 PM

Is there anyone left who actually feels up to meeting an AH challange?

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From: Tuar'e'mont Tua'ru'il
Time: 25 December, 4:02 PM

Love to read a scenario based on this, but don't know enough about it to suggest how you could achieve it.

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From: Lopidya
Time: 25 December, 4:14 PM

Does it matter for your scenario if there’s still Plirites in North America?

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 4:33 PM

@ Lopidya
It would be fine if there’s still religious Plirite influence. Mkes no difference for my scenario. The only things I nede are that there are only two states, and that linguistically they must be Anglophone and Hispanophone. But the later the divergence the better, since it could flow-on to what I have in mind elsewhere in the world.

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From: HistoryMinor
Time: 25 December, 6:11 PM

You’re all going about this challenge wrong. A later divergence date is perfectly plausible, if you think about the essential requirements.

The original poster wants a dual state North America where English and Spanish are the dominant languages today. Not in 1900. Not in 1800. Today.

That’s plenty of time for linguistic change, and for military conquest, too.

Why couldn’t two military great powers emerge in North America, even after independence? Wars are complex things. Given the right circumstances, I could easily see a post-independence state conquering most of its neighbours. And holding them, too. Sure, they might be unhappy subjects, but subjects they could remain.

New England has the potential on the eastern seaboard, I think, and Mexico in the south. Not easy, of course, but not impossible either. (Not even im-possible.)

If conquest can be achieved in the right timeframe, then linguistic change would follow. Consider: languages, even well-established languages, can decline over time. Particularly in the era of modern communications.

If New England launches a successful program of military expansion, say sometime after 1870 when its industrial advantage will really be at its height, then it might take over much of North America.

If New England can hold its conquests, then English will be a clear majority language over the whole eastern half of the continent. Of course, there will be significant linguistic minorities, but they will be as islands in an English sea. Most official communications will be in English; so will most education, especially higher education.

Given that sort of linguistic pressure, I’d expect substantial declines in the proportion of minority language speakers. Sure, French or Dutch will never disappear entirely, but they will gradually attrite speakers, particularly in smaller communities. Before too long, the majority of their speakers will be bilingual; in a few generations, many of them will speak English as their first language.

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From: Broken Drum
Time: 25 December, 6:38 PM

Originally written by HistoryMinor:
> If New England launches a successful program of military
> expansion, say sometime after 1870 when its industrial advantage
> will really be at its height, then it might take over much of North
> America.

That’s some impressive space-cuckoos you have singing there, partner. New England launching a continent-wide military expansion program after 1870? Using what, genetically enhanced super dolphins?

Sure, they’ve got more population and manufacturing capacity than any other individual nation in North America, but not all of them together. New England might get away with conquest once, maybe even twice. But don’t you think that after that, the rest of the continent would form a defensive alliance to stop them? Especially if New England is annexing whole nations.

And don’t even get me started on the possibility of foreign intervention from Europe, Argentina, or Brazil.

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From: HistoryMinor
Time: 25 December, 6:48 PM

@ Broken Drum
Guess it’s easier to bitch than to create, hey?

I didn’t say it was likely. Just that it was possible. Mistrust can stop nations allying together; foreign wars can keep the European and South American powers busy elsewhere. Don’t write off a whole scenario as impossible just because there’s circumstances where it might not happen.

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From: The Last Gunfighter
Time: 25 December, 6:54 PM

@ HistoryMinor
Lov you’re style, man! Can you develop that scenario a bit more?

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From: Broken Drum
Time: 25 December, 7:14 PM

Originally written by HistoryMinor:

> I didn’t say it was likely. Just that it was possible. Mistrust can stop
> nations allying together; foreign wars can keep the European and South
> American powers busy elsewhere. Don’t write off a whole scenario as
> impossible just because there’s circumstances where it might not happen.

There’s mistrust, and there’s bloody insanity.

Mistrust is: Alleghania and Louisiana stand aside while New England invades Tigeria over some trumped-up pretext.

Bloody insanity is: Alleghania, Louisiana, California, Mexico, and everyone else in North America don’t notice when New England cunningly invades and annexes them one by one, and they just stand around smoking kunduri and do nothing about it, because, well, they think that New England’s armies have flashy uniforms or something.

Spot the difference?

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From: HistoryMinor
Time: 25 December, 7:16 PM

@ The Last Gunfighter:
Glad you like my suggestions, but I can’t help noticing that this is about the fifth thread you’ve started where you ask other people to come up with ideas for you, but you’re never willing to put any time or thought into developing them yourself. I think that this time you should flesh things out on your own.

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From: Sword of Allah
Time: 25 December, 7:21 PM

Originally written by Broken Drum:
> Bloody insanity is: Alleghania, Louisiana, California, Mexico, and everyone
> else in North America don’t notice when New England cunningly invades and
> annexes them one by one, and they just stand around smoking kunduri and
> do nothing about it, because, well, they think that New England’s armies
> have flashy uniforms or something.

If Alleghania, Louisiana, and the rest are involved in a lengthy war; they might not be able to do something about it when New England starts the attack. And they probably won't be a very good shape to do much after they stop fighting each other. After all, there is historical precedence for that (multiple occasions, for that matter). War-weary Persia and Byzantium getting largely swallowed by the Caliphate, for one.

*

From: HistoryMinor
Time: 25 December, 7:23 PM

@ Broken Drum

There’s constructive criticism, and there’s unhelpful pedantic nitpicking.

Constructive criticism is: pointing out the problems with someone else’s allohistorical scenario and suggesting alternatives to make it work.

Unhelpful pedantic nitpicking is: carping and quibbling and refusing to change your position or keep an open mind, and never actually coming up with any scenarios or ideas of your own.

Spot the difference?

*

From: Dozy
Time: 25 December, 7:31 PM

I think that the best time to create an English-speaking great power in North America is in later colonial times. Maybe do something to muck about with the Nine Years War. You’d have to change the alliance structure or diplomatic priorities a fair bit – maybe have Sweden intervene, for instance – but it might be possible for England to make some major colonial acquisitions as a result of that war (or a close allohistorical analogue).

That wouldn’t be enough in itself to create a single English nation in North America, but it would be a good start.

*

From: Mark Antony the Guide
Time: 25 December, 7:39 PM

Right. There’s far too much hostility in this thread. I’m closing it now before things get even worse. The Admin can sort out any necessary punishments in the morning.

Compliments of the season to everyone who celebrates it, and good luck to everyone else.

* * *

[1] This refers to the Red River which forms the OTL Texas-Oklahoma state border, not one of the at least six other Red Rivers in OTL USA or Canada.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #40: Shaking the Branches

“Hope is the delusion of fools. Acceptance is the choice of wisdom.”
- Batjiri of Jurundit [Koroit, Victoria]

* * *

Picture, if you will, a plain outside a city, leading down to a gently sloping beach. The city is one which its inhabitants call Coonrura, and which another history will call Kingston [Kingston SE, South Australia]. At this time, the city is inhabited mostly by a people who call themselves the Yadilli and who follow the wisdom of the Good Man [ie Plirites], but it is ruled by the Yadji. Or it would be, if the divided Yadji could ever end their seemingly endless civil war and decide on a single Regent.

On the plain outside, an army is encamped, watched over by strange ships anchored offshore in the bay. An army unlike any which has ever been seen before in the Land of the Five Directions. A force composed mostly of men with strange, half-coloured skin as if they had been pulled out of the oven too early.

Under the command of Pieter Nuyts and his son Lauren, they have come in the name of gold. Thirteen hundred foot soldiers with arquebus and pike. Three hundred cavalry, all veterans of the long war which is slowly grinding to a halt in Europe. Not all of their horses survived the voyage here, and some of those which did are in a poor state, but still, these strange four-legged giant beasts have both impressed and terrified the Yadilli. Two dozen cannon of varying calibre, brought most astutely by the elder Nuyts, who had heard of the impression which those weapons have made among the Aururian peoples further west.

With these Raw Men march allies. Five hundred mercenaries of the Mutjing, survivors of their own people’s endless squabbling. None of the Yadilli have taken up arms yet, but Nuyts is making most valiant efforts to persuade them to join him.

The Nedlandj invasion has begun.

* * *

Founded by the teachings of the Good Man, the Plirite faith is both united and divided. United in its acknowledgement of the wisdom of its founder, divided in both polity and its interpretation of how that wisdom should be applied.

The Nangu branch of the Plirites is the most widely-known of those interpretations, thanks to being carried by the Island’s merchant venturers, but it is not universal, and not even the eldest interpretation. Another, older interpretation is cherished by the people who call themselves the Yadilli.

The Yadilli are among the most ancient of Gunnagalic-speaking peoples. Their ancestors settled on the lower reaches of the Nyalananga [River Murray] in the earliest days of Aururian agriculture. Their ancestors were quick to adopt copper-working, and were the first to learn the art of working arsenical bronze. It was the vigorous pursuit for mining that metal which led to uprising, and indirectly to the collapse of the Formative Gunnagal culture which will so puzzle future archaeologists [1].

The ancestors of the Yadilli were among those who had burned the ancient great city, triggering the Interregnum. They fled across the mighty river to the south. There they found that for days and days of travel, they were cut off from the sea by a series of long, bittersweet lakes with sand dunes beyond [2]. The water there promised fishing and waterbirds for food, but it did not offer safety for people who still feared being forced to work in mines and out of the sun.

They fled further, until they arrived at a region where the lakes disappeared, to be replaced by a wide sheltered bay with glistening white beaches, and where the shape of the coastline protected it from the worst weather of the southern ocean [3]. Here, they felt safe. Here, they settled, and would remain for a very long time.

The Yadilli have long believed themselves to be a people apart. They did not expand much further from their ancestral lands, and they have lost even legends of that far-off time when they migrated from across the Nyalananga. But they maintain a strong sense of their own identity.

The Yadilli have preserved their language and culture through more than two millennia of local and foreign rule. They survived the chaos of the Great Migrations. They endured the rule of the First Speakers. They had a short time of independence where they adopted the faith of the Good Man before being conquered by the growing might of the Yadji. For some brief periods, their lands have been claimed by the kingdom of Tjibarr, although the Yadji have ruled them for the last half-century.

Now, in the year which another continent’s calendar calls 1637, they face a new challenge...

* * *

A small scroll of wattle-bark paper is carefully unrolled. The ink markings on it [4] are clumsily-drawn, as if the writer had only rarely used a quill. Which is indeed the case, as the reader knows.

This scroll has come from a listener [spy] assigned to Coonrurua. That listener knows only the basics of writing, and indeed has used far more pictographs in his message than should be properly used, including a few used incorrectly.

Still, the gist of the message is clear enough:

“Strangers have come on ships. Not Islanders or Tjibarr. Men uncooked. Led by One True Egg [5]. Some ride giant dogs. Summon thunder and throw iron balls like the breath of the Rainbow Serpent. One True Egg urges Yadilli to rise against the Neverborn. Their elders have not announced yes or no.”

With a muttered curse against the Lord of the Night, the reader rises. He wonders whether he can find another to bring this news to the prince.

* * *

The Time of Troubles, as it will later be known, or the Year of the Twisted Serpent, as the Yadji call it. Either way, it is finally nearing its end. The first full-scale civil war in the history of the Yadji Empire has been traumatic, bloody, and lengthy, but now, in the year which the visiting Raw Men call 1637, the end is in sight.

Or so it should be.

Gunya Yadji and his commanding general Bidwadjari have fought a long war. Despite superiority of numbers and force of arms, his great rival Bailgu Yadji has refused to submit under any terms. It has taken siege after long siege to bring Bailgu’s supporters into submission.

The core of the Land of the Five Directions has been cleansed of Bailgu’s taint. The greatest province, the Lake Country, is entirely cleared, while in the western province of the Red Country, two cities have recently fallen, and only one last holdout remains at Windi [Rose, South Australia]. Only in the farther reaches of the Golden Country and the even more distant White Country does Bailgu have any strong remaining presence, and even then his remaining outposts in the Golden Country are under siege.

Bidawdjari has judged that, barring the intervention of the Lord of Night [ie misfortune], most of the remaining enemy strongholds should have fallen within another year. Capturing the rest would take longer, but it is possible that seeing Bailgu facing annihilation will make his remaining royal supporters abandon him. Particularly if they can secure a pardon if they change sides; Gunya has already begun to make some efforts along those lines.

If only all of those plans had not been halted by the news out of the west.

* * *

Taken from:
The Tenth Classic
A novel by Duarte Tomás

“Report,” Lauren Nuyts said crisply.

The scout dismounted, passed the reins to a waiting attendant, and then nodded. “All as expected. The kuros [7] are encamped for the night. A few scouts for warning, but they’re not wandering far.”

“Numbers?”

“Maybe five thousand,” the scout said.

“Good work,” Lauren said, then turned on his heel and walked back into the camp.

Finding the command tent was a matter of moments, even with the gathering darkness. His father waited inside, looking composed as ever. Madjri was still beside him; Lauren thought he had never seen the local headman anywhere else since they had struck the alliance to bring down these heathen Yadji.

Not that the Yadilli creed is any better, Lauren mused. But they will be our subjects soon. Time enough after to bring them to Christ.

The head of the mercenaries was there, too, along with a few of the senior Dutch soldiers.

“Scouts are back,” he said. “Yadji army is bedded down for the night. About eight or ten thousand of them. They’ll attack tomorrow.”

“Of course they attack,” Madjiri said in his broken Dutch. “They say leave or die, you stay, they attack.”

“I’d rather know how they will attack,” his father said. “We know so little of Yadji tactics.”

“With straightforward courage,” observed Dandal – at least, that was the closest Lauren could come to pronouncing the name of the Mutjing mercenary leader. “Not all Yadji soldiers seek death, but none of them fear it. They will see that they outnumber us, and they will aim for our centre and seek to crush us.”

“Good thing they not know we have thunder, eh,” Madjiri said, the whiteness of his teeth amazingly bright against his black skin.

His father shrugged. “We have steel and horses. I would fight even without cannon.”

“But how best to use the weapons we have?” asked Colonel Michel. “Bombard them with cannon balls as they march on us, or give them a volley of muskets when they are near?”

“Your thunder will break the Yadji armies either way,” Dandal said.

“Panic is good, but with cannon, they will flee before we can close with them,” his father said. “I think that we should keep our cannon for another time. Let them feel the weight of shot and musket.”

The conversation grew intricately involved with battle plans and deployment after that. Lauren listened with only half an ear. He needed to hear these things, but he did not pretend to be a master tactician. That was why they had recruited the German and Dutch soldiers in the first place.

No, what intrigued him more was how the Yadji would react after they were defeated. They were here to conquer an empire, after all, as Cortes and Pizzaro had done before them. Winning the battles was important, but more would need to be done afterward.

In time, the soldiers settled on a battle plan which would require the Dutch troops to hold a solid centre and face the main Yadji charge. The Mutjing mercenaries would protect the left flank, while the cavalry would be on the right flank with the most open ground and the chance to pursue the enemy when they broke. The Yadilli militia were to be held in reserve. His father explained that this would be for pursuit, too, but the unspoken message was that the Yadilli would not yet be trusted.

Once the battle plans were settled, Lauren asked Dandal to translate his words into a form which the Yadilli would understand; he did not trust Madjiri’s broken Dutch for these questions.

Via Dandal, he asked, “With the Yadji defeated here, what will they do next? Will their emperor submit?”

Madjiri laughed. “Were you not listening? Yadji will not fear death, but welcome it. To them, this invasion will be part of the end of the world, when they must fight utterly until their over-powered god is released.”

Of his own initiative, Dandal added, “Prince Gunya is a man of great drive. He has fought his brother for ten years and more. He will not stop until he has no armies left.”

Not the most cheering of thoughts, Lauren mused.

*

Smoke still hung over the field of battle. The air hung still and hot, with no waft of breeze to clear the haze or mask the noises. Lauren’s ears still brought him the sound of screams, and more distant shots and shouts as the cavalry and Dutch infantry pursued the remaining karos.

Before him, though, was a more urgent problem.

A couple of hundred Yadji had surrendered, whether through lack of courage or injury. Some of the Yadilli militia had been assigned to guard them while his father oversaw the pursuit.

Madjiri said, “What good keep Yadji alive? No need prisoners. That not...” He went back and forth with a Mutjing mercenary who was assigned as an interpreter. “Lack decisiveness.”

“You can’t just kill prisoners,” Lauren said. Well, it could be done sometimes, depending on the bitterness of the fighting. Such a wholesale bloodlust struck him as excessive, though.

“Not kill all of them,” Madjiri said. “Spare... one in hundred, send back to tell of their defeat. Rest must die – only way to bring balance.”

Lauren started to argue, then stopped. These Yadilli had been only half-hearted supporters until now. Some had agreed to join to fight, yes, but many more had stood aside. Victory now would inspire the rest. No need to antagonise them over this when the Dutch needed local allies.

“So be it,” he said.

* * *

[1] See post #6.

[2] This is a series of lakes along the coast of modern south-eastern South Australia, which are an extension of the Murray Mouth, and separated from the sea by a long series of sand dunes created by silt deposited by the Murray. They are a mixture of fresh and salt water, depending on the balance of rainfall and river flow. The nature of the coastline makes settlement by the sea itself difficult, although it makes for very good fishing.

[3] This is Lacepede Bay, which is not a completely sheltered harbour, but whose geography protects it from most weather except when the wind is blowing directly out of the west.

[4] Mostly irrelevant aside which didn’t fit into any earlier post: the ink which the Aururians use is made from a combination of soot (from burnt wattle wood) mixed with wattle gum (as a binding agent – much as gum arabic was used elsewhere in the world). The Yadji take this one step further by writing on a kind of paper made from the boiled inner bark of wattles. Wattles: The Trees with One Thousand and One Uses.

[5] By one of those coincidences of allohistorical linguistics, the name Pieter Nuyts, to Junditmara speakers, sounds like the words for “one true egg”, and hence his name has been rendered that way.

[6] See post #16 for a description of the Yadji provinces, or see the map here: https://www.alternatehistory.com/decadesofdarkness/EasternAustralia(1618).png

[7] Kuro, an allohistorical Dutch term for Aururian peoples, was first used by Pieter Nuyts and his son Lauren. It is derived from the Japanese word for black; the two Nuyts learned that term during their imprisonment in Japan, and use it to distinguish dark-skinned Aururians from even darker-skinned Africans.

* * *

Thoughts?

P.S. I know this update is a lot shorter than some of the previous instalments. I’m experimenting with more frequent, shorter updates, rather than longer less frequent ones.

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #42: The First Pods Fall

“The wars of mankind today are not limited to a trial of natural strength, like a bull-fight, nor even mere battles. Rather they depend on losing or gaining friends and allies, and it is to this end that good statesmen must turn all their attention and energy.”
- Count Gondomar, ambassador to London, to Philip III of Spain, 28 March 1619

* * *

Darkness outside, kept at bay by flickering of lanterns and tallow. Coolness in the air, not the harshness of a Dutch or Japanese winter, but a welcome relief from the heat of the day.

“They not give us food, then they will have no food,” Madjiri said. As always, the Yadilli commander had a disconcertingly bright smile, thanks to teeth polished God only knew how.

Lauren Nuyts shrugged. The Yadilli rebels had a way of warfare which made even the most long-serving veterans of the German war uneasy. Massacre of prisoners with not even the possibility of ransom or exchange. Now this, too.

“Why antagonise the locals needlessly?” He took in their confused expressions, and said, “I mean, why upset them.”

“I understood,” said Dandal, the Mutjing mercenary commander. Madjiri shook his head, suggesting that he also followed.

“Not your words that puzzle me, but your meaning,” Dandal added. Which made sense; these kuros had proven to be extremely quick in picking up the gist of Dutch. “These villagers have food, but they will not open their storehouses to us. If they will not open their storehouses, then they should have no houses.”

Lauren absently swatted a mosquito that had been buzzing around his ears, then said, “Destroying this entire village would get us food here, but it would make enemies of everyone else who hears of it.”

Madjiri chuckled; it was not a pleasant sound. “It will make them think that maybe they should obey us.”

Dandal said, “If we let this village refuse us, we will never receive food or aid from any others. We must show them what we are. War is not a time for half-measures.”

Lauren looked to his father, who had been conspicuously silent throughout this discussion. He ventured a question in Japanese, a language which they had both perforce learnt during their exile [ie imprisonment] there. “I know we need to make an example of these natives, but wouldn’t that go too far?”

The elder Nuyts said, “Heathens know heathens best.” He switched back to Dutch. “Let them know our anger.”

* * *

Year of the Twisted Serpent [1629-1638 AD]
Balam Buandik [Beachport, South Australia]
Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)

Balam Buandik: a place with nothing to recommend it now.

In happier times, it would have been a place to treasure. A town on an isolated neck of land beside a rich, teeming lake [Lake George]. The lake had been one of the most prized of waters, a mix of true and bitter water, where waterfood could be found in abundance [1].

The lake was useless, now. The besieging army had blocked the channels which brought true water into the lake. Now it was a drying wastewater with more salt than the sea. Useless for food, useless for transport, leaving only glistening salt plains behind as the waters receded.

The town of Balam Buandik remained, despite the best efforts of Gunya’s besiegers. Its location on the narrow lands meant that it could be protected by one short wall on the main landward approach, and a longer wall across the dunes on the western side. With enough canoes bringing in fish from the sea, and enough land within the walls to allow gardens for yams and wealth-trees [wattles], it could never be starved into submission, no matter how poor the fare [2].

The valuable location meant that Balam Buandik had held out for Bailgu Yadji even while the other western strongholds had fallen, one by one. So far as Warmaster Reewa knew, Balam Buandik was the last stronghold to remain west of the White Country.

How much longer he could keep this town intact, though, he wondered. Food was not the problem. Water was abundant enough from wells, too.

No, the problem was piling up almost beneath his feet.

The walls of Balam Buandik had withstood all attempts to storm them, so far, but his opposing commander had been doggedly persistent. Rather than continue with futile efforts of ladders and ropes, he had resorted to a more long-term solution.

Every night, enemy soldiers came under cover of emu-hide shields and dropped loads of earth and rock beside the wall. There were too many of them standing with bows ready to permit the defenders to dislodge the growing pile during the day. Every night, the mound of earth and rock grew larger. It was slow work, but the enemy commander proved to have the patience to carry it out.

The mound almost reached the top of the walls, now. It would not take many more nights before the enemy soldiers could climb directly onto the wall. When that happened, everyone inside would fight a last battle, and then their Last Battle.

“Warmaster, see!”

The voice broke Reewa from his reverie. Outside of bow range, one of the besieging armies held up a banner of unmarked blue.

They want to parley now? he thought. Strange, so very strange. Now that they held an inexorable advantage, why would they bother with that? They knew full well that Reewa would never surrender unless ordered to by Bailgu Yadji himself.

“How should we answer?” the nearest soldier asked.

“Colour a blue flag with one white dot,” the Warmaster said. Whatever words needed to be said would be between him and the enemy commander alone. No-one else should overhear.

After his orders had been carried out, the enemy forces replied by pulling their banner down and raising it with a single white dot, too.

“Find a rope to lower me onto their mound,” he said. “May as well get some use out of their work, yes? And make sure that archers are ready to kill the enemy commander if I am attacked out there.”

When he had started to descend, one man stepped out from the enemy lines. Even at a distance, the shine on his armour was obvious.

They met roughly in the middle, of course, as custom and honour required. The man was indeed the enemy commander, with armour which must have been specially polished for this purpose. No sign of gold anywhere, though.

“I am Illalong,” the enemy commander said, using the neutral form. No mention of his rank, either. Clever fellow, if that meant he was trying to avoid sounding either of higher or lower status.

“I am Reewa,” he replied. “Have you invited me out here to gloat, now that your mound is nearly finished?”

“No, I invited you to parley because I have been so ordered by Gunya Yadji himself.”

Reewa managed a slight chuckle. “Nice to hear that your prince cares so much about capturing Balam Buandik.”

“To be honest, I think that he would content to let you rot inside your walls until he has taken the crown,” Illalong said.

“Why bother me, then?”

The other commander frowned. “News from the north. The Yadilli rise up in revolt, aided by Islander mercenaries and strange men from the uttermost west, beyond the seas.”

News indeed, if it was true. Reewa suspected it was; Balam Buandik was hardly such a prize that Gunya Yadji would resort to a ruse to capture it. “Does your prince propose a truce to defeat them, as was done with the Kurnawal?”

“Not that he has told me,” Illalong said. “Only that your prince needs to hear this news. And to believe it. Gunya Yadji thinks that he will be more likely to accept it if is delivered by your troops being given safe passage to one of the fortresses he still holds.”

“You ask me to abandon my duty to hold this place?”

“I ask you to make your prince fully advised of this new threat,” Illalong said. He shrugged. “It is I who am deprived, anyway. Without this order, I would have taken Balam Buandik within a week.”

Reewa thought he heard exaggeration there; the mound would not be completed that quickly. Still, the words held enough truth for him to shake his head. “And if I refuse?”

“If you have not accepted by tomorrow’s dawn, I will attack as soon as I can. There must be no secondary threat when Gunya Yadji marches to defeat these rebels.”

“The decision will not take that long,” Reewa said. In truth, he was already minded to accept. He had been offered an honourable course to preserve his soldiers. Still, it would not do to appear too hasty. “If I accept, I will raise a black banner above the walls before sundown. And if so, my soldiers will be ready to march at first light tomorrow.

“So be it.” Illalong sketched a slight bow, then turned and strode away.

* * *

September 1637
Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]
Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)

Another day with no sign of cloud or ship.

For over a year and a half, Maurice Redman had been the commander of this most isolated of Company outposts. So isolated, in fact, that the directors of the East India Company might not yet know that they possessed this foothold in a new world.

By now, he hoped, Baffin had brought his ships back to a Company outpost in India, or perhaps even back to England itself. He had four ships; surely at least some of them should have survived. When the Company knew what it had here in Aururia, it would send a relief ship, or perhaps even a trade ship or two.

If all of Baffin’s ships had been wrecked during the voyage, well... there would be time to deal with that later. Perhaps they could build a ship; they should have sufficient tools, if the Yadji would supply the iron and timber required.

If not, perhaps he could bargain with their Islander interpreter about hiring an Islander ship to sail to Surat [3]. The Islander ships were capable of the voyage, he was sure; smaller than most English ships, but sturdy enough. The Company would not be happy that the Islanders had been shown the way to India, but the news of Aururia should make up for that.

In the meantime, though, he needed to wait. And wait. Depending on what else happened on his voyage, Baffin’s ships might be delayed for quite a long time, and the voyage from England to Aururia could take a year in itself. He would have to allow at least another year from now before he sought other ways of getting word back to the Company.

“At least there are things to learn here,” he murmured. Both about the Yadji and the Islanders.

He had already acquired a good grasp of the Islander language; he had passed some of the waiting by writing a book of comparative words and grammar.

No-one tried to learn the Yadji language anymore. Not after the Yadji headman ordered Charles executed for using the wrong word when attempting to speak to him. That had only been the most unpleasant of the incidents which confirmed that the Islanders had not been joking about Yadji touchiness.

Redman shook his head, realising he had been letting himself grow mental cobwebs, and returned his attention to the latest entry in his word list. Dandiri was a multifarious Islander word; trying to understand all of the shades of meaning which the Islanders gave to it could give a man nightmares [4].

Before he could find another equivalent to that annoying word, he found another, more genuine distraction. One of the other Englishmen came in to report that Redman had been summoned to attend the local headman.

“What does that bloody devil want with us?” Redman muttered, but he hurried outside, anyway.

Eighteen months in Gurndjit, and he still couldn’t find anyone who would say the headman’s name. That was meant to be a sign of royalty around here, but this headman definitely reported to Gunya Yadji, who claimed their capital even if the civil war still continued. The Yadji were beyond strange, sometimes.

After he entered the former priestly temple, the headman gave him his usual greeting. Superior to inferior, from what he understood of Yadji ways, but he could live with that.

The headman said, “Gunya Yadji summons you to Kirunmara. You will attend with all haste.”

A dozen questions came to Redman’s lips, but he swallowed most of them again. Questions could be dangerous with the Yadji, as he and his countrymen had discovered. “I will attend. Does the prince require just me, or my countrymen also?”

The headman smiled; a question which sought further instruction was the least likely to anger a Yadji. “You, and any of your men who know about war. Especially anything about your cannon.”

Redman shook his head; knowing that meant agreement among the Yadji.

“You will follow the Royal Road. You are expected, and will find succour in any town you pass.”

Redman bowed, wondering to himself what the devil had brought this about, after so long being ignored by the Yadji rulers.

* * *

Darkness, or so it seems. He can feel heat on his skin, and worse than heat beneath his skin, but no light.

Are his eyes not working? The question takes a long time to come to his mind, and longer to answer. Something is blocking them. Whether it is swelling – his face feels light and puffy – or something placed over his eyes, he cannot work out.

Voices sound in his ears, faint as if they are floating through cloud. Sometimes the meaning registers, sometimes it does not.

“This is my son you’re talking about,” a voice says. He knows that voice. It is his father, although right now he cannot picture a face to match the voice. He lacks the concentration required.

“We talk about, but not to,” another voice says. One of the natives, he thinks, but cannot place which one. “No point talking to him. Swamp rash reach that stage, only thing a man can do is bring his mind into balance.”

“A doctor could...” His father’s voice trails off.

“No doctor here. Gunnagal doctors not come among Yadji.”

“Could they do something?” his father asks, an edge of something in his voice. “Not just for Lauren. “A quarter of our men – yours and mine both – lie abed with this affliction, and many of them will die. Can these... Gunnagal doctors save them?”

“Some can, or so it is said,” the native says. “No help now. Too far away, even if they would come among Yadji.”

“God help me, there must be something we can do,” his father’s voice says, but it seems to come from even further away.

The voices keep talking, but he is no longer able to understand them.

* * *

[1] Lake George is one of a series of coastal lakes created through the accumulation of sand dunes on their seaward side. Most of these lakes (including Lake George) have no natural outlet to the sea, and are hypersaline due to the accumulation of salts and with water lost only to evaporation. Historically, Lake George had a drainage channel dug to the sea early in the twentieth century, which reduced the salinity and turned it into a useful fishing area. Allohistorically, Yadji engineers have developed a much more complex series of water inflow channels and a dammed exit which maintains the water level, and have stocked the lake with their favourite fish to encourage its productivity.

[2] While Yadji will eat seafood if nothing else is on offer, they consider it much inferior to the fish and other waterfood which they grow through aquaculture in fresh or brackish water.

[3] Then the site of the largest English trading outpost in India.

[4] This is because dandiri is a word used in the Plirite faith to mean bringing order or harmony. Given how the faith intertwines with their lives, the Islanders use it in many different senses, although its most common non-religious meanings are to indicate approval or to describe prosperity or good fortune.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

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.

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #44: Seeds of the Wealth-Trees

“Any weapon you hold at your death will still be in your grip when you step beyond the grave.”
- Batjiri of Jurundit [Koroit, Victoria]

* * *

25 January 1638
Near Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]

Evening drew near its end, with the first stars appearing in the fading light. Proof that even the too-long summer days in this land of upside-down seasons did not last forever. The moon had not yet risen, but it was drawing near to the three-quarter mark which their Yadilli and Mutjing allies insisted was a sacred time of danger balanced with opportunity.

Hans Scheer sat holding a cup of the sweet lemony tea which the Yadilli had given to him [1]. He would have preferred ale or wine, but these South-Landers knew nothing of those beverages, and he could not stomach their spiced ganyu [yam wine]. The lemony tea was an acceptable compromise.

Eight other soldiers sat nearby, clustered around the very small fire which they had made for light and to brew the tea. The ground had been carefully cleared around the fire to make sure that the flames did not spread. They had witnessed only one of the wildfires which came to this land in summer, but it was not an experience he would ever want to repeat.

Someone strode up to the fire, and Hans stiffed when he recognised Colonel Michel.

“Easy, boys,” Michel said, holding up a hand. “No need for ceremony here. Just here to hear if you want to say anything before the morning.”

“Everyone’s ready, sir,” Hans said. He still missed Johan and Ludwig, one dead of swamp rash after the first battle, and the other dead in the second, but everyone else kept their courage.

“Excellent,” Michel answered. “It’s time to give these pagan kuros another dose. We’ve beaten them twice already, but it seems that they don’t learn their lessons easily.”

“We’ll teach them,” Hans said. “No better teachers than musket, pike, cannon and cold steel.”

The men laughed.

The colonel clapped him on the shoulder. “Too true. Rest well, men, and tomorrow we’ll kill thousands more of these pagans.”

He rose and strode off to the next fire.

Hans took another sip of the tea, and grinned to himself.

*

An assemblage of men, six hundred or so all told. Two banners worth of death warriors. Men who were dead in law, men who for one reason or another had taken the oath that could never be unsworn. Men whose faces were dyed white in a pattern which resembled a skull. Men whose ornamentation proclaimed them death warriors on the eve of a battle.

Batjiri of Jurundit stood among them, toward the front. He was one of the most senior death warriors, who had held to the oath for more than ten years. Much longer than he had expected, but then no man could second-guess fate.

Now, their prince addressed them for the first time in years. “My friends, I have erred,” Bailgu Yadji said.

Cries of denial rose from the throats of the assembled death warriors. Batjiri’s voice sounded loud among them.

Bailgu held up a hand. “Not in my choice of soldiers. I could have asked for none finer.”

This time, the death warriors cheered.

“For so long I have held your banners in reserve, awaiting the time of a final battle when you would be called to fulfill your oaths. This much of my anticipation was true: the final battle would be fought.”

Bailgu smiled. “My mistake was that I thought it would be against my cousin. That the final battle would be of prince against prince.”

The prince held up both hands. “It is not so. The final battle comes, but this is not a war between Yadji. The Cleansing is at hand. Time marches toward its end. The final battle will be of Yadji against the allies of the Lord of Night. In tomorrow’s battle, your deaths will prepare the way for the rise of the Neverborn.”

Shouts of acclamation answered him.

* * *

26 January 1638
Near Kirunmara, Durigal

Darkness still hung over the encampment when Hans Scheer rose. Dawn must be a ways off – he had no clock to be sure – but they would need to be prepared to move at short notice.

Dressing could be done in the dark, fortunately. Pants, shirts, boots, belt, blood-red tabard – Nuyts’s suggestion, to quickly tell their own side in the battlefield – and hat. The hat was perhaps what he valued most, save his musket itself. The sun in this land burned far too hot, especially in midsummer.

He had powder and musket ready where he had left them last night, but Hans did not move to pick them up yet. When it came time to move, that would be soon enough. This was his third battle on the soil of the South Land, and the eighth in his life, not counting minor skirmishes. He had learned the value of patience.

Raised voices carried to him, and he emerged from his tent. “What’s happened?”

A sergeant stood outside, surrounded by several of Hans’s campmates. “Water on the battlefield.”

“Rain?” Hans asked, before realising how foolish that sounded. The ground here was still dry.

“The God-damned Yadji have released one of their dams. That flooded the ground we need to fight on.”

“Those pig-faced eel-fuckers!” Hans paused a moment while he recovered his cool. “How bad is it?”

“Water’s gone down, but it destroyed some of the powder we had in place for the cannon. Ground’s still muddy, too, and it’s ruined the trench we had ready to protect us.”

“Christ. Does that change the battle plan?”

The sergeant shrugged. “Yes, but not sure how yet. Except that we need to be there first, in case the pagans try something clever. Grab your equipment; we’ll be marching soon.”

*

Night drew near to an end. Probably the last night Batjiri would ever see, unless he lost his Last Battle after death and was called to the minions of the Lord of Night.

He sifted a few ashes from the wealth-tree [wattle] ash in front of him, and rolled it into a ball with the crushed leaves of alertness-weed [2]. Soon it was ready to chew; he popped the ball into his mouth to start working on it.

The effects were quick: a slight deadening of his body, as the world became more distant. He still knew where he was and what he was, but he felt lighter, more alive. While it was not obvious yet, he knew that pain would we weakened if he felt it, and fatigue banished from him.

He rose, picked up the pages of his manuscript, and went to look for his fellow death warriors.

*

Mud underfoot in the blue hour [morning twilight] was not Hans’s idea of the best way to prepare for a battle, but it would have to do. They were almost in place at the low rise which the commanders had picked out to defend. Fortunately, the mounted scouts had reported that there were no other Yadji dams nearby which could be broken to flood the field again.

He had his musket in place beside him. His lovingly-treasured flintlock. All of the men in his ten-strong front rank of musketeers had these new, wonderfully fast muskets. Some of the musketeers still fought using the older snaphances, which was why they were deployed to the flanks and rear of the formation.

The pikemen were in the centre, twenty wide, with another rank of musketeers on the other side. More pikemen were on his left, and another group of musketeers further past that. The same pattern would be duplicated on the other side. He could not see that far, even with the higher ground, but he knew the deployment. It was the same that the Colonel had ordered in the last two battles, with the cannon on the even higher ground behind them, and the cavalry off doing whatever Nuyts deemed best.

Now all they had to do was wait for their allies to arrive – they would be delayed by their morning prayers – and then for the enemy to attack.

*

Raw mushrooms were being passed around. Batjiri took two of them, and sent the platter on to the next warrior. He popped the first in his mouth, chewing it quickly, and swallowed. Then he consumed the second.

His armour was laid out before him, as standard for a death warrior in preparation for fulfilling his oath. The writing table and pen beside it were not standard, but Batjiri wanted to write whatever inspiration came to him before his departure.

Chanting started up around him as the death warriors started to dress. He joined in with the familiar chants, the ancient words coming to his lips almost without conscious thought. Recited so slowly, oh so slowly.

“The path opens, the path opens...”

He put on the padded undershirt first, left sleeve first, then the right.

“The journey begins, the journey begins...”

He tightened and tied the strings at the front, those designed so that the wearer could fit them himself.

“The first step is the hardest...”

He picked up his armour, with fish-shaped scales fastened to a jacket of emu-leather hide. A weight of metal in his arms, his last great burden to be fastened to him in this life.

“To make your oath true...”

He fitted the left sleeve first again, feeling the weight on his arm and shoulder as the jacket settled into place.

“Once on the road, once on the road...”

He closed the right sleeve around his arm, and pulled the jacket tight as the armour fitted around him.

“You will walk ever onward, ever onward...”

He signalled for his neighbour to tighten the straps for his jacket now, to bring the armour into maximum protection.

“To the end that lies beyond...”

He closed his neighbour’s armour too, fixing it so that the straps closed at his back where they would be best defended.

“Go armed, go armed into the mist of decision...”

He pulled on the leather leggings, reinforced with only light scales which offered lesser protection, but which allowed freedom of movement and reduced weight.

“Battle to the death, battle to the death...”

He finished tying the leggings at his waist, and reached for his helmet.

“So that you can fight on after it!”

He placed the helmet on his head, his final protection, as the chant started again, the pace quickening slightly this time.

“The path opens, the path opens...”

He checked his shield, running his finger around the edge for flaws.

“The journey begins, the journey begins...”

He started to feel more detached now, as the mushrooms began to take effect inside him.

“The first step is the hardest, the hardest, to make your oath true...”

He strapped his shield onto his back, where it would be ready to carry into the battle.

“Once on the road, once on the road...”

He reached for the dagger and belt, and fixed them around his waist.

“You will walk ever onward, ever onward...”

He checked his sword too, blade and hilt, but did not move to put this on, not until he marched out.

“To the end that lies beyond...”

Words were being shaped by his lips, but others now brewing inside his head. Now, he knew how to finish his classic.

“Go armed, go armed into the mist of decision...”

He inked the pen and crouched over the table. Writing was awkward in armour, but he had written so many words during the long wait that he was sure he would manage now.

“Battle to the death, battle to the death, so that you can fight on after it!”

He wrote the words that concluded his work: Care not how you die. Care how you live.

The writing finished, Batjiri joined fully in the chanting, as the words were repeated again and again, gaining slightly in tempo each time.

*

The sun rose gradually higher in the sky as Hans waited with his compatriots. He silently blessed his hat. Back in Germany that would often have been merely decoration, but here it would be a stone-cold blessing as the day heatened.

Movement on either side showed him that the Mutjing and Yadilli allies were moving into place. Slower than he liked, on a day like this. The Yadilli in particular had always put him ill at ease, with their murderous ways and their persistent attempts to convert him and his fellows to their pagan faith. But he supposed it did not matter too much today. The Yadji were even slower to deploy, and no-one could doubt the Yadilli courage.

There would be no parley today. Perhaps demands had been heard discreetly over the last couple of days, but by now every man knew that the Yadji would never surrender until they had been utterly defeated. Today would have to be one more lesson.

As the sun rose higher, the Yadji eventually came. Units of the enemy marched across the open ground in front of them. Many units of men, seeming to stretch from horizon to horizon. As they neared, he could pick out the distinctive two-part Yadji banners, with a square section hanging from the top and a smaller downward-pointing triangle below. He had no idea what the different banner designs meant, but noticed how many of them were being carried.

“So it begins,” he murmured.

*

Drums beat to his left and his right, as Batjiri marched on according to the demands of their rhythm. He was in the front rank of the Spurned, his banner of death warriors.

But not in the front rank of the whole army, as he might have expected. Units marched in front of the death warriors. Not in the usual tight formations that prepared for a charge. Small columns of men, two or three wide, with gaps between each column. The units had been separated, as if to weaken them. Or to make space. Who knew why Gunya Yadji had given his orders?

The ground beneath his feet held some mud. But not enough that it troubled him. This part of the battle was one he understood. The order had gone forth that the muddy ground would weaken the Raw Men. That their thunder balls would be harder to fire, that their dog-riders would find manoeuvre more difficult, and that the eggs from their thunder-carts would be less effective in the mud.

The drums continued their slow beat, and the death warriors marched on toward the enemy.

*

Cannon belched somewhere behind and above him, their balls landing among the approaching Yadji. Faint words carried across the narrowing gap; the Yadji seemed to be singing as they charged. He had never heard that before.

Regardless of the enemy actions, Hans knew what he had to do. A discipline born of long practice consumed him. He bit down on his first paper cartridge, ripping it open with his teeth. He pushed the frissen [striker] forward and tipped a small dose of powder into the revealed flash pan.

The singing grew slightly louder as he pushed the frissen back to close the flash pan. He tipped the musket vertically, the barrel held upward, and emptied the main dose of powder into the barrel. The ball went in next, before he pushed in the wadding formed from the cartridge powder. He took the ramrod from its position beneath the barrel, and pushed it into the barrel to compact the wadding, powder and ball into a mass ready for firing.

Ignoring the sounds of the approaching enemy, he replaced the ramrod and raised the musket ready for firing. The butt fitted against his shoulder as he pulled back the hammer.

The mass of enemy soldiers were close enough now, despite the strange gaps in their ranks. He aimed as best he could, readying himself for the order.

“Fire!” came the cry, somewhere behind him.

Smoke belched from the musket as he and his fellow musketeers fired. The thunder of the powder firing was followed by some screams that carried across the gap from the charging pagans. He ignored that as best he could, kneeling down to let the second rank fire, and tried to keep the powder cartridges dry and clear of the mud while he repeated the process to reload.

When he stood to fire again, he vaguely glimpsed many of the front rank of Yadji down, but more of them kept coming. The gap closed, and he fired again.

A third volley followed, then a fourth. The Yadji died in numbers, but they kept coming. It was as if they cared nothing for whether they died.

“Pikemen forward!” came the order.

Pikes were lowered as the men stepped forward, around Hans and his fellows. The approaching Yadji were close, so close now, and breaking out of their columns now that the musket fire ceased.

With the first two ranks of pikemen in front of him, Hans reloaded at a less frantic pace, waiting to fire over their shoulders when an opportunity presented itself.

*

Soldiers ahead fought and died. Smoke rose like mist from the battlefield, obscuring the enemy ranks and those who had come closest to them.

A few regular soldiers broke and ran, but the death warriors paid them no heed. Batjiri and his fellows cared nothing for those who fled death. An ending came to all men. All that mattered was how they faced it.

The beat of the drums quickened, and Batjiri shifted from a walk to a jog.

Ahead, a few more of the thunder-sticks belched lead and smoke. More of the enemy seemed to be fighting in hand to hand, or at least as far as he could tell through the smoke.

The drum beat quickened again, and Batjiri shifted into a run. Thunder sounded, and somewhere off to his left, he heard screams as a large ball struck the ground. He focused more ahead than anything else, as between the smoke, he could see some of the enemy soldiers thrusting their very long spears to keep the regular soldiers at bay. Others fired more of their thunder-sticks.

The drum beat intensified, and Batjiri broke into a sprint. For now, he could concentrate only on frenzy and the charge.

*

Hans stood, waiting for a gap in the pikes, and fired. A Yadji soldier dropped to the ground. Whether dead, injured, or just out of fear, it mattered little. All that was important was keeping the enemy far enough away to keep the pikes intact.

So far, it remained unbreached, at least in front of him. He could not see or hear other parts of the battle, but since they were not being pressed from either side, events could not be going too badly.

As he crouched for yet another reload, he heard a sound which carried over the immediate clash of battle. Drums, growing louder and faster, and then a mighty shout that overcame even that sound.

When he rose again, he saw a fresh round of enemy soldiers drawing close. They carried two banners that he could see, and they moved at an incredible pace. He fired again, along with some other musketeers around him, but those two banners kept coming closer, and the drums kept sounding.

*

Nothing matters now, nothing except the charge. Other warriors march beside him, crying out fragments of one chant or another. He hears them not, his focus is on what lies ahead.

Many enemy long-spears, but not an unbroken wall. Enough of the regular soldiers have reached the enemy ranks that there are gaps here and there. That is all he needs, as he runs into one of those openings, right up to the spear-wielders.

The nearest soldier wears scale armour, but Batjiri hardly notices. He runs right up, with a thrust of his sword that brings down the scale-armoured man. The one behind him wears brighter colours, though that barely registers too. He has a sword, but still in position to fight the soldier who just died. Batjiri’s thrust catches the man in the shoulder, and the enemy falls. Batjiri’s boots land on the man’s jaw as he steps forward, to face another brightly-coloured enemy.

*

Hans drops his musket hurriedly, and reaches for his rapier. “God preserve me!” he says.

The second wave of Yadji soldiers have devastated the front ranks. He knows he shot at least one, and others within his sight fell from other muskets or impaled themselves on pikes. Even those gruesome deaths has served the enemy’s purposes, since others pushed into the gaps left when their fellows fell to the ground and carried the pike heads with them.

No matter how many of them died before they came close, once they reached the lines, the rest have fought with the fury of dragons. Nothing is left of the front two ranks of pikeman before him, and he has only been saved by other pikemen who pressed forward after dropping their pikes and drawing their swords.

Now, it is his turn. One of those frenzied maniacs is clashing with another German, sword on sword. Hans steps forward when he sees an opening, and strikes the maniac in the side. It does not kill him, or even pierce his armour, but the distraction lets the other German strike a deadlier blow.

“They die!” Hans shouts.

He never sees the blow that comes from his left. Or anything again after that.

*

Batjiri strikes again and again, sword on sword or armour or shield. He does not hear anything. Noise is naught but background in his frenzy. All that matters is what he sees, and what he sees, he attacks.

He is not capable of counting how many of the enemy have fallen. Or even of distinguishing between friends and enemies, except for those who wear the white dye. Anyone else is a foe to be cut down.

And cut them down he does, until a pistol shot he never sees blasts through his armour, and he falls to the ground. Even then, prone on the ground, he manages to draw his dagger and thrust it at the nearest foe, though he will never know if it causes any damage.

Behind him, as he the world fades around him, sounds register again. A fresh sound of drums.

Batjiri has gone to fight his Last Battle before a third wave of regular Yadji soldiers charges in. The embattled Raw Men are too busily engaged in melee to use their pikes or muskets to hold off this wave.

After that arrival, only one fate remains open.

* * *

27 January 1638
Kirunmara, Durigal

Row after row of soldiers, lined up for Gunya Yadji to inspect. His soldiers, now, one and all. Far too many have died in subduing the Raw Men and their allies and rebels. So many widows will weep tonight.

Yet for all of the cost, this is a victory he will treasure for ever more. The seemingly-invincible Nedlandj have been defeated, by the courage of the death warriors and by Bidwadjari’s cunning, and ultimately by weight of iron and blood. His cousin Bailgu is most lamentably not among the dead, too, but even the best of battle plans do not accomplish everything.

He completes his inspection of the soldiers, walking past the front rank of each unit, to cheers and acclamation. This is his victory.

Bidwadjari and his other senior commanders await him in the centre of the field. The other princes stand behind them, too, except for now-departed Bailgu.

After a moment, he shouts, “Bidwadjari, my right arm, and all of my soldiers: praise be unto you for the glory you have won.”

He waits, for the soldiers to shout on the message in relay until it has been carried to all units.

Before he can go on with his speech, Bidwadjari drops onto one knee. “The glory is yours, my Regent. Command me and I shall obey, in all things, until the Neverborn breaks free of the earth and reclaims his dominion.”

The ritual announcement leaves Gunya momentarily lost for words. The throne belongs to him, of course, but it is not something he has expected to claim just yet.

The commanders around Bidwadjari match the announcement, and then the soldiers behind. Making the most of the unplanned moment, Gunya turns to the princes, to await their response. One by one, they do the same. The slowest are those who had been backing Bailgu, but even they submit.

Such an acclamation expects that he will now give commands worthy of a new Regent. Fortunately, he already knows what he wants to order. One part had already been planned whenever he declared victory in this battle, while the other simply awaited his assumption of the Regency to say what has long been in his heart.

Gunya says, “Hear my commands. Prisoners we have seized from the Nedlandj and the rebels. When they captured honourable Yadji soldiers in their uprising, they slaughtered them. It is only fitting that our response be the same. Death for death, sword for sword. Kill all of the prisoners, sparing only those drove the thunder-carts [cannon].”

“It shall be done,” Bidwadjari says.

“For those few who escaped on their giant dogs, do not kill them all, so long as they flee,” Gunya says. “Harry them, chase them, kill a few, but do not destroy them. Drive them from the Land, and let them carry word of their defeat. Let them carry word of the might of the Yadji.”

That draws forth cheers, as the words are relayed to the soldiers.

After the orders have been relayed, Gunya speaks again. This time, he adopts his most formal tone. “Hear the words of your Regent: the Nedlandj are enemies of the Neverborn. They are not to be harboured. They must not be welcomed. The Nedlandj are to be killed on sight, by any man or woman who holds to honour. The Land of the Five Directions must be free of their taint. Never can they be permitted to set foot here, until the Neverborn comes and Cleanses all the world.”

* * *

Riding, endless riding, punctuated by moments of too-short sleep.

Twenty horses trail behind Pieter Nuyts. Only fifteen carry riders. The other horses are there as remounts and carriers of the few remaining provisions and other supplies which the escapees have managed to bring with them.

Worse, this small band of sixteen men are less than half of those who fled from the battlefield beside the Yadji capital. They had still numbered twenty-four when they reached Coonrura [Kingston SE, South Australia], only to find that their ships had fled before their arrival, giving up the promise of gold out of fear of the Yadilli. Now, they number only sixteen men fleeing north-west out of the Yadji lands, with the fear that every skirmish with their pursuers will cost them more blood.

Another hill, another declining slope, as they urge their horses on, with Nuyts still at the lead. Strength has failed them in the Yadji empire, but for now, he will run. After that... he will have to see.

On the downslope, the grass gives way to a scattering of these strange, sharp-smelling, fire-loving trees which are so characteristic of this land. The trees gradually grow closer together, but there is a trail through here, too. Not a well-used one, by the looks of it, but wide enough for two horses to ride side by side.

Further down, the ground flattens out, and the trees open up into one of those wide swathes of open, slowly-regrowing land which mark the passage of one of their wildfires. Nuyts signals for the horsemen to ride four abreast. Not that he expects much danger ahead, since the Yadji have been trying to pursue them on foot, but it will be safer nonetheless.

Or so he thinks.

When they are nearly across the open ground, men emerge from the trees beyond. Sunlight glints off metal as they emerge. Not scaled armour like the Yadji prefer, but something else. It looks like mail, with rings reflecting the light of the sun.

He almost signals for an attack, since there are only about two dozen men who have stepped out from the trees. Then he notices that more men are standing at the edge of the trees. Many more men, at least twice as many as the mail-clad warriors. Men who carry some sort of bows. Why didn’t he notice them earlier?

Nuyts has drawn his horse to a halt, as have those with him. The mail-clad warriors make no move to attack them, either, although the ones behind have their bows out where they can nock arrows quickly.

One of the mail-clad men steps forward slightly. His gaze lands on Nuyts.

“Pieter Nuyts, I presume,” the man says, his Dutch accented but understandable.

“So I am called,” he says. “Who are you, to ask that of me?”

“I am Wemba of the Whites,” the other man says, and sketches a bow with left arm across his stomach and right arm extended, for all the world as if he is a Dutch gentleman.

Nuyts wonders, almost abstractly, why the man calls himself a White. His skin is a few shades lighter than that of a typical Yadji, but still dark in comparison to any man not born in Africa [3]. “You are a... Gunnagal?”

The man nods. “Of course.”

It takes Nuyts a moment to realise that Wemba has nodded to mean the affirmative, something which no other kuro has ever done. And there is the bow, too. Just how much does this man know of Dutch ways?

Wemba says, “But the archers behind me are not Gunnagal. They are Palawa. One Palawa with a greatbow can hit a duck at two hundred paces. I have fifty Palawa behind me. Consider this carefully as you listen to my next words.”

A shiver passes through Nuyts, despite the heat. “I’m listening.”

“Pieter Nuyts, you are summoned to Tjibarr,” Wemba says. He holds up a hand, and the archers behind him move as one to seize arrows and nock them into the bowstrings.

Will those arrows pierce steel armour? If they are anything like the longbows which the English are said to have used in the past, they may well. Anyway, the horses have no protection.

Despite the danger, though, Nuyts still does not want to agree. Being ordered around so arrogantly grates at him. “And if I refuse to come?” he asks.

Wemba grins, or at least his mouth is open and his teeth are showing. “If you are summoned to Tjibarr, you will come.” His grin widens. “As to whether you are dead or alive when you arrive – that is your choice.”

* * *

[1] This is a “tea” made from the leaves from the lemon-scented tea tree (Leptospermum petersonii), which in historical Australia was used by early colonial settlers to make a substitute for tea. The flavour is reminiscent of lemon, though lacking some of the tartness. In allohistorical Aururia, this plant was cultivated by the peoples of the eastern seaboard (where it is native), and its use has spread to some of the Yadji lands. The ruling class and most of the dominant ethnic Junditmara do not care for it, but some of their subject peoples do, including the Yadilli in the west and the Kurnawal in the west.

[2] Alertness-weed is what the Yadji call a couple of the native Aururian species of tobacco (Nicotiana suaveolens and N. velutina) that the death warriors chew as part of their preparation for entering their battle trance. These are close relatives of domesticated tobacco, and which have stimulant properties.

[3] Strictly speaking, there are other non-African peoples whose skin tone could be considered as dark as the Gunnagal (eg some Melanesian peoples). Nuyts is not really aware of those, though; at this point New Guinea and the Solomon Islands had only limited contact with Europeans.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold: Essay Contest Entry

Something different this time...

This post is an essay written as part of a contest over at counter-factual.net - the sort of contest where there's even an actual prize involved. Since it is an essay written within the perspective of the LRG timeline, I thought it was also appropriate to post it here.

Continuity note: The gist of this essay fits into the LRG timeline, including the references to modern authors, cities, nations etc. What should not be considered canon is the absolute dates given to the publication of the various ATL sources. I’ve still not determined the general rate of cultural, scientific and cultural progress in this TL. There are factors that pull both ways, such as reduced world population and economy thanks to Aururian plagues, but increased world population thanks to the spread of Aururian crops. There are also some consequences of Aururian contact which may contribute to the spread of the scientific world-view. Until I’ve determined those, the absolute dates listed here should not be taken as canon. (The relative dates between the various works are still more or less right.)

Stylistic note: The main essay text is written in normal font. Any brief OTL notations about places, cultures etc are marked in square brackets. The essay marker’s comments are in square brackets with blue italics [like this].

Anyway, on with the essay...

* * *

Q: Describe and evaluate the roles which geography, climate and native agriculture performed in the comparative cultural development of any two of the “cradles of civilization”.

Essay submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements of Fundamentals of Cultural History at Marlborough University, Suffolk [Alexandria, Virginia], Commonwealth of Virginia, Alleghania

1. Introduction

In its fundamentals, human culture is as old as the evolution of language, if not the evolution of the human species. For the purposes of historical analysis, however, the study of cultural history begins with the first cultures to develop writing, supplemented by what archaeology can reveal of their pre-literate development [1]. These cultures are traditionally referred to as cradles of civilization; while the value and connotations of this term have been disputed, it remains the most widely accepted name within cross-cultural studies [2]. [Redundant: this paragraph was unnecessary as the next one gives a useful introduction.]

While the number of cradles of civilization is debated, the main consensus is seven: the Euphrates and Tigris in Mesopotamia, the Nile in Egypt, the Indus Valley, the Yellow River in Cathay, the Nyalananga Valley [River Murray, Australia], the Tamochan [Olmecs], and Caral [Norte Chico civilization, in OTL modern Peru] [3]. Each of these centres had an independent origin of culture; the fundamentals of their worldviews developed without significant contributions from other cultures. This essay will examine two of these independent centres: Egypt along the Nile, and the Gunnagalic cultures that developed on the Nyalananga and its tributaries.

The concept of a cradle of civilization includes the inherent assumption that civilization largely develops alone [4]. Meaningful historical analysis of their development can only be conducted when there is limited fusion with other cultures. As such, this essay focuses mainly on the development of Egyptian culture until the Nubian invasion of 732 BC [5], and of the Gunnagalic cultures until the European irruption in 1619 AD.

After these dates, the cultural development of these two civilizations became part of the global cultural matrix, and separate analysis becomes much more difficult. Nevertheless, later I will briefly assess some of the major influences which Egypt and Gunnagalia had on the wider world.

[1] Baxter (1978), pp iv-vii
[2] Hubbard (1999), p496
[3] Ibid., pp501-503
[4] Didomede (1992), pp16-18
[5] It is true that Egypt reverted intermittently to native rule for some periods after this date, such as during the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. Nevertheless, the Nubian intrusion and other foreign influences (Assyrian and Persian) meant that Egyptian culture had already been pulled out of its independent course. Refer also to al-Azm (2004), pp270-276.

2.1 Geography and Climate of Egypt

Egyptian culture has long been recognised for its remarkable features, notably its stability and impressive public works [6]. Its native religion endured nearly unchanged for over three millennia. Even in its early development it produced massive constructions which would survive until the present day. The geography and climate of Egypt played a determining role in shaping this distinctive culture.

Ancient Egyptian civilization was built on a single geographical anomaly: the River Nile. This river, the world’s longest, has a lower course which runs through one of the harshest deserts in the world. Such an arid climate would normally not sustain human life. Only the life-giving waters of the Nile allowed Egypt to support any meaningful human habitation, let alone become one of the cradles of civilization. The Nile and its desert surroundings shaped the development of the Egyptian civilization in its religion, in its political structure and stability, in its cultural outlook, and its entire society [7].

The Nile flows through a natural channel in the Sahara, forming a narrow band of arable land in otherwise overwhelming emptiness, culminating in the broad expanse of the Nile Delta. Ancient Egypt traces its cultural origins to this limited region, bound by the First Cataract and the Delta; a verdant but confined land.

[6] Trevitt (1982), pp24-27
[7] Ibid., pp29-33

2.2 Geography and Climate of Gunnagalia

Gunnagalia [8] is most recognised in modern popular culture for what its inhabitants were at the end of their independent development: a people of factions and football, of secretive physicians and many-spiced food, chewers of kunduri [a native nicotine-containing drug reminiscent of tobacco], and chain-mail clad armies marching to war. In reality, this popular impression marked merely the most recent phase in a long history of culture and technology which had progressed through many stages of development since the first proto-farmers started to cultivate red yams along the middle course of the Nyalananga’s journey to the sea.

As in Egypt, Gunnagalia’s culture was shaped by the geography and climate that bore it. Rising in the driest inhabitant continent, the Nyalananga is a much lower-volume river than most other rivers of its length. It drains about one-seventh of the Aururian [*Australian] land mass, over 400,000 square miles, forming the 17th largest drainage basin in the world, but in terms of average discharge volume, it is only the 44th largest river [9].

The Nyalananga basin is mostly extremely flat; rivers take a meandering, slow-flowing course through most of their length. Unlike Egypt, climate in the basin is not as unforgiving as that of the Nile. For most of the river’s length, there is moderate precipitation. Water-efficient plants can be sustained by rainfall alone, including the crops which started native agriculture. The river provides transportation, water for drinking and artificial wetlands, and floods which renew the soil, but is not the conditio sine qua non for human agriculture and life as is the Nile [10].

The geography and climate in the Nyalananga basin are distinctive for their unpredictability, and this contributed to Gunnagalia’s cultural development. The climate in south-eastern Aururia does not follow an annual cycle, but is instead dominated by longer-term variations of drought and intense rains. Rain cannot be relied on to fall at a particular time of year, or even in a given year. Severe droughts can endure for years, or be broken unpredictably by rainfall so heavy that it results in extensive flooding. In the flat topography of the Nyalananga basin, these floods can spread over fifty miles wide, and take months to subside [11]. In dry years, the native flora supports cataclysmic wildfires which bring devastation to wide areas. These chaotic, unpredictable extremes of climate shaped the Gunnagalic culture that developed in the cradle of the Nyalananga.

[8] Gunnagalia is the term which is used in this essay for the cultures that developed in the Nyalananga basin. It is also referred to as the Nyalananga Valley Civilization. Some scholars, including most historians, prefer to reserve the term Nyalananga Valley Civilization for the prehistoric phase of this cradle (ie the Archaic and Formative Eras before the Late Formative collapse), and use Gunnagalia when referring to the entire pre-1619 period. Other scholars, including most archaeologists, use the term Nyalananga Valley Civilization for all of the peoples who dwelt along the Nyalananga until the European irruption. Note that in linguistic scholarship, the term Gunnagalia has a different meaning, being used to refer to all of the speakers of Gunnagalic languages throughout eastern Aururia.
[9] Fletcher-Brown (1975), pp103-105.
[10] Ibid., pp108-115.
[11] Lawson (1959), p6.


2.3 Comparative Geography and Climate

In both Egypt and Gunnagalia, the developing civilizations centred on their respective rivers. The rivers provided the main form of transportation [12], and their waters sustained the people who lived along their banks.

The critical difference lay in the nature of flooding and general water flow, and the broader weather patterns which drove them. Egypt’s desert latitudes meant it was usually baked in year-round sun broken by occasional sandstorms. The Nile floods were a regular annual cycle which brought life-giving water and soil-replenishing silt to a land which otherwise had virtually no rainfall. Drought and flood failure formed a rare departure from these regular patterns. The rhythm and order of the Nile shaped the culture that developed along its banks [13].

The Nyalananga had no such regularity. Its flow was highly variable, dominated by irregular patterns of drought alternating with abundant rainfall, and some floods so extensive they were scourges, not blessings. Like the Nile floods, the floods on the Nyalananga could be triggered by unseen rainfall, especially tropical storms in the distant headwaters of the Anedeli [River Darling]. In some cases the cause of floods was unknown, while in other cases the floods were known to originate from more southerly rainfalls. This combination of knowledge and uncertainty contributed to a sense of irregularity for the peoples who dwelt along the Nyalananga and its tributaries [14].

The sudden and destructive presence of bushfires added to a sense of a landscape which could be full of hostility, but much less predictably than the relentless heat of the desert around the Nile. In short, the key feature of the geography and climate of the Nyalananga was unpredictability. The culture which it supported faced chaos, and developed a dramatically different worldview.

The other major difference in geography between Egypt and Gunnagalia was in their relative constraints and avenues to expansion. Egypt was largely confined to the Nile corridor and the Delta, with only narrow regions for potential expansion along the Mediterranean coast or further up the river. Gunnagalia had broader opportunities for expansion, with inhabitable lands to the south, east and north of its riverine heartland.

On the other hand, Egypt was geographically much closer to other cradles of civilization, particularly Mesopotamia, and other agricultural peoples. It also had access to the sea via the Nile Delta. In contrast, Gunnagalia was isolated from other agricultural peoples by deserts and oceans. The Nyalananga is also not navigable to the sea. These factors would also considerably affect the development of these two cradles of civilization.

[12] While the Nyalananga was a much less useful river for shipping than the Nile, due to variable water flow and frequent natural hazards, it still provided a viable transportation route.
[13] McDonnell & Hibbert (2003), pp348-351
[14] Fletcher-Brown (1975), pp110-111.

3. Cultural Consequences

3.1 Order and Unpredictability

As with all the cradles of civilization, there are myriad differences between the geography and climates of Egypt and Gunnagalia. From the perspective of cultural history, the most significant of these is the sense of order and predictability which the Nile brought to Egypt, and the sense of chaos and unpredictability which the Nyalananga brought to Gunnagalia. [Lacks justification. Why is this more important than, for example, the geographical isolation which prevented contact with non-Aururian cultures for nearly 4000 years?]

In both cases, the inhabitants did not know the true cause of this order or unpredictability. No-one in Egypt knew about the summer rains in the Ethiopian highlands that drove the annual floods; no-one in Aururia knew about the irregular temperature shifts in ocean temperatures in the Pacific and Indian oceans which drove their own patterns of flood and drought.

Without accurate knowledge, both peoples speculated on causes, and developed beliefs and outlooks which best fit the nature of the climate and geography they inhabited. The Egyptians saw the world as permanent and predictable, and developed a knowledge base, religion and social structure which emphasised this sense of permanence and hierarchy [15]. The Gunnagalic peoples viewed the world as essentially unpredictable, and focused their knowledge on practical effects, preparing for contingencies, and creating long-term plans that sought to create permanence where none could be found in nature [16].

This sense of stability and order is demonstrated in the architectural preferences of both civilizations. Egyptian architecture was built to endure; Gunnagalic architecture was built to be “good enough”. Notably, Egyptians built with stone at a much earlier stage of their development than Gunnagalia; most early buildings along the Nyalananga were made of rammed earth rather than stone. Egyptian architecture functioned in a climate where it needed little active maintenance, while Gunnagalic buildings were designed to be easily repairable or replaced [17].

These outlooks are typified by the public works popularly associated with the two civilizations. The Pyramids and Great Sphinx in Egypt have been weathered from their original forms, but remain largely intact. The artificial wetlands along the Nyalananga needed to be repaired every flood. The only pre-Houtmanian [ie before Dutch contact] waterworks which remain today are those which have been maintained more or less continuously since the European irruption.

[15] Harrison (1986), pp99-106
[16] Iverson (1992), pp211-217
[17] Agrippa (2006), pp380-382


3.2 Religion and Astronomy

The consequences of predictability and disorder are equally reflected in the religions and astronomy which developed in both civilizations [18]. Egyptian religion was shaped by the harshness of the desert, and the perception that the social order created in this world would be perpetuated in the world to come. While this is most popularly associated with the practice of mummification, in practice most aspects of Egyptian religion followed the same sense of order and stability, such as the explanations for the regular flooding of the Nile. This practice extended to their view of astronomy, such as with the alignment of the Pyramids to celestial events [19].

Gunnagalic cultures developed a complex set of complementary and sometimes contradictory belief systems to explain the irregular nature of their world. These religious beliefs varied over time and amongst the different cultures, since unlike Egypt, Gunnagalia did not develop a centralised belief structure [20]. [Dubious. The complexity and syncreticism of Gunnagalic beliefs could be equally explained by lack of political unity as by consequences of irregular climate.]

Nonetheless, Gunnagalic beliefs had some common elements, such as their view of time as a non-linear, ongoing process, and their belief in a variety of powerful spiritual beings who had influence over the world [21]. In Gunnagalia, religion became a search for permanence, a struggle for continuity. In time, this evolved into Plirism, a faith whose central tenet was the need to bring balance to the competing and often irregular forces of the world [22].

The connexion between order and disorder is further reflected in their respective systems of astronomy and astrology. Egypt, like most early civilizations, viewed astronomy based on a largely predictable annual cycle [23]. Egyptian astronomy began as a series of observations that predicted regular events, such as the heliacal rising of stars to foretell the Nile flood, and developed the required mathematics to predict other events such as eclipses. In common with most civilizations, Egypt also developed a form of astrology based on regular cycles (Decanic astrology), based on their underlying assumption of order [24].

With no meaningful basis for an annual cycle, Gunnagalic astronomy focussed on transient phenomena such as novas, comets, and meteors. Such irregular events might give some forewarning to the vicissitudes of drought, flood and bushfire. Gunnagalic astronomers gave little regard to regular astronomical events beyond the minimum of maintaining a calendar, but developed detailed records of transient phenomena [25]. Unlike other early civilizations, Gunnagalic astronomers did not even predict eclipses, treating them as merely another class of transient phenomena. Most tellingly, Gunnagalia was the only cradle of civilization which did not develop some form of cyclical astrology to predict the lives and times of people based on their dates of birth [26]. In their worldview, such predictability did not exist.

[18] As with most early civilizations, religion and astronomy were usually intertwined both in Egypt and Gunnagalia.
[19] While many of the more extreme claims of astronomical alignments for the Pyramids are rejected by mainstream scholarly consensus, some aspects such as its alignment with the cardinal directions are not disputed. See al-Azm (2004), pp398-412.
[20] Except for the state religion of the Watjubaga Empire (556-1124), and even this was largely imposed by the ruling elite and does not appear to have had popular belief, since its cult never endured after the withdrawal of imperial control from any given region. Refer also to Fletcher-Brown (1975), ch. 6.
[21] Baldock (2001), pp252-258.
[22] Plirism was a minority religion in most of Gunnagalia during the period under consideration, but its distinctive character was shaped by the geography and climate of the Nyalananga basin.
[23] Although Egypt’s annual cycle was that of the Nile flooding, rather than the passage of the seasons as in most other early civilizations.
[24] McDonnell & Hibbert (2003), pp505-509
[25] This development was epitomised in the non-Gunnagalic peoples of south-western Aururia (the Atjuntja and their predecessors), whose records of transient astral phenomena were unmatched in the pre-telescopic world. Their records of meteor showers, comets and novas are a valuable source of astronomical knowledge even in the present day. Indeed, the Atjuntja were the only pre-telescopic people to discover Caelus [Uranus].
[26] In so far as it can be determined. Insufficient evidence remains to determine whether the Indus Valley and Caral civilizations did not leave sufficient evidence to determine whether they had forms of astrology, although their descendant civilizations did. See also Fletcher-Brown (1975), pp187-191.


3.3 Political Conditions

Another distinctive feature of Egyptian civilization was its early political unification, due to the ease of transport on the Nile, and the geographical confinement to the Nile corridor and the Delta. In comparison to other cradles of civilization, Egypt united much earlier and remained politically united for most of its history, with only brief interruptions from foreign dynasties or local divisions. Most comparable early civilizations united much later, and had ongoing and much longer-lasting periods of division [27].

In comparison, the Nyalananga basin was politically disunited for most of its pre-Houtmanian history. Sources disagree as to whether this was a function of the rivers’ more limited transport capacity and erratic flow, a consequence of its perennial agriculture allowing more per worker productivity and thus supporting greater armed forces, or simply a quirk of history [28]. Regardless of the reason, Gunnagalia is the only cradle of civilization which was politically disunited for most of its history, with only a brief interval of unification under the Watjubaga Empire.

These differences extended to the nature of political rule. Absolute monarchs were common in Egypt, since the geography fostered strong central control. Absolute monarchy was a rare concept in Gunnagalia, practiced only during the Imperial period, and even then abandoned well before that period ended.

[27] Consider, for example, Cathay, which did not politically unify until comparatively later, and which experienced much longer periods of political division (eg Three Kingdoms and Southern & Northern Dynasties periods). See Murray et al (1879), vol. 1, Chapters 6-10.
[28] Knight (1988), pp176-182; Sanford (1993), chs 4 &5; Munro (1996), pp88-90.


3.4 Role of Native Agriculture

Unlike other cradles of civilization, Egypt did not develop native agriculture, relying instead on plants domesticated in the Fertile Crescent. Nevertheless, its agricultural wealth was remarkable by ancient standards. With the endless fertility replenishments of Nile silt, and abundant water for irrigation, Egyptian farmers could produce two plentiful harvests each year [29]. The productive capacity of this land far exceeded any of the other cradles of civilization [30]. The time of the Nile flood, when the fields were inundated, also meant that there was a time when the labour of farmers could be utilised for other purposes.

Uniquely among agricultural systems, Gunnagalic agriculture used perennial plants as staple crops. Perennial red yams, cornnarts [wattles] and murnong required relatively less labour to plant and harvest. In turn, this meant that per worker productivity was higher than in most other agricultural systems, and permitted a larger percentage of the population to be supported in non-farming roles [31]. The requirements of perennial agriculture also encouraged a longer-term attitude to land management.

Thus, for different reasons, both civilizations’ agricultural methods produced a larger labour surplus than other cradles of civilization. In both cases, this labour was applied to suit the elite’s preferences; preferences which were themselves shaped by the climate and geography of the respective regions. Egyptian labour was used for monuments and other public works; Gunnagalic labour was applied to produce artificial wetlands and waterworks whose produce benefitted everyone, although the elite more than others. [Good!]

[29] McDonnell & Hibbert (2003), pp364-5.
[30] Hopkins (2008), p694
[31] Sanford (1993), ch 5.


3.5 Influence of Other Civilizations

Egypt remained geographically constrained in its avenues for direct expansion, due to desert barriers and other equally advanced peoples with a history of agriculture. Its proximity to other cradles of civilization and their descendants (Mesopotamia and the Indus Valley) meant that it did not develop in complete isolation. Egypt remained culturally conservative for most of its history; understandably, given the rhythms of climate and geography which encouraged a sense of stability. Nevertheless, the geographical proximity opened it to more influences, most notably the invasion of the Hyksos, who introduced chariots and composite bows to Egypt [32], and thus contributed both to technological progress and cultural contamination [33].

In contrast, Gunnagalia developed in isolation, separated both by distance and geographical barriers (deserts and oceans) from the nearest agricultural peoples. However, the local barriers were not so severe as they were in Egypt. This allowed Gunnagalia to expand its cultural influence over vast parts of Aururia during the Great Migrations (900 BC – 200 AD), with no significant competition except the minor Junditmara eel-farmers [34]. [No! You’re neglecting the major Junditmara contribution to early Nyalananga civilization: artificial wetlands were one of the earliest functions of civilization there, requiring social organisation and hierarchies, and were imported whole-scale from the Junditmara. You should be aware of this since Fletcher-Brown herself explains this – refer to Chapter 8, which describes aquaculture in detail.]

The other facet of geography which affected contact with other civilizations was the difference in the Nile and Nyalananga river mouths. In common with all cradles of civilization which developed on river systems, Egypt and Gunnagalia had the convenience of an internal transportation network which allowed for rapid communication and commerce within their own borders. However, the Nyalananga had one important facet of riverine geography which distinguished it from the Nile and other major river systems: the Nyalananga is not navigable from the sea.

Without a clear outlet to the sea, Gunnagalia was inhibited in its development of oceanic shipping or commerce beyond the confines of their founding river system. This lead to a cultural predilection for land-based and riverine commerce to the neglect of open-water navigation, which persisted even when the Gunnagalic peoples expanded beyond the Nyalananga.

In comparison, Egypt had overseas commerce by the time of contact with the Minoans by 2000 BC, if not earlier, and also sent ships along the Red Sea. The Gunnagalic peoples remained largely land-based for centuries after the Great Migrations. Even when they did venture into the seas, they did so hesitantly. While a few Gunnagalic peoples developed some experience in navigating the open seas, principally the Nangu and Kiyungu, they were much more limited than comparative peoples in their commerce. It took the arrival of the external influence of Polynesian navigational techniques after 1310 to produce meaningful deep-water commerce amongst the Gunnagalic peoples [35]. [You’re neglecting another important facet of geography: the hostility of the open seas near Aururia. The Red Sea and Mediterranean Sea have much better weather and prevailing wind conditions than most of Aururia’s coastal waters, which favoured the development of oceanic commerce in Egypt but hindered it in Aururia.]

[32] McDonnell & Hibbert (2003), pp442-444.
[33] Using this word in a morally neutral sense, since the Hyksos invasion meant that their culture had spread into a different cell in the global cultural matrix.
[34] Fletcher-Brown (1975), pp188-196.
[35] Ngahui (1987), pp213-218.

3.6 Global Cultural Contributions

The modern cultural influence of Egypt is often difficult to discern once their culture had fused with the broader West Eurasian matrix, except in directly Egyptian-inspired art and architecture. This is because Egypt had indirect influence through its transmission of ideas and technology into Greek and Arabic cultures, and thence to broader European and Middle Eastern cultures. Many technologies and fields of knowledge of originally Egyptian origin became widespread in other cultures, such as papyrus, mathematics, glass-working and astronomy [36], although these influences have been shaped and reshaped by the other cultures which transmitted them.

Gunnagalic culture was more limited in its fields of influence, due to its development as a distinctive culture for millennia, but that same isolation means that even after its culture fused into the broader global matrix, its influence is easier to trace. The Gunnagalic preoccupation with finding meaningful outcomes during uncertainty led to a field of practical inquiry in medicine, and to physicians who were in many respects more advanced than those of their contemporaries elsewhere in the world, such as the first effective antiseptic [37]. Gunnagalic physicians also compared each other’s success in treating medical cases, which in time led to the concept of peer review, and which generalised to the comparison and evaluation of modern science. [No! These comparison methods were not exclusive to Gunnagalic doctors. Medieval Islam had a similar practice, and it didn’t lead to a scientific revolution there. The practices of the Gunnagal may have led to modern peer review (an arguable case), but they were not exclusive to the Nyalananga Valley civilizations, so you haven’t built a case that this is due to any of their features of geography and climate.] Gunnagalic long-term land management, a derivation of their perennial agriculture, has also inspired much of the modern conservation movement [38].

The field of religion is one of the most significant contributors to cultural development [39]. In this aspect, Gunnagalia made a much greater contribution to the modern cultural matrix than Egypt. Native Egyptian religion, due to its particular development in an ordered geography, became much more bound to its particular land. It did not naturally adapt to other regions, and did not develop into a form which made religious expansion suitable. Egyptian religion did not have much influence on broader culture, with the minor exception of some individual and short-lived cults such as that of Isis in Greco-Roman society [40].

In comparison, Gunnagalic religion, in the form of Plirism, proved to be more versatile in adapting to the wider world, since it first needed to adapt to the changing geography and unpredictable climate of its own region, and the competing political entities of a region which was geographically harder to unify. This led to a faith which became one of the world’s few evangelical religions, and which after European irruption spread far beyond its original geographical confines to become one of the world’s major religions [41].

[36] Harrison (1986), pp156-161.
[37] Iverson (1992), pp282-284.
[38] Blunt (2004), pp8-10.
[39] Didomede (1992), pp45-48.
[40] Egyptian religious influence was limited unless Hartwood’s thesis is correct, namely that Atenism was an influence for the founding of Judaism, and thus indirectly all of the Abrahamic religions. Mainstream scholars reject this interpretation, however. Refer to al-Azm (2004), ch. 12, for a review.
[41] Plirism is either the fourth or the fifth-largest religion in the modern world, depending on how adherents of Buddhism are calculated. [A source or two would be nice here.]

4. Conclusion

The Nile and the Nyalananga centre on two regions with vastly different climates and geography, and which shaped two of the cradles of civilization. The combined influence of order and chaos, of regularly and unpredictability, of geographical isolation or proximity, produced two distinctive civilizations which both contributed to the modern cultural matrix.

5. Bibliography

Agrippa, H. (2006). Under Gundabingee: Excavating the Middle Formative. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

al-Azm, Youssef Pasha (2004). New Perspectives in Egyptology. Cairo: Basirah

Baldock, Y.B. (2001). “Religious Iconography and Beliefs in Classical Gundabingee”. Journal of Gunnagalic Studies 44(2): 242–268.

Baxter, Martin (1978). Progression and Purpose: Understanding Modern Society Through Its Cultural Antecedents. New London [Charleston, South Carolina]: Unwin & Allen.

Blunt, R. (2004). Seeds of Conservation: Managing our Future. London: Sinclair & Blackford.

Didomede, Juno (1992). One Out of Many: The Development of the Global Cultural Synthesis. London: Hoover House.

Fletcher-Brown, Miranda (1975). Understanding Aururia. Cumberland [Geelong, Victoria]: Chelsea Todd.

Harrison, J.G. (1986). Of Pharaohs and Goat-Headed Gods. Kesteven [Boston]: Heron.

Hopkins, Verity (2008). New Learnings on Early Origins: What Archaeology Tells Us. Cumberland: Moths Head Press.

Hubbard, Douglas R. (1999). Toward Explaining Human Culture: Findings From the Fusion of Disciplines. Oxford: University of Oxford Press.

Iverson, Courage (1992). Finding the Balance. Cumberland: Cosmic Hand.

Knight, W. (1988). The Classical Gunnagal. Libra [San Francisco]: Monte Verde.

Lawson, Concord (1959). Surviving the ’52 Floods. Jugara [Victor Harbor, South Australia]: Black Dawn

McDonnell, Jamis & Hibbert, E. E. (2003). Social Atlas of Ancient Egypt. Horeb [Providence, Rhode Island]: Benedict Clayton.

Munro, B. (1996). Crossing Over. Acevedo [Albuquerque, New Mexico]: Winterhome.

Murray, Peter; Crawford, Hannibal; & Boyd, John (1879). An historical and descriptive account of Cathay. London & Edinburgh: Gordon & Porter. 3 volumes.

Ngahui, Gloire (1987). Ancient Navigators in Polynesia. Maunga [Auckland, New Zealand]: Duchesne.

Sanford, Julius (1993). Cannon, Clocks and Crops: The Destinies of Human Societies. Newport [New Haven, Connecticut]: Winthrop & Jessup.

Trevitt, Christobel (1982). Ancient Egypt: Dissecting a Civilisation. Cologne: Weisspferd.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #1: In The Balance

I'm only briefly in town en route to a new destination, so there aren't any big new LRG instalments coming for a while yet.

In the meantime, though, I can offer a brief glimpse of one part of the future...

* * *

The Huntsman’s Club
Providence [Mwanza, Tanzania]

A cool evening breeze blew off Lake Fons [Lake Victoria], swirling through the columns that formed the outer wall of the Club. Wonderfully cooling, wonderfully soothing.

“This is the life,” Peter muttered to himself. He held a glass of duranj [1] in his hand, and took another slow sip of the sweet beverage.

No need to hurry. Nothing at the Club needed to be rushed. A relict of a former age, that. A time of culture and pleasure now fading. The Club stood as one of the last bastions of that elder time.

A few other men shared the lower dining level with him, clustered in groups of two or three or four. All had tables shaded beneath the columns, but with enough room that they kept at least one table between them.

The Club had higher levels; the columns supported private balconies on the floors immediately above, and the rooftop level – the Lodge – was reserved for the most distinguished guests. Or wealthiest, at least; in the elder age which the Club preserved, those two were usually synonymous.

Peter had never been as high as the Lodge. No mere commander of mercenaries would be so considered, according to the ancient traditions of the Club, except by invitation only. He did not really care, in truth. Being admitted to the Club was welcome enough, and even the common dining room here was exquisite.

He took another measured sip of the duranj. Perfect in its flavour, of course. The Club would not serve anything of lesser quality, whether drink or food.

A discreet cough made him turn to the immaculately dressed black waiter who stood behind him.

The waiter said, “The Colonel presents his compliments, sir, and asked me to give you this.” He handed over a note.

Peter took it with a murmured word of thanks. He knew more than a few colonels, but only one who would use the unadorned title as his name.

Sure enough, when he opened the note, it read: “Please join me for dinner up at the Lodge.” It bore a simple signature: Hans.

A welcome invitation, as far as Peter was concerned. The note was sufficient to gain him entry up the three flights of stairs that led up to the Lodge.

Here, he found that the main part of the Lodge consisted of a large dining room, with widely-spaced oak tables – a valuable import in itself – and comfortable leather lounge chairs arranged around them. A piano played softly in the corner; the white musician had picked a tune which Peter did not recognise, but which sounded suitably soothing.

“Peter!” the Colonel exclaimed, and rose from his seat to clap the other man around the shoulder.

“Good to see you again,” Hans said.

“Likewise,” Peter said. “You’re looking well.”

The phrase was more than just polite chit-chat. Hans wore his full dress uniform, mainly cobalt blue with scarlet trimmings, and scarlet and gold epaulettes that bore two diamonds and stylised eagle’s wings. That appearance suited him better than he had looked when in the field, although even then the Colonel had always maintained a sense of quiet dignity.

Hans signalled for a waiter. “What are you drinking?”

“Duranj.”

“Ah, a good choice, here,” the Colonel said. “Not my own preference, though.”

When the black waiter arrived, Hans ordered duranj for Peter but sake for himself. “Won’t drink anything else while I’m in the Club,” the Colonel explained. “Would even have it in the field, if we could get it.”

“While they’re coming, can I offer you a cigar?” Hans said. “Habana gold.”

“Thank you, no,” Peter said. A very odd choice, even in the Club. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke tobacco before.” He produced a pack of klinsigars [cigarettes] and said, “Kunduri has always been my choice; much more soothing.”

Hans shrugged. “Quality tobacco suits me, when I can find it. Not many places can make a decent cigar, but Habanas are always worthwhile.”

Peter had his own views on that, but no point to disagreeing openly with as eminent a man as the Colonel. He just lit a klinsigar of his own, and let the sweet relaxation fill him.

The drinks arrived, but Hans did not touch his until he had his cigar let, inhaled, and blew a near-perfect smoke ring. “This is what we’re here for: a place of peace.”

“A peace too long in coming,” Peter said.

“I’ll drink to that, by God!” the Colonel said. True to his word, he held up his glass, tapped it against Peter’s, and said, “To peace. Long in coming, and long may it last.”

Peter matched the toast, then drank. He added, “Good not to worry about skinnies charging out of unknown shadows and shouting danadiri [2].”

“Aye, we both saw too much of that,” the Colonel said. He inhaled from the cigar and blew another smoke ring, this one more deformed than the first. “So many memories... but the skinnies will long remember us, too.”

Peter nodded, and turned his attention to finishing his klinsigar. Feeling much more comfortable, he said, “Maybe we could have done some things better, but my boys – and your regulars – taught the skinnies that we won’t give up.”

“Do you think-” Hans said, then paused as the waiter returned. “Another duranj and sake. Then all three courses, please.”

The black man nodded and effortlessly vanished into whatever space waiters occupied when they weren’t needed.

The order at the Lodge was another reminder of that fading elder age. The Club had no menus for food. If you wanted food, you ate whatever the chef had prepared for each meal. Your only choice was ever how many courses you wanted.

Over more drinks and inhalants, they reminisced about the uprisings, and their careers in them. They spoke of good times and bad times, of fallen comrades, of setbacks and victories.

The food arrived one course at a time, and they ate while they talked. The first course was creamed mushrooms in barley soup, with toasted sticks of cheese fingerbread on the side. High quality, of course. If anything, even better here at the Lodge than downstairs in the Club’s ordinary dining room – and what was served down there was magnificent.

The main course was black noodles with beef and diced tomatoes, seasoned with peanut sauce and crushed sweet peppers, with roasted murnong sprinkled with garlic on the side. “Superb, as always,” the Colonel said, after they had worked most of their way through their portions of mains.

Peter wondered, vaguely, what dessert would be.

He would never get to find out.

They finished their mains, and the waiters were unexpectedly slow in clearing away their used plates. Most unlike the service at the Lodge; enough to make the Colonel signal for a waiter again.

One came quickly enough when summoned. “We’re ready for dessert,” the Colonel said.

The waiter cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

Apparently satisfied, the Colonel went back to discussing the Battle of the Gorge, where it seemed that his regulars had played a more successful part than Peter recalled.

Another waiter appeared from the kitchen, moving rather slowly, and stood in the middle of the dining room. An odd location to wait, that, since waiters were usually against the walls. Peter turned enough to look at the water, and realised that the man was talking to himself. After several field interrogations, Peter knew enough to read the waiter’s lips and recognise the words for what they were: a prayer for final harmony.

Instinct took over. Peter pulled the Colonel to the ground, tipped the table to its side, and crouched behind it, hoping that the solid weight of oak would offer enough protection. He just had time to cover his ears to protect against the worst of the noise when he heard a great shout of “Danadiri!” Followed by an explosion, then screams.

Peter held the Colonel down until it was clear that the explosion had passed, then stood to look out over a scene of carnage. Nothing much was left of the waiter who had immolated himself. Around that lay wrecked men and wrecked furnishings; men dismembered or otherwise grievously injured.

“Merciful God,” the Colonel said. “That man just...”

“Those heathen skinnies have just started a new kind of war,” Peter said. “One I’m not sure I know how to fight.”

* * *

[1] Duranj is gum cider, brewed from the sweet sap of trees native to *Tasmania.

[2] Danadiri is the Bantu-ized equivalent of dandiri, a Nangu (and other Plirite) word which means roughly “bringing order” or “bringing harmony”.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #45: Content To Lie In the Sun

“I do believe I would like another cup.”
- Reported words of William Baffin, English navigator, explorer and eventual plutocrat, when first tasting jeeree [Aururian lemon tea] in Torimi [Port Stephens, Australia], 1636

* * *

Imagine, if you would, that you can step into a machine unparalleled in the history of the world. One which can travel not only back in time, but into worlds that history has sidestepped, where the river of time has followed a new course. The worlds of if.

If you could step through such a machine, you would find a place which the history you know calls south-eastern Queensland, but in allohistory is called the Coral Coast [1]. This is a narrow band of coastal lands east of the continental divide [the Great Dividing Ranges], fringed by warm seas. With a subtropical climate, the Coral Coast is a land of frequent sun, lush plant growth, more fertile soils and heavier rainfall than most parts of this driest of inhabited continents. Sometimes the rains fall so heavily that the coastal rivers rise in quick, devastating floods.

While long inhabited by hunter-gather peoples, the first Gunnagalic-speaking farmers arrived here during the Great Migrations, around 500 BC, and began to gradually dominate this land. The process of displacing the earlier peoples was slower and less complete than in most other areas touched by the Great Migrations; there were still hunter-gatherers living in parts of the Coral Coast over four hundred years after the first Gunnagalic farmers arrived.

The land which these ancient farmers established was in some ways welcoming, in others restricted. The mountains to the west were both a barrier to exploration and a defence against other newcomers; beyond them lay the sweeping, thinly-populated region called the Neeburra [Darling Downs]. To the east lay the sea, at this time untouched by any other people. Further south along the coast dwelt the Bungudjimay, a people who would later develop into head-hunting raiders, but who at this time were largely inward-looking. Further south inland were the highlands which formed ancient Aururia’s key source of tin for bronze-working. To the north lay warmer lands where their ancient staple crops of red yams and murnong could not grow [2].

These early farmers gradually evolved into the people who called themselves the Kiyungu. Located at the northernmost extremity of Gunnagalic farming, they were for a long time largely insulated from developments further south; one later scholar of the Kiyungu famously remarked, “History mostly passed them by.”

The Kiyungu were never completely isolated, of course. Long ago, they learned to sail the coast further north to places where they could dive for corals, which served as a valuable trade good both within Kiyungu society and when trading further south. Their proximity to the sources of tin meant that they had abundant bronze tools for their purposes. From their hunter-gatherer predecessors, they acquired a belief in the veneration of the bunya tree, and both the belief and the tree itself would spread south along the trade routes [3].

Still, for so long the Kiyungu were a people content mostly to live under the subtropical sun, divided into city-states which squabbled amongst themselves. With mountains to the west and only hunter-gatherers to the north, they did not have any major external enemies, and they were not very warlike. In their distant location, they were protected from the biggest changes that affected the south; the Empire never reached this far, and the ancient Kiyungu were only barely aware of its existence.

Change first came to the Kiyungu through political and religious developments among their neighbours. The Bungudjimay to the south gradually consolidated into the kingdom of Daluming, and began to expand their head-hunting raids, which started to touch the Coral Coast around 1300 AD. Soon after, the Tjarrling faith [related to Plirism] spread to the Yalatji who lived beyond the western mountains, and some of those peoples made religiously-inspired visits further east, including some missionaries-in-force.

Fresh inspiration came to the Kiyungu around this time, too, with the first visits from Maori explorers around 1350 AD. These contacts were few and did not endure, since the Kiyungu lands were distant even by Maori navigators’ standards, and the two peoples had no goods which the other valued enough to sustain long-term trade.

Still, they had one important effect. Of all the Aururian peoples, the Kiyungu were the keenest sailors apart from the Nangu, and had a keen interest in the Maori vessels. Like the Nangu before them, the Kiyungu adopted lateen sails, twin-hulled ships and some knowledge of navigational techniques. Unlike the Islanders, the Kiyungu did not develop these techniques much further, since their interest was initially limited to better ships for reaching the coral reefs to the north, and for more reliable fishing.

The greatest change which came to the Kiyungu was not from politics or religion, but from the appearance of new, tropically-viable staple crops. The initial contact with the Maori was limited enough that the two peoples did not exchange crops, but the Maori’s crops of kumara [sweet potato] and taro were adopted by peoples further south, and these crops gradually spread north along the coast, reaching the Kiyungu around 1450.

About half a century before that, a new crop had appeared of its own accord in Kiyungu fields: a new form of yam. It was smaller than the common yams, and needed to be cultivated through cuttings, since at first it did not develop seeds. The Kiyungu never noticed that it needed more rainfall, too; that was not a problem in the lands along the Coral Coast.

What mattered to the Kiyungu was that they found that these new yams were easy to grow without the stunting problem that sometimes troubled their common yams. That gave them reason to grow it, and this motivation only increased when they realised that the lesser yam could be grown further north, too. There was, in fact, no apparent limit to where it could be cultivated.

The first lesser yams were planted further north in small fields adjacent to ports, to provide food for the ships of coral-divers. But it would not take long for the Kiyungu to find motivation to plant them even further north. This motivation, too, would only increase when kumara and taro reached the Kiyungu...

* * *

When it comes time for future linguists, anthropologists and other -ists to study the Kiyungu, they will note that these are in many ways the most distinctive of all the Gunnagalic peoples, in their language, their religion, and their broader culture.

Linguists will note that the Kiyungu still speak a language related to the other members of the Gunnagalic language family. Nevertheless, its grammar, vocabulary and even phonology differs notably from its linguistic cousins. While the majority of its words and grammatical features have equivalents elsewhere, a significant minority of its basic words have no equivalent in other Gunnagalic languages. Most notably, most word roots relating to water, boats and fishing are unique to the Kiyungu, as are many words related to hunting. Even the names of many of familiar animals have changed; most Gunnagalic languages have related words for animals such as kangaroos and wombats, but the Kiyungu words are distinct.

This shift in vocabulary will be inferred (correctly) by future linguists to be the result of a substratum of word roots which have been borrowed from a now extinct language; the peoples who lived along the Coral Coast before the ancestors of the Kiyungu reached there.

Most Gunnagalic peoples displaced their predecessors during the Great Migrations, but the less effective agriculture in the north meant that the early Kiyungu mingled much more considerably with the previous inhabitants. This included a considerable portion of their vocabulary, particularly that related to hunting and fishing.

The intermingling of peoples influenced the Kiyungu in other notable ways, particularly religion and social structures. Later scholars of Gunnagalic studies would note that the Gunnagalic peoples share more than just a common ancestral language; they have also inherited some significant common social structures and, in many cases, common religious beliefs. The ancient social divisions into kitjigal were represented in one form or another in most later Gunnagalic peoples. The Kiyungu, however, preserved no trace of those ancient institutions; a sign that their social system had been influenced by other cultures. Likewise, their own tradition of mentorship with Elder Brothers and Elder Sisters [4] found no comparison amongst other Gunnagalic peoples.

For religious beliefs, students of comparative mythology would later note the common deities and common myths believed by many of the Gunnagalic peoples. Many scholars could compare equivalent gods (including similar forms of their names), identify the ancestral forms, and recognise the places were earlier myths were adapted into later structures.

The Kiyungu mythology would be amongst those which later scholars would identify as having many points of comparison with other Gunnagalic peoples. However, they would also note one significant feature which is unique to the Kiyungu, and which they will again assume (correctly) to be the result of non-Gunnagalic influence.

While most of the Kiyungu deities were recognisably derived from ancient Gunnagalic beliefs, none of them had related names to their Gunnagalic counterparts. Most of the deities had common attributes and myths, but their names were distinct. Instead of related names, Kiyungu deities have titles which sound as if they were originally used as euphemisms or praise-names, with the original names for the deities later being lost. To the Kiyungu, the Rainbow Serpent is called the Curved One, the Twins (or Fire Brothers) are called Firstborn and Secondborn, while the Green Lady is called the Wanderer. By comparing the changes in the Kiyungu language, scholars are able to identify the original Kiyungu names for these deities, but the names themselves are not attested in the Kiyungu mythology.

Still, despite the best efforts of later scholars, for one important Kiyungu deity, they cannot find a counterpart in other Gunnagalic cultures. This is a deity who is considered a troublemaker, a negative influence, a source of much discomfort in the world. This is also a deity who is apparently alien to the common Gunnagalic religious heritage; it must have been a pre-Gunnagalic deity who was believed in fervently enough to be absorbed into Kiyungu religious beliefs.

Unfortunately, where the names of the other Kiyungu deities can be deduced by comparison to other Gunnagalic languages, the name of this deity is lost to history. Without the Kiyungu preserving the name, it can never be known. All that remains is the euphemism for this deity; the Kiyungu title translates literally as He Who Must Be Blamed.

* * *

By 1618, the Kiyungu have put to good use the new crops which they acquired over the last few centuries. They now inhabit over one thousand kilometres of the Aururian coastline, stretching from their northernmost major city of Quamba [Mackay, QLD] to Woginee [Tweed Heads, NSW] in the south. This expanse marks the greatest geographical distance inhabited by any one people in Aururia. Yet the Kiyungu are scattered, without any true political unity, and only the vaguest sense of common identity.

Kiyungu-inhabited territory is not contiguous. Their northward expansion has been largely by sea, and so even in 1618, Kiyungu farmers have not entirely displaced hunter-gatherers along the coast. They have established outposts at all of the convenient ports, but in the more rugged coastal areas, some non-farming peoples still occupy the land.

The Kiyungu are also confined in their landward advances, since the continental divide is never too far inland. Kiyungu do not venture west of the mountains in any significant numbers, since there is little to interest them inland. They prefer to fish for their meat, rather than farm emus or hunt wild animals. The sea provides both their most convenient transportation and their best source of wealth; while the Kiyungu harvest a variety of spices which more distant peoples would value, to the Kiyungu themselves, these are commonplace.

Most of the Kiyungu live in or near city-states along the Coral Coast or the more northerly cities. In the northern Kiyungu outposts, political organisation is confined to this level, as indeed it was amongst all Kiyungu cities until relatively recently. The Kiyungu are ruled by monarchs who come from the same (very extended) family, and who were usually able to maintain order in their own cities, but never really capable of building larger states. The perpetual problem was one of control; collecting tribute from another city-state was easy enough, but conquest required appointing a viceroy, who in time would be likely to declare independence on his own.

Recently, this trend has been partly altered amongst the southern Kiyungu. The need for common defence against Daluming raids and Yalatji proselytisation has led to the development of the League, a loose alliance which exists to resolve disputes amongst member states and encourage mutual defence against enemies. The League is not a solid alliance, but the threat of ostracisation or joint attack from its neighbours is usually enough to bring member cities into line when there are disagreements.

The Kiyungu population density, even in the south, remains reasonably low. Their overall population is growing rapidly thanks to the potential of sweet potato and lesser yams to secure their food supply, but northward expansion offers a population growth outlet. Most of the more adventuresome or simply down-on-their-luck types amongst the Kiyungu choose to strike it north to acquire land, potentially new wealth, or just a fresh start. The northward march continues even in 1618; some pioneering farmers are pushing north past Quamba. There is no geographic barrier to stop them until they reach what another history would name Torres Strait.

For those Kiyungu who are settled, though, both in north and south, they still have much of the old laidback attitude of their forebears. They fish, they dive for coral, they eat spicy food, and they do, in fact, like to lie in the sun. Life usually finds its own pace amongst the Kiyungu. Like most Aururian farming peoples who use perennial crops, they have a labour surplus, but as often as not they are content to use the time simply to relax rather than find some industrious pursuit.

The Kiyungu are not completely isolated from other farming peoples, but virtually all of their contacts are with the often-unfriendly Yalatji to the west, or the less organised peoples to the south who are also victims of Daluming raids. They live close enough to the ancient sources of tin that they can still import as much of that metal as they need to make bronze, an alloy which suits all of their metalworking needs. In 1618, they have had only the most sporadic contact with the Islanders, and none of their immediate neighbours use iron to any meaningful degree, so the Kiyungu remain firmly in the Bronze Age.

Collecting coral has been a Kiyungu habit for nearly two millennia, and their taste for it has not diminished. Their sailors still search the Inner Sea [ie the waters inside the Great Barrier Reef] for some of the more valued and colourful types. It is the basis of much of their own jewellery and ornamentation, and the main trade good which they exchange further south for tin. Most of their other main ornamentation comes from gold. The Kiyungu no longer have any active gold mines, but their ancestors discovered and exploited several small alluvial gold fields in earlier times [5]. Much of that gold remains in Kiyungu jewellery, although some has also been traded further south.

Thus, in 1618, the Kiyungu were a people who had lived on their own nearly independent path for a long time, and no inclination of the storms gathering beyond their mental horizons. Unlike most Aururian peoples, though, great change would first come to the Kiyungu not from Raw Men, but from other Aururians.

In 1630, the first Nangu sailed to the Coral Coast under the command of Werringi, later called the Bold. This was a visit of exploration, like occasional Islander visits before. Unlike those earlier visits, though, Werringi had the determination to make sure that this time, contact would be sustained...

* * *

[1] The Coral Coast corresponds roughly to the historical regions of Gold Coast, Moreton Bay and Sunshine Coast in south-eastern Queensland, although it stretches slightly further north and south.

[2] Red yams do not grow in tropical latitudes due to insufficient shortening of days to trigger their tuber formation. Murnong is too heat-sensitive to grow so far north, except in highland regions (which this region mostly lacks).

[3] The bunya tree (Araucaria bidwillii) is a kind of conifer which produces erratic but large yields of edible seeds. Its veneration is an ancient phenomenon, and the occasions when it produces seeds are times for celebration among the Kiyungu.

[4] This institution of mentorship in the Kiyungu involves an older man (or more rarely, woman) taking on responsibility as the guardian, guide and lover of a younger person of the same gender. The Kiyungu view this as the best way for a person to learn about love, life, proper values, and social order. It also usually involves teaching a valuable craft skill, too. The formal role as Elder Brother or Elder Sister ends when the younger is deemed ready for marriage, although the elder party will usually still provide advice to the younger throughout their lives.

[5] The largest of these was in historical Gympie, Queensland, which was the site of a gold rush in early colonial Queensland.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #46: Children of a Failed Continent

“Te amorangi ki mua, te hapai o ki muri.” (The leader at the front and the workers behind the scenes.)
- Maori proverb

* * *

Seven continents provide the large majority of the land surface of the globe. Or six continents, or five, or four, or even eight, depending on who provides the definitions. Regardless of their number, all of the continents have one thing in common: they are composed of masses of ancient rock which are light enough to float above the rest of the earth’s crust and provide land above the waves.

One continent, though, is a failure. It is heavy enough and unstable enough that most of its surface does not provide a continental land mass above the ocean, but has sunk into the depths below it.

A few fragments of that failed continent still project above the surface of the ocean blue. The two largest of these fragments form islands that preserve relicts of ancient times, carrying on their soil plants and animals whose relatives have vanished from most of the rest of the globe.

For this failed continent was, like the other continents of the southern hemisphere, once part of the supercontinent of Gondwana, and some of that ancient landmass’s survivors found a new home within these more limited confines. The forests that cover these islands have relatives that persist in other southerly landmasses. The animals that live on these islands are likewise distinctive. None more so than the tuatara, an innocuous three-eyed creature that appears to be a kind of lizard but is in truth the last survivor of an ancient lineage.

The two islands are dominated by mountains that have been raised up recently in geological time, as forces beneath the crust move in new patterns, thrusting up a range of high peaks. Erosion has done much to wear down these new mountains, creating some fertile plains, but much of the geography of these two islands is still marked by these high peaks or other rugged, hilly terrain.

Distant from any neighbouring landmasses, these two main islands and myriad smaller offshore islands were inaccessible for most of human history and prehistory. Reaching them required mastery of shipbuilding and oceanic navigation, to say nothing of determination.

The first visitors to these islands were the Polynesians, a people who sailed from island to island and explored a third of globe using nothing but stone and wood, their wits, and a lot of coconut fibre. To this people of explorers, the smallest of islands was worth fighting over and settling, even tiny outcrops of limestone and coral sand which could not hold permanent fresh water. History does not record, but imagination can supply, their delight at finding the two massive, forest-clad, well-watered main islands of Aotearoa which appeared to be more wealth than should be contained anywhere in the world.

Such a wealth of land must certainly have drawn quick Polynesian settlement, once they were aware of it. The first Polynesians to come here called themselves by various names, but in time they would come to think of themselves as the Maori.

The first settlers built villages which clung to the coast. Their own tropical-suited crops barely grew in these temperate lands, but the early Maori still found food in abundance. Amidst the dark, ancient forests of the interior dwelt the moa, massive flightless birds which provided an abundance of meat for any hunters who sought them. When not hunting moas inland, the early Maori hunted seals – another valued meat resource – and gathered food from the sea, as their forefathers had done since time immemorial.

Acclimatising to this new land of Aotearoa still presented some challenges to the early Maori. The sea voyages to their old islands were long indeed, enough that most domesticated animals could not survive the trip. Their Polynesian forefathers had raised pigs, chickens and dogs, but only the dogs survived the journey to Aotearoa. The kiore [Polynesian rat] came with the first voyagers, too, and quickly established itself on the main islands of Aotearoa, but that provided only a nuisance to the Maori. With only dogs for animals, the Maori were dependent on the moa and seafood for their protein, which would present problems if the moa were ever hunted out.

In their cultivation of fibre crops, the early Maori were more fortunate. Their traditional fibre crops were coconuts and pandanus, used for ropes and sails among much else, but neither of these plants grew in cooler Aotearoa. This new land offered a more than adequate replacement, however. The plants which they called harakeke and wharariki [New Zealand flax] could be harvested wild, and their leaves yielded a fibre which was superior to anything that the Maori had seen before [1].

With the vast expanse of their new islands, the early Maori did not truly need to keep exploring for new lands; Aotearoa held more wealth than any other land the Maori or their ancestors had found for millennia. Such a tradition of exploration, however, would not fade so quickly. A few Maori kept voyaging back and forth to their ancient islands, while more explored in other directions. Their early explorations were largely unsuccessful, finding only other small islands which were of little use to a people who knew the land of Aotearoa [2].

In 1310, the first Maori explorers sailed far enough west to find a land which made Aotearoa seem small, albeit also a land rather dry and fire-prone. Its inhabitants called this land by many names, but the Maori who learned of its seemingly endless expanse called it Toka Moana [3].

In Toka Moana, the early Maori came into contact with people who possessed many arts which their ancestors had lost over the long migrations which brought them to Aotearoa, and had other things which no peoples outside of that island continent had even seen. The Maori kept sailing back and forth between Aotearoa and Toka Moana, gradually exploring more of the country and learning of its peoples, and beginning a process of cultural exchanges which would transform the lives of peoples on both sides of the Gray Sea [Tasman Sea].

To their western neighbours, the early Maori gave some of their own crops, most notably kumara [sweet potato] and taro. They shared, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, some of their knowledge of shipbuilding and navigation. From their western neighbours, Maori explorers and traders acquired crops which were much more suited to their temperate lands, most notably red yams, wattles, murnong, scrub nettles, purslane, and fruits such as muntries and apple berries. They acquired domesticated birds – ducks, emus and geese – to provide a protein source to replace the dwindling moa. In time, they acquired many new skills from the westerners, such as knowledge of pottery, bronze working and, in time writing.

After this, the Maori would never be the same again.

* * *

1618: the eve of the first tentative Dutch contact with the western extremities of Toka Moana. On the eastern coast, the Maori of Aotearoa have been visiting Aururia for centuries. The voyage across the Gray Sea is a long one, but shorter than the journeys which brought their ancestors to Aotearoa from distant Hawaiki. What can be found in Toka Moana is certainly worth the travel.

From early in their contact with Toka Moana, the Maori explored much of the eastern coast. They still visit parts of that occasionally, but their main sustained contact has been with the Cider Isle [Tasmania] in the south. Here, they can find the commodity which they prize above all: tin ore. Their own islands lack any meaningful native source of tin, and the arts of iron working have not yet spread far enough east for the Maori to learn to work that metal. Bronze is the metal they know and treasure most; while they have native copper sources, they must import all of their tin from the Cider Isle, or sometimes trade for bronze in its finished form.

To the Cider Isle, then, the Maori come to trade for tin ore, and sometimes for duranj [gum cider] and gold, too. In exchange they provide jade, textiles of harakeke and wharariki, and sometimes other goods such as kauri gum or finished crafts. When the Maori visit north, they mainly trade for spices such as myrtles or peppers, or occasionally for finished bronze goods.

In Aotearoa itself, the demand for all of these goods is high. For there are a great many Maori now; numbers which their ancestors could barely have imagined when they landed their first canoes on Te Ika a Maui [North Island, New Zealand]. Food is abundant, thanks to the crops from Toka Moana. Red yams grow well in Aotearoa, except in the uttermost south, and even then wattles and murnong can be cultivated. The new crops have flourished so well, in fact, that the Maori have abandoned their original crops from Polynesia. What need to grow a kumara through laborious construction of north-facing gardens and end up with a tiny tuber the size of a man’s thumb, when a handful of buried red yam seeds will yield tubers the size of a man’s forearm?

Likewise, domesticated birds from Toka Moana have become an integral part of Maori life. Emus, ducks and geese graze their fields, supplying fertiliser and providing a welcome source of meat and eggs. Domesticated quolls were originally brought across to control the pesky kiore [Polynesian rat]. While good at that task, they are also excellent at surviving on their own; quolls have turned feral and destroyed much of the native bird life. Nor are quolls the only species from Toka Moana to cause an ecological catastrophe. Domesticated wattles have spread wild, too; the rapidly growing trees crowd out much of the native flora and transform the landscape into one where many of the native birds can find nothing to eat.

Perhaps the greatest ecological catastrophe came from the Maori themselves, though. Human hunting ravaged many of the native birds, particularly the giant moa. Slow-growing, lacking any familiarity with mammalian predators, the moa made easy targets; the process had been well advanced even before the first Maori visited Toka Moana. At least ten species of the flightless birds dwelt on Aotearoa before human arrival; barely a century later, they had all been hunted to extinction.

In Aotearoa, at least.

For while the Maori exterminated the moa in its native country, they were not the only people to glimpse these massive birds before they vanished from the fragments of the failed continent. In the early days of contact with Toka Moana, some of the westerners took passage on Maori ships and came to visit Aotearoa. Among those visitors was Burrinjuck, the High Chief of the Jerrewa people [who live around Bateman’s Bay, NSW].

Like most of those visitors, Burrinjuck found the giant moa to be hugely impressive. Also like many of the people of Toka Moana, Burrinjuck had a great passion for hunting; his people preserved large rangelands around their home country which were open for kangaroos to graze and, in turn, be hunted. In common with most visitors, Burrinjuck thought that moa would be excellent for hunting back in Toka Moana.

Unlike most of those visitors, though, Burrinjuck had the authority to do something about his desires. He asked to have stocks of the largest moa [Dinornis novaezealandiae] established in his home country, where they might be preserved for hunting. His hosts were willing to accommodate this fancy, in exchange for certain understandings of a bronzed nature, and arranged to capture some young moa chicks and ship them back to Toka Moana.

There, in the Jerrewa lands, Burrinjuck established the moa in his private hunting preserve. A very special preserve, where only the High Chief’s kin were permitted to enter, and only the highest class of chiefs were permitted to hunt. Protecting the moa has taken vigorous effort over the generations, but the chiefs of the Jerrewa like their privileges, and enforce the death penalty on any commoner who kills a moa within their hunting grounds. Any moa who wander further away from these lands will usually be killed, but within these lands they are well-protected. So a few moa still survive in 1618, one last fragment of Aotearoa preserved across the sea.

* * *

Unlike the true continent which forms its western neighbour, the failed continent of Aotearoa is a well-watered, fertile land. Toka Moana is geologically ancient, with poor, eroded soils and no high peaks; Aotearoa is rugged and often mountainous, and the mountains thrust up by tectonic forces are being continually weathered and their rocks washed down to the plains to enrich the soil. Toka Moana sits firmly in the desert latitude and is the driest inhabited continent; Aotearoa lies in temperate latitudes with regular chilling winds that bring abundant moisture with them.

The relative benefits of climate and geology can best be summed up this: in 1618, Aotearoa sustains nearly half the population of Toka Moana in a land surface barely 3.5% of its size. The population density is higher on Aotearoa than virtually anywhere on Toka Moana, except the heartland of the Yadji realm.

Crowded into such a relatively confined land, the Maori have developed what are in many ways more elaborate and more organised social systems than most of the Tauiwi, their counterparts on Toka Moana [4]. With higher population density has come more intense competition for resources; when combined with their ancient traditions inherited from Polynesia, the Maori are in most respects more warlike and hostile to foreigners and each other than the peoples across the Gray Sea. It also allows them to support some social institutions to a much greater degree; among other things, the Maori make much more use of slavery than the Tauiwi [5].

The heart of Maori social organisation has developed around three levels of relationships which define all Maori’s interaction with each other. These are ancient classifications which dated back to the earliest days of settlement in Aotearoa, and which were originally methods of tracing kinship, but which have become more general forms of social structure.

All Maori are first of all members of their local whanau, which originally meant extended family, but now generally refers to all of the people who were born or married into a particular locality. Members of the same whanau still consider themselves as relatives of a kind, and intermarriage amongst people of the same whanau is considered to be incest. All of the warriors who defend a particular region and serve its leader are drawn from the local whanau, or sometimes adopted into it.

Every whanau is part of a hapu, a word which can be variously translated as clan or subtribe. Like the whanau, a hapu was originally a genealogical term, in this case indicating a more distant but still significant relationship amongst the various whanau that it included.

Time and social construction has changed the nature of a hapu, though. Now it simply serves as a term for the fundamental political unit of Maori society. All hapu are ruled by a prominent leader, usually an accomplished warleader (or sometimes a priest) with his own sworn warriors, and who acts as a protector of all the whanau who have sworn to him.

Usually the member whanau of a hapu are close together geographically, since the main function of the hapu is to provide mutual defence and cooperation against enemies. They are not always contiguous, however. This is particularly important since individual whanau can choose to change their allegiance to the leader of a rival hapu within the same iwi [tribe or kingdom].

The process of changing hapu is part of the broader political and military struggles within Maori society. If the leader of a different hapu is deemed to have greater mana [standing, reputation, charisma, psychic power], or is a more accomplished warleader, then other whanau may choose to transfer their allegiance to his service, and thus gain his protection and hopefully some of the benefit of his mana. With raids a common part of Maori life, a warleader who can offer protection is something to be treasured.

The largest political unit in Maori society is the iwi. The word can be variously translated as clan or people, but in practice it refers to what amount to Maori kingdoms. An iwi is comprised of multiple hapu who reside in a given region, and who are a people who can trace their descent to named ancestors who reached Aotearoa on one of the ancient canoes. All members of the same iwi are thus theoretically related, although in effect they are citizens of the same kingdom. An iwi controls a recognised territory, although given the more or less continual warfare of Maori society, the borders of an iwi often shift in line with the tides of war.

Leadership at all three levels of Maori society is in theory elective, based on the mana of the leader and the acclamation of the people in the next rank. Ariki (leaders) are normally chosen for life, although particularly egregious deeds or failure in warfare (those often being synonymous) may see a leader abandoned by his followers; his name cast out and forgotten. A son may succeed a father, but in most kingdoms, this is not guaranteed.

The basic customs and traditions which surround Maori leaders do not vary significantly at each rank. The same word, ariki, is used for all leaders, distinguished only by the name of the particular social unit they lead. An ariki whanau leads an extended family, an ariki hapu leads his group of whanau, and an ariki iwi is more or less the king. All ariki are expected to conduct themselves according to the same social mores and to maintain and build their mana.

Each ariki draws their power from the same symbolic source, their marae or meeting hall, the ritual centre of their leadership. The Maori use the same word to refer to the dwellings of all three ranks of leaders, although naturally the form of the marae depends on a leader’s power. An ariki whanau may simply have a hall at the centre of his pa [stockade, fortification], while the ariki iwi may have a marae which is a palace or a virtual town unto itself.

Regardless of its outward form, each marae has one room which always serves the same function: the room which contains the heart stone, the toka atua [literally, god stone]. The toka atua is the most sacred symbol of a leader’s mana and power. Traditionally carved from granite or some other hard stone, it will be inscribed with a symbol chosen by the leader’s ancestors, and passed down through the generations. All warriors who swear service to a leader do so to this stone, ritually binding themselves to the leader’s mana and to that of all of his ancestors.

The toka atua must be defended above all else; to lose it to an open raid is the greatest possible blow to a leader’s mana, and one from which few can recover. To have the stone stolen by stealth is shameful, but not an irreparable blow to a leader’s prestige, and it may be recovered in kind.

Besides their marae, all leaders also maintain one or more pa [fortifications]. These defensive structures are essential given the warlike nature of Maori society. All leaders maintain a warband of sworn warriors, and most adult Maori males can use weapons at need, if only a staff, or sometimes a taiaha [6]. Lesser leaders will call out their warriors if a greater leader calls, or often go raiding of their own accord. Raids are commonplace, sometimes even within the same iwi, although it is rare for leaders of the same hapu to raid each other.

Indeed, warfare is an integral part of Maori life, and it is intertwined with their conception of mana. That word has many nuances in Maori life: authority, reputation, conduct, prestige, influence, honour, charisma, psychic force. All warriors, and to a lesser degree all Maori males and higher-class females, seek to gain mana, and to avoid activities which would weaken their mana.

For warriors, demonstration of their mana includes a formal list of the deeds which they have accomplished. All sworn Maori warriors have an account of their deeds which is recited on formal occasions during their lives, and ultimately at their funerals. Their mana is also represented in the moko which all warriors have carved onto their faces [7]. These designs mark a warrior’s mana, and particularly accomplished warriors will often have additional moko marked on their faces or bodies. Among men, only sworn warriors are permitted to wear moko, although some higher-status women are also permitted to use it.

Whether a warrior or not, all Maori acknowledge the central role of utu, of reciprocation and balance, in maintaining mana. All actions, whether friendly or unfriendly, demand an appropriate response. A kind deed should be repaid, in one way or another, and revenge should be sought for hostile actions. This principle brings both benefits and problems for Maori society; kindness is encouraged, but it also brings about a near-endless cycle of revenge between some groups.

In such an often hostile society, various rituals and customs have developed to help maintain some order. Leaders have an essential role to play in maintaining these customs, particularly those involving hospitality rituals. People who first visit the marae of a particular leader will usually be invited to go through one of a variety of forms of hospitality rituals, involving exchanges of gifts and stylised challenges from warriors. After going through such a ritual, the participants will be under the protection of the local ariki. This means that they cannot be killed without cause, although in some cases the definition of just cause can be very broad.

The hospitality rituals are usually mandatory for the first visit to a new region, but the protection usually holds for further visits, unless the leader explicitly revokes the protection. For leaders of whanau and some of the less influential hapu, the challenges and other rituals are generally carried out in person by the local ariki. For leaders of iwi and more prominent hapu, the ceremonies will usually be carried out by a relative on behalf of the ariki, except for particularly high-status guests.

Of course, no amount of rituals can prevent all forms of hostility, not with warfare a fundamental component of Maori life. The nature of war varies immensely, from minor raids for mana or revenge, to larger campaigns to secure prisoners, to major wars to capture resources or territory. Early Maori warfare often involved cannibalism of the fallen, both as a source of protein and to gain some of the mana of the defeated enemy. While the practice is much rarer in modern Maori society, ritual cannibalism is still sometimes part of contemporary warfare, traditionally involving consumption of the heart and arms of defeated warriors.

* * *

In 1618, while centuries of warfare have led to some political consolidation, the Maori are still divided into a number of competing iwi. They are often hostile to strangers even within their own iwi, and extremely wary of visitors from other iwi. Their default attitude to foreign visitors is similarly hostile. The only people who visit them with any regularity are the Islanders, some of whom have succeeded in gaining protection. The Maori still have a few sporadic visitors from Polynesia, and the occasional very lost ship from westerners who had been meaning to sail up or down their own east coast.

The Maori themselves still keep up their own trading contacts with the Cider Isle, and some Islanders have occasionally found it profitable to bring tin, bronze or kunduri to Aotearoa [8]. Bronze is by far the good most in demand in this trade, since the Maori supply of the metal is ultimately dependent on imported sources.

Fortunately for the Maori, bronze is an alloy which can be almost endlessly recycled and reforged for new purposes. The Maori are assiduous in their pursuit of collecting abandoned or damaged bronze objects for reforging; the metal is too valuable to be allowed to go to waste. One of the privileges of controlling a battlefield in victory is to scavenge for abandoned or damaged arrowheads, spearheads, shields or armour and reclaim it. So while the Maori do not import much tin in any given year – the sea lanes are long, after all – they have accumulated a significant amount of bronze over the centuries.

So determined are they in their recycling, in fact, that future archaeologists will find precious little evidence of bronzeworking amongst the Maori, finding mostly abandoned tools of copper or stone. This will lead to vigorous scholarly debate about how extensive the Maori use of bronze was during the precontact period.

The same Islanders who occasionally export bronze to Aotearoa have also sometimes tried to export their Plirite faith to the Maori. This has met with only modest success. Only two of the western iwi, the Te Arawa [in Westland, South Island] and Ngati Apa [in Taranaki, North Island] [9] have significant numbers of Plirite converts, and even then not a majority. No Maori ariki iwi [king] has yet accepted the faith, although a few ariki hapu have done so.

The Maori’s own religion is derived from that of their eastern Polynesian ancestors, centring around their belief in the interrelatedness and common descent (whakapapa) of all life, and its links to the gods and heroes of legend. This link to the past is part of what gives a Maori his or her mana, and any Maori of status can recite their genealogy back to one or more ancestors who sailed from Hawaiki [10], or from other great figures. Some of these figures include: Tangaroa, who personifies the seas and is the origin of all fish; Tane, who embodies the forest and is the origin of all birds; Kupe, who in some traditions first explored Aotearoa; and Kawiti, who in most traditions was the discoverer of Toka Moana [11]. With this link to the past an essential part of their mana, relatively few high-status Maori have been willing to adopt the new Plirite faith, for fear of angering their ancestors and breaking the sacred connection.

For all their hostility to outsiders and ambivalent views of foreign religion, the Maori in 1618 did not know that they would soon be exposed both to more outsiders and another religion. In 1627, the Dutch explorer François Thijssen sailed up the west coast of Aotearoa, becoming the first European to visit the Land of the Long White Cloud. At the first kingdom he visited, the ariki iwi of the Te Arawa gave him a very cool reception and ordered him to depart. Thijssen left as commanded, but Europeans would not be dissuaded from again visiting Aotearoa’s shores...

* * *

[1] Harakeke (Phormium tenax) and wharariki (P. cookianum), usually known in English as New Zealand flax, provide some of the best natural fibres in the world. The fibres from their leaves can be readily worked into a wide variety of textiles, ropes, sails, and other products, and were a major part of the traditional Maori economy. After European contact, the plants would also find willing international customers; the Royal Navy, for instance, traded muskets and other products for ropes of New Zealand flax since it was stronger by weight than their other customary fibres such as hemp.

[2] It is not known how long the Maori historically kept up their tradition of exploration and long-range navigation, but it’s likely to have been until at least 1500 AD, when the Chatham Islands were first settled. The Maori also likely discovered and settled other island groups such as Norfolk Island and the Kermadecs, although those settlements eventually failed.

[3] Originally, toka moana meant a rock which stood firm in the wildest seas, but its meaning evolved to mean a rock so big (ie land) that it took longer to cross than the ocean. To later Maori, the name will usually if somewhat inaccurately be translated as the Land Ocean.

[4] Tauiwi, originally tau iwi (roughly translated, strangers), is the generic Maori name for the people of Toka Moana. It can be used either as a catch-all for all of the westerners, or simply in cases when the Maori don’t know the names of the individual peoples across the Gray Sea. The Maori are quite familiar with the distinction between the three peoples of the Cider Isle, know the Islanders, and are broadly familiar with a lot of the peoples on the eastern coast of Toka Moana, but do not know a lot of the rest.

[5] Slavery does exist in Toka Moana, but it is not a major component of their social systems. Most Tauiwi peoples rely on corvees or other forms of drafted labour for part of the year. Permanent slavery on Toka Moana is generally confined to household domestics and for unpleasant tasks such as mining. Amongst the Maori, who are much more warlike (and thus obtain prisoners) and have a much higher population density (and thus uses for forced labour), slavery is much more common. One of its principal uses is in the harvesting of fibre crops and weaving of textiles, which is a labour-intensive but vital task.

[6] A taiaha is a traditional Maori weapon shaped from hard wood, usually with one end decorated, and the other with a flat, smooth blade. Sometimes this blade will be made from wood, although better-equipped Maori will often use a bronze blade instead. Although visually it is similar to a spear, a taiaha is a close-quarters weapon designed to be held with two hands and using short, calculated blocks, thrusts and strikes.

[7] Moko is a traditional Maori form of tattooing, where grooves are cut into the skin with chisels and then marked with pigments, rather than the punctures of standard tattooing.

[8] Islander visits are uncommon both because of the distance, and because the Nangu trading network is centred on the Island itself. Most of their goods are brought back to the Island to be exchanged there, except for short-distance trips such as between the Cider Isle and the Yadji realm.

[9] The names of the various iwi listed here are historical, being peoples who still existed at the time of historical European contact. The changed patterns of warfare and migration, though, mean that they inhabit different areas than they did historically.

[10] Although whether these genealogies are accurate is far from certain. Even where there have been no creative interpolations, literacy did not spread immediately to the Maori. While modern Maori have written records of their genealogy, in written form these usually do not go back much over a century.

[11] Whether Kupe and Kawiti are genuine historical figures will be the source of much scholarly argument. The Maori lacked writing when settling Aotearoa, and neither the Maori nor the Raduru (the people they first contacted in Toka Moana) had writing at the time of contact. Regardless of their historicity or non-historicity, Kupe and Kawiti remain important cultural figures among the Maori.

* * *

Thoughts?

P.S. I haven’t listed the breakdown of the Maori iwi (kingdoms) or their geographical regions in this post, since it’s rather hard to describe in words. If someone’s interested in drawing up a map of Aotearoa and the main kingdoms, though, please let me know.

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #47: Vines and Shoots

Note: This instalment gives a glimpse much further into the future of LRG. Be warned, though, that all of the usual caveats about biased and potentially unreliable sources apply in spades here.

* * *

“We are about to attack a mountain of gold; the Dutch are about to attack a mountain of iron.”
- Sir Thomas Chambers, Director of the English East India Company, 1642

* * *

Taken from: “Children of Three Worlds”
By Diligence Ledda
Kagana [Tuscaloosa, Alabama]: 1989

The Congxie are the only people on the globe who can trace their heritage to all three worlds: Old, New and Third. Shaped though they were in the New World, their birthright is broader; the mingled blood of many peoples was reformed into the harmony of a new race...

The history of the Congxie begins in what was then the English colony of Cavendia [1], during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Cavendia was founded in 1672 as a private wealth extraction colony by a group of English aristocrats, and named in honour of their patron Charles Cavendish, 2nd Duke of Newcastle [2].

From its earliest days, Cavendia was a colony built on the back of forced labour. At first this meant Amerinds [Native Americans/First Nations], captured in war and conscripted into local servitude, or trafficked to European colonies elsewhere in the New World [3]. More and more of the Amerinds died or fled out of the reach of the slave raiders, leading the aristocrats to turn to indentured labour from the Old World.

A few Englishmen and Scotsmen willingly accepted indentured labour for a period of years in exchange for passage to the New World, but most of the labour that worked the plantations of Cavendia did so involuntarily. Some Gaels were bound to servitude for the crime of seeking freedom, but most of Cavendia’s new indentured workers were captured in Africa and subjected to the horrors of the Middle Passage.

The exploitative society created in early Cavendia became one of plantations and indentured labour, forced to work in difficult, disease-ridden conditions for the benefit of mostly absentee landlords. The planters and aristocrats lived in better conditions in New London [Charleston, South Carolina] or in England, while their so-called servants laboured and died for them...

In early Cavendia, rice became by far the most successful crop. Rice plantations were confined to the worst areas: low-lying, marshy and infested by hookworm and malaria-bearing mosquitos. The indentured labourers endured these miserable conditions with some hope of eventual release, for they were yet classed as servants, not slaves. While the servants laboured in the low country, planters lived in the towns, while in the uplands, the Amerinds still survived, resentful of the newcomers but dependent on them for weapons.

To this brewing cauldron, a new ingredient was added in the dying years of the seventeenth century. Rice had provided a bountiful yield, but from the earliest days the planters still sought other crops to add to their already excessive wealth. Entrepreneurs from across the three worlds were keen to bring potential new crops to them, for word of the luxury of Cavendia’s privileged few was already widespread.

Among those venturers who sought to bring new crops to the attention of Cavendia’s aristocrats, the boldest were a few Nuttana merchants who circled the globe in pursuit of profit. The first Nuttana trader visited New London in 1697 with a cargo of eastern spices and seeds to sell, and returned home with a valuable bounty. Inspired by his success, others followed over the next couple of decades...

Among the Nuttana merchant captains who ventured to Cavendia was Barcoo Nyugal. He came to New London in 1704 with a valuable cargo of silk and silkworms, tea leaves and seeds, and lemon verbena leaves and seeds, which like his predecessors he intended to sell for profit. Barcoo never completed the sale of tea, which would be left to later traders to establish as another source of Cavendia’s wealth. Yet he accomplished something far greater: as much as any man, he was responsible for the shaping of the Congxie.

For during Barcoo’s visit to New London, he witnessed an event which would be a defining moment both for the history of the Congxie, and of Cavendia. An indentured African-born woman named Wednesday (believed to be of Soninke descent, although this is uncertain) had appealed to the Cavendia assembly and governor. She had complained that her servitude was unending, and that her new-born son Jonathon would share the same fate. Wednesday asked for a determination that her indenture should have a defined end-date, or at least that her son should be considered to be born free.

On 4 March 1704, a day that would live in infamy, the governor and assembly issued a joint proclamation that declared that African servitude was life-long, and that the condition could be inherited. The institution of slavery, if not yet the name, had been brought to Cavendia.

Barcoo and his crew witnessed this proclamation, and were greatly angered by it. The transformation of the Africans’ fate from servitude to slavery was in gross violation of the laws of harmony, and the institution of multi-generational slavery utterly abhorrent. Barcoo decided that the discord which this would create could not be tolerated, and decided to take proper action...

The risings in New London itself were largely unsuccessful; the aristocrats there were exploiters, not fools, and defended themselves accordingly. In the rice plantations along the Tidewater, however, the indentured workers were numerous and their supervisors few. Around the Santee River delta and the Sea Islands, many indentured workers rose and fled inland, to the relative safety of the uplands. Even here, the majority remained, trapped by fear or by the weapons of the supervisors and planters, but a large number escaped to the hills...

Here, in the sanctuary of the Cavendia upcountry, was born a new people. A people with many forebears, who in their new lives among the hills, were merged into a new race. The majority of their ancestors were of African descent, mostly Soninke, Mandingo, Gude and Mende, and others whose ancestry was unknown after the Middle Passage. With them came many Nuttana, including Barcoo himself who fulfilled his pledge to bring harmony to Cavendia. Gaels came, too, and a few other whites who had fled their undeserved indenture. The original escapees included a handful of enslaved Amerinds, who helped to lead the others to safety in the uplands. More Amerinds joined the escapees once they had reached the uplands, including many Cherokee, and some Creeks and Catawba [4].

These were the forebears of the Congxie, who in their new highland home created a new life for themselves. Formerly of many peoples, they were gradually shaped into one, building a new common heritage out of the best of what they had inherited, building a new language and fostering harmony, balance, and the teachings of the Good Man...

From the Cherokee and Creeks who had lived there before them and many of whom joined them, the Congxie learned the arts of hunting and farming in their new home. The Cherokee men taught them how to hunt the white-tailed deer and other animals of the uplands, both for food and for trade. The Cherokee and Creek women taught them how to farm maize, squash and beans in the manner of the New World. From the Nuttana, they learned how to farm the murnong which had been brought with them in the original uprising, and how to tame and cultivate the cornnarts which had grown wild in Cavendia since they were introduced with the first English settlers. From the Nuttana, too, they learned the divine truth of the Sevenfold Path [Plirism] and the arts of writing. From the Africans who had been conscripted into slavery, they learned the arts of blacksmithing, carpentry, and the works of the artisan...

The original Congxie were few in number, but they prospered and multiplied in the health of the uplands and in the balance they brought to their lives. Their numbers grew steadily, both from their own increase and from those who joined them: fleeing slaves, a few Englishmen who preferred that life [5], children of traders, and some Cherokee, Creeks and Catawba...

In 1722-1726, many of the Amerind peoples rose in noble but futile efforts to destroy the English colonists of Cavendia, in a conflict which would come to be called King George’s War [6]. The Congxie stood aside from those efforts, recognising that such actions would only fail, and gave safe haven to some of the defeated warriors after the war.

After King George’s War and the reprisals which the Cavendians brought afterward, the Congxie became the single largest community in the uplands. The Cherokee and the Creeks were tragically doomed after that war, which only hastened the effects of diseases such as smallpox, measles and Marnitja. Those who survived mostly fled further inland or south out of range of English reprisals, leaving the upcountry to be dominated by the Congxie [7]...

From their upland homes, the Congxie continued the practice of hunting deer which they had learned from their Amerind forebears. Deerskin provided a valuable trading commodity with Cavendia, both for use in the colony itself and for export to Europe. Buckskin provided the English with clothing directly, and for shaping into gloves, bookbinding, and myriad other uses. In exchange, the Congxie received weapons, powder, metal goods and other artifacts which were in short supply in their homeland. Unlike the Amerinds before them, the Congxie refused to practice the slave trade to pay for such weapons.

The deerskin trade required interaction between the Congxie and their former exploiters, but contact would have been inevitable even without that, thanks to the proximity of the two peoples. At first, Congxie often contested to free the slaves who were still being imported from Africa, but in time an unwritten pact developed, a new balance between the two peoples. Congxie would not actively solicit slaves to flee into their lands, while Englishmen would not actively pursue those few slaves who did escape on their own and sought refuge amongst the Congxie.

For a time, peaceful trade endured between the two peoples. The Congxie supplied not just deerskin, but cornnart grain and other foodstuffs that allowed the planters to exploit their land and workers more determinedly in their coastal rice and tea plantations. When the supply of deer started to fail, some Congxie hunters started to search further afield, even across the Alleghenies [8], in pursuit of fresh stock. Other Congxie turned to the cultivation of tobacco which found some value in the lowlands of Cavendia, being cheaper than importing kunduri or tobacco from further afield...

Inevitably, in time the balance was disturbed. The population of both peoples expanded, driven by the high fecundity and hybrid vigour of the Congxie on the one hand [9], and endless wealth from rice and tea encouraging ever more immigrants and slave trafficking on the other. Envious of the Congxie who grew ever more numerous in the uplands, the Cavendians in time began to encroach on their lands.

Some bold Congxie had already ventured west in pursuit of deerskin, with some occasional contacts with New Valois [New Orleans] and Barranca [Pensacola, Florida] to trade with the French and Spanish. With shortages of good land even amongst their own people, some pioneering Congxie pressed further west through the Alleghenies and began to establish settlements in the western uplands [ie upcountry Georgia and Alabama]...

After the treachery of the Cavendians and the massacres of the Lord Protector’s War, the gradual westward migration turned into a flood. Most Congxie went yarra [trek or great journey], preferring to abandon the uncertain fate of their birthlands and press into lands still occupied by Cherokees, Creeks and Choctaws...

* * *

Taken from: “Fundamentals of Linguistics”
Cambridge University Press

Discussion Point: The Congxie Language

The nature of the Congxie language is endless argued. Is it a true multiple-ancestry language [mixed language], or a single language with multiple registers? A heavily modified creole of Nuttana? A well-developed pidgin with variations? In the study of linguistics, it is perhaps the most debated language in the world.

Classification of its vocabulary source languages is relatively straightforward. The single largest portion of its vocabulary comes from Nuttana (approximately 30%), although that feature itself adds to debate since Nuttana is also controversial as to whether it is a mixed-ancestry language or one with a primary language and a very influential substrate. A total of 40% of its vocabulary comes from various African languages; about one-quarter of the Congxie vocabulary comes from Mande languages (Mende, Soninke, Mandingo, and relatives) and about 15% from Gude. About one-fifth of its vocabulary comes from Amerind languages (Cherokee and Creek), while about 5% each derives from English and Gaelic.

Usage of this vocabulary, however, marks a more challenging question. One thing is certain: Congxie has multiple registers, different words with similar meanings which can be used in different contexts. In broad terms, words of Nuttana derivation are the most formal and high-class versions, associated in particular with religion and government, but with some notable exceptions. For many of these words, there are parallel words of the same or similar meaning, which are used in more informal contexts, and where the word roots are recognisably of a different derivation, such as where Mande or Gude word roots are used during everyday interaction.

For some meanings, there are up to four registers available to different people or for different situations, with derivations from recognisably different languages. One of the most noted, and most debated, is that in many situations women use a different vocabulary to men, and that most of the female register is derived from Cherokee or Creek words, with some inclusions from Gude or Gaelic.

In some of these registers, Congxie’s usual grammatical rules also change. Much of the informal, everyday register of Congxie uses tones to convey changes in grammar, which is indicative of the contributions of Mande languages, while tones are almost wholly absent from other aspects of Congxie grammar or its other registers.

Congxie grammar is more complex than has traditionally been ascribed to creole or pidgin languages, which is one contributing factor to the debate about its classification. Its word order is relatively flexible, although not quite as free as some early linguistic studies classified it; the word order often depends both on what register is being used, and on which particular word which the speaker wishes to emphasise most, with the most emphasised word usually being spoken first. It can also have a complex clause structure with dependent clauses, and with verbs retaining different tenses; both features which are rarely found in pidgins or creoles derived from them.

Traces of its ancestral languages remain in its grammar, such as the tones used for the informal register, and the multiple pronoun structure and post-nominal articles of Nuttana which persist in the formal register...

While debate continues without complete resolution, the broadest consensus, supported by the historical record, is that Congxie did not emerge as a true pidgin. It developed from peoples who spoke multiple languages and taught them to their own children, who then learned these multiple registers and developed social codes on when to use them, rather than seeking to develop a common lingua franca.

* * *

The genetic and linguistic heritage of the Congxie is complex, a legacy both of the runaways who founded their society, and the social structure which developed in the uplands. The largest group of initial founders were escaped Africans, largely speakers of various Mande languages from historical Senegal and Sierra Lone, and a smaller group of Gude speakers from the historical Nigeria-Cameroon border. Virtually all of these runaways were still born in Africa, spoke their own disparate languages, and they had varying degrees of familiarity with English.

Accompanying the Africans were smaller numbers of escaping whites, mostly Irish, who spoke a mixture of Gaelic and English. The Nuttana were about as numerous as the whites, and while they were often fluent in English, they preferred their own language except when dealing with Cavendians. The remaining early Congxie were Amerindians (Cherokee, Creeks, Catawba and others), either escaped slaves or others fleeing the early epidemics.

While Africans formed by far the largest initial group, the heritage of the Congxie was rather more mixed. The runaways, Africans in particular, included a larger number of men than women. There were proportionately more women who were Nuttana, white or (especially) Amerindian, leading in turn to a larger proportion of their descendants having that heritage. The Nuttana also occupied higher status positions in the early years (chiefs and priests), and so had their pick of the limited number of women in the crucial first generations.

After the founding generation, the Congxie received a trickle of newcomers from outside, including escaping African slaves, mixed-race children of traders who were left to be raised among the Congxie, and refugee Amerindians. This added to the mixed heritage of the Congxie.

Natural selection also played a role in the progress over generations. Strong selection pressure favoured mixed-race ancestry (African-Aururian or white-Aururian) because this gave the best overall genetic resistance to the mixture of Old World and Aururian diseases. Natural selection also worked partly against those of pure African ancestry, since this involved a higher risk of sickle-cell anaemia. This would have been an advantage in the malarial lowlands, but was a negative factor in the Congxie uplands, and so was selected against.

In short, the Congxie are a very mixed-heritage people.

* * *

[1] At this point, Cavendia is, very approximately, the historical Province of Carolina (ie before the later division into North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia). As happened historically, its borders will change over time.

[2] Charles Cavendish is an allohistorical son of William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

[3] A similar trade existed in the early days of the historical Carolina and Georgia colonies, and generally involved some indigenous peoples raiding their neighbours and trafficking the captives to Europeans in exchange for weapons and other trade goods. The captives were then either forced into slavery locally, or traded to plantations in the Caribbean, Virginia, or Louisiana. A similar process, on a smaller scale due to lower population, operated in allohistorical Cavendia.

[4] One of the many things which Ledda glosses over here is that the arrival of the Congxie forefathers brought disaster for the indigenous peoples of the uplands. Not deliberately, for the most part – although there were clashes – but because the runaways included several asymptomatic carriers of diseases such as Marnitja and chickenpox, which swept through the upcountry with disastrous results. The Congxie accepted some of the survivors, particularly women since there was a distinct gender imbalance amongst the runaways, and because the women generally knew more of how to farm maize, squash, beans and other local crops.

[5] Even in historical North America, some of the various Native American peoples had people of mixed or European ancestry, from those Europeans who had fled the colonies for one reason or another and joined them. In allohistorical Cavendia, the Congxie fill that niche.

[6] King George’s War is the closest allohistorical analogue to the historical Tuscarora and Yamasee Wars. Like those wars, it was started due to the encroachment and slave-raiding practices of European colonists. While the indigenous chiefs had some local victories, they were too badly outnumbered and outgunned to win in the end.

[7] The demise of the Cherokee and Creeks was in fact much more due to population pressure from the Congxie than Ledda admits. Disease certainly played a large part, but European reprisals were mostly limited to the first few years after the war. The scattered survivors were often pushed aside by the Congxie, and he also glosses over the raids for women which were a common part of early Congxie life, and the clashes over deer hunting which happened later.

[8] In allohistorical North America, Alleghenies is the generic name for the entire Appalachians ranges. The name Appalachians is reserved for the mountains between historical Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia and Maryland.

[9] The mixed heritage of the Congxie (African/European and Aururian) means that they are on the whole more resistant to both Old World and Aururian diseases, which is one reason that their population is growing even faster than that of lowland Cavendia. The other main reason for the spectacular growth is that being in the highlands, they are also far away from the main reservoirs of malaria, yellow fever and hookworm which were so devastating to lowland populations.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #48: Steps in the Endless Dance

“The Dutch see only two colours: white and wrong.”
- Tjewarra (“strong heart”), Atjuntja activist

* * *

Jingella, it is called, in the language of the Gunnagal. Jingella: the Endless Dance. An eternal competition between the eight factions into which their society is divided. A contest which is ostensibly over the sport which they call football (involving rules complex enough to give the Byzantines headaches), but which in truth dominates their nation’s economy, land use, justice and even the military.

The Dance is an endless struggle, a contest of balance and delicate alliance and counter-alliance. The people of Tjibarr have stepped through the Dance in similar form for centuries, since the fall of the Empire, and the origin of their contest is much more ancient.

Unlike the rules of football, the rules for the greater Dance are not written, but they are equally real. Each faction struggles for advantage, and the members of each faction compete amongst themselves. Everyone vies for gain, but no-one dares to let any one rival become too strong. Alliances are fickle things indeed if the participants think that the other members are growing too prominent.

In short, in a people who were familiar with the concept of balance of power centuries before Europe articulated the concept, the Dance can include some very strange steps...

* * *

Black Cockatoo Day, Cycle of Falling Stars, 8th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third [9 April 1640]
Estates of Wemba of the Whites, near Tapiwal [Robinvale, Victoria]
Kingdom of Tjibarr

A chorus of voices, one speaking over another over another. Sounds of tables being thumped, men stamping their feet, or jumping up to look down on their neighbours. Fists being shaken to emphasise points.

In other words, a perfectly normal afternoon’s discussion amongst the members of any faction. On the whole, quieter than usual for the Whites.

More than half of the leading notables of the Whites had come to Wemba’s estates, which he saw as a personal triumph. Ostensibly, they had gathered to discuss the preparation for the coming football season. That topic would indeed be addressed, but it provided a convenient excuse for other debates. Ones with more import, though it would be a chore to get many of the Whites gathered here to admit the existence of anything more important than football.

The discussion continued for a time, the volume waxing and waning. No goblets had been broken yet, a sure sign that things were calm. Yet it could easily continue all afternoon, as debates were prone to do.

Wemba would happily let the notables argue far into the night, but it would be better if he made sure that the decision was reached before the notables had exhausted themselves in argument. He let his gaze wander around the chamber, lingering briefly on each of three other men, who met his eyes in turn. That done, he whispered an apology which went quite unnoticed in the din of emphatic discussion, and left the main chamber.

He made his way to one of his favourite rooms in his manor, a second-storey north-facing room. The shutters were open to let in the afternoon sun, and revealing a view of wealth-trees, yam-fields with dying vines, a few of the treasured kunduri-bushes, and beyond that his private ponds and the thin blue line of the Nyalananga [River Murray]. The room usually gave him ample daylight for reviewing correspondence or writing, or lately reading one or other of the marvellous paper books of the Raw Men. He would scarcely get time to read any of those today, though.

For form’s sake, he picked up the most recent book which his compatriots in Jugara [Victor Harbor, South Australia] had acquired from the Nedlandj: an account by one of their sailors of his visits to the Atjuntja [1]. Nothing could be more valuable for understanding these Raw Men than reading their own accounts of how they perceived what they called the South Land. Today, though, the book merely provided an excuse for him to be here until his three invited guests made their apologies and joined him.

Wemba had time to reread a few lines of the sailor’s account – apparently the Nedlandj found the Atjuntja’s human sacrifice utterly detestable, showing that they were at least partially civilized – before someone clapped outside the door.

“Be welcome,” he said.

Three men came into the room, as he had invited. Nundjalung, who despite his greying hair kept most of the muscular physique and towering height which had made him the best White footballer in the last two generations. Pila Dadi, greatest land controller [2] of the Whites, and the closest thing which their faction had to a first speaker. Kuryal, premier ironsmith and metalworker, whose reputation was recognised beyond the Whites; he was accorded respect even from their bitterest rivals among the factions [3].

“Somewhat quieter here,” Pila Dadi said, with his characteristic half-smirk on his lips. “A better place for you to read, if you find the subject pressing.”

“Knowledge is always valuable,” Wemba said. “And a wise man-”

“Always makes use of time,” Pila Dadi interjected. “So you’ve said before.”

“Truth does not stale through repetition,” Wemba said. “But with guests here, I’m sure we can find other things to discuss.”

“Like your other guests downstairs?” Nundjalung asked.

Wemba said, “We could do well to anticipate their conclusions.”

Pila Dadi said, “If they reach any. Beyond the basic truths which any man of vision can see, answers are not so easy to find.”

Wemba said, “Indeed. These Raw Men will change the world. We must struggle to accommodate them.”

“They will replace the Islanders,” Kuryal said. “The Islanders’ strength has always been seafaring; now they are replaced.”

“Now the Islanders have rivals,” Pila Dadi said. “Very strong rivals. Perhaps they will find an accommodation, or perhaps they will fall.”

“Seafaring is only part of the knowledge the Raw Men bring,” Nundjalung said.

“Truth,” Wemba said. “Much knowledge, much strength. We must ensure that the Raw Men do not become too strong.”

Pila Dadi said, “The Islanders dominated too much for too long; these Raw Men could be much worse.”

“Fortunately, the Raw Men have divisions of their own,” Wemba said.

Kuryal said, “We must foster those divisions.”

“Such has begun,” Pila Dadi said. “We trade with the Nedlandj, the Yadji have started to recruit among the Inglidj, and those Pannidj who raided in the west may yet return. All this is good, but we must make sure that these divisions endure, or too much could fall to ruin.”

Nundjalung said, “And give them no reason to combine against us.”

Wemba said, “So, the situation is obvious-”

“But the solution is not,” Pila Dadi finished. “How should we act, now that the Raw Men are part of the dance, wittingly or not?”

“We already asked that downstairs. And got about a hundred opinions offering a thousand answers so far,” Nundjalung said, his lips crinkling.

“True answers are never found easily,” Wemba said. “But we must learn their knowledge and their ways, as quickly as we can.”

“As you have begun,” said Pila Dadi, with a nod to the book at Wemba’s side. “All knowledge of these Raw Men will be useful, but most of all their weapons, those muskets.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Kuryal. The ironsmith jerked his head up and to the left, as if snapping at an unseen mosquito: the ancient gesture of frustration. “Before I saw these muskets and steel, I thought I knew as much of metalworking as any man living. Now... I am studying them, but even with all the resources of the Whites at my disposal, I can promise nothing.”

“Even with the prisoners to advise?” Nundjalung said.

“They know little, or pretend to know little,” Kuryal said.

“Think you they be truthful?” Pila Dadi said.

Wemba smiled briefly at the archaic phrasing of the question – an allusion to the Tales of Lopitja – then said, “Perhaps. Our captives are soldiers and horse riders, not ironsmiths. I wear mail at need, but could not tell you how it is made.”

“If we cannot learn for ourselves, we must find those who can teach,” Pila Dadi said.

“It’s been tried,” Wemba said. “The Atjuntja have asked repeatedly, as have the Islanders. Their... association [Company] refuses.”

“We can ask harder,” Pila Dadi said. “And their association must realise that their Dance has changed now, too; they have rivals here. Let them fear that if they do not teach us, the Inglidj or Pannidj will.”

“Or we can buy more examples of their craft to study,” Nundjalung said.

“If that will help,” Wemba said. “Many times, craft knowledge is only in the heart of the maker.”

“Or buy their muskets and gunpowder for our soldiers,” Kuryal said.

“That could be done,” Wemba said. “They value much-”

“Much of what is commonplace to us, they greatly desire,” Pila Dadi said. “Much of what they would sell to us is of little value to them, but much worth to us. Such is trade.”

Wemba said, “We would do well to make what they trade commonplace to us, where we can.”

“As they will try with us,” Nundjalung said.

Kuryal said, “Or trade with both Nedlandj and Inglidj, so that they cannot set their own price.”

Pila Dadi laughed. “Truth for our own folk, too. Think you not that the factions will bid against each other?”

“Unless we make a stronger alliance,” Nundjalung said.

“An association together could trade better, truth,” said Wemba. “If it holds together.”

“If trust can be found for us,” Pila Dadi said. “Our capture of the renegade Nedlandj already turns many suspicious eyes on us.”

“Fear for what we might do with those Raw Men, not what we have done,” Nundjalung said. “Only frustration has come from them, so far.”

“Any threat is best faced early,” Kuryal said.

“He who cannot plan for tomorrow will fall the day after,” Pila Dadi said.

“So let us share some of the knowledge... with chosen factions,” Wemba said.

“Share what we do not have?” Nundjalung said.

“We have horses,” Wemba said.

That comment produced a long moment of silence, so rare amongst a meeting of Gunnagal. The guests thought through the implications quickly enough, and as usual, spoke even before they finished thinking.

“Horses which have already bred-” Kuryal said.

“And carry a man faster than he can run,” Pila Dadi said.

“Or news,” Nundjalung added.

“Horses which any man of sense can see will change the world,” Wemba said.

“Which for now we control,” Pila Dadi said.

“Though others might trade for,” Kuryal said.

“Truth,” Pila Dadi said. “No monopoly will hold.”

“So best to choose to end it on our own terms,” Wemba said.

“Offer some new-bred horses to other factions-” Kuryal said.

“And secure cooperation over trade with the Raw Men in exchange,” Pila Dadi said.

“Provided we are not too obvious, naturally,” Wemba said.

“Quite,” said Kuryal, with a shake of his head.

“How many other factions?” Nundjalung said.

“Two: Blues and Greens,” Wemba said.

Pila Dadi laughed at once, catching the meaning instantly. It took Kuryal’s face a moment longer to show he understood. Nundjalung didn’t, though.

Wemba said, “If ever Blues and Greens stand together...”

Belatedly, Nundjalung grasped the meaning, and finished the old aphorism, “Then the king will tremble.”

All factions were rivals, and some had longstanding hatreds, but the mistrust between Blue and Greens had always been the bitterest. Rare indeed had been times when they cooperated without all the factions uniting. Which made them perfect partners for quiet cooperation over trade, if offers of horses could secure their support.

“Very good, if it works,” Pila Dadi said. “Other options exist, though, as our friends downstairs will be sure to tell us.”

That provoked rather more heated discussion about which factions should be sought for cooperation. Wemba had expected nothing less, and settled in for a long, animated discussion of how best to secure the future of the Whites.

Hours later, with the discussion carried as far as it could be with only four speakers present, they adjourned. The task of convincing the rest of the faction leaders would have to remain until the next day.

After his guests were safely retired to the many rooms where they could sleep, Wemba returned to his favoured room on the second floor. A tinkling of the brass bell brought a servant hurrying to answer his bidding. “Have Nuyts brought to me, along with... two guards.”

Waiting took some time, since the servant would need to find his way through the night, out of the main manor house and over the hill to the smaller complex of rooms where Nuyts and his fellow Nedlandj renegades were housed.

While he waited, the flickering lamplight was not the brightest, but still enough for Wemba to read more of the Nedlandj account of visiting the Atjuntja. He laughed to himself a couple of times, and nodded in disbelief. Stins, it appeared, expected that every proper-thinking person should think like a Raw Man, in their beliefs and in everything else.

“Fool,” he muttered. Men thought differently from each other. Understanding how other people thought, why they acted as they did, was an integral part of the Eternal Dance. Surely not all Raw Men were stupid enough to believe the same as Stins? Not all of them could be fools; their knowledge alone proved that.

Nuyts entered the room, looking about as unhappy as he always did, with two guards following him.

Wemba rosed and bowed in the Nedlandj style. The greeting, though, while in the Dutch language, was of the Gunnagalic form. “Be welcome, my guest.”

Nuyts frowned; it was an expression his long Raw Man face seemed built for. “Your prisoner, you mean.”

“My guest,” Wemba said mildly.

“A guest held at swordpoint,” Nuyts said.

“The guards are for the protection of me and mine, not your imprisonment,” Wemba said. They had had similar conversations before, but Nuyts refused to believe. “You Dutchmen can be dangerous.”

“So they would just let me leave?” Nuyts said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“If you like, provided that you leave alone – no way to be sure what you Dutchmen will do as a group – and do not try to take any of your horses or other goods with you,” Wemba said.

“I don’t believe you,” Nuyts said.

“Believe it,” Wemba said calmly. “If you wish to leave, under those conditions, the guards will not stop you.”

“Then, first thing tomorrow, I will-”

“But where will you go?” Wemba said.

“Anywhere but here,” Nuyts said.

“Where, exactly?” Wemba said.

“I-”

“Any other men of Tjibarr would return you to us rather than give you shelter; the king and council have agreed that you are our guest. If you flee beyond our borders, the Yadji have sworn to kill you. Gutjanal and Yigutji [the other kingdoms along the *Murray] are too weak; they would hand you over to the Yadji rather than risk angering them.”

“If I reach the sea-”

“You will do what? Your own Company has declared you a traitor. The Inglidj have promised to return your and your folk to the Yadji, if they find you. The Islanders would find you a valuable prize to trade; their only concern would be whether the Nedlandj or Yadji would offer more for you.”

“I could go-”

“Where? Into the desert? I suppose you could find shelter there, if the savages who live there don’t kill you. They won’t feed you, though. Do you know how to survive in the red heart?”

Nuyts shook his head.

“I thought not. You could try to go east, and cross the mountains. If the half-civilized savages on the other side don’t kill you on sight, they might show you to a Maori ship to take you to Aotearoa. Perhaps you will be fortunate, and not have the Maori eat you. Then you could live among people who know less than we do, with no iron, no physicians, no kunduri, no spices worth naming, and almost as easy to anger as a Yadji. Would you prefer that?”

Nuyts looked down.

“No, the truth is that only among the Gunnagal is your life safe. And you must help us as much as you can, to stop the Yadji learning from the Inglidj, and invading us to force your return.”

* * *

Pieter Nuyts’s ill-fated attempt to conquer the Yadji (1636-1638) dealt a disastrous blow to the Dutch East India Company’s (VOC) ambition to maintain a monopoly on trade with the South Land. The English East India Company (EIC) had already despatched William Baffin on an exploration mission to this new land; now their English rivals had been given a vital opening to exploit.

The defeat of Nuyts’s adventurism led the new Yadji Regent, Gunya, to declare the Dutch anathema within his Empire, to be killed on sight. The VOC made a determined effort to persuade Gunya Yadji to change his mind. Their governor at Fort Nassau [Fremantle] sent emissaries to the Yadji realm to try to convince them that Nuyts had acted independently and without authority.

En route, some of the friendlier Nangu tried to warn the emissaries not to bother, that as far as the Yadji were concerned, the actions of the subjects were the actions of the ruler. Perhaps unwisely, perhaps out of a sense of duty, the emissaries pressed on.

Gunya Yadji is reported to have told the emissaries, “Tjibarr has tried to tell us such things before, striking against us and then denying that they had done so. We will not believe them, nor do I believe you. Your words are lies because your adventure failed, nothing more.”

Gunya had all but one of the emissaries executed, with the last sent back to deliver the message to the VOC. He also extended official hospitality to the EIC, giving them permission to set up two trading outposts on Yadji territory. One could be established in the existing harbour of Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria], while the other was to be built somewhere in the wide harbour which the Yadji called the Little Sea [Port Phillip Bay, Victoria].

On 5 May 1642, the VOC responded with a raid on Gurndjit, targeting the half-built English fortifications there. The raid caused some minor damage, but due to a stroke of ill luck for the VOC, most English ships were further east in the Little Sea establishing a new fort there, so those ships survived unscathed.

The undeclared war between the VOC and the EIC had begun...

* * *

[1] This is an account by Pieter Stins, called ““My Life in the South-Land”. It is an account of his experiences being in de Houtman’s first two voyages to Aururia.

[2] In Tjibarr, all rural land is notionally under the ownership of the monarch; what is granted to each person – usually noble – is the right to use that land. In practice, land ownership is one of the great prizes in the Dance, with intra- and inter-factional intrigues over its use being rife, as people try to outmanoeuvre each other for control of the most productive lands.

[3] Blacksmiths in Aururia have semi-sacred status and immense popular respect. This is a legacy of how the craft first developed in the Atjuntja, where the first blacksmiths developed a reputation for great skill and for being touched by the kuru (spirits). It has continued when blacksmiths were first recruited to travel east by the Nangu. Among the Atjuntja, even the greatest of nobles make requests of master blacksmiths, rather than orders to attend. Their social status is not quite as high in Tjibarr, but even there, a reputation as a master smith can transcend factional lines.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #49: What Becomes of Boldness

“Japanese ships are strictly forbidden to leave for foreign countries.
No Japanese is permitted to go abroad. If there is anyone who attempts to do so secretly, he must be executed. The ship so involved must be impounded and its owner arrested, and the matter must be reported to the higher authority.
If any Japanese returns from overseas after residing there, he must be put to death.”

- Tokugawa Iemitsu (r. 1623-1650), Edicts 1, 2 and 3, 1645 [1].

* * *

From: “The Century: History’s 100 Most Important People”
By Appian Harris

82. Kumgatu (Nangu explorer and founding father of the Nuttana)

The reputation of Kumgatu is, if anything, greater than that of the man’s achievements. Known and celebrated as a cultural hero on three continents, his deeds have inevitably become mythologised to a degree which the man himself likely would not recognise. Yet even stripping out the fiction, what remains is impressive enough.

He was born Werringi Wolalta on the Island, one of many adventuresome Nangu youths who took up life as a sailor and trader. He died known as Kumgatu, first citizen of Wujal [Cooktown, Queensland], leading man of the Nuttana, a man with wealth and glory unparalleled amongst his people...

Kumgatu’s significance in global history stems from his three great voyages of exploration and trade, and from his role in setting up the pact of cooperation between the first four Nangu bloodlines (later expanded to six) in the association which would become known as the Nuttana.

To his contemporaries, Kumgatu’s main achievement was his first great voyage, his circumnavigation of Aururia in 1630-1631. This voyage was the one which earned him the sobriquet which means ‘the Bold’, which in time he adopted as his proper name. His first voyage was revered as a true voyage into the unknown, for he lacked any proper knowledge of what he would find. Kumgatu’s two later voyages, while celebrated, were conducted with at least some guidance from Dutch and English sources, and so were not viewed as requiring the same courage.

History, though, judges Kumgatu’s achievements differently. His circumnavigation of Aururia was a significant feat, but it was his later voyages into Asia which would have more lasting significance...

* * *

In the year which Europeans call the Year of Our Lord 1644, or the year which in the most widespread native calendar is called the 405th Year of Harmony, a new town is emerging. A thriving town, near the mouth of a river where ten years before the only buildings were the animal-hide shelters of the hunters who had wandered this land since time immemorial.

Here, near the northernmost extremity of a land which a visiting English explorer has recently christened Aururia, is an outpost which the Islanders have named Wujal. The town was founded as a ship repair port and victualling station, intended as a mere outpost worked by a handful of Islanders and a larger number of contracted Kiyungu farmers. In a mere decade, Wujal has grown into something much larger.

Wujal nestles on the southern bank of the River Bidgee [Endeavour River], near the mouth of the river. Here is a safe harbour for those who have learned to navigate the sandbar at the river’s mouth, and here it is that the Islanders have come. A few of them, at first, to create a place where ships can resupply or seek shelter at need. Many more have come, though, fleeing the Island and all its problems.

The buildings here have the impermanence of anything which has been constructed on the coast of a cyclone-prone region, balanced against a sense of purpose which shows that those who live here now intend far more than simply to grow kumara [sweet potato] and repair sails on passing ships.

Houses here are built solidly and decorated ostentatiously, marking an attitude which is common to both the Nangu and Kiyungu who make up the large majority of Wujal’s inhabitants. The two most ostentatious houses of all are those of the elders of the Tjula and Wolalta bloodlines, who have made Wujal their permanent home.

Here, too, are buildings which show why Wujal is growing. The dockyard is not just used to repair visiting ships, but for shipbuilding. Warehouses nearby hold goods brought from both further south in Aururia, and from the Old World. The buildings of other craftsmen cluster near the dockyard: scribes, weavers, potters, and, most prized of all, blacksmiths.

Wujal hosts four blacksmiths, plus a growing number of apprentices. These are the first iron-workers to dwell among the Kiyungu; none of the master smiths are born on the east coast of the continent. Three of them are master ironsmiths from the Atjuntja, discreetly recruited by the Tjula bloodline, and the fourth is a famously foul-mouthed Gunnagal.

Since the Nangu dwell here, the town of course holds a Plirite temple, built atop a grassy hill overlooking the city. The temple is still small, by Nangu standards, but built of stone, by masons recruited from the Kiyungu. It hosts two priests only, but both of them are kept extremely busy performing the daily ceremonies attended by many of the Nangu and a growing number of Kiyungu converts.

Despite the thriving town, counting the population is not an easy feat. Neither the Nangu nor Kiyungu have any strong tradition of conducting a census. Still, something well over a thousand people live in Wujal or in the farmlands and timber camps further up the river.

Whether the exact numbers are known or not, even the most casual visitor to Wujal would see that the population is growing. The sound of construction seems to be everywhere; new buildings are raised through every dry season.

More than that, children seem to run everywhere. Their laughs and cries are spoken in Kiyungu or Nangu in almost equal measure, or sometimes a curious mixture of both languages. The children’s heritage is similarly mixed; many of them have one Nangu and one Kiyungu parent. The pairing is much more often a Nangu man and a Kiyungu woman than the reverse. Many of the Nangu who have fled the Island are, not surprisingly, sailors, and they have sought brides among the Kiyungu.

Still, Wujal has many Kiyungu who dwell there for other reasons. The initial pact between the Nuttana [trading association] and the Kiyungu cities called for labourers who would farm on five-year terms. Many of those farmers have chosen to stay for longer, though, and other Kiyungu have started to migrate north, too.

The Kiyungu who dwell around Wujal are not the majority in the town itself, but they are the most numerous people in the surrounding lands. The town could not survive without the food and timber they supply. In the fields above Wujal are kumara, lesser yams, taro, wealth-trees [wattles], jeeree [lemon tea], and several lesser crops, including mung beans which Nangu ships have brought from Batavia.

Further up the river, the Kiyungu have a few timber camps where they log tropical trees and float down the river for construction of ships or buildings. With so much construction, the loggers are ever busier, and more of them are needed every year. Word is spreading further south among the Kiyungu: come north, where opportunity awaits!

* * *

From: “The Century: History’s 100 Most Important People”
By Appian Harris

Kumgatu’s second great voyage in 1635-1636 took his ships from the Island to Java and back again; the first Aururian ships to visit the Old World. During the voyage, he established a trade agreement with the Dutch East India Company, and consolidated his trading association’s pact with the Kiyungu.

On the return leg of his voyage, he met the first English ships to explore Aururia under the command of William Baffin. While neither party made any firm agreements, contact with the English offered Kumgatu and his fellow Nangu the opportunity to bypass the Dutch monopoly on European trade with Aururia. He would put this opportunity to good use...

* * *

“Our world is out of balance. The Raw Men can sail to our homeland as they wish, but we cannot sail to theirs. Only when we can voyage as far as them will the balance be restored.”
- Attributed to Kumgatu

* * *

Nangu shipbuilding techniques had been evolving for centuries. Isolated on their Island, sailing for fish and other produce of the seas such as dyes, they became the best native seafarers in Aururia. Their techniques were only improved after contact with the Maori gave them access to Polynesian navigation techniques and knowledge of lateen sails.

The standard Nangu ship design from the late fourteenth century onward was a twin-hulled, lateen-rigged, shallow-drafted vessel whose Nangu name is best translated simply as “ship” [2]. These agile vessels were capable of navigating reliably even into the wind, and became the mainstay of Nangu commerce for nearly two centuries.

Although manoeuvrable, such shallow-drafted ships had severe limits in terms of cargo space. By the late sixteenth century, more ambitious Nangu shipbuilders had begun to create larger vessels, preserving the triangular lateen sails, but with larger hulls and more decks. These vessels, called great-ships, became the premier Nangu trading vessels on the westward run to the Atjuntja lands, and for other long-range sailing.

Nangu ship design did not end with the construction of great-ships. Members of several bloodlines had considered making even larger ships. These plans were given more urgency when word came of the Raw Men from out of the west, and of the massive single-hulled ships which they used.

The Nangu shipwrights gave little regard to single-hulled ships, viewing them as too limited in sailing against the wind. Yet the volumes of cargo which the Raw Men’s ship could deliver were something to be admired, as were the reports that their large square sails and twin masts could sail faster with the wind behind them.

Frantic experimentation began among the Nangu, both with ship design and with the the compass which the Raw Men used. The first twin-masted, enlargened great-ships were built by the Manyilti bloodline in 1631, and others quickly followed.

The Nyugal and Wolalta bloodlines supported the push for larger ships, but gave more consideration to how to gain more speed when sailing with the wind. More masts were an obvious part of the answer, but with lateen sails, even twin masts did not give as much sail area as comparable Raw Men vessels.

The two bloodlines were loathe to forgo the manoeuvrability of lateen sails, and in any case switching to square-rigged sails would have required learning entirely new sailing techniques. Reports of some of the Raw Men ships gave them another solution: add a second sail (headsail) in front of the foremast, attached to a bowsprit, to be used when sailing with the wind.

The Nyugal had experimented with headsails on smaller vessels even before the Manyilti built the first twin-masted ship, and found them satisfactory. In partnership with the Wolalta, they began to include them on twin-masted ships.

The first ship to incorporate both of these innovations was built in Wujal, away from prying eyes of other Nangu bloodlines. Completed in 1640, its makers called it the Barrbay (swiftness). The new swift-ship displaced nearly 50 tonnes, with twin lateen sails that manoeuvred well into the wind, while a headsail could be run up to add to speed when sailing with the wind.

This new design was, in fact, seaworthy enough to be capable of sailing around the world. Whether it would be permitted to undertake such a voyage, in competition with the seagoing powers of Europe was, of course, a much more difficult question to answer...

* * *

From: “The Century: History’s 100 Most Important People”
By Appian Harris

Due to the accomplishments of Kumgatu’s second great voyage, the Nuttana had permission to trade with the Dutch East India Company at Batavia. This trading concession, while valuable, became ever more difficult to exercise given the ongoing state of war between the Netherlands and Spain-Portugal, and the undeclared war between the Dutch East India Company and their English counterparts.

Due to the problems of war, and resentment of Dutch attempts to monopolise trade with Aururia, Kumgatu organised his third great voyage. His aim was to venture further into Asia, to reach the source of at least some of the goods which Europeans were bringing to Aururian ports.

Previous Nangu ships had used Dutch charts to venture through parts of the East Indies, and glimpsed the southernmost islands of the Philippines, but Kumgatu decided to venture much further into the northern hemisphere. Despite having spent several years in profitable comfort overseeing efforts from Wujal rather than sailing himself, his third voyage demonstrated that he still maintained the courage that was his name.

In 1643, Kumgatu took personal command of the Garoo, one of the newest class of Nangu ships, and together with two other vessels, set out for Asia...

Surviving records do not reveal whether Kumgatu was just extremely fortunate in his timing and choice of stops, or whether he had obtained insight from Europeans who had visited Japan. In any case, in his third voyage he bypassed war-torn Taiwan and avoided Cathay proper, and after leaving the Philippines, he explored the Ryukyu islands, eventually docking at Naha, the capital of Okinawa.

The Ryukyu kingdom was then a vassal of Japan, although it still preserved relations with Cathay. Previously a nexus for trade between Japan, Cathay, Southeast Asia and the East Indies, its commerce had declined in the last few decades. Nevertheless, Kumgatu viewed it as a good place to establish trade connexions independent of European authority, and here he offered the goods which he had brought...

Having learned from the preferences of Old Worlders in Batavia, Kumgatu had brought with him supplies of kunduri, lemon verbena, sweet peppers and other spices, and gold and silver. All of these were positively received, but the trade good which made the greatest impression was jeeree. Some visiting Japanese samurai who sampled the new beverage were extremely enthusiastic in its praises.

In exchange, Kumgatu secured samples of trade goods brought from elsewhere in Asia or India: Japanese lacquerware and fans; Chinese porcelain and textiles; Indian ivory; and Southeast Asian sugar and ambergris. Of all the new goods, he rated Japanese muskets and gunpowder as the most important...

* * *

Taken from Intellipedia.

Kaikin (“maritime restrictions”) was the Japanese foreign relations policy whereby no outlander could enter nor could any Japanese leave the country, backed by the death penalty. The policy was enacted by the Tokugawa shogunate under Tokugawa Iemitsu and Tokugawa Ietsuna [3] through several edits and policies from 1645-52, and remained in effect for nearly 200 years.

The term Kaikin (meaning restrictions on sea activity) was a contemporaneous term derived from the similar Cathayan concept of hai jin [citation needed].

Japan did not isolate itself completely during the Kaikin era. The system saw the shogunate apply strict regulations to foreign relations and commerce, but never completely severed outside contact. Under Kaikin, direct European contact was permitted only via the Dutch trading outpost in Nagasaki. Trade with Cathay was also conducted at Nagasaki. Commerce with Corea was restricted to the Tsushima domain, while trade with the Ezo [Ainu] was limited to the Matsumae domain. Trade with the Ryukyu kingdom, and thus indirect trade with the Coral states, took place in Satsuma domain...

* * *

[1] Historically, Tokugawa Iemitsu ruled a year longer (until 1651), and the equivalent edicts were issued ten years earlier (ie 1635). The disruptions of the Aururian plagues within Japan, and flow-on effects of reduced European contact, has delayed the advent of the restrictions on foreign contact.

[2] The smaller Nangu vessels names would usually be translated as “boat”.

[3] Tokugawa Ietsuna (b.1642) is an allohistorical ‘brother’ of the historical Tokugawa Ietsuna; being born so far after the divergence means that he is not the same person.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #50: A Necklace of Pearls

“If the United Netherlands can prosper so after seventy years of war, what will she accomplish after seventy years of peace?”
- Attributed to Frederik Hendrik, Prince of Orange, after the signing of the Peace of Hamburg (1638) saw Spain recognise the independence of the Dutch Republic

* * *

“Wherefore it be said, we will never make war with the Hollanders, for we are of the same faith. Nay, for we still worship God, they have turned to gold.”
- William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Duke Regent of England, 1643

* * *

“Holland is a country where the demon gold is seated on a throne of cheese, and crowned with kunduri.”
- Claudius Salmasius, a Huguenot exile teaching at the university of Leyden, 1647

* * *

“There is hardly a single Hollander of any consideration in Java, who does not have a concubine – a way of life that is deplorable, and which can give very little inducement to the natives to become converts to our religion.”
- Anonymous Dutch minister of the Reformed Church, shortly after arriving in the East Indies

* * *

“Peer review can be said to have existed ever since people began to identify and communicate what they thought was new knowledge, because peer review (whether before or after publication) is an essential and integral part of consensus building and is integral and necessary to the growth of scientific knowledge.

In the stricter sense of formalised review of a professional’s findings by a group of their peers, albeit in a post-publication context, peer review seems to have begun with the physicians of Tjibarr, Gutjanal and Yigutji...”
- From The History of Medicine

* * *

“A traveller has a destination, a student has only a journey.”

“Fear not change; without change, nothing can take place.”

“All men are joined together; teach them, spurn them or punish them, but you cannot remove them.”

“The longest journey begins when a man looks inside himself.”
- From Oora Gulalu [The Endless Road]

* * *

“No gains of mere conquest or triumphs of will could have brought as much lasting wealth to the Danes as the introduction of what was, if seen from above the ground, merely an oddly-shaped dandelion.”
- Jesper Pontoppidan, Norse and Syd

* * *

“Sicily is a large island, but not large enough to hold that man’s ego.”
- Ferdinando III de’ Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany, after first meeting Lorenzo Piazzi, the Advent revolutionary turned King of Sicily

* * *

“Bohemia is the axle on which the wheel of Europe turns.”
- Maximilian III, Grand Duke of Bavaria (among other titles), speaking on the eve of the Nine Years’ War

* * *

“For every state, from the smallest to the greatest, the principle of enlargement is the fundamental law of life.”
- Christian Albert I, Elector of Saxony, My Times and Testament

* * *

“Practice not usury. Interest is false money. No man should lend for reward unless he also accepts the risk.”
- From Good Man, Good Life

* * *

“By machines mankind is able to do that which their own bodily powers would never effect to the same extent. Machines are the product of the mind of man, and their existence distinguishes the civilised man from the savage.”
- Rene Michaux, pioneering industrialist

* * *

“Society unravels in this modern age. As we learn to do more with machines, we forget more of what it means to be men.”

“A mill [factory] is a means for concentrating the labour of many into the wealth of one.”

“A man who works for wages is scarce more than a slave. A farmer finds food, hearth and home on his own land. An artisan works for himself. Yet a labourer in mill or workshop serves at the bidding of another. If he is fortunate, he will be given enough coin to survive, but not to thrive. If he is unfortunate, he will be cast aside, bereft of food or shelter.”

“Alone, a wage-labourer weeps at a world which is cast out of balance. Never can a man in cloth cap stand equal to a man who wears a ruby. Only when the labourers stand together can harmony be restored.”

- Myumitsi Makan, better known in English as Solidarity Jenkins

* * *

“How can they claim to be one nation under God when they can’t give you a straight answer as to whether they have only one god?”
- “Sweet” Como Wiradjuri, retiring ambassador to Alleghania, on his return home

* * *

“A great cause needs great men.”
- Tjewarra (“strong heart”), Atjuntja activist

* * *

“Nia, Paluna, na Umoja.” (Strong will, decisiveness, and unity [1].)
- Motto of the African Liberation Army

* * *

“Old Man Keribee always said that Gideon and Samson are the only two men worth remembering in the Jewish [ie Old] Testament. If I can’t be like Gideon for his life, I can be like Samson for his death.”
- From the last letter left by Ngengi wa Lemaron, for his parents

* * *

[1] This motto is in Swahili, the allohistorical version of which includes the borrowed word “paluna” (decisiveness).

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #51: As the Butterfly Breaks the Earth...

A few glimpses of how the broader world has been changed by Aururian contact...

* * *

In history as we know it, China in the 1630s was ruled by the Ming Dynasty (大明); once great, now crumbling.

For over two and a half centuries, Ming rule had brought stability to the greatest economy in the world. But as the 1630s began, Ming authority was failing.

The economy relied on silver currency, largely imported from the New World, and Spain had curtailed those imports. Later in the decade, Japan’s closure of most overseas trade eliminated another source of bullion. With the loss of silver imports, the economic structure collapsed, leading to rampant inflation and collapsing tax revenues.

Coupled with the economic problems came climate change; the advent of the Little Ice Age brought cooler and drier weather to most of China. In turn, that led to crop failures and widespread famines. These two problems led to inevitable unrest, with growing rebellions threatening the revenue-starved Ming government.

Externally, the Manchurian tribes, once tributaries to China, had been unified under Nurhaci (努尔哈赤). Nurhaci had rebelled against Ming authority in 1618, and began a campaign of military expansion against China, Korea, the Mongols, and his Manchurian neighbours. Nurhaci had several notable successes, until in 1626 he was defeated by a Ming army commanded by Yuan Chonghuan (袁崇焕), and died of his wounds a few days later.

Nurhaci’s son, Huang Taiji (皇太極), took command of the Manchus and continued the raids into China. Yuan, one of the few Ming generals to have any success against the Manchu, successfully defended Beijing from Huang’s forces in 1629, but was betrayed by his own emperor and condemned to death.

After Yuan’s execution, the Manchus continued their expansion, breaking Ming control over Korea in 1638, and pushing into China. Major rebellions within China saw rebel leaders such as Li Zicheng (李自成) and Zhang Xianzhong (张献忠) gain control of large parts of the country. Li Zicheng broke Ming rule in 1644 by capturing Beijing; the last Ming emperor committed suicide by hanging himself from a tree.

Li proclaimed himself emperor, but his dynasty was one of the shortest-lived in Chinese history. The Manchus under Huang drove Li out of Beijing after less than two weeks of his rule, and chased him across much of China until he died a year later. Huang proclaimed himself as emperor of the Qing Dynasty (大清) in 1644. The Manchus were effective rulers of China from that time, although some Ming loyalists held out for nearly two more decades.

*

In history as it might have been, the fate of China moved onto another path. In 1619, the Dutch explorer Frederik de Houtman first made contact with the natives of what he called the Great South Land, and which would later be known in English as Aururia. This was a land of gold and silver, spices and the strange new drug kunduri. Most important of all for the fate of China, Aururia was the home of two new epidemic diseases; the two-stage disease known in Aururia as the Waiting Death (Marnitja), and a new version of influenza called blue-sleep.

Contact with Aururia saw these two diseases escape into the wider world, even as Old World diseases were beginning to ravage Aururia. In later European history, the familiar story of these two plagues would see Marnitja, most commonly known as the Dutch curse, brought by ship to the Netherlands and then sweep through Europe in 1627-9. Blue-sleep was carried by Portuguese ships first into Flores, then through Indonesia and into mainland Asia, where it burned a path across the continent to emerge into Europe in 1631-2 and strike a population still reeling from the previous plague.

In China, the course of those two epidemics was reversed. Merchant ships brought blue-sleep from the Indies to China in 1629-30. Marnitja traced a slower path through much of the Old World, from Madagascar to mainland Africa to Arabia, before being carried by returning hajj pilgrims to India, then to Southeast Asia, and then by ship to Guangzhou (Canton) in 1632, from whence it spread across China in 1632-4.

The effects of the plagues wrenched China’s fate into a new path. Blue-sleep appeared first in Guangzhou in February 1629, from whence it spread both by land and sea. Ships carried it to Tianjin in May 1629, from where it was carried both into Beijing and into the Manchu-occupied province of Liaoning.

Blue-sleep has the peculiarity that its mortality is most severe amongst young adults, and thus it took a considerable toll among the young men of military age in both the Ming and Manchu armies. While both sides were disrupted, this was of most advantage to Yuan Chonghuan, who in the winter of 1629 fought the Manchu armies further from Beijing, and made effective use of his superior artillery to rout the enemy armies.

Now confirmed as a military hero, with no aura of betrayal, Yuan spent 1630-1632 in overall command of China’s northeastern armies, where he worked hard to rebuild military forces, strengthen his artillery corps, and planned the reconquest of Liaoning.

While the consequences of the blue-sleep were fortunate indeed for Yuan personally, the wider effects of the twin plagues were catastrophic. The famines of the 1620s had left a weakened, vulnerable population. Blue-sleep killed over 6% of the population, and had a disproportionate effect on young adults.

The Marnitja epidemic which followed was even worse. In southern China it killed around 15% of the remaining population, while in famine-stricken northern China the mortality was even worse, reaching over 20%.

The current Ming ruler, the Chongzen Emperor, had the fortune to survive both plagues. Had he known the fate of his counterpart in another history, the Emperor would doubtless have celebrated the fact that Marnitja claimed people who would have been prominent rebel leaders: Li Zicheng slipped into a fatal coma in 1633, while Zhang Xianzhong died of the pink cough in 1634.

Since the Chongzen Emperor lacked that knowledge, of course, he was far more concerned with the problems in the China he found. The massive death toll of the plagues was taken as a sign that the Ming Dynasty had lost divine legitimacy. While the historical rebel leaders were lost to the plagues, others emerged to take their place; revolts sprung up throughout China.

Busy planning his campaigns on the frontier, Yuan was almost indifferent to the troubles in the rest of China. In 1634-5, with the effects of Marnitja subsiding, Yuan launched his planned reconquest of Liaoning province. With disciplined troops and his advantage in artillery, he pushed the Manchus out of China and back into Manchuria proper. Korea, which in another history would have been lost to Chinese influence, remained a tributary state.

Yuan’s reconquest brought considerable glory to himself and his armies, but his very success was deemed suspicious in a time when rebel generals were springing up in several provinces. Some of Yuan’s allies at court sent him word that his victories were viewed as too effective, that he was thought to now be cooperating with the Manchus and planning to turn them into allies and launch a revolt of his own.

In April 1636, Yuan received an order calling on him to surrender command of his armies and return to Beijing. He was astute enough to realise what this order meant. Knowing that he would be deemed as a rebel regardless of his actions, and believing that the plagues were proof that the Ming had lost their legitimacy, Yuan refused the summons. Legend claims that his reply to the Emperor was: “When I come to Beijing, I will not be alone.”

Huang Taiji heard rumours of Yuan’s plans, and tried to launch more raids into Liaoning. Yuan fought one last great battle against the Manchus near Xingjing (兴京) in May 1636, where Huang was killed in the fighting, and the surviving Manchus sued for peace.

With his rear secure, Yuan marched into China himself. Feted as a hero by the local population, he won a battle north of Beijing in late June, and captured the city after the Chongzen Emperor fled the city ahead of his forces. Yuan pushed further into northern China, finding plenty of local support. In April 1637, at a battle near the city of Liaocheng (聊城), Yuan defeated the Ming armies under Hong Chengchou (洪承疇) who had been sent to reconquer northern China.

After this victory, Yuan proclaimed himself as the first emperor of the You Dynasty (大佑) [1]. He was quick to consolidate control over northern China, but lacked the manpower or support to push further south and conquer the whole country. The result was a stalemate: Yuan did not want to risk his previous triumphs by a military gamble in southern China, while the surviving Ming rulers did not have the strength to push him out.

So, as had happened so many times before in its history, China was again divided, with the You ruling in the north while the Southern Ming tried to arrest their decay in their new southern dominions...

* * *

In history, France from 1624 onwards was dominated by the famous Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal-Duc de Richelieu et de Fronsac, or Cardinal Richelieu as he is usually known. The Cardinal served as King Louis XIII’s chief minister, and before his death in 1642 he would do much to strengthen the central authority of the French state.

In domestic affairs, Richelieu sought to bolster royal power at the expense of the nobility and religious dissidents. The former saw the dismantling of most fortifications in France, to limit aristocrats’ ability to rebel. The latter led to Huguenot rebellions in 1625 and 1627-9. Charles I of England tried to intervene in the latter rebellion, resulting in the brief Anglo-French War of 1627-9.

As part of suppressing the Huguenot rebellion of 1627-9, the Cardinal took personal control of the troops besieging the fortified Huguenot city of La Rochelle. Despite British naval efforts to relieve the siege, La Rochelle surrendered in October 1628. The Huguenot rebellion persisted for a few more months, until Richelieu negotiated the Peace of Alais with the Huguenots. Under the terms of this peace, the Huguenots were guaranteed tolerance, but were stripped of their political rights.

In foreign affairs, Richelieu’s core goal was opposition to the Habsburgs whose dominions in Spain, Austria, and the Netherlands came close to encircling France. A pragmatic statesman, Richelieu put French national interest above religion. While the Thirty Years War had begun as a religious struggle between Protestants and Catholics, the Cardinal provided French support a several Protestant nations against the Catholic Habsburgs.

Early in the Thirty Years’ War, Richelieu sought to use French subsidies to finance opposition to the Habsburgs, with French military action being limited to secondary fronts. In that cause, France subsidised the Dutch to fight the Spanish, and the Danes and then the Swedish to fight against the Habsburg forces in the Holy Roman Empire. Meanwhile, France fought directly against the Habsburgs in northern Italy during the War of the Mantuan Succession (1628-1631), where Richelieu again took personal command of French forces, this time in northern Italy.

Ultimately, the Cardinal’s indirect efforts to weaken the Habsburgs were insufficient, since neither Denmark nor Sweden were able to break Habsburg power. As a result, Richelieu engineered direct French intervention in the Thirty Years’ War. France declared war on Spain in 1635, and on the Austrian Habsburgs in 1636. These wars both continued after Richelieu died in 1642. The French war against the Austrians continued until the Thirty Years’ War ended in 1648, while the war with Spain lasted even longer, ending only in 1659.

One of the Cardinal’s other goals was expansion of French colonial power. He was a supporter of Samuel de Champlain, the French explorer who founded New France. In the early seventeenth century, a variety of companies had been granted monopolies in the fur trade from New France, but had problems enforcing their monopolies due to traders from other nations, and because of political opposition in France. In 1627, Richelieu founded the Company of One Hundred Associates, granting it a monopoly on the fur trade, and ensured Champlain was involved both as an investor and the commander of the Company’s first fleet sent to Quebec.

Richelieu continued to advocate for the interests of Champlain and New France even when another problem emerged: the war with England. During the Anglo-French War of 1627-29, the English military efforts against France proper were largely unsuccessful. English colonial forces had more success in North America, with much of New France being conquered; even Quebec City itself was captured in July 1629, with Champlain being forced to surrender the colony.

Fortunately for the future of New France, France and England had signed the Treaty of Suza in April 1629, which permitted both sides to retain colonies they had captured before that date, but required the return of ones captured later. This included Quebec City and other parts of New France. Getting England to hand back those colonies was a harder task, but Richelieu persisted. The Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye (signed in March 1632) returned Quebec, Acadia and Cape Breton Island to France.

*

In allohistory, the fate of France and New France was shifted onto a new course. The early years of Dutch contact with Aururia meant little to France; a new source of gold for the Netherlands meant that France provided slightly reduced subsidies to the Dutch, while the Dutch in turn would provide additional subsidies to Denmark when the latter nation intervened in the Thirty Years’ War.

As with all of Europe, France would suffer the effects of the Aururian plagues. Marnitja swept across France in 1628-9. The effects were not as severe as they would later be in China, but were still devastating: about 14% of the population died. The most notable victim was Cardinal Richelieu himself. At the siege of La Rochelle, in April 1628, he died coughing up blood, and many of the government soldiers died with him. The casualties of the epidemic, and the power vacuum left by Richelieu’s death, saw the siege of La Rochelle lifted, for the time being.

With the French court intrigue-ridden after Richelieu’s death, Louis XIII turned to Honoré d'Albert, Duc de Chaulnes, marshal of France and brother of his former favourite, Charles d'Albert, Duc de Luynes. De Chaulnes became the effective chief minister of France by July 1628, replacing Richelieu. De Chaulnes had an equal desire to Richelieu to ensure France’s safety from the encircling Habsburgs, but he also had an appreciation of how heavy a toll the “Dutch curse” had taken on French manpower and prosperity. De Chaulnes supported the policy of subsidising the Habsburgs’ enemies, but was disinclined to take direct military action.

De Chaulnes had no shortage of political opponents within the French court, but perhaps the most prominent was Marie de’ Medici, Louis XIII’s mother and former regent. Half-Habsburg herself, Marie sought to advise Louis to maintain peace with that family rather than continue a bloody war. De Chaulnes’s arguments, and Louis’ own suspicion, proved to be decisive, and Marie was exiled to Compiègne in February 1629.

Under De Chaulnes’ direction, while La Rochelle was left alone, French royal forces continued the fight against the Huguenot forces in southern France. The weakened French economy meant that the struggle took longer, but the Huguenot leader, Henri, Duc de Rohan, was eventually forced to peace terms. In February 1631, the Peace of Alais concluded the civil war, on terms which restored most of the Huguenots political rights, except that they were no longer permitted to build any fortifications [2]. This peace was rather timely, since blue-sleep would sweep over France later in the same year.

The problems within France meant that the war with England continued for a few crucial months longer, with the English believing that the continued Huguenot effort offered opportunities. In practice, though, the only real English actions were naval efforts or colonial ventures; Charles I had neither the money nor the interest to invade France itself. English ships under the Duke of Buckingham made half-hearted efforts to bombard Calais in October 1628, and Le Havre in February 1629, with the main intention being to require France to keep royal forces in the north and thus weaken the offensive against the Huguenots in the south.

After the failure at Le Havre, Charles I gave up interest in the endeavour. Peace negotiations were concluded at Suza in August 1629. As happened with the historical Treaty of Suza, the treaty terms were essentially that each nation kept any territory acquired until that time.

Peace in Europe itself was easily restored, since neither nation had seized any European territory from the other, but that left the fate of New France much more ambiguous. Marnitja had not yet crossed the Atlantic, leaving the French and English/Scottish colonists in North America to fight each other without distractions.

The English/Scottish colonists had rather more success; as they had done historically, the English/Scottish colonists had seized most of New France by July 1629, including Quebec City, Port Royal, and Cape Breton Island, and the isolated trading post of Fort Pentagouet [Castine, Maine]. At the time the Treaty of Suza was signed, the only part of New France which still held out was Cape Sable [Port La Tour, Nova Scotia].

Even though Richelieu was dead, though, the Company of One Hundred Associates lived on, and its investors still looked for returns. De Chaulnes personally did not care that much about New France, but he did find it galling that England should come away with so much colonial territory when its forces in Europe had been so spectacularly unsuccessful. Once the Huguenots had been subdued, he began fresh negotiations with England for a revised treaty.

These peace negotiations were caught up in the broader foreign policy dynamics of post-Richelieu France, and the ravages of blue-sleep which swept through Europe in this era. Under De Chaulnes’ guidance, France avoided direct war with Spain. In Italy, this meant that France did not intervene in the disputed succession of Mantua, leaving the Spanish to partition the Mantuan succession between the rival claimants [3]. In the Holy Roman Empire, this meant that France offered subsidies to Denmark until that nation made peace in April 1630, and then that France began to offer subsidies to Bavaria and Sweden.

The new negotiations between France and England continued through much of 1631. With the civil war over, the threat of renewed French military action was a credible one, and Charles I was in a poor domestic position due to lack of money. All negotiations were suspended when Charles I himself succumbed to blue-sleep in November 1631.

France continued to press for a resolution, and with the chaos amongst the Austrian Habsburgs, France also had no clear rival that might be credibly considered to threaten it if it took military action against England. In England, though, the new Duke Regent, William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, also could not afford to undermine his own position by handing back all of the colonial acquisitions.

Eventually, the Treaty of Bobigny was signed in May 1632. In it, England agreed to restore Quebec City and the St Lawrence River to French rule. France recognised the new Scottish colonies in Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island, although it retained Cape Sable and a vaguely-defined part of southern Nova Scotia (neither side had accurate maps of the interior). France also obtained English recognition of its control over mainland Acadia [roughly New Brunswick and parts of eastern Maine], which would have a new capital founded at Fort Saint Marie [Saint John, New Brunswick] [4], and where the displaced colonists from Nova Scotia could resettle.

The other captured French outpost was the small trading post at Fort Pentagouet [Castine, Maine]. Settlers from the Plymouth Colony had seized Fort Pentagouet in 1628 and claimed it for their colony. France wanted it removed from English rule, but it had also received a request from Gustavus Adolphus, king of Sweden, that Sweden be granted the region of Penobscott Bay (including Fort Pentagouet). Gustavus Adolphus had his own visions of securing part of his legacy in the New World, while France wanted to maintain good relations with Sweden to ensure its continued efforts against the Habsburgs in the Holy Roman Empire. Under the Treaty of Bobigny, England relinquished control of Fort Pentagouet and, in turn, recognised the French cession of that outpost to Sweden...

* * *

In their long isolation from the other two worlds, Aururian peoples developed both crops and agricultural techniques which were distinct from any known in the Old World or the New. Perennial crops, combined with systems of crop rotation, companion planting, low-till farming, and soil restoration, were well-suited to the poor soils and irregular rainfall of most of Aururia.

After European contact in 1619, it was inevitable that many Aururian crops would spread around the globe. Whether the associated techniques would also be passed on, and how quickly, was another question entirely. Transporting a few seeds across the seas was one thing; bringing all of the accumulated agricultural knowledge was quite another.

The Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie was open to any new crop which might turn a profit; in his second voyage to the Great South Land, de Houtman brought back the first Aururian crops back to Batavia. The Old World received its first samples of red yams, warran yams, wattles, murnong, and Aururian flax.

Whether through optimism or foolishness, Company officials tried to plant these crops in Batavia itself. Perhaps they had heard that Aururia was hot too, and so thought that the tropics would be suitable. These efforts were spectacular failures. Red yams simply would not form tubers in tropical latitudes, and the other plants could not cope with the heat and excessive rainfall of the tropics.

Some Dutch trading captains brought more samples of the crops over the next few years. Some of them tried to plant the crops in different parts of the East Indies, with no more success than the first efforts in Batavia.

Other captains brought the crops back to the Netherlands. The first European efforts to cultivate Aururian crops were also largely unsuccessful. Where Batavia was largely too hot, Amsterdam was mostly too cold, and for some crops, too wet. Red yams, wattles [5] and Aururian flax all failed to grow in the Netherlands.

One crop, though, did grow around Amsterdam: murnong. This perennial plant, a staple in its Aururian homeland, grows above ground in a form which to the Dutch reminds them of a dandelion. But it is the portion below ground which is useful as a crop; each plant produces either four or eight radish-shaped tubers. When farmed in Aururia, one or two of these tubers would be left in the ground to regrow the following year, while the rest would be harvested.

Unlike the other Aururian crops, murnong tolerated the cold of Amsterdam without difficulty. It required well-drained soils, and too much rain or inadequate drainage could ruin the crops, but it was at least possible to grow murnong in the Netherlands.

To the Dutch of the 1620s and 1630s, murnong was a flavoursome but occasional addition to their cuisine. Its taste was sweet, vaguely reminiscent of coconut, and some Dutchmen and Dutchwomen developed a fondness for it. Still, murnong did not grow easily in the Netherlands, with some areas receiving too much rain, or with poor drainage in soils already below sea level. More, while murnong can grow in poorer soils than many other crops, it did not yield as abundantly as its obvious rival, the potato. So, while murnong was adopted into the Netherlands, in its early years it did not become more than a minor crop.

Things changed in 1637, when Lars Knudsen returned home to Amsterdam. Knudsen was a man of Danish birth, but who had migrated to the Netherlands in 1616 and joined the Company’s service in 1621 [6]. His foreign birth created some initial mistrust, but he had served the Company well. After ten years occupying a variety of roles, and with the shortage of native-born talent created by the Aururian plagues, in 1631 he was chosen to serve a five-year term as governor of one of the most valuable outposts, Fort Nassau [Fremantle, Western Australia].

After five years distinguished service at Fort Nassau, Knudsen returned to Amsterdam to live a more profitable life based on the private wealth he had accumulated at such a profitable outpost. Knudsen had an interest in agriculture, and he had been quite observant of Aururian agricultural practices during his tenure. He planned to become a landowner on his return to the Netherlands.

Knudsen did much to spread knowledge of Aururian crops throughout the Netherlands and, indeed, further. While his efforts to grow wattles in the Netherlands met with little more success than his predecessors, the name he used for them, cornnarts (meaning grain-trees), would become the standard name for them in many languages, including English. Knudsen’s descriptions of Aururian crops were among the factors which led the Company to decide to try those crops at the Cape after European crops had failed. This meant that in 1640, Aururian farmers recruited by the Company were established in the Dutch settlement at the Cape, and brought with them both their crops and their agricultural knowledge.

Another of Knudsen’s actions, made almost in passing, would also have great consequences. While he wanted to live in the Netherlands, he had not forgotten the land of his birth. He had a fondness for murnong as a part of cuisine, and thinking that it might grow in Denmark too, sent seeds and tubers back to his home town of Lemvig.

The consequences were revolutionary.

Murnong turned out to be almost the ideal crop for much of Denmark. Many parts of the country, particularly in western Jutland, had poor, sandy soils which did not give good yields of most European crops. Even potatoes did not grow particularly well there. Murnong, though, was native to a continent where nutrient-poor soils were the norm. Even on the poor soils of western Jutland, murnong yielded about as well per acre as turnips.

Better still, as a perennial crop the requirements for ploughing and harvesting were lower; a valuable trait indeed in the labour shortage conditions of post-plague Europe. Cultivation of murnong spread quickly across the country, and it transformed Danish agriculture. Murnong was perfectly useful as human food, albeit not as a complete diet, but it was even more useful as a fodder crop. Murnong-fed cattle allowed larger herds to survive over Danish winters, and the growing herds added considerably to Danish agricultural wealth.

In short, the cultivation of the “Dutch dandelion” (murnong) was the first part of what later scholars would call the Danish Agricultural Revolution.

The second element of that revolution also owed its inspiration to Lars Knudsen, although this time the particular crop he introduced to Denmark was of European origin. Knudsen had learned of Aururian techniques of crop rotation, where wattles were alternated with other crops to replenish the soil, particularly its nitrate content.

Despite his best efforts, Knudsen still could not find varieties of wattles that could grow in the Netherlands. However, the Dutch had other crops that could be used for rotation, particularly red clover. Knudsen found red clover to be a reasonable replacement, if not quite as effective as wattles were in Aururia, and used it in his own farming. As he had done with murnong, Knudsen realised that crop rotation would work equally well in Denmark, and sent samples of red clover to Lemvig in 1645. As that crop spread, the system of crop rotation dramatically boosted Danish agricultural productivity, and in turn, the population and wealth of the Danish state [7].

While Knudsen’s direct actions benefited Denmark in particular, his inspiration for the adoption of Aururian crops at the Cape would eventually benefit much of the world. The Aururian farmers who were settled at the Cape brought over the core of the Aururian crop package, and vigorously applied their indigenous techniques of production in their new homeland. And since the Cape was a regular resupply point for ships both Dutch and foreign, in time these crops would be carried over much of the globe.

Of the early vectors of Aururian crops from the Cape, two were particularly noteworthy. The first successful introduction of the red yam into Europe was by a Portuguese sailor named Miguel Ferreira do Amaral, who in 1648 collected some tubers from the Cape, and replanted the surviving ones when he returned to Portugal.

Red yams thrived in the Portuguese climate; the latitude is appropriate for them, and as a drought-tolerant plant, the red yams grew vigorously even during the dry heat of a Mediterranean summer. From Portugal, red yams would in time spread to Spain, Italy, and the Ottoman dominions of Greece, Turkey and North Africa. The red yam would boost agriculture in the Mediterranean almost as much as the potato would boost agriculture in northern Europe.

The other major early introduction of Aururian crops came in 1654, when a Spanish ship blown off course resupplied at the Cape before returning across the Atlantic to its original destination of Buenos Aires. This ship, the Santa Maria, brought with it wattle seeds, and a couple of sailors who had seen how vigorously those trees grew in South Africa. They planted some wattles around Buenos Aires, both as ornamentation and in two outlying farms.

The wattles thrived around Buenos Aires; in such a climate, they will grow even without deliberate farming. Wattles are quite capable of spreading wild, and this was exactly what they would do over the next couple of decades. The trees became, in fact, an invasive species which would spread over much of the interior.

What mattered more for the future of Buenos Aires, though, was in the early 1670s, when farmers started making major use of wattles as crops. For relatively limited labour, the wattles yielded abundant food and timber. Farming around Buenos Aires was transformed in productivity and in nutritional yield, and South America would never be the same again.

* * *

[1] The word “You” can be translated as “bless” or “protect”, with the connotation that the people of China would be safe with Yuan in charge.

[2] In effect, the *Peace of Alais has continued the terms of the original Edict of Nantes (1598), with the exception of no fortifications being permitted.

[3] This meant that Ferrante II, Duke of Guastalla, received the Duchy of Mantua, while Charles Emmanuel I, Duke of Savoy, was given the Duchy of Montferrat. This also means that northern Italy has been spared a rather bloody war which would otherwise have significantly depopulated the region.

[4] Historically, Fort Saint Marie was founded in 1631. Allohistorically, it will be founded in 1633 and become the new capital of Acadia.

[5] There are some varieties of Aururian domesticated wattles which are capable of withstanding Amsterdam’s winters, but these are mostly grown in *Tasmania and *Victoria, not the varieties in *Western Australia which were available to the early Dutch visitors.

[6] Knudsen features in post #28.

[7] Historically, red clover was introduced to Denmark about a century later, and brought similar agricultural benefits when it arrived.

* * *

Thoughts?

P.S. Originally I’d planned to cover the fate of the Habsburgs in both the Holy Roman Empire and Spain, and the broader end of the *Thirty Years’ War. Alas, getting that written properly took longer than I’d planned. So, rather than keep everyone waiting even longer, I’ve posted the other sections of this instalment, and the end of the *Thirty Years’ War can wait for another post.

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #52: The Shape of Things to Come

Finishing the post on the fate of the Holy Roman Empire is taking much longer than I’d planned. In the meantime, here’s a glimpse of the future of the LRGverse.

* * *

Dawson (formerly Unega) [Montgomery, Alabama]
Alleghania

Above, a waning gibbous moon hangs low over the western horizon, offering steady light in an otherwise cloudless sky. In the east, as if in counterpoint, faint glimmers of blue are beginning to emerge from the blackness; the first signs of the approaching dawn.

Below, Myumitsi Makan makes his careful way through the streets of Dawson. Today marks his second morning in this growing new town, this place of mills and workshops. A town which would be most appropriately titled if the same unegas who dominate it had not renamed it [1].

In this time of pre-dawn, the light is not yet bright, nor is the world yet balanced, but it meets Makan’s needs. He can see well enough for his purposes; all he wants, for now, is to follow the right streets to reach the park, without stumbling over horse manure or street rails or any of the other hazards on the roadways of this crowded town.

A shout rings out from behind him, a wordless warning for him to stand aside. He does so, as the fading shout is replaced by the clip-clop of iron-shod horse hooves and the fainter slide of iron wheels on iron rails.

A horsecar [horse-drawn tram] passes by; evidently, even this early hour is not enough to deter the inhabitants of Dawson from labour. Few if any of the inhabitants follow the path laid down by the Good Man, so they would not have risen for prayers; only the ravenous demands of the ever-growing mills could have called them from their beds. These mills and horsecars mark a new way of shaping the world, or so he has heard from a dozen or more people during his short sojourn in this town. Alleghanians are a proud people, it seems.

The hints of blue are becoming more predominant in the eastern sky as Makan resumes his walk through Dawson. The distance remaining is not far, if he can trust a day and a half’s worth of memories of the town’s layout.

He will have to learn more, of course, and quickly. Dawson is a town crying out for labourers, by all reports. The rich soils which once supported the farms and diverse crops of the Congxie are now being replaced by endless cotton fields. Once that cotton is harvested, most of it is brought here to the mills of Dawson.

All in all, a welcome opportunity to earn some Alleghanian coin. And, if he is honest with himself, an even more auspicious opportunity to live somewhere that people will not recognise him for his father’s name. The past shapes a man’s future, both his deeds and those of his forebears, but surely some consequences can be side-stepped.

His strides bring him to an open expanse of green parkland, grass scattered with a few cornnart [wattle] and hickory trees. A perfect place for morning invocation; the time when night is in balance with day and prayers are most harmonious. Most Congxie make their morning invocations in a temple or in a shrine in their own homes, but Makan has always preferred to pray out of doors. He needs only himself, a mat, and a copy of Oora Gulalu [The Endless Road] or The Great Dreaming and, if possible, an open space.

As he looks more closely around the park, he notices that signs have been placed at several points around the entrance. He had not come close enough to see them yesterday when he first heard of the park; now, he has the time to look more closely.

The nearest sign shows a dark-skinned face, with tightly curled black hair, grossly exaggerated lips, and round yellow circles for eyes; just as the Alleghanians – or, more accurately, the Cavendians – depict the African race. Two diagonal red lines cross over the face.

Below the crossed face is writing. In English only, which he can read to a degree, though he is more fluent in French, and most fluent in his own language. The words on the sign proclaim: NO BLACKS ALLOWED.

That message is clear enough, so Makan ignores it. Here is the openness he needs, and dawn is about to break. He unrolls the mat, facing east, kneels down upon it, and places his copy of Oora Gulalu to one side, for the moment.

Now, Makan prays, as he has done every dawn and dusk for all of his adult life. He prays for wisdom, for knowledge, and for his deeds to bring only harmony. He invokes guides to aid his course through the day, calling in turn on the Fire Brothers, then Tsul Kalu, then the Rainbow Serpent.

Before he can invoke a fourth guide, a most unwelcome voice interrupts him. “What are you doing here, nigger?”

Makan brings himself to his feet, however reluctantly; to leave a prayer unfinished is a most inauspicious start to any day.

A clean-shaven, wig-festooned, typically overdressed unega stands before him, the colour of his rage showing plainly on his sickly, creamy skin, even in this early light. As is true of most unegas, this man is shorter than Makan, but speaks much more loudly than is required in such circumstances.

“I am praying,” Makan says.

“Go pester your pagan gods somewhere else,” the unega says. His clipped accent marks him as a Cavendian, although that would be obvious anyway. “Even if you can’t read, you can see the sign. No blacks allowed here.”

“I’ve read it,” Makan says. Calmness is called for; the first path will not be followed by responding with anger.

“So get your black arse out of here!” the other man proclaims.

“But I’m not black. I’m Congxie,” he says. Even an unbalanced unega should see that much. Makan’s skin and curly hair have much the same shade as Africans, but the breadth of his nose, the bulk of his jaw, and the height of his cheekbones announce to all the world that he is Congxie.

“Who cares what tribes you niggers divide yourselves into?” the unega says. “The same rules are for all of you.”

“Rules you wrote for bondsmen, not for free men,” Makan says.

“Don’t get fresh, nigger,” the other man says. “This is Alleghania now, and our laws are what matter. Get your big black arse out of the park before I call the militia.”

Not worth a fight, Makan tells himself. Pride has its place, but so does judgement. He rolls up his mat, collects the book, and walks away. As he leaves, though, one thought runs through his mind again and again.

If those are the rules, then they must be changed.

* * *

[1] Unega is one of the Congxie words for white; originally borrowed from Cherokee, but now almost exclusively used to refer to people of European descent.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #2: Tales of Christ’s Mass

In the spirit of the festive season, this is a glimpse of how Christmas may be viewed in the future of the Lands of Red and Gold timeline. As with other Christmas specials, this should be taken in a light-hearted vein.

* * *

For the prevention of disorders, as have arisen in diverse places within this dominion by reason of some still observing such festivals as were superstitiously kept in other communities, to the great dishonor of God and offense of others: it is therefore ordered by my authority that whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or All Hallows’ Eve or the like, either by forbearing of labor, feasting, or in any other way, every such person so offending shall pay for every such offence a fine, not exceeding six shilling, as shall be set by the court of each county.

Set this day by my hand and seal,
Martin Armstrong
Governor of New England
4 July 1697

* * *

Taken from The Westmoreland [Williamsburg, Virginia] Courant
26 December 1954

CHRISTMAS TRUCE HOLDS!

With the passing of midnight, Alleghania has reason to celebrate. The old proverb has been confirmed: no news is good news. No reports of acts of terrorism have been received from anywhere in the country.

This proves a fact which many found hard to credit, including your humble commentator. The CJP [1] were sincere in their announcement of a truce. For the first time in more than a decade, they have refrained from their traditional Christmas bombing campaign...

* * *

23 December 1962
Shrewsbury, Pembroke [Cambridge, Maryland]

Two dozen men, with varying skin tone and varying height, but all dressed in similar attire: forest green jackets and pointed caps, with chestnut pants. The traditional costume of a wassailer out to sing evening noëls [Christmas carols].

Jamet Byrne is third from the front as the group moves on to the next house. A large two-level white building, almost a mansion, with four mature chestnut trees growing in its front garden. No point going wassailing in a poor district, of course. What would they gain from that?

“This is the true spirit of Christmas,” Byrne murmurs, to quiet sounds of acclamation around him. Wassailing is a grand old tradition, and part of a proper Christmas as far as he is concerned. Not like all of the new-fangled gimmicks which are celebrated these days, which are driven by traders and merchants. Scarcely Christian in most cases, and explicitly non-Christian in a few cases. Why, for the last few years, the Christmas decorations around the Shrewsbury town hall had included chimes, of all godless things.

No, Christmas should be celebrated in the proper way, with hearty singing, drinking, gifts, and wassailing.

The wassailers reach the front of the white building, which now he sees really should be called a mansion. So much the better. With loud but marvellous harmony, the wassailers begin their performance:

“Noël, noël, noël, noël.
Who is there that sings so: Noël, noël, noël?

I am here, Father Christmas.

Welcome, my lord, Father Christmas!
Welcome to us all, both more and less!
Come near, Noël.” [2]

The wassailers continue with the noël, describing the story of the Nativity, while Jamet hopes that the owners will come out soon. Wassailing is an exhausting task, and requires the traditional gifts of pudding and good sweet wine for the wassailers to recover from their efforts before they move on to the next house.

* * *

17 December 1976
Offices of Wyatt & Rolfe Shipbuilding
Newport News, Virginia

Friday night a week before Christmas Eve: the perfect time for an office Christmas party, in John Thomas Rolfe’s not so humble opinion. His fellow director Edmund Wyatt had disagreed, which was why he was nowhere to be found tonight, along with virtually all of the workers who were directly involved in ship construction. Those who had come to the party were the office workers: finance, office administration, sales, and manpower [personnel].

For all of that, Rolfe thought that he organised a damned fine party. Quiet music played in the background; instrumental tunes only that had a suitably festive feel if not actually Christmas songs. Gifts for everyone who came, as befit a good host: candies, chocolates, perfume. Food enough for all who came – two roast turkeys had pride of place on the table – and, most of all, alcohol. Wine, ale, duranj [gum cider], brandy, whiskey... something for everyone, or so he hoped.

Everything seemed to be going well. Until he heard raised voices coming from the other side of the room. Very raised voices, of the kind which could only not be called shouting because it was nearly Christmas and he was feeling kind.

As he strode over, Rolfe saw there were two people involved in the argument: William Beal and Generosity Enoli. A handful of other men and women looked on, with expressions ranging from amusement to horror. But it was the two men in the middle who held his attention: short, pale, blond and muscular William looked up at tall, thin, dark and black-haired Generosity with no sign of backing down, either literally or metaphorically.

They were arguing something about the merits of the Populists. Of course, the content of their argument mattered nothing to Rolfe, only their volume. “Come on, partners, cool it down. Show some Christmas spirit.”

Generosity raised an eyebrow. “What, assume that someone will show up and magically make everything right for you, rather than taking responsibility for your own actions?”

“This isn’t the place to start religious arguments,” Rolfe said.

“Then why did you bring it up?” Generosity said. “I don’t expect you to celebrate Mamabula [3]; Rene here doesn’t expect you to celebrate Passover. Why do you think we should care about the day your holy man was born?”

For the first time, Rolfe understood why Wyatt had not wanted to hold a Christmas party.

* * *

Song list for “It’s Christmas Time”, a popular Christmas album released by Yvonne [4] in 1987

1. Messiah
2. Feliz Navidad
3. Desire of Ages
4. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
5. See the Mistletoe?
6. Yuletide Hunt
7. Big, Fat Father Christmas
8. Glory to the King
9. Hear Heaven Sing
10. Coming Home for Christmas
11. Three Red Candles
12. Blue Wine
13. Night of Nights

* * *

24 December 1994
Université de Bourbon
Chaleurs, Louisiana [Alexandria, Louisiana]

Mid-afternoon on the eve of Noël. The sandstone buildings and courtyards of Bourbon University, so crowded with students only the day before, are nearly deserted now. Only a relative handful of students and faculty remain here, those who for one reason or another have not returned to their homes and family over the week’s break.

Alix Bourque is one of those. Except for her youngest sister, none of her family would not welcome her at any time. They would tolerate her attending a funeral, she muses briefly, even if a couple would be secretly hoping that she had been the guest of honour at that event.

The thought is only a passing one, though. Alix returns her focus to the immediate surroundings, which are much more pleasant. She nestles her head against Tsiyu’s welcoming shoulder, leaving her long black hair to fall over his arm.

A slight breeze blows across the courtyard, carrying a sweet lemony fragrance with it. The university is set just outside the town limits of Chaleurs proper, and ringed on three sides by groves of lemon verbena [lemon myrtle]. That distinctive odour is one of the most pleasant aspects of life at Bourbon University, although the spice farmers have hardly planted the trees for the students’ benefit.

Tsiyu starts to run his fingers along her shoulder in that electric touch which she knows so well. She murmurs softly in response, in that way where the words do not matter so much as the tone in which they are said.

Before his fingers or lips can move much further, though, the breeze shifts and brings a fresh set of smells with it: the odours of cooking. Frying fish, pork or some similar meat being smoked, and boiling mixtures of seafood and vegetables, with the smell of onions predominating.

She glances over at the kitchen window; fortunately, it does not mean she needs to move her head much or disturb Tsiyu’s actions. “It’ll be a change, celebrating Christmas properly,” she says.

“How so?” he murmurs, though his fingers keep moving.

“I’ve missed réveillon,” Alix says. All of the students and lecturers who are still at the university are automatically invited to the long dinner-cum-party that will last past midnight and the proper arrival of Noël. A much more attractive prospect than a caustic evening with her parents and sisters, even setting aside Tsiyu’s attentions.

“It happens every year,” he says, bemused.

“Not everywhere,” she says. “The last two years, I was at the Panipat [5]. A place to learn, like few others, but I missed Noël. They don’t care about it at all there; it’s just another day on the calendar.”

“How odd,” Tsiyu says, but a moment later he moves his lips to kiss her. Alix forgets, for the moment, about her sojourn overseas and even about the coming réveillon feast.

* * *

25 December 1996
Reading, Berkshire

Getting up before the children is always a challenge on Christmas morning. Fortunately for Jerome Duke’s sanity, getting them to sleep early on Christmas Eve is not. So he and Anne set everything out ready the night before, and only need to wake up at a suitably early hour. This is still difficult, with two boys who have internal alarm clocks more efficient than any mere human construction, and a girl who could sneak up on a werewolf.

This year, at least, something has worked properly. Jerome wakes up in the winter darkness, and quietly moves back out to the living room. He flicks on a lamp and gives everything one final check.

The Christmas fir tree is in place, with the bulkier gifts stored beneath it. By the front door, four boots have been filled with small toys and candies; four because Electra, with impeccable eight-year-old logic, argues that fairness requires that the boys and girls divide equal numbers of presents. The four-branched candlestick is in place opposite the fir tree, with four rows of three candles pointing in each cardinal direction, and the larger thirteenth candle in the centre.

The candlestick is the only task that remains undone, so he lights the candles, starting with the central candle, then the east, south and western branches, and finally the northern branch. Thank God that the children are old enough nowadays that he doesn’t need to dress up in bright green and act as Father Christmas any more.

Now, he needs only to wait for the storm that will begin when the children come out.

* * *

Taken from Intellipedia.

Christmas (Old English: Crīstesmæsse, literally “Christ's mass”) is an annual celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, generally conducted on 25 December. Commemorated as a religious and cultural holiday by billions around the globe, and a legal holiday in many nations, Christmas is celebrated throughout the Christian world, and by growing numbers of non-Christians. Although only rarely in predominantly Muslim nations, and virtually never in the Plirite world [citation needed]. However, Plirites in majority-Christian nations often celebrate Christmas as a secular holiday. Christmas is a fundamental part of the festive season.

The date of Jesus’ birth is not known [discuss]. The celebration of Christmas on 25 December is first recorded in the early fourth century. Christianity adopted the date of the Roman winter solstice and linked it to ancient pre-Christian winter festivals to incorporate those of pagan faith into Christianity, and reduce the appeal of pagan holdouts. [This sentence has been tagged as offensive and flagged for removal. Refer to the discussion page.]

Celebratory customs associated with Christmas include a hodge-podge of pagan, Christian and secular themes which have been blended into the modern event [informal tone: discuss]. Popular modern holiday customs include giving or exchange of Christmas gifts and cards, Christmas music both religious and secular, special meals, church commemorations, wassailing, evening vigils, and displaying a variety of special decorations, including Christmas trees and candles, Christmas lights, religious scenes (usually of the Nativity), mistletoe, wreaths, holly and chimes. [This sentence has been locked due to repeated attempted vandalism to remove the reference to chimes. Refer to the discussion page.]

Also, several related figures are associated with bringing gifts during the Christmas season, and have their own body of traditions and lore. These figures are variously known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, and the Christkind. In the English-speaking world, Father Christmas is the traditional figure: an old man dressed in a bright green suit trimmed with white fur, and associated with drinking, singing and merry-making. And gifts.

Due to gift-giving and associated festival aspects of Christmas, economic activity grows during the holiday say, and this is a critical sales period for the retail sector. However, this increasing trend of commercialisation is widely regarded [by whom?] as harming the religious aspects of Christmas [bias: discuss].

Name

The word “Christmas” originated as a compound meaning “Christ’s mass”. It is derived from the Middle English Cristemasse, which is from Old English Crīstesmæsse. The form “Christenmas” was also historically used, but is now considered archaic.

In addition to “Christmas”, the holiday has been known by various other names throughout its history. The Anglo-Saxons referred to the feast as Midwinter, or, more rarely as Nativity. Yule (or Yuletide) was previously used to refer to the December-January period, and the name has been revived as a secular alternative to refer to the holiday season, although rarely to refer to Christmas Day itself. Noel (or Nowell or Noël) entered English in the late 14th century, derived from Old French.

Celebration

Main article: Christmas globewards [worldwide]

Christmas Day is a major festival and public holiday in many countries around the world, including some whose populations are mostly non-Christian. In some non-Christian countries, periods of former colonial rule introduced the celebration, while in others, Christian minorities or foreign cultural influences have led populations to observe the holiday. In such countries, the main secular aspects of Christmas which have been adopted include gift-giving, Christmas trees and candlesticks.

Christmas celebrations around the world vary considerably, based on different cultural and national traditions. In countries with a strong Christian tradition, participating in a religious service is usually an important part of the season. Christmas, along with Easter, is the period of highest annual church attendance.

In Catholic and Orthodox countries, a range of religious processions or parades are held in the days leading up to Christmas. In Protestant and non-Christian countries, secular processions or parades featuring Father Christmas and other seasonal figures are often held.

Family reunions are an integral part of Christmas in most traditions; Christmas is usually held to be the day when dispersed families reunite. Exchange of gifts is likewise a major feature of the season, either on Christmas Day or on a nearby religiously significant day (eg 6 December, Saint Nicholas Day, is used in Tigeria).

While many non-Christian countries observe Christmas as a secular holiday, in some non-Christian countries, public celebration of Christmas is considered offensive [by whom?]. In particular, in several Plirite countries, Christmas Day is not a public holiday and public Christmas displays are stigmatised. Plirite minorities in some majority-Christian countries have adopted Christmas as a secular holiday (eg the Kogung), while in other countries, Plirite non-observation of Christmas has become a mark of cultural identity (eg the Congxie).

Also, even in some countries with a strong Christmas tradition, celebration of Christmas is predominantly secular. In New England, the early colonists strongly disapproved of public celebrations of Christmas, based on religious objections. Observation of Christmas was legally forbidden, and later socially prohibited even when no longer outlawed. Recent adoption of Christmas traditions in New England has focused on the secular aspects of gift-giving and decoration, rather than religious celebrations...

* * *

[1] Congxie Jamaane Pliri, or roughly translated into in English, Congxie Homeland and Harmony. Congxie comes from the most widespread name which that people use for themselves. Jamaane is a Congxie word adapted from the Soninke language, which in a Congxie sense means something like “territory” or “homeland”. Pliri is from a Gunnagalic root (via the Nangu and Nuttana) which means “harmony”, although in this context it is used in a largely non-religious sense to mean stability or security.

[2] This is a historical carol, with words slightly changed by the passage of allohistorical time. It was composed by Robert Smert sometime in the fifteenth century, although the real modern form has changed considerably.

[3] Mamabula, or Liberty Day, is a celebration of the day when the forefathers (and foremothers) of the Congxie revolted in Cavendia (*South Carolina/Georgia) and began their flight to freedom in the uplands. It is celebrated on the June new moon, to mark the historical use of that new moon as a sign to trigger a unified revolt.

[4] Her full name is Yvonne Martin, but her musical career has been successful enough that she simply goes by Yvonne.

[5] In full, the Tjagarr Panipat. This is a Gunnagalic name which, literally translated, means “Place of Great Disputation”.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold Interlude #2: The Twelve Tales of Christ’s Mass

In the spirit of the festive season, this is a glimpse of how Christmas may be viewed in the future of the Lands of Red and Gold timeline. As with other Christmas specials, this should be taken in a light-hearted vein.

Note that I’ve made some additions to this instalment, based on reader feedback and further ideas, and reposted it. The additions are in blue font.

* * *

For the prevention of disorders, as have arisen in diverse places within this dominion by reason of some still observing such festivals as were superstitiously kept in other communities, to the great dishonor of God and offense of others: it is therefore ordered by my authority that whosoever shall be found observing any such day as Christmas or All Hallows’ Eve or the like, either by forbearing of labor, feasting, or in any other way, every such person so offending shall pay for every such offence a fine, not exceeding six shilling, as shall be set by the court of each county.

Set this day by my hand and seal,
Martin Armstrong
Governor of New England
4 July 1697

* * *

Taken from The Westmoreland [Williamsburg, Virginia] Courant
26 December 1954

CHRISTMAS TRUCE HOLDS!

With the passing of midnight, Alleghania has reason to celebrate. The old proverb has been confirmed: no news is good news. No reports of acts of terrorism have been received from anywhere in the country.

This proves a fact which many found hard to credit, including your humble commentator. The CJP [1] were sincere in their announcement of a truce. For the first time in more than a decade, they have refrained from their traditional Christmas bombing campaign...

* * *

23 December 1962
Shrewsbury, Pembroke [Cambridge, Maryland]

Two dozen men, with varying skin tone and varying height, but all dressed in similar attire: forest green jackets and pointed caps, with chestnut pants. The traditional costume of a wassailer out to sing evening noëls [Christmas carols].

Jamet Byrne is third from the front as the group moves on to the next house. A large two-level white building, almost a mansion, with four mature chestnut trees growing in its front garden. No point going wassailing in a poor district, of course. What would they gain from that?

“This is the true spirit of Christmas,” Byrne murmurs, to quiet sounds of acclamation around him. Wassailing is a grand old tradition, and part of a proper Christmas as far as he is concerned. Not like all of the new-fangled gimmicks which are celebrated these days, which are driven by traders and merchants. Scarcely Christian in most cases, and explicitly non-Christian in a few cases. Why, for the last few years, the Christmas decorations around the Shrewsbury town hall had included chimes, of all godless things.

No, Christmas should be celebrated in the proper way, with hearty singing, drinking, gifts, and wassailing.

The wassailers reach the front of the white building, which now he sees really should be called a mansion. So much the better. With loud but marvellous harmony, the wassailers begin their performance:

“Noël, noël, noël, noël.
Who is there that sings so: Noël, noël, noël?

I am here, Father Christmas.

Welcome, my lord, Father Christmas!
Welcome to us all, both more and less!
Come near, Noël.” [2]

The wassailers continue with the noël, describing the story of the Nativity, while Jamet hopes that the owners will come out soon. Wassailing is an exhausting task, and requires the traditional gifts of pudding and good sweet wine for the wassailers to recover from their efforts before they move on to the next house.

* * *

17 December 1976
Offices of Wyatt & Rolfe Shipbuilding
Newport News, Virginia

Friday night a week before Christmas Eve: the perfect time for an office Christmas party, in John Thomas Rolfe’s not so humble opinion. His fellow director Edmund Wyatt had disagreed, which was why he was nowhere to be found tonight, along with virtually all of the workers who were directly involved in ship construction. Those who had come to the party were the office workers: finance, office administration, sales, and manpower [personnel].

For all of that, Rolfe thought that he organised a damned fine party. Quiet music played in the background; instrumental tunes only that had a suitably festive feel if not actually Christmas songs. Gifts for everyone who came, as befit a good host: candies, chocolates, perfume. Food enough for all who came – two roast turkeys had pride of place on the table – and, most of all, alcohol. Wine, ale, duranj [gum cider], brandy, whiskey... something for everyone, or so he hoped.

Everything seemed to be going well. Until he heard raised voices coming from the other side of the room. Very raised voices, of the kind which could only not be called shouting because it was nearly Christmas and he was feeling kind.

As he strode over, Rolfe saw there were two people involved in the argument: William Beal and Generosity Enoli. A handful of other men and women looked on, with expressions ranging from amusement to horror. But it was the two men in the middle who held his attention: short, pale, blond and muscular William looked up at tall, thin, dark and black-haired Generosity with no sign of backing down, either literally or metaphorically.

They were arguing something about the merits of the Populists. Of course, the content of their argument mattered nothing to Rolfe, only their volume. “Come on, partners, cool it down. Show some Christmas spirit.”

Generosity raised an eyebrow. “What, assume that someone will show up and magically make everything right for you, rather than taking responsibility for your own actions?”

“This isn’t the place to start religious arguments,” Rolfe said.

“Then why did you bring it up?” Generosity said. “I don’t expect you to celebrate Mamabula [3]; Rene here doesn’t expect you to celebrate Passover. Why do you think we should care about the day your holy man was born?”

For the first time, Rolfe understood why Wyatt had not wanted to hold a Christmas party.

* * *

Episode Guide: Mighty Mouse Saves Christmas [4]
Episode No. 21 (also called the first Christmas special)
First broadcast 24 December 1977

Cast:
Mighty Mouse – a mouse
El Gato – a cat
Lechien – a dog and part-time used furniture dealer
Father Christmas – an anthropomorphic personification and spirit of Christmas
Mary Christmas – a recurring pun
White Bess – a horse
Grampa Thorn – an anthropomorphic personification and head of the Child Hunt
Davey Cricket – a Hunter
Bison Bill – a Hunter
Danielle Bloom – a Hunter
Freddy Flames – a Hunter
Hopi Smith – a Hunter
Guido Folks – a man with an apparently bottomless, multidimensional toolbox

Synopsis

The episode opens in Greenland, where Father Christmas and Mary Christmas are relaxing over cups of tea, talking about how good it is that everything is ready for Yuletide. They are visited by Grampa Thorn [5] and a couple of his fellow Hunters. They have an argument about a few children who Thorn says have been naughty, but eventually Father Christmas produces his list, and says that they are good, so Thorn has to leave them alone.

After Grampa Thorn leaves, Father Christmas gets suspicious about the visit, and goes to check the rest of the ice cave. He finds that while Thorn had been distracting him, the rest of the Hunters have tunnelled inside and stolen his magic sack, which contains all of the gifts needed for the good children.

Meanwhile, unaware of this catastrophic turn of events, Mighty Mouse is preparing an ambush for El Gato. He collects an elaborate set of items in preparation: a birdbath, a clutch of feathers, a rope, quick-setting cement, a cape, and an apple pie.

The precise plan for these items is never revealed, for when El Gato is about to enter the room, Lechien stops the ambush. The Dog, whose canine hearing is unsurpassed, says that he has heard the sound of ultimate despair coming from the north. Given where it is coming from, and the season, that can only be Father Christmas who is unhappy.

Realising that something has gone wrong with Christmas, El Gato and Mighty Mouse agree to a truce until things are fixed. Since they need a quick way to get to Greenland, they call on Guido to help them [6]. Guido appears, and after hearing their problem, reaches into his toolbox, and pulls out a hyper-powered shovel.

Mighty Mouse and El Gato take it in turns to dig to dig under the house, under the city, and then under the sea. They get exhausted along the way and have to come up to Kesteven [Boston, Massachusetts] for a meal. They go back, keep digging, and come up just outside the entrance to Father Christmas’s ice cave.

They find Lechien waiting for them. When they ask how he got there ahead of them, the Dog simply shrugs and says, “Atlantic Flyways”.

The three of them go in to visit Father Christmas, who explains how Grampa Thorn has stolen the sack. Father Christmas tells them that they will have to retrieve the sack, and that he cannot help them since White Bess is powerless without the sack.

Mighty Mouse leads his friends down the tunnel which the Hunters used to sneak in, and find that it comes out near a walrus-covered beach, but with no way to find out where the Hunters have gone. The Mouse wants to call Guido again, but there is no mirror nearby. Eventually, El Gato realises that ice can be polished enough to act as a mirror, and so the three scrape clear a patch of ice, and smooth it until they can use it as a mirror and call on Guido again.

Guido gives them a magic carpet which he says will let them chase Grampa Thorn, although what happens when they get there is up to them. The magic carpet takes them on a wild ride around the world, showing people of a variety of nations preparing for Christmas, including children who are writing their letters, before stopping somewhere on nameless tundra covered by wandering reindeer.

The three find the entrance to Grampa Thorn’s cave, whereupon Mighty Mouse, in traditional style, decides to charge right in and attack Thorn. The other two chase after him, and find Thorn inside along with five of the Hunters. Mighty Mouse does not wait any further, but starts a fight with Thorn. El Gato and Lechien need to hold off the other Hunters, leaving the Mouse to fight off Thorn and retrieve the sack. The three run back out, leaving Thorn cursing and swearing behind them, and take the carpet back to Father Christmas.

* * *

Song list for “It’s Christmas Time”, a popular Christmas album released by Yvonne [7] in 1987

1. Messiah
2. Feliz Navidad
3. Desire of Ages
4. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
5. See the Mistletoe?
6. Yuletide Hunt
7. Big, Fat Father Christmas
8. Glory to the King
9. Hear Heaven Sing
10. Coming Home for Christmas
11. Three Red Candles
12. Blue Wine
13. Night of Nights

* * *

24 December 1994
Université de Bourbon
Chaleurs, Louisiana [Alexandria, Louisiana]

Mid-afternoon on the eve of Noël. The sandstone buildings and courtyards of Bourbon University, so crowded with students only the day before, are nearly deserted now. Only a relative handful of students and faculty remain here, those who for one reason or another have not returned to their homes and family over the week’s break.

Alix Bourque is one of those. Except for her youngest sister, none of her family would not welcome her at any time. They would tolerate her attending a funeral, she muses briefly, even if a couple would be secretly hoping that she had been the guest of honour at that event.

The thought is only a passing one, though. Alix returns her focus to the immediate surroundings, which are much more pleasant. She nestles her head against Tsiyu’s welcoming shoulder, leaving her long black hair to fall over his arm.

A slight breeze blows across the courtyard, carrying a sweet lemony fragrance with it. The university is set just outside the town limits of Chaleurs proper, and ringed on three sides by groves of lemon verbena [lemon myrtle]. That distinctive odour is one of the most pleasant aspects of life at Bourbon University, although the spice farmers have hardly planted the trees for the students’ benefit.

Tsiyu starts to run his fingers along her shoulder in that electric touch which she knows so well. She murmurs softly in response, in that way where the words do not matter so much as the tone in which they are said.

Before his fingers or lips can move much further, though, the breeze shifts and brings a fresh set of smells with it: the odours of cooking. Frying fish, pork or some similar meat being smoked, and boiling mixtures of seafood and vegetables, with the smell of onions predominating.

She glances over at the kitchen window; fortunately, it does not mean she needs to move her head much or disturb Tsiyu’s actions. “It’ll be a change, celebrating Christmas properly,” she says.

“How so?” he murmurs, though his fingers keep moving.

“I’ve missed réveillon,” Alix says. All of the students and lecturers who are still at the university are automatically invited to the long dinner-cum-party that will last past midnight and the proper arrival of Noël. A much more attractive prospect than a caustic evening with her parents and sisters, even setting aside Tsiyu’s attentions.

“It happens every year,” he says, bemused.

“Not everywhere,” she says. “The last two years, I was at the Panipat [8]. A place to learn, like few others, but I missed Noël. They don’t care about it at all there; it’s just another day on the calendar.”

“How odd,” Tsiyu says, but a moment later he moves his lips to kiss her. Alix forgets, for the moment, about her sojourn overseas and even about the coming réveillon feast.

* * *

25 December 1995
Gustavsburg [Bangor, Maine]

“I do declare: I doubt I can move,” Astrid Kruse said.

It had, in fact, been an excellent Christmas lunch. Just four people, but easygoing, relaxed conversation. The lunch had featured a wide variety of scrumptious food, though the goose took pride of place. The overall effect was splendid; it just meant that staying in place for the next hour or two would probably be the wisest course of action.

“Oh, no room for dessert?” Irma said.

“Not for a good long while,” Astrid answered. “Digestion essential: motion non-trivial.” Both of their husbands made similar comments.

Irma laughed. “Just as long as you spared room for a genu-wine Christmas toast.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “You mean...?”

Irma produced a bottle of wine with a flourish. A blue-tinted bottle. “Yes. The proper article. No Virginian imitation or Cali-fornication. Real Castilian blue, just for you.”

Scott rose to get the glasses, but Irma managed the uncorking and pouring herself. So she should, if she’d obtained a real bottle of Castilian blue. At Christmas, anyone could find something which called itself blue wine, but a decent bouquet was another thing altogether.

Bubbles rose and sparkled within the glass as Irma passed it over. Astrid took it, and inhaled the spicy bouquet of verbena, and the promise of more to come.

Ingrid proposed the traditional toast, and they repeated it: “To Christmas and the New Year!”

The first sip of the blue delivered everything it promised: a spicy, sparkling flavour of anise and cinnamon, with a hint of lemon. Astrid could not fit any more in, yet, but that was all to the good: it would be a long, pleasant afternoon.

* * *

25 December 1996
Reading, Berkshire

Getting up before the children is always a challenge on Christmas morning. Fortunately for Jerome Duke’s sanity, getting them to sleep early on Christmas Eve is not. So he and Anne set everything out ready the night before, and only need to wake up at a suitably early hour. This is still difficult, with two boys who have internal alarm clocks more efficient than any mere human construction, and a girl who could sneak up on a werewolf.

This year, at least, something has worked properly. Jerome wakes up in the winter darkness, and quietly moves back out to the living room. He flicks on a lamp and gives everything one final check.

The Christmas fir tree is in place, with the bulkier gifts stored beneath it. By the front door, four boots have been filled with small toys and candies; four because Electra, with impeccable eight-year-old logic, argues that fairness requires that the boys and girls divide equal numbers of presents. The four-branched candlestick is in place opposite the fir tree, with four rows of three candles pointing in each cardinal direction, and the larger thirteenth candle in the centre.

The candlestick is the only task that remains undone, so he lights the candles, starting with the central candle, then the east, south and western branches, and finally the northern branch. Thank God that the children are old enough nowadays that he doesn’t need to dress up in bright green and act as Father Christmas any more.

Now, he needs only to wait for the storm that will begin when the children come out.

* * *

Taken from: “The Guide to the Perfect Christmas”

Together with the Christmas tree, the Christmas candelabra is one of the two iconic elements of a proper Christmas. In many ways, the candelabra is the more cherished of the two. A natural Christmas tree must be replaced every year, and even artificial trees are often likewise obtained anew each year. Yet a high-quality, exquisite Christmas candelabra is an artefact which will last for a lifetime.

While many elements of the modern Christmas tradition have antecedents which go back for a millennium or more, the candelabra is a relatively recent addition. Candles have been used in various Christmas roles for centuries, such as being held for nightly vigils or inclusion in an Advent wreath. But the particular use of a dedicated candle-holder is first known from southern France in the late eighteenth century, where four-candle holders were used. The number of candles increased over time, until the modern version which holds thirteen candles in total: four candles for each cardinal direction and a larger central candle.

Candelabras were first introduced into North America in Louisiana around 1820, and gradually spread to other countries. By 1890, they were well-known in Cavendia and Virginia, and were adopted in Tigeria around the turn of the century, and are now popular over the continent...

Selection of a proper candelabra is an important decision. Quality workmanship is important, as is durability, but it should not be over-decorated or elaborate. The best candelabras have an elegant simplicity to them. Height of the candelabra is equally important; it should stand within easy reach for an adult, but should never be taller than the Christmas tree.

Tradition dictates that the candelabra should be lit at the central candle, and then the branches should be lit east, south, west, then finally north. Within each branch, the closest candle to the centre must be lit first, and then the next closest, then the third. The candelabra must be lit sometime over Christmas Eve and kept alight for the following morning, with candles replaced if necessary. It is usually considered unlucky to open Christmas gifts if the candelabra is unlit.

* * *

Taken from Intellipedia.

Christmas (Old English: Crīstesmæsse, literally “Christ's mass”) is an annual celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, generally conducted on 25 December. Commemorated as a religious and cultural holiday by billions around the globe, and a legal holiday in many nations, Christmas is celebrated throughout the Christian world, and by growing numbers of non-Christians. Although only rarely in predominantly Muslim nations, and virtually never in the Plirite world [citation needed]. However, Plirites in majority-Christian nations often celebrate Christmas as a secular holiday. Christmas is a fundamental part of the festive season.

The date of Jesus’ birth is not known [discuss]. The celebration of Christmas on 25 December is first recorded in the early fourth century. Christianity adopted the date of the Roman winter solstice and linked it to ancient pre-Christian winter festivals to incorporate those of pagan faith into Christianity, and reduce the appeal of pagan holdouts. [This sentence has been tagged as offensive and flagged for removal. Refer to the discussion page.]

Celebratory customs associated with Christmas include a hodge-podge of pagan, Christian and secular themes which have been blended into the modern event [informal tone: discuss]. Popular modern holiday customs include giving or exchange of Christmas gifts and cards, Christmas music both religious and secular, special meals, church commemorations, wassailing, evening vigils, and displaying a variety of special decorations, including Christmas trees and candles, Christmas lights, religious scenes (usually of the Nativity), mistletoe, wreaths, holly and chimes. [This sentence has been locked due to repeated attempted vandalism to remove the reference to chimes. Refer to the discussion page.]

Also, several related figures are associated with bringing gifts during the Christmas season, and have their own body of traditions and lore. These figures are variously known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, and the Christkind. In the English-speaking world, Father Christmas is the traditional figure: an old man dressed in a bright green suit trimmed with white fur, and associated with drinking, singing and merry-making. And gifts, which he traditionally produces from a magic sack that he carries with him. The sack knows which children have been good or naughty, and will only provide gifts for the good children.

An additional mythological figure has also been associated with the negative aspects of Christmas, variously called Grampa Thorn, Krampus, or Gumphinckel. Grampa Thorn has his own body of tradition and lore, and is generally depicted as a figure who travels the countryside on Christmas Eve (or another winter night) searching for bad children, and either warning them or punishing them. In the English-speaking world, Grampa Thorn is said to play tricks or scare naughty children, or give them a useless gift such as a lump of coal. For children who have been particularly badly behaved, Grampa Thorn is said to carry them away for a year, where they have to make the gifts which next year will be given to the good children.

Due to gift-giving and associated festival aspects of Christmas, economic activity grows during the holiday say, and this is a critical sales period for the retail sector. However, this increasing trend of commercialisation is widely regarded [by whom?] as harming the religious aspects of Christmas [bias: discuss].

Name

The word “Christmas” originated as a compound meaning “Christ’s mass”. It is derived from the Middle English Cristemasse, which is from Old English Crīstesmæsse. The form “Christenmas” was also historically used, but is now considered archaic.

In addition to “Christmas”, the holiday has been known by various other names throughout its history. The Anglo-Saxons referred to the feast as Midwinter, or, more rarely as Nativity. Yule (or Yuletide) was previously used to refer to the December-January period, and the name has been revived as a secular alternative to refer to the holiday season, although rarely to refer to Christmas Day itself. Noel (or Nowell or Noël) entered English in the late 14th century, derived from Old French.

Celebration

Main article: Christmas globewards [worldwide]

Christmas Day is a major festival and public holiday in many countries around the world, including some whose populations are mostly non-Christian. In some non-Christian countries, periods of former colonial rule introduced the celebration, while in others, Christian minorities or foreign cultural influences have led populations to observe the holiday. In such countries, the main secular aspects of Christmas which have been adopted include gift-giving, Christmas trees and candlesticks.

Christmas celebrations around the world vary considerably, based on different cultural and national traditions. In countries with a strong Christian tradition, participating in a religious service is usually an important part of the season. Christmas, along with Easter, is the period of highest annual church attendance.

In Catholic and Orthodox countries, a range of religious processions or parades are held in the days leading up to Christmas. In Protestant and non-Christian countries, secular processions or parades featuring Father Christmas and other seasonal figures are often held.

Family reunions are an integral part of Christmas in most traditions; Christmas is usually held to be the day when dispersed families reunite. Exchange of gifts is likewise a major feature of the season, either on Christmas Day or on a nearby religiously significant day (eg 6 December, Saint Nicholas Day, is used in Tigeria).

While many non-Christian countries observe Christmas as a secular holiday, in some non-Christian countries, public celebration of Christmas is considered offensive [by whom?]. In particular, in several Plirite countries, Christmas Day is not a public holiday and public Christmas displays are stigmatised. Plirite minorities in some majority-Christian countries have adopted Christmas as a secular holiday (eg the Kogung), while in other countries, Plirite non-observation of Christmas has become a mark of cultural identity (eg the Congxie).

Also, even in some countries with a strong Christmas tradition, celebration of Christmas is predominantly secular. In New England, the early colonists strongly disapproved of public celebrations of Christmas, based on religious objections. Observation of Christmas was legally forbidden, and later socially prohibited even when no longer outlawed. Recent adoption of Christmas traditions in New England has focused on the secular aspects of gift-giving and decoration, rather than religious celebrations...

* * *

22 December 1999
Horeb [Providence, Rhode Island], Narragansett

Evening draws near, but the night is not yet come. The chill is growing, but snow has not yet fallen. The perfect time to take to the streets as Old Man Thorn, or so John Beckwith thinks.

His costume is modelled on the devil which is said to inhabit the great swamp to the south: brown fur covering his body, hoofed feet, unfurled bat wings, and clawed hands. His face is covered in a devil-mask, too, complete with fangs and forward-curving horns.

Not the most traditional form for Grampa Thorn, but it will do well, he thinks. It needs to be scary enough, but not horrific. The chains are wrapped around his wrist, to be clanked whenever children come near.

As he starts his walk through the streets, lights begin to flicker on in a few houses. Elaborate Christmas decorations, those, even if they will be better appreciated once night has truly fallen.

In the meantime, the most soothing sound is the chimes hung outside most of the houses he passes. The breeze off the bay is slight, but enough to set them ringing from time to time. A reassuring part of Christmas, as far as he is concerned. He’s heard that down in Alleghania, too many people complain that they are a pagan symbol, but who cares [9]? They are part of Christmas now.

As he walks, he starts to sing the traditional song. “You’d better watch out, you’d better take care, Old Man Thorn is coming to town...”

* * *

[1] Congxie Jamaane Pliri, or roughly translated into in English, Congxie Homeland and Harmony. Congxie comes from the most widespread name which that people use for themselves. Jamaane is a Congxie word adapted from the Soninke language, which in a Congxie sense means something like “territory” or “homeland”. Pliri is from a Gunnagalic root (via the Nangu and Nuttana) which means “harmony”, although in this context it is used in a largely non-religious sense to mean stability or security.

[2] This is a historical carol, with words slightly changed by the passage of allohistorical time. It was composed by Robert Smert sometime in the fifteenth century, although the real modern form has changed considerably.

[3] Mamabula, or Liberty Day, is a celebration of the day when the forefathers (and foremothers) of the Congxie revolted in Cavendia (*South Carolina/Georgia) and began their flight to freedom in the uplands. It is celebrated on the June new moon, to mark the historical use of that new moon as a sign to trigger a unified revolt.

[4] Mighty Mouse is an allohistorical cartoon character who has very little in common with the historical version. He is a small-sized, big-talking mouse who knows martial arts, and who often gets himself into trouble due to his combative attitude. (The allohistorical author based in the name in part on a pun about “mighty mouth”).

His main foil is a cat named El Gato; the two often clash, although they occasionally cooperate too, as in this Christmas special. Another recurring character is Lechien (the dog), who oddly enough gets on with Mighty Mouse rather well.

[5] Grampa Thorn is the English-speaking world’s version of Krampus, who hunts down naughty children. He has been incorporated into a version of the old Germanic tradition of the Wild Hunt, and has several Hunters who accompany him. Traditions differ as to the number and names of those Hunters, although there are rarely more than 12.

[6] In this cartoon, the way to call on Guido Folks is to stand in front of a mirror, say “handy man” five times in a row, and Guido will appear behind you, holding his toolbox above his head.

[7] Her full name is Yvonne Martin, but her musical career has been successful enough that she simply goes by Yvonne.

[8] In full, the Tjagarr Panipat. This is a Gunnagalic name which, literally translated, means “Place of Great Disputation”.

[9] This is because chimes are an integral part of Plirite worship, being used in most of their temples. In Alleghania, some efforts have been made to adopt chimes as a Christmas symbol, to show that it is a secular holiday that is not exclusive to Christians. This has not been particularly well-received either by Christians or by the Congxie who follow the Plirite faith. Nevertheless, the use of chimes has been publicised enough that they have been adopted in some other nations, particularly in New England, where the observation of Christmas is largely a secular affair anyway.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #53: Meeting in Twain

“In granting the [English East India] Company a monopoly on trade with the Indies, the Crown has forgone all the wealth that it could have earned, but gained none of the benefits that it could have found by requiring merchants to compete with each other.”
- David Franklin, Fortune and Famine

* * *

Wealth, uncounted and limitless. A land to rival the fortunes which the Spanish conquistadors had found in the Americas.

Or so an endless stream of rumours claimed. Filtered through sailors, barkeepers, drunkards, whores and optimists, the tales grew stranger with each retelling. Everyone in Europe know someone who had heard from someone about what could be found in this strange land, this place of gold and spices.

In England, the ever-rising crescendo of tales, combined with worsening relations with the Dutch, led the English East India Company, in time, to risk their peaceful accord to investigate the South Land.

The man they chose was William Baffin, one of the most accomplished captains in the Company’s service [1]. His instructions were thorough in their details, but simple in essence: find out that truth of the Great Spice Island, map what you can, establish whatever positive relations you can with the natives, and don’t interfere with the Dutch unless you can get away with it.

Baffin was, in truth, an excellent choice by the Company’s directors. An astute navigator by European standards of the time, his observations of coasts, tides and magnetism would be found to be astonishingly accurate when later explorers retraced his voyages. His techniques of instrumentation and charts were alien to the Islanders who were the premier navigators of his target land, and in some ways inferior to the accumulated traditions and lore possessed by those Nangu, but still more than sufficient to let him act as a pioneer for what would be generations of Company sailors to follow.

In July 1635, Baffin took command of the Intrepid, the lead ship in a fleet which also included Godspeed, Lady Harrington and Delight. Sailing from London, they made the long voyage to the South Land with several stopovers. These included Dutch-ruled northern Brazil where Baffin let the word be that he was sailing to India, as so many Company ships did, and afterward a stop in uninhabited Mauritius, which according to rumours had been the last resupply point used by François Thijssen before he became the first European to visit the eastern parts of the South Land. Baffin hoped to follow in his footsteps, in more ways than one.

As the Dutch had discovered before him, Baffin learned that sailing east was easier by dropping down into the latitude of the Roaring Forties, where the winds made for a fast if risky passage to the Orient. Lacking precise knowledge of the longitude of the South Land, he did not turn further north until he was already past the realms of the Atjuntja. Even then, that was fortunate for him, since by this time the Dutch had established a firm presence in the Middle Country and would be difficult to dislodge.

Baffin’s ships discovered [2] the same cliff-lined, dry, treeless coast that one of his Dutch predecessors had called the Nightmare Coast. One of the most hostile shores in the world, battered by endless waves and with winds that pushed any sailing ships straight into the cliffs, this unwelcoming landscape was one which Baffin’s normally scrupulously detailed charts would show only in sketchy outlines.

Persistence had always been one of Baffin’s virtues, and he had the advantage of knowing that somewhere to the east, wealth awaited. In time, breaks began to appear in the cliffs, and the shores were covered in trees and other greenery; the more fertile lands of the east. Baffin’s ships charted the coast which another history would call the Eyre Peninsula, and which the local Mutjing inhabitants called the Seven Sisters.

Baffin’s ships passed three coastal city-states, Luyandi [Port Kenny, South Australia], Nilkerloo [Elliston] and Yorta [Coffin Bay], but Baffin chose not to make contact until they arrived at what was clearly a major port. Pankala [Port Lincoln], its inhabitants called it, and they proudly proclaimed it the greatest of the Mutjing city-states [3].

In Pankala, Baffin found that several of the natives were passably fluent in Dutch. He found this welcome for its easing of communication, but distressing because it meant that the Dutch influence was strong even here. With his explicit orders not to break the peace with the Dutch, Baffin and his crew asked only elliptically about how the Dutch were viewed, and were left with an equally vague impression that the Dutch were occasional but valued traders “second to the Island”.

The first English contact with the Mutjing did not match the vision of stupendous wealth which the rumours had found. The Mutjing knew of gold, and had a few items of gold jewellery, but not in the abundant fortune which had been eagerly anticipated. For adornment, the natives made more common use of some unfamiliar opaque gemstone whose colours ranged from white to green.

In drugs and spices, Baffin found the new land more promising. It seemed that every man of substance had his food flavoured by a strange kind of intense peppery spice, and the appeal of such a crop was obvious. The Mutjing used other flavourings too, if not always with clear trading potential: river mint, some aromatic eucalyptus leaves, and a grass which reminded the Englishmen of lemon [4]. They also had a little of a drug which they called kunduri, but which Baffin christened “greater tobacco”.

To Baffin, though, the most valuable feature of all about Pankala was that it brought him into direct contact with the Islanders. He had arrived at the most-frequently visited port in all of the South Land; not a week went past without several Nangu ships arriving to trade for the red yams and wattleseeds needed to sustain life on an Island too crowded to grow its own food.

The Islanders were eager indeed to speak to the Englishmen. Baffin’s biggest problem was sorting through the endless questions, requests to view their goods, trade proposals, invitations to the Island, and efforts to persuade them to follow the Seven-fold Path. Plenty of them spoke Dutch, too; another reminder that the sons of Albion were latecomers to the South Land.

Baffin learned quickly of the rival bloodlines at the heart of Nangu commerce, and he recognised how this could be turned to the Company’s advantage in time. Any firm pacts would be premature, though, when he could come into contact with a Dutch ship or Dutch allies on any day, and with the nearest help at the Company outpost in the Indies. So he responded with generic overtures of friendship, but little more. After spending enough days in Pankala to suit his own assessment of the Mutjing, he did accept an invitation to follow a Nangu ship directly to the Island.

Once on the Island itself, Baffin realised that the signs of Nangu commerce he had seen in Pankala were merely faint shadows beside the buzzing activity of their homeland. The Islanders had plenty of ships in the port whose name they translated, apparently literally, as Crescent Bay. Thankfully, no Dutch ships were among those in the port, but several Islander ships arrived and departed each day. Finding out their destinations proved to be harder, for the Nangu viewed that sort of information as part of their trade secrets, and refused to describe it without receiving information or English goods in recompense.

Baffin was nothing if not persistent, though, and in time he learned that there was one port where almost every Islander urged him not to go. A native empire. The Yadji, the weavers of gold. Never mind the greater tobacco or sweet peppers they proffered, no matter how appealling those commodities might be. Gold was the ultimate lucre, the most convertible of trade goods, the source of glory, and what the Directors back in London wanted to find above all else.

Negotiations for a guide to the Yadji proved quite difficult; the Islanders were most reluctant to visit there. Baffin had to offer a substantial combination of English goods, particularly woollen textiles and a clock, before a captain of the Manyilti bloodline agreed to act as guide and translator in a visit to the Yadji realm.

With that deal struck, Baffin left the Island behind, to obvious consternation from the other Nangu bloodlines. The Manyilti captain proved an excellent navigator, guiding Baffin’s four ships to a Yadji port which they called Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]. Here, Baffin’s men became the first Europeans to visit the Yadji Empire, and not coincidentally, the first to witness why their neighbours called them the weavers of gold. Baffin was so impressed that he decided to mark the name of this new land on his charts as Aururia, from the Latin for the land of gold.

Dealing with the Yadji proved to be frustrating in many respects, for they were disinclined to explain themselves, and the guide repeatedly warned about the dangers of asking questions which might be deemed impertinent. Yet the advantages of a pact with them were plain; here was the greatest native empire in Aururia, a source of gold, and one which so far had not entered into any alliances with the Dutch. Baffin arranged for some of his men to stay behind in Gurndjit until the next visit from English ships, together with dropping some apparently welcomed hints about a possible trade pact when the next Englishmen returned.

With that deal concluded, Baffin ordered his ships to sail on, with a stronger sense of urgency. He still had his existing orders to chart the coast and establish relations with the natives, but he doubted that anything he could find after Gurndjit would be as impressive as the gold he had found amongst the Yadji.

He was wrong.

Learning of his mistake took Baffin some time, as his exploration continued. He sailed over the strait which the natives called the Narrow Sea [Bass Strait], and established contact with another native people called the Tjunini. They had gold, too, but displayed it much less opulently [5], and cared little about trade or much of anything else except for any weapons which could aid them in their apparently endless war with some other group of natives called the Kurnawal. Baffin made similar promises of friendship, enjoyed the gum cider that was their main form of hospitality, and noted in his journal that this would be a market for selling whatever weapons the Company wished to provide, but did not make any immediate efforts to exploit the contact for profit.

In the Cider Isle, Baffin left his native guide behind as had been negotiated, and returned to the north side of the Narrow Sea. Here, he continued charting the coast of the Yadji Empire, although he was careful never to land on any of their towns. It had taken only brief contact with the Yadji for him to realise that their reputation for capriciousness was well-deserved.

The four ships of Baffin’s fleet made steady progress along the southern coast of Aururia, and they found in time that the coast turned to the north. Baffin naturally ordered that the ships turn north to follow the coast, recording in his journal that this corresponded with the eastern limit of the Yadji realm.

In fact, Baffin was mistaken, although the main error was not of his own making. The headland he had reached [Wingan Inlet, Victoria] was considerably east of any meaningful Yadji presence, but the Yadji claimed much further than they controlled.

After this, the fleet sailed north along Aururia’s eastern coast. None of them realised yet, but they were now exploring waters that no Europeans had ever reached before; François Thijssen, the only Dutch explorer to come nearly this far had sailed further east to Aotearoa instead of turning north.

Baffin found that the eastern coast of Aururia, at least at first, had little to commend it when compared to the wealth of the Yadji, or even the Tjunini of the Cider Isle. While not as bleak as the forbidding treeless cliffs earlier in his voyage, the coastline was generally rugged, with few areas of flat land or cultivation. Villages and towns clustered along some of the bays and harbours, but they looked to be small when compared to the previous places of wealth.

Baffin ordered his sailors to venture ashore twice during the first part of the eastern coast voyage, at places which the natives called Maliwa [Eden, NSW] and Wanderribee [Narooma, NSW]. He found little to interest him here, and for the next part of the voyage north he contented himself with charting the coast and did not risk landing to make contact with potentially hostile natives. He continued to believe that nothing else in Aururia could match what he had seen in Gurndjit.

In time, Baffin’s ships came far enough north to reach the coastline of what another history could call the Hunter Valley, and which in allohistory was inhabited by a people who called themselves the Patjimunra. These were a mostly inward-looking, caste-ridden society, whose political history was marked by alternating periods of near-complete unification and collapse into competing city-states.

In 1636, most of them had been reunited into a kingdom with its capital at Gogarra [Newcastle, NSW], but some of their outlying regions maintained their independence as city-states. Baffin would never see Gogarra itself; though the city was a port of sorts, the sandbars at the mouth of the Kuyal [Hunter River] appeared treacherous enough that his ship captains bypassed it altogether.

Not far north of Gogarra, though, the English fleet did find a place promising enough to land. A new harbour, its entrance marked by twin headlands, which would clearly give shelter from even the worst of storms [Port Stephens, NSW]. Baffin may have explored the harbour anyway, since it had such obvious promise, but at the time when his ships were sailing past, they saw a small fishing boat emerging from the harbour. This boat was a tiny, pitifully-made vessel by the standards of the Islanders, but its mere presence was an invitation to enter the harbour, in Baffin’s judgement.

What awaited the English inside the harbour was Torimi, a reasonably prosperous independent Patjimunra city-state. It proved to be about the same size as Gurndjit, although its inhabitants had less in the way of gold and the other adornments which the Yadji had possessed [6].

Fortunately, though, they included a few of their number who spoke the Nangu language, so communication was relatively straightforward. Even more fortunately, from Baffin’s perspective, they cultivated a range of spices much broader than those which he had found amongst the Mutjing or Yadji. These included more kinds of sweet peppers, a flavouring like lemon but sweeter, several other kinds of leaf spices with flavours like aniseed or cinnamon or with no alternatives that the Englishmen could name, and a couple of pungent fruits [7].

Baffin lost no time in procuring samples of those spices. But the new crop which he found most valuable of all was a beverage which the natives called jerree, but which called lemon tea. This beverage had a pleasing, refreshing, mildly calming effect, and Baffin deemed this to be as valuable a trade commodity as greater tobacco, although not all of his crew agreed.

While the Company’s ships were at Torimi, they received an even greater surprise. A fleet of great-ships and other Islander vessels sailed into the harbour. Baffin had known, of course, that the Nangu had contact here, as the natives’ knowledge of the language demonstrated, but he had not expected such a fleet.

Contact between the Englishmen and Islanders was wary, but in time the Islanders explained that they had returned from a voyage to the Indies, where they had traded with the Dutch. Knowledge of this opened many possibilities, but as he had done previously, Baffin knew better than to make any firm commitments. He settled for vague talk of friendship, and then led his ships north again. Again, he had the feeling that what he had seen in Torimi could not match Gurndjit, and that the rest of his voyage would not lead to anything much more promising.

Baffin kept that thought in his mind as his ships sailed further north.

Until one dawn, where the morning sky in the east had started to turn red and orange as the sun began to fight its way above the horizon. Baffin was on the Intrepid, as always, standing near the bow while he watched the land to the west. So it was that he was the first person on his ship to see a colossal, obviously man-made structure.

A step pyramid rose out of the western shoreline, built of some pale stone that looked almost golden in the dawn sun. The pyramid towering above his ship, but even that was not the most impressive feature. The steps of the pyramid glistened and shone, with some creation of glass or gemstone that reflected the light, brilliantly enough that as the sun rose, the reflection was so bright that Baffin could no longer look directly at the pyramid.

So William Baffin became the first European to glimpse the greatest religious monument of the kingdom of Daluming. And when he landed, he became the first to see the skulls which had been entombed behind that glistening glass, and it was he who christened the pyramid Glazkul.

* * *

[1] Historically, Baffin died in 1622 during a raid on a Portuguese fort in the Persian Gulf. Allohistorically, the raid was delayed, Baffin survived, and he has continued the service with the English East India Company which began in 1617.

[2] For a given value of ‘discovery’ which excludes the people who were actually born there and so don’t really count as discoverers.

[3] Pankala was not always the most important Mutjing city-state, but it has grown considerably in prominence over the last couple of centuries since it is the most convenient port for Nangu traders to visit.

[4] Baffin and his crewmen will naturally try to relate these spices to their closest Old World equivalents, although not all of them are close relatives. River mint (Mentha australis) is a true mint, and its flavour is similar to peppermint. The Mutjing also cultivate another spice called mintbush (Prostanthera rotundifolia), which has no close relative outside of Australia, but whose flavour has been described as somewhere between thyme and peppermint. The “sweet peppers” are pepperbushes (Tasmannia lanceolata and relatives) which have an intense peppery taste that is roughly ten times as strong as true peppers. The “lemon grass” is lemon-scented grass (Cymbopogon ambiguus), a relative of common lemongrass. The aromatic eucalyptus leaves include varieties from several species, the most common of which is blue-leaved mallee (Eucalyptus polybractea).

[5] The Cider Isle (Tasmania) produces if anything more gold than the Yadji realms, but the Tjunini and Kurnawal who live there do not value it quite as highly, and much of their gold is taken by the Nangu for export, mostly in exchange for kunduri.

[6] The Patjimunra are relatively wealthier than most other eastern coast peoples because they live far enough north that they can cultivate a range of spices unknown further south, and because the mountains west of the *Hunter Valley do not present much in the way of a barrier to inland travel. This has made them one of the major sources of spices for the kingdoms along the *Murray-Darling.

[7] These spices include some other kinds of sweet peppers, lemon myrtle, aniseed myrtle, cinnamon myrtle, curry myrtle, strawberry gum, and the fruit of the Illawarra plum (Podocarpus elatus).

* * *

Thoughts?

P.S. The next post will be the long-delayed description of the fate of the Holy Roman Empire during the *Thirty Years War and the Aururian plagues. Before I can post that, though, I need some assistance from a mapmaker. Someone on another side has drawn a rough sketch that shows the changes, but this needs to be developed into a proper map. Any volunteers?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #54: Slings and Arrows...

Lands of Red and Gold #54: Slings and Arrows...

Okay, this is much, much delayed, but also I believe the single longest post I've ever written for LRG or even DoD before it. Here's, finally, how the outcome of the Thirty Years' War was changed by Aururian contact.

For those who find the geography of the Holy Roman Empire difficult (like me), Kaiphranos and Valdemar I have between them come up with a map of the changed outcome. This map is linked to https://www.alternatehistory.com/decadesofdarkness/PeaceofNuremberg.png, and I'll also add it as a separate post in this thread after this one.

Anyway, on with the post...

* * *

“Call no man happy, until he is dead.”
- Herodotus, Histories I. xxxii

* * *

“Everything that belonged to the use and commodity of man was and is there... Nature seemed to make the country [Bohemia] her storehouse and granary.”

Jedidja Frühling-Feld, History of the Twenty Years’ War, 1869.

* * *

In history as it is usually known, the conflict which would be called the Thirty Years’ War became one of the most devastating wars that Europe had ever seen. Fought mainly in the territory of what would later become Germany, what began as a religious struggle within the Holy Roman Empire expanded into a broader struggle which drew in most of the major European powers, and became the longest-lasting continuous war in modern history.

The war originated from unresolved religious conflict within the Holy Roman Empire, which had been temporarily halted by the Peace of Augsburg in 1555. That peace established that, in most cases, the ruler of a state could choose the religion of their realm, and require their subjects to convert to that faith (cuius regio, eius religio). Exceptions were made for Lutherans living under the rule of a Catholic prince-bishop, who were permitted to still follow their religion, although a prince-bishop who converted to Lutheranism would be required to relinquish his realm.

Augsburg was an incomplete peace, since the only religions it recognised were Lutheranism and Catholicism. It ignored the more radical Anabaptist sects, and did not address the emergence of Calvinism as a separate faith in the second half of the sixteenth century. Moreover, Augsburg’s provisions were often unenforced; some bishops who changed religions refused to abandon their realms, leading to fresh struggles.

Religious conflict returned to the Holy Roman Empire during the later sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Neighbouring powers had a keen interest in this contest, whether from genuine religious fervour or as a pretext for territorial and economic gains. The staunchly Catholic Spanish branch of the Habsburgs were displeased over the relative religious tolerance of their Austrian relatives, and directly intervened in some struggles. Conversely, the Lutheran realms of Denmark and Sweden sought to support their co-religionists, partly from religious unity, and partly from a desire to extract economic concessions in northern Germany.

The immediate trigger for what became the Thirty Years’ War was a contest over the inheritance of Bohemia. Matthias, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia was elderly and had no immediate heirs. On his death, his lands would be inherited by the devout Catholic Ferdinand II, Archduke of Austria. Several of the Protestant notables of Bohemia feared Ferdinand’s succession as a threat to their religious liberty, and supported an alternative Calvinist candidate, Frederick V, Elector of the Palatinate. Nevertheless, in 1617 Ferdinand II was duly elected as heir apparent by the Bohemian estates.

In May 1618, Ferdinand II sent two Catholic emissaries to administer Bohemia in his absence. A group of Protestant notables responded by hurling the emissaries out of the palace window into a pile of manure. This event, famously called the Defenestration of Prague [1], marked the start of the Bohemian revolt, and the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War.

As events played out historically, the Thirty Years’ War is traditionally [2] divided into four stages: the Bohemian revolt, the Danish intervention, the Swedish intervention, and the French intervention.

The Bohemian revolt saw religious conflict spread throughout the Bohemian estates, and into neighbouring regions such as Austria. The Protestant Bohemians named Frederick V, Elector Palatine, as King of Bohemia, and he eventually accepted. The revolt had some early success, with one Bohemian army reaching Vienna, but it was gradually crushed by a combination of Imperial and Spanish forces. Not all of the divisions were along religious lines; after due consideration [3], the Protestant John George I, Elector of Saxony, invaded Bohemia in support of the Imperial forces.

Bohemia was re-occupied before the end of 1620; Frederick V’s brief reign (almost exactly a year) saw him derisively referred to as the Winter King. The war continued in the Palatinate, Frederick V’s ancestral lands, which were invaded and gradually occupied by the Spanish [4]. Frederick V was outlawed from the Holy Roman Empire, with his lands given to Catholic rulers, and his title as Elector handed to his distant relation, Maximilian I of Bavaria.

Frederick V withdrew to exile in the Dutch Republic, which in 1621 had restarted a separate war with the Spanish. From there he agitated for restoration of his ancestral lands, without success. He remained banned by Imperial edict. He had a boating accident in January 1629 where he nearly drowned, and he lost his eldest son Frederick Henry. The near-drowning had severe effects on Frederick V’s health, and he died in November 1632.

In 1624, the war nearly ended. The Protestant forces were reeling, with the Bohemian revolt crushed and the Palatinate occupied. However, the situation changed when Denmark intervened in support of the Protestants. Christian IV, King of Denmark, was also the Duke of Holstein, part of the Holy Roman Empire, and feared the success of the Catholic forces. He also received generous French subsidies to support his armies; national interest trumped religion here, since Catholic France held strong fears about being encircled by the equally Catholic Habsburgs.

The Danish intervention lasted from 1625-1629. As with the Bohemian revolt, despite early success, most of the military victories were on the Catholic side. Denmark was a wealthy kingdom, and received French subsidies, but found itself strategically isolated. England stood aside, France was busy with internal religious struggles, Sweden was engaged in a war with Poland, and the northern German Protestant powers of Brandenburg and Saxony preferred to maintain their precarious peace.

The leading Catholic generals were Albrecht von Wallenstein, who had grown rich by confiscating the estates of Protestant Bohemian nobles, and Johann Tserclaes, Count of Tilly. Between them, Wallenstein and Tilly pushed the Danish forces out of the Holy Roman Empire, and eventually occupied mainland Jutland. Nevertheless, they lacked the naval power to occupy the Danish islands, and eventually the two sides negotiated the Treaty of Lübeck. This stipulated, in effect, that Christian IV could keep Denmark provided that he withdrew his support for Protestant forces in the Holy Roman Empire.

With the withdrawal of Danish support, the course of the war turned even worse for the Protestants. The remaining Protestant forces were largely crushed; only the single Baltic port of Stralsund remained defiant against Wallenstein and the Imperial forces. In 1629, the Emperor announced an Edict of Restitution which claimed to be enforcing the provisions of the Peace of Augsburg. In practical terms, the Edict meant that significant parts of Protestant territory and property were to be transferred to Catholic rule, and interfered with some Protestants’ practice of religion. In some ways this was a miscalculation on the Emperor’s part. The Edict widened the war from a religious contest into a dynastic struggle for control of territories, and turned many lesser German princes against the Emperor.

Still, in the short term, the war was apparently almost won. Forces within Ferdinand II’s court, led by Maximilian I of Bavaria, turned against Wallenstein. While an excellent general and in command of a large personal army, his political loyalty was questioned, and he was dismissed from service in September 1630.

With hindsight, Ferdinand II probably considered that a mistake.

For on 20 July 1630, Swedish forces under the command of Gustavus II Adolphus landed at Stettin, in Pomerania, marking the beginning of the Swedish intervention in the war (usually dated 1630-1635). Gustavus Adolphus’s motives for entering the war have never been entirely clear, but he shared a common religion with the Lutherans, was suspicious of the power of the Holy Roman Emperor, and stood to gain economic benefits from control of more of the Baltic coastline.

Sweden’s armies were well-trained and equipped, and adept in new military techniques such as lighter and more mobile artillery. Like Denmark before them, Sweden received generous French subsidies to fight the Habsburgs. The Swedish forces won several critical battles between 1630-1632, including the Battle of Rain in April 1632 which led to Tilly’s death. Due to these setbacks and the loss of his most prominent general, Ferdinand II recalled Wallenstein to service.

Wallenstein and Gustavus Adolphus met at the Battle of Lützen on 6 November 1632. The Swedish forces proved victorious, but Gustavus Adolphus died while leading a cavalry charge. While Sweden remained in the war after the death of their monarch, their campaign gradually lost political and strategic direction, and the Imperial forces and their Spanish allies regained the initiative. Wallenstein brought himself under suspicion in 1633 when he tried to mediate between the two sides, and he was dismissed, arrested, and then assassinated by one of his men.

With the Swedish forces lacking focus, the Spanish and Imperial forces gradually drove them out of southern Germany. Most notably, at the Battle of Nördlingen on 6 September 1634, an army under the control of the Spanish Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand (later governor of the Spanish Netherlands) routed the Swedish army.

While Sweden did not abandon the war after Nördlingen, its influence was curtailed. German Protestants opened negotiations with the Emperor, which led to the Peace of Prague in 1635. This peace essentially repealed the Edict of Restitution and replaced it with a new understanding that Protestants could keep what they had held in 1627, but with some restrictions on their political power. The Peace also forbade formal alliances between states in the Empire, or with foreign powers. It created a notionally unified command for all armies within the Holy Roman Empire to defend it from invasion. The Peace extended amnesty to rulers who had taken up arms against the Emperor, with the notable exclusion of the descendants of Frederick V, the disgraced and now-dead Winter King.

The Peace of Prague did not, in fact, end the war. Sweden had no part in the negotiations, and Spain was also not bound by it. Most importantly, though, the terms of the peace alarmed France. Under Cardinal Richelieu, France had been indirectly supporting opponents of the Habsburgs, with subsidies at various times going to the Dutch, the Danish and the Swedish. With the Protestant opposition to the Holy Roman Emperor nearly ended, France intervened directly, declaring war on Spain in 1635 and the Holy Roman Empire in 1636.

This began the longest, and in many ways the bloodiest stage of the war, the French intervention (1635-1648). The French fought in the Holy Roman Empire as allies with the Swedish, but also fought separately against the Spanish within and outside the Empire. Sweden regained the military initiative in northern Germany, while France was at first unsuccessful with many of its own territories invaded and ravaged by Spanish and Imperial forces. With the resources available to both sides, though, the war continued for many years, at the cost of much blood and treasure and devastation of much of the fought-over territory.

Denmark and Sweden fought a local war (1643-45) as part of the broader struggle, nicknamed the Torstenson War after the leading Swedish marshal. Sweden had naval victories and extracted territorial and economic concessions from Denmark, marking the beginning of a rivalry which would continue long after the Thirty Years’ War ended.

The cost of the war provoked internal revolt in Spain. Catalonia erupted into revolt in 1640, beginning a bitter struggle of regular and then irregular warfare which would not be fully suppressed for about two decades. Portugal, too, resented Spanish encroachment which it viewed as an effort to turn it into another Spanish province and break the power of the Portuguese nobility. This provoked a Portuguese revolution in 1640 which named John IV Braganza as king of Portugal. This revolution re-established a separate Portuguese crown, although Spain would not recognise it until 1668, after a long period of diplomatic standoffs interrupted by bouts of warfare.

By the mid-1640s, both sides were suffering from the long war, and negotiations opened between several of the powers. The Thirty Years’ War ended not in a single treaty, but a series of treaties between the various powers. Concluded in 1648, these were collectively called the Peace of Westphalia, and marked not just the end of the Thirty Years’ War, but the much longer Eighty Years’ War between Spain and the Netherlands. Westphalia did not, however, resolve all the warfare; France and Spain continued their war until 1659.

The Peace of Westphalia broadly established the principle that princes could choose the established religion of their states, with certain exceptions, and did not allow a prince who changed religion after 1648 to change the established religion of their state. Calvinism was recognised as a religion, and a degree of toleration was established for Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists who lived in a state which had a different established religion. Other faiths, most notably the Anabaptists, were still excluded.

Westphalia involved many territorial changes, including those which established Swedish territory within the Empire, recognised the independence of the Netherlands and Switzerland from the Empire, and which granted Bavaria control of the Upper Palatinate, and a recognised vote as Elector. Charles Louis, the second son of the now-dead Frederick V, was restored to the Lower Palatinate only, and had a new Electorship created for him.

Westphalia also established the concept of sovereignty for each member state over its lands and people. This concept of Westphalian sovereignty would later be seen as the foundation of the modern conception of a sovereign state [5]. In practice, Westphalia broke most of the power of the Holy Roman Empire as a supranational entity. While the Empire was not abolished, after Westphalia, many of the states within the Empire established de facto independence.

* * *

In allohistory as it is about to become known, the course of the four-staged struggle would be wrenched into a new course.

The first stage of the war, the Bohemian revolt, passed largely unchanged. The first blow in that war was struck before Frederik de Houtman made the first landing in the Atjuntja lands in south-western Aururia. The key battles in that stage were fought when the gold, drugs and spices of Aururia were but distant and mostly unheeded rumours of a new spice island. The extra gold flowing into Dutch coffers buoyed their war effort with Spain after their truce expired in 1621, meaning that they needed fewer French subsidies. The Netherlands even provided some subsidies of their own to Denmark after Christian IV declared war, as he had done historically.

The early course of the Danish intervention, too, passed much as history knew it. Outmatched in the field by the Imperial forces commanded by Wallenstein and Tilly, the Danish forces were pushed out of the Empire. Jutland itself was invaded, though the Danish isles were protected by their fleet.

Lacking a fleet on the Baltic, Wallenstein made preparations to capture the port of Stralsund, which had the facilities to build a suitable fleet to invade insular Denmark. However, Wallenstein’s plans for a siege of Stralsund were overwhelmed by a much larger event: the outbreak of a strange new epidemic which swept through Europe.

At the time, the inhabitants of the Holy Roman Empire knew it only as the Dutch curse, a horrible malady which saw its victims coughing up fluid, and often blood, and which later afflicted some of the initial survivors with a fevered delirium that spelled nigh-inevitable death to any who exhibited those symptoms. This disease appeared in Amsterdam in August 1627, causing a heavy death toll there, and spread across the Netherlands and into the Holy Roman Empire later that year. In 1628, particularly in the spring and early summer, the Dutch curse swept across Germany, bringing death on a scale not seen since the Black Death.

The new disease was no respecter of rank. Ferdinand II, the Holy Roman Emperor himself, was severely afflicted by the pink cough. It did not claim his life, but took his health: he had severe breathing difficulties from that time on. His last surviving brother, Leopold, died from the Dutch curse in April 1628. Count Tilly was even less fortunate; while he survived the pink cough in November 1627, he was one of the first to be claimed by delirium two months later, and after a futile struggle he breathed his last on 9 February 1628. Wallenstein was luckier, catching only a mild dose of the pink cough in March 1628. Still, the deaths amongst his troops and in broader Germany were severe enough that, for now, he suspended his plans to besiege Stralsund.

Protestant rulers were not spared from the epidemic either. John George I, the Protestant Elector of Saxony who had supported the Emperor during the Bohemian revolt, died of vomiting and ‘blood in the urine’ associated with the pink cough. Christian IV survived the Dutch curse with no major ill effects, but his children were less fortunate. His son Frederick [who would later have become King Frederick III], succumbed to delirium. The designated heir, Prince Christian, survived with severe scarring of his lungs that caused him breathing problems and vulnerability to infection, and which ultimately would shorten his life. Georg Wilhelm, Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia, was permanently invalided by breathing problems, and for governance he largely relied on his Catholic chancellor, Adam, Count of Schwarzenberg.

The disease casualties were heavy for both sides’ armies, but for the moment this worked in Denmark’s favour. With Tilly’s death and the related chaos, the armies of the Catholic League were temporarily withdrawn. Danish forces liberated parts of Jutland, with Wallenstein forced to respond there and abandon his thoughts of Straslund. The result was a year of inconclusive manoeuvring in Jutland, with the two sides fighting several engagements but without a decisive victory. War exhaustion still told heavily on both sides, and by mid-1629 they sought peace terms.

The outcome, in April 1630, was an allohistorical Treaty of Lübeck. Denmark had its occupied possessions of Jutland and royal Holstein restored, and had their allies the Dukes of Mecklenburg likewise returned to their rule. This concession was significant because Wallenstein had confiscated estates in Mecklenburg; he was compensated by estates around Stettin in central Pomerania, which gave him the bonus of collecting tolls from river trade along the Oder. (There are benefits to being the chief negotiator.)

Denmark obtained a number of smaller concessions as part of the negotiations. The Duchy of Holstein was granted joint overlordship of Hamburg. Prince Ulric, Christian IV’s younger son, collected the titles of Prince-Bishop of Verden and Bishop of Schwerin, and was named as the heir of the Lutheran Prince-Bishop of Bremen, when the incumbent died.

In exchange for these concessions, Christian IV agreed to withdraw all Danish forces from elsewhere in the Holy Roman Empire, and not to provide any further support to Protestants in Germany [7].

Ferdinand II had only been generous with Denmark because the Imperial forces needed an end to external intervention to subdue the Protestant forces in southern Germany. To some degree he was successful, since during the de facto ceasefire in mid-1629 the Imperial forces acted against Protestant rulers in the south, even while the negotiations continued. In May 1629, Ferdinand II issued an Edict of Restitution which was similar to its historical counterpart in seeking to restore Catholic control over former ecclesiastical lands that had been taken over by Protestants since the Peace of Augsburg. The reaction to this Edict was similarly polarising.

The Treaty of Lübeck itself, though, gave the Emperor only momentary respite. For while the negotiations in Lübeck were drawing to a conclusion, a secondary wave of the Dutch curse swept through Sweden and Danish-ruled Norway. Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, caught the pink cough in May 1630, less than a month after the treaty was signed. He survived that cough with no major ill-effects, but by now the symptoms of the disease were notorious; Gustavus Adolphus knew that he faced a three-year wait to see whether he would be consumed by a fatal delirium.

Gustavus was of no mind to wait around for death. He had already been considering intervention in the Holy Roman Empire, in the name of the Protestant faith, and saw the Danish failure as a betrayal of the Protestant cause. Now, with Germany in chaos, glory beckoned, and he sought to secure his legacy. Swedish forces landed near Stettin in June 1630, with Gustavus Adolphus at their head and with conquest on his mind. He occupied Pomerania from a military standpoint, but did not yet lay formal claim to it, while using it as a base to push further into Germany.

As with Denmark before them, the Swedish cause was generously funded by French subsidies; the death of Richelieu did not mean the death of Realpolitik. Gustavus sought to bring Denmark back into the war, too, and offered the Baltic island of Rügen as an incentive. Christian IV declined the offer, though, on the grounds that he was too busy rebuilding his country. (Or, less charitably, too busy seeing which way the winds were blowing and looking for a legitimate causus belli.)

Despite their monarch’s grand intentions, the Swedes spent the remainder of 1630 consolidating alliances and control in northern Germany, most notably securing the alliance of the duchies of Mecklenburg. Diplomacy played a part here, too; France had also subsidised Bavaria to maintain neutrality, and wanted Sweden to honour this pact. The most notable battle of the year was fought near Brunow, in Mecklenburg, in September 1630, where the Swedish forces defeated Wallenstein’s personal army. Wallenstein remained politically suspect, but with the death of Tilly, the Emperor had no real alternative but to rely on Wallenstein to fight the Swedish.

In February 1631, in a deliberately timed announcement while winter still held, Brandenburg-Prussia confirmed its neutrality in “the matter of Sweden”. Brandenburg’s territories offered a useful route for Sweden to march further south, but neither the unwell Georg Wilhelm nor his Catholic chancellor trusted the Swedish monarch’s intentions.

Brandenburg’s neutrality blocked what was reportedly Gustavus Adolphus’s earliest intention: to march south and persuade or pressure the young John George II, the new Elector of Saxony, to take up the Protestant cause rather than follow his father’s previous support for the Empire.

Gustavus Adolphus chose, for the moment, to push into the Empire via a more westerly route, via Mecklenburg and Brunswick-Lüneburg, and thence toward Saxony. He knew that this would bring him into further conflict with Wallenstein and with the forces of the Catholic League, and hoped that another victory there would sway Brandenburg, Saxony and the lesser Protestant princes of northern Germany to his side.

In May 1631, the Swedish forces under Gustavus Adolphus again met Wallenstein’s forces near Brunlem, northeast of Hidesheim. Wallenstein’s forces had been bolstered by allies from the Catholic League, but this proved insufficient, and again the Swedes claimed the victory. The diplomatic consequences of this victory were immense; with Swedish military prowess confirmed, more of the Protestant princes in northern Germany began to pledge support, although Brandenburg and Electoral Saxony still reserved judgement. In turn, the victory alarmed Maximilian I of Bavaria, who had previously maintained neutrality due to French subsidies, but who now expressed support for the Catholic League.

These diplomatic manoeuvrings were soon overtaken by another devastating epidemic. In June 1631, the first word came of a strange, devastating form of influenza ravaging Ottoman lands. As the summer rolled on, this disease swept through Hungary and into the Holy Roman Empire, with the Habsburg lands of Austria and Bohemia the first victims.

This malady was recognisably a form of influenza, but with distinctive symptoms: a particularly intense fatigue immediately after onset, and the faces and lips of its victims turned blue. Europeans knew the disease as Turkish flu, and the Habsburgs in particular would have reason to fear it. For while Turkish flu was overall less deadly than the Dutch curse which preceded it, the new disease took a particularly heavy toll on young adults, including the men of military age. Armies were severely weakened on both sides as the Turkish flu swept through the Empire in 1631 and 1632.

The most prominent victims of Turkish flu were found among the Austrian Habsburgs themselves; the disease devastated their family. Contrary to what most people believed then and later, Ferdinand II, the Holy Roman Emperor, was not among those victims. On 6 September 1631, the Emperor died of pneumonia brought on by lung damage from the previous epidemic, the Dutch curse. His children, though, were of the most vulnerable age to the new epidemic, and the effects were devastating.

Ferdinand III had only succeeded his father for six weeks – and even then, not officially elected as Emperor – before he succumbed to the Turkish flu on 18 October 1631. His only brother, Archduke Leopold, did not even live that long, dying on 5 October. The only surviving children of Ferdinand II were two daughters, Cecilia Renata and Maria Anna, and Cecilia herself survived only a few more weeks, dying on 9 November.

The only surviving close male relative of the Austrian Habsburgs was a three-year old boy, Ferdinand Charles, Archduke of Further Austria, posthumous son of the elder Leopold who had died from the Dutch curse. This unfortunate child had never known his father, but on his young shoulders rested the legacy of the Austrian Habsburgs. As the poet Johannes Schmidt would later write in a much-quoted line: “Only one heir, young and slender, but a host of pretenders.”

Chaos was the initial result on all sides, with all previous plans forgotten by the new circumstances of no clear Emperor, and what seemed liked a divine blow to dispossess the Austrian Habsburgs.

The fastest monarch to move was Maximilian I of Bavaria. His first wife had already been ill, and died of the Turkish flu in October. While Maximilian mourned his wife, this did not stop him seeking the most politically promising replacement: Maria Anna, Archduchess of Austria. Maximilian hastened to Vienna, where he paid his respects to both dead Ferdinands, but took the opportunity to more or less force Maria Anna into marriage [8]. Based on this marriage and existing Bavarian claims, Maximilian began to make overtures about the possibility of acquiring Inner Austria, Bohemia, and the entirety of the Palatinate.

In Bohemia, the restive Protestant population began fresh calls for a Protestant monarch. In Denmark, Christian IV started to consider whether to abolish his peace deal with the Empire. In Brandenburg and Saxony, the respective Electors pondered what was usually a simple decision: who should be elected Emperor.

And, in his exile in The Hague, Frederick V, Elector Palatine, saw what seemed divine opportunity. He had already been more fortunate than he had been hisotrically; the disruptions of the Dutch curse meant he never suffered the boating accident in 1629 that invalided him, and his heir Henry Frederick also survived. Acting on this apparent miracle, Frederick V not only reasserted his claims on his ancestral lands of the Palatinate, but proclaimed a much bolder bid: he sought to be named Holy Roman Emperor.

The election of a new Emperor required the votes of four out of the seven Electors: the three spiritual Electors, the Archbishops of Mainz, Trier, and Cologne, and the four lay Electors, the King of Bohemia, the Margrave of Brandenburg, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, and the Duke of Saxony.

This election, already contentious, was made even more controversial because of rival claimants to some of the electoral titles. Maximilian I asserted his vote as Elector Palatine, which had been awarded to him when Frederick V was outlawed, but this claim was not universally recognised. Frederick V himself still claimed this title, even in his exile.

Likewise, the Austrian Habsburgs claimed the title of King of Bohemia, and while the majority of the Empire had backed that claim, the people of Bohemia were themselves more supportive of Frederick V.

Naming an Emperor would prove problematic since not all of the claimants could even meet the Electors during their deliberations; Frederick V was, after all, still outlawed within the Empire. The election was managed, at first, by the various Electors publicly stating their preferences or, in some cases, by rather more publicly not stating any preference.

The three spiritual Electors were undecided whether to back Ferdinand Charles or another Catholic prince. The young Ferdinand Charles did not even speak on his own behalf, but his Habsburg relatives had named his Spanish cousin, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand, as his regent. Insofar as the spiritual Electors took a position, the Archishops of Trier and Mainz broadly favoured the Habsburg claim; it was entirely coincidental, of course, that they were neighbours to the Spanish Habsburgs. The Archbishop of Cologne did not express any position publicly, but privately preferred to support whoever was named by his brother, Maximilian I of Bavaria.

Frederick V continued to assert that he had claims both as King of Bohemia and Elector Palatine, even though the Catholics did not recognise these claims. Of course, he faced another problem: one man could not claim two votes as an Elector. Frederick V devised a novel solution, abdicating as Count Palatine in favour of his son Henry Frederick. As well as the immediate benefit of a claim for two electoral votes, he knew that this meant that even if he lost his claim to Bohemia, his son would have a greater chance of retaining the Palatinate.

Ferdinand Charles – or, more precisely, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand – claimed the electoral vote of Bohemia, but the Protestants did not recognise this claim. Indeed, John George II, the new Elector of Saxony, was far less cautious than his father, and more inclined to listen to his Protestant relations. He publicly proclaimed his support for Frederick V as Holy Roman Emperor.

Georg Wilhelm of Brandenburg vacillated, as he had done throughout much of his reign. He mistrusted the Swedes and Saxons both, but was caught between them, so voting for any Catholic candidate could have proved problematic. In the end, he reluctantly announced support for Frederick V, hoping that a Calvinist Emperor would in turn have influence to help him with the Seudo-Saxon vice now gripping his country.

In the midst of all the electoral manoeuvring, Maximilian I found himself in an odd position. He had refused to become a candidate for the Imperial throne over a decade before, but now ambition tempted once more. He had at least two Electoral votes, if he chose to make a bid. However, the practice was that electoral votes could not be recast once made, and so he held off his own claims to the Imperial crown while he evaluated the situation.

Eventually, Maximilian decided that he could not secure the Imperial diadem, and opted for a compromise which suited his interests almost as well. At the time, Ferdinand Charles had already been named as heir to Further Austria and Tyrol, but had never been named as ruler of Inner Austria, since that title was held by Ferdinand III until his death.

Through his marriage to Maria Anna, Maximilian asserted his right to inherit Inner Austria [9], and for continued imperial recognition of his right to the Upper Palatinate, including the Electoral vote. In exchange, he yielded his family claim to Bohemia. That left Ferdinand Charles with Further Austria, Bohemia, Silesia, parts of Hungary and Croatia, and the Lower Palatinate. With that deal concluded, Maximilian I exercised his vote as Elector Palatine, and named Ferdinand Charles as Holy Roman Emperor, with Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand (formerly of Spain, now of Austria) as regent [10].

In March 1632, after Maximilian’s proclamation, the spiritual Electors fell into line behind him, announcing their support for Ferdinand Charles as the Holy Roman Emperor.

That now meant there were five votes for Ferdinand Charles: three Archbishop-Electors, Maximilian as Elector Palatine, and Ferdinand Charles himself as King of Bohemia. However, Frederick V also claimed four votes: the Duke of Saxony, the Margrave of Brandenburg, Frederick V himself as King of Bohemia, and his son Henry Frederick as Elector Palatine.

Two men thus claimed the title of Holy Roman Emperor. With good reason, the third stage of the war would be known to allohistory as the War of the Habsburg Succession.

Under Gustavus Adolphus’s aegis, most of the Protestant states in Germany formed the Protestant Union, a successor of sorts to the earlier Protestant Union which had been dissolved in 1621 at the order of Ferdinand II. The Union formally backed Frederick V as the Holy Roman Emperor. The notable exceptions were the Danish-aligned areas of north-western Germany, which remained neutral, and Brandenburg, which granted Sweden transit rights into Habsburg lands, but did not join the war.

Still in exile in the Netherlands, Frederick V did not have an army of his own, but soon found support. Under the guidance of chief minister De Chaulnes, France continued to provide aid to anyone who fought against the Habsburgs. The subsidies which had previously been provided to Bavaria were now redirected to Frederick V, and with those funds he raised a fresh army of his own.

The Catholic forces in the War of the Habsburg Succession fought in the name of the Holy Roman Emperor, but in practice there were two powers that mattered: the Spanish, fighting on behalf of their Austrian cousins and seeking to bring them more into their orbit; and the Catholic League, dominated by Bavaria, which fought against the Protestants with religious fervour, but which also quietly opposed having too strong an Emperor.

The military campaigning in 1632-3 had two main theatres. In eastern Germany, the Swedes and Saxons sought to occupy the Habsburgs possessions of Bohemia and Silesia. The conquest of Bohemia was in the name of Frederick V, although Saxony expected to gain some concessions there, while Sweden had designs on Silesia. Gustavus Adolphus also had plans for his legacy: while Frederick V might be named King of Bohemia, so far his heir had been designated as ruler of the Palatinate only. Gustavus wanted to have his daughter Kristina named as heir to Bohemia after Frederick V’s death. In the west, Frederick V fought against the Spanish and sought to reconquer the Palatinate.

The Bohemian campaign saw what became the most notorious action of an already destructive war. The Protestant population of Bohemia were already resentful of Habsburg rule, and viewed the death of Ferdinand II and the subsequent chaos as an invitation to revolt. Unfortunately, their actions were premature. Wallenstein fought against the Protestants in Silesia, and while he could not force a decisive victory, he was capable enough to keep the Swedes and Saxons busy there while the Bohemian revolt was quelled.

The task of subduing Bohemia fell to the Catholic League, which essentially meant Bavaria. Since the death of Tilly, Count Johann von Aldringen had taken command of the League’s armies. He hastened to Bohemia, and sought to subdue the Bohemians with fire and sword. Aldringen routed the Bohemian Protestant militias, and encircled Prague in a siege which lasted eight months, from April to November 1632.

The city finally fell after parts of the walls were mined, and the League’s forces broke into the city. The attacking troops went berserk, massacring most of the inhabitants. Prague caught fire during the final assault, although reports differed as to whether it had been fired by the defenders to deny it to the enemy, or if the fires had been set by the attacking troops. In any event, before Aldringen regained control of his troops, most of the city had been ruined and its inhabitants killed.

No-one knew exactly how many people were killed in the sack of Prague. The city had around sixty thousand inhabitants before the war started, and many of them had died or fled the city during the first Bohemian revolt, but nonetheless, tens of thousands died from fire or the sword. After it was over, Prague had fewer than four thousand inhabitants left alive.

By all reports, Aldringen did not plan or authorise the massacre. Nevertheless, his name became associated with it, and for Protestants in Germany from that time on, the Sack of Prague, on 20 November 1633, became a day which would live in ignominy. From that time on, whenever Catholic forces tried to surrender or sought quarter, the common Protestant response was to offer “Prague justice” and execute them [11].

Silesia fell more or less entirely to the Swedes and Saxons by November 1633, too late to spare the people of Prague. The Suedo-Saxon forces could not move into Bohemia until the following spring. When they did, the war-ravaged population were sympathetic to the Protestants, but could offer little tangible support.

Wallenstein had gradually reformed his armies after the plagues and defeats, and had started to refine his tactics to counter the Swedish advantages. In addition, he was reinforced by Aldringen. Between them, these two generals held their own in two major battles against the Protestants; neither side could inflict a major defeat on the other.

In the circumstances, Wallenstein took it upon himself to try to mediate a peace between Sweden and the Empire. The content of these negotiations has been lost to history, but the rumour was that he disliked the Edict of Restitution, and that he sought to present the new Emperor with a peace treaty as a fait accompli.

Regardless of the reason, with the rumours that Wallenstein was negotiating with the enemy, he was deemed to be a traitor. The Cardinal Regent gave orders for his assassination, but Wallenstein was warned, and in early May responded by changing sides to the Protestant cause, taking his personal army with him.

The defection of Wallenstein and his forces should have been seen as a great boost to the Swedish cause. But it coincided with a rather more monumental event. Throughout the first week of May, Gustavus Adolphus had been suffering from headaches and a creeping fever. On 10 May, the same day that Wallenstein announced his defection, Gustavus suffered a seizure.

This seizure was not severe in itself, but confirmed a hideous truth. Gustavus Adolphus had held off the delirium for three years, an astonishing length of time, but this seizure meant that he had not been spared from the second stage of the Dutch curse after all. From here, death was inevitable, and sanity itself would slowly slip away.

The Swedish monarch took advantage of what moments of sanity remained. He issued his final orders, and dictated his last testament, which would be nicknamed “The Legacy of the Lion”. In that testament he laid out his vision for Sweden, including how he foresaw a future where “on every shore of the Baltic flies the yellow cross on blue”, and that the recently-founded outpost of Gustavsburg [Bangor, Maine] would become the capital of “a New Sweden over the waves”. One of his final orders was that his daughter Kristina be named as heir-presumptive to the throne of Bohemia, and that she become engaged to her cousin Karl Gustav [12].

Gustavus Adolphus suffered repeated seizures for two more weeks, and on 27 May slipped into a coma from which he would never awake. He died on 3 June 1633. After his death the Swedish campaign in Bohemia and Bavaria lost focus. Wallenstein, while now fighting for the Protestants, also counselled that informal inquiries be made to see what peace terms the Catholics would consider.

In the western theatre during 1632-1633, the Spanish-led Catholics had more success. Frederick V had raised a new army, but could not establish a strong position within the Empire. He found support from Calvinist rulers such as William V, Landgrave of Hesse-Kessel, but he could not make much headway against the Spanish. Frederick V was only spared major defeat because the Spanish were also busy in their separate war with the Netherlands; the Dutch had invaded the Spanish Netherlands and besieged Antwerp.

The course of the war took another turn in 1634, thanks to another consequence of the plagues. The Duchy of Lorraine had a long history, but just before the plagues swept through, there were only three surviving male members of the House of Lorraine: the former Duke Francis II (who had abdicated in 1624 and would die in 1632), and his two sons, Nicolas and Charles. Nicolas had taken holy orders and was now a cardinal, while Charles had been ruling the duchy as Charles IV since 1624, although he had yet to father a male heir.

Both brothers caught the Dutch curse, but survived; Charles IV escaped the pink cough with no significant symptoms, while Nicolas Francis was reportedly “fatigued” ever since (later physicians would interpret this as mild scarring of the lungs). Four years later, when the Turkish flu swept through Lorraine on its way into France, Charles IV was among his victims, dying suddenly on 9 February 1632. Nicolas Francis caught the disease too, and became even more “fatigued”, but he was now the only heir to the duchy apart from an elderly and ill Francis II.

Much diplomacy ensued, as France in particular had a keen interest in who would rule Lorraine, and Spain did not want a hostile ruler to threaten their Spanish Road. Of course, there was only one possible heir. Nicolas, a man of devout faith, did not want to resign as cardinal, but did not see that he had any choice. He relinquished his religious offices, married his cousin Claude Françoise [as he did historically in 1634] and became Duke Nicholas II of Lorraine.

Sadly, the legacy of two respiratory illness had taken their toll on Nicholas’s health, and left him vulnerable to further diseases. In early 1634, he caught an unexpected chill and died of pneumonia on 30 January. The Duchy of Lorraine was now heirless.

Three claims emerged on the vacant Duchy of Lorraine. Gaston, Duke of Orléans, had married Marguerite of Lorraine (Charles and Nicolas’s sister) in 1631 [13], and through this marriage, he asserted a claim to Lorraine.

Two more distant claimants appeared, although their claims were mired in another unresolved succession dispute within the Empire. Francis II’s sister Antoinette had married John William, Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg, although that marriage had produced no children. After John William’s death, the succession of the Duchy was contested through John William’s surviving sisters. Those claims had passed to the Catholic Wolfgang William, Count Palatine of Neuburg, and the Calvinist Georg Wilhelm I, Elector of Brandenburg-Prussia. Both of them asserted their claims on the entirety of Jülich-Cleves-Berg, and through the same descent, they both laid claim to Lorraine.

The Orleanist claim was notionally the strongest, but few within the Empire were willing to let the claim to a potential heir to the French throne. Within France, both King Louis III and De Chaulnes were broadly satisfied with the course of the war (ie the Habsburgs getting curtailed). They were not prepared to invade directly in support of Orleans’ claim, since it risked giving Spain a reason to become even more involved in the war.

Cardinal-Regent Ferdinand was eventually called to arbitrate the disputed succession. After some consideration, he deemed that Georg Wilhelm’s claim was the strongest, and awarded the House of Hohenzollern the Duchy of Lorraine.

Near-simultaneously, and entirely coincidentally, Georg Wilhelm declared that he had considered his position on the matter of the imperial election, and had decided to vote for Ferdinand Charles. That led Ferdinand Charles to proclaim that he was now uncontested Holy Roman Emperor, since he had enough votes to assume the imperial dignity, regardless of how the claims to Bohemia and the Palatinate were viewed.

Protests followed from Sweden, Saxony and even from Christian IV of Denmark, who argued that electoral votes could not be changed once cast. The three spiritual Catholic Electors, though, said (with remarkably straight faces) that the Elector of Brandenburg was simply clarifying what would otherwise be an impossible election. From this point on, Ferdinand Charles was broadly if grudgingly recognised as Emperor, and Frederick V’s position was near-fatally weakened.

All the same, retaliation followed. Christian IV had already been considering re-entering the war. Partly out of frustration at the failure of Frederick V to become Emperor, partly because Sweden re-offered the island of Rügen as an incentive, partly wanting to have a voice in any broader peace negotiations, and mostly to secure the claims which had been granted to Prince Ulric, Christian IV declared war on the Emperor once more. His public justification was that the peace he had concluded had been one made personally with Wallenstein, but now that he had changed sides, the peace was void.

Sweden and Saxony, in turn, declared war on Georg Wilhelm. Their plans for an invasion of Bavaria were abandoned as they adopted defensive positions in Bohemia and turned on the House of Hohenzollern. Brandenburg was invaded and overrun in 1634, although Prussia itself was left alone to avoid any risk of Polish intervention.

With Wallenstein’s defection and Denmark’s re-entry into the war, the burden of defending Catholicism and the Emperor fell largely to Spain. The Spanish found themselves fighting on three fronts: against the Dutch in the Spanish Netherlands and nearby regions, against the combined forces of Denmark and Frederick V who pushed into south-western Germany and threatened Cologne and Munster, and in the east where they fought with the Catholic League against the Swedes and Saxons in Bohemia, and at times in Austria and Bavaria.

The weight of numbers told against the Spanish, though some of their generals were still capable of remarkable victories. Most notably, Gómez Suárez de Figueroa, Duke of Feria, took command of the Imperial forces in Bohemia and Bavaria. He routed the Swedish forces in the Battle of Deggendorf in August 1635; the first decisive defeat of the seemingly-invincible Swedes. The action in that theatre returned to Bohemia, as the already-ravaged province suffered even more predation from the war [14].

Despite a few victories, Spain paid an immense cost to support the war. The population at home had already been severely reduced by the plagues, particularly the disproportionate loss of young adults from the Turkish flu. Military recruitment drew more young men into the army to fill those gaps, leading to less productive farms and towns. That, together with the spiralling war costs, led to repeated increases in taxation, to the point where many of the people found themselves unable to pay.

The result, in March and April 1636, was near-simultaneous revolts in Catalonia and Portugal. The former was an unplanned uprising which led to the formation of an irregular militia to fight against Spanish rule – or at least against Spanish taxation. The latter was a meticulously-planned coup organised by discontented Portuguese nobility who believed that the increases in taxation were planned to bankrupt them and hand their lands over to Spanish aristocrats. The Portuguese nobles, with popular support, named John, Duke of Braganza, as the new monarch.

Faced with these internal troubles and an ever more difficult military situation, Philip IV of Spain sought peace negotiations. For their part, most of the Protestant nations in Germany were exhausted by nearly two decades of war. Denmark had re-entered the war with the aim mainly of securing its earlier gains, plus some minor further concessions, and was willing to negotiate any peace which secured those goals. Without the driving leadership of Gustavus Adolphus, and facing some military reversals, Sweden was also prepared to discuss peace terms. The only parties who preferred to continue the war were the Emperor Ferdinand Charles, who was too young to be taken seriously, and the anti-Emperor Frederick V, who had no capacity to keep fighting if his allies deserted him.

Peace negotiations opened in Nuremberg in September 1636. Separate negotiations between the Dutch and the Spanish began a month later in Hamburg. These negotiations dragged on for nearly two years, and the fighting continued in the interim, as both sides sought to use military gains to their diplomatic advantage. Denmark, in particular, pushed south into Munster and Cologne during 1638, although it found little gain from doing so, since both the Netherlands and the other Protestant German powers were rather unwelcoming of any further Danish gains within Germany.

Peace finally came in August 1638, in two separate treaties. The Peace of Nuremberg was signed between the Holy Roman Emperor, Spain, Bavaria and allies, and Sweden, Denmark, and allies, and ended what would become known as the Twenty Years’ War. The separate Peace of Hamburg between the Dutch and Spanish saw final recognition of the Netherlands as an independent nation outside of the Holy Roman Empire, and ended what would be known as the Seventy Years War.

*

Between them, the two peace treaties signed in 1638 remade the Holy Roman Empire. The accord at Hamburg recognised formally what had been truth for some time; that the Netherlands were not and would never again want to be part of the Empire. The pact at Nuremberg contained a great many provisions both of territorial changes and of other guarantees, but the most important part was not written into the treaty: the greater princes of the Empire had become rulers of de facto independent states.

The Peace of Hamburg settled the differences between Spain and the Netherlands, both within Europe and across their sprawling colonial empires. In Europe, the Dutch gained what they most craved: formal recognition of their independence from Spain. The Peace also recognised their various territorial acquisitions during the later stages of the war, ie the seizing of Antwerp and its environs, and the separate conquests of Upper Guelders and eastern Limburg. Likewise, the Dutch ceded all claims to the remainder of the Spanish Netherlands [15].

Outside of Europe, the Peace recognised the current colonial borders between Spain and the Netherlands, although it remained distinctly silent about the status of Portugal. Most notably, Spain recognised the Dutch acquisitions in northern Brazil, and “all existing Dutch territory in the East Indies”, a term which in the understanding of the times included the existing Dutch claims in Aururia (mostly the Atjuntja).

The Peace of Nuremberg followed the same broad principles as the historical Peace of Westphalia in terms of recognising the established religion of particular states, tolerance of Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists in each others’ territories (the Anabaptists and other radical faiths were still excluded), and acceptance of the sovereignty of each member state over its lands and people. Likewise, it recognised the independence of Switzerland and the Netherlands from the Empire.

Much else changed, though.

Perhaps the most dramatic transformation was that involving the Hohenzollerns [ie the former royal family of Brandenburg-Prussia]. That family’s former territories of Brandenburg-Prussia were lost entirely, being divided up between other powers. Instead, the Hohenzollerns were recognised in their control of Lorraine. With the Emperor backing their claims, the Hohenzollerns also gained control of the entirety of Cleve-Mark and Jülich-Berg [16].

In one of the many odd bits of diplomacy which characterised the Peace of Nuremberg, the Hohenzollerns were also made the Prince-Bishops of Würzburg. This bishopric bordered Bavarian lands, and had been occupied by the Protestant powers late in the war. During the peace negotiations, the Hohenzollerns repeatedly sought to regain their lands in Brandenburg, but were unable to do so. They were awarded Würzburg as a compromise. This was given a veneer of legitimacy because the House of Hohenzollern, several centuries earlier, had started as Burgraves of neighbouring Nuremberg. As a practical matter, awarding Würzburg to the Hohenzollerns meant that with their relatives ruling neighbouring territories in Bayreuth and Ansbach, there was now a united front to block potential Bavarian expansion in this area.

As a result of the Twenty Years’ War, the Hohenzollerns were thus transformed from a growing power in north-eastern Germany to a regional power in south-western Germany. The Electoral dignity continued with their house [17], and they were henceforth known as Electors of Lorraine rather than Electors of Brandenburg. As soon as the treaty was signed, the invalided Georg Wilhelm abdicated his throne, leaving his eighteen-year-old son Friedrich Wilhelm [who would historically have been called the Great Elector] as the new Elector of Lorraine, with his Catholic Chancellor Schwarzenberg as de facto regent for the first few years [18].

In all of their territories, the Calvinist faith became the established religion. While Friedrich Wilhelm would in fact turn out to practice religious toleration, in the first couple of years, many Catholics in Lorraine and Jülich-Berg fled Hohenzollern territories for some of their Catholic neighbours.

Bavaria emerged from the Peace of Nuremberg as one of the major powers within the Holy Roman Empire. In the treaty, Bavaria gained formal recognition of the territories it had previously acquired in Inner Austria and the Upper Palatinate. It also gained confirmation of the Electoral dignity which had previously belonged to the Palatinate, although as happened historically, Maximilian would usually be called the Elector of Bavaria rather than Elector Palatine.

The Austrian Habsburgs, while still confirmed as Holy Roman Emperors, found themselves holding more scattered possessions. They maintained their rule of Austria proper, Further Austria, Tyrol, and their Hungarian and Croatian possessions outside the Empire. The Habsburgs also took control of the Lower Palatinate. Bavaria was confirmed as ruler of Inner Austria, and Silesia was ceded to Sweden.

The Habsburgs also held onto most of Bohemia, with a couple of exceptions, through another political compromise. The arrangement reached (at Swedish and Saxon insistence) was that Frederick V would be King of Bohemia until the Peace of Nuremberg was ratified by the Emperor, but that after that he would cede control to the Habsburgs. As part of that arrangement, Frederick V recognised the religion of Bohemia as Lutheran. In keeping with the broader principles of the Nuremberg treaty, the established religions of Imperial states were those which were recognised by monarchs at the time of ratification. Any later conquests or acquisitions by princes of a different faith, or conversion of particular princes, did not change the established religion of that territory. So, under this arrangement, Bohemia had a Catholic monarch ruling a Protestant territory, and who could be required to persecute Catholics in that territory who broke the restrictions on public worship [19].

A few territories in Bohemia were separated entirely from Habsburg rule. Two members of the House of Lichtenstein were kept as rulers of the Duchy of Teschen (under Gundakar) and the Duchy of Troppau & Jägerndorf (under Karl II Eusebius); two small, officially Catholic islands in a Protestant sea. Wallenstein, that most morally supple and politically flexible general, was confirmed in his control of the core of his confiscated Bohemian estates, as the independent Duchy of Friedland.

Denmark did not make many direct territorial gains from the Peace of Nuremberg itself beyond what had previously been recognised at the Treaty of Lübeck. However, these gains became more important because when the Treaty of Lübeck was signed in 1630, Prince Ulric (a younger son of the King of Denmark), was named Prince-Bishop of Verden, Bishop of Schwerin, and the designated heir of the Lutheran Prince-Archbishop of Bremen. Since that time, John Frederick, Prince-Archbishop of Bremen died in September 1634, and Denmark’s Chosen Prince [ie designated heir] Frederick died in February 1637, leaving Ulric as ruler of Verden, Schwerin and Bremen, and heir to the Danish crown. This made his inheritance more contentious, to say the least, but Denmark successfully had Ulric’s claims recognised at Nuremberg.

As part of the peace treaty, Denmark also successfully argued for a “clarification” of the Treaty of Lübeck that the claim on Bremen included the city of Bremen, not just the surrounding Archbishopric. It also obtained recognition of the island of Rügen as its territory [20]. Christian IV established Rügen as a personal possession of the Danish crown, because of his ancestral claim to be King of Vends. As a practical matter, that meant that Rügen was withdrawn from the Empire and placed under personal control of the Danish monarch; neither the Holy Roman Empire (via the Reichstag), the Emperor, or the Rigsraadet (the Danish Council of the Realm) had any say on the governance of Rügen.

Of all the powers, Sweden gained the most from the Twenty Years’ War and the Peace of Nuremberg. Sweden took control of all of Pomerania, except for Rügen and for the minor realm of the Bishopric of Cammin, held by Ernst Bogislaw von Croÿ, the grandson of the last independent Duke of Pomerania. With the partition of Brandenburg, Sweden gained eastern Mittelmark and Neumark (with the rest going to Saxony). Most valuable of all, in territorial terms, was Silesia, which Sweden detached from the Bohemian crown and claimed as its own territory. In exchange, Sweden recognised Habsburg rule of Bohemia proper (after Frederick V handed it over to them), and abandoned Christina’s claim as Queen of Bohemia. In turn, Sweden was recognised as the defender of the Protestant faith in Germany. As part of the conquest of these new territories, Sweden more or less broke all of the local noble estates in these acquisition; the Swedish monarchs had absolute power in their new territories [21].

The Electorate of Saxony was another power which gained considerably from the war. As well as western Brandenburg (Altmark and western Mittelmark), Saxony gained Lusatia, Magdeburg, and Mansfeld. These new acquisitions gave Saxony some regions with rich soils and considerable potential agricultural wealth. As with Sweden, Saxony broke the power of the local estates in its new acquisitions, which were largely ruled directly by the monarchy.

As a result of the war, Saxony also gained control of most of the Elbe between Denmark-Holstein and Bohemia. The exception was the Duchy of Saxe-Lauenburg, backed by the restored Dukes of Mecklenburg, who did not want to be the only state standing between Denmark and Sweden.

With Brandenburg proper swallowed by Sweden and Saxony, the Hohenzollern territories of Prussia were given to Courland, since any Swedish claims would have risked Polish intervention.

As for Frederick V himself, former Elector Palatine, one-time contender for the Imperial Crown, while he lived longer allohistorically, he did not end up much happier. The Imperial Ban on him remained even when almost everyone else was pardoned, his title as Count of the (Lower) Palatinate was still lost, and he lived out a longer but still mostly unhappy exile in the Netherlands.

His eldest son, Frederick Henry, was more fortunate. The Protestant princes were rather concerned about the prospect of having a son losing his titles for the actions of his father. No number of remonstrations could persuade the Habsburgs to grant the Lower Palatinate to Frederick Henry, for the Habsburgs themselves were feeling like they had lost too much territory. As a compromise, a new Duchy of Münster was created and granted to Frederick Henry. Unlike what happened historically, though, this did not lead to Frederick Henry being granted a new Electoral dignity. Frederick V was still alive and held in too much contempt to be given such a new honour; the number of Electors remained, for the moment, only seven.

The Habsburg acquisition of the Lower Palatinate also meant that this territory was recognised as Catholic rather than Calvinist. This would lead, in time, to large-scale emigration of Calvinists, particularly to now-Calvinist Lorraine, and also to Münster.

All in all, the Peace of Nuremberg reshaped the map of the Holy Roman Empire, nearly broke the power of the Austrian Habsburgs, and created some new or increased powers whose appetite for expansion had only been whetted by this war, no matter what its length.

* * *

“I did not expect to find the kingdom of Bohemia so lean, wasted and spoiled, for between Prague and Vienna everything has been razed to the ground and hardly a living soul can be seen on the land.”
- Swedish Field Marshal Johan Banér to Chancellor Axel Oxenstierna, 1635

* * *

"The road to absolutism began with the Twenty Years' War."

- Lars Løvschøld, "The Development of Early Modern Europe"

* * *

[1] Defenestration is one of those words which sounds even worse than it is.

[2] ie according to a certain online encyclopaedia.

[3] This consideration involving the Emperor recognising Saxon control of the region of Lusatia.

[4] The Palatinate held strategic significance out of all proportion to its size, because it was the only non-friendly territory on the land route which the Spanish used to attack the Dutch Republic after 1621 (the Spanish Road).

[5] Although as with just about any concept in politics or history, there’s innumerable arguments on this topic, such as whether it was Westphalia which established the principle of sovereignty, or even if there is such a thing as Westphalian sovereignty.

[6] John George’s actual cause of death was kidney failure caused by side-effects of the pink cough, although the medical science at the time had no way of determining that.

[7] The terms of the allohistorical Treaty of Lübeck are more generous to Denmark than their historical counterpart (where Denmark essentially got its occupied lands back in exchange for withdrawing from the HRE). Allohistorically, the Imperial forces are more hard-pressed due to Tilly’s death and reliance on the less than trustworthy Wallenstein as their main general. Ferdinand II was rather more concerned with the cessation of Danish support for other Protestant rulers, so that he could focus his efforts on quelling them. The additional concessions which Denmark obtained were at the expense of other Protestant rulers, so Ferdinand II decided he could tolerate that, although it did leave Denmark with a stronger position in northern Germany.

[8] Or, at the very least, Maria Anna may have seen Maximilian I as the least unpalatable of the alternatives.

[9] ie Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and the Windic March, Gorizia, the city of Trieste and assorted smaller possessions.

[10] Bavaria had not actually been a particularly powerful nation with the Empire before this time, but several factors granted Maximilan I his decisive influence. Firstly, his quick action to marry Maria Anna gave him a useful claim on large chunks of the Habsburg heritage, in an era where existing holdings were often divided. Secondly, his French alliance gave him a useful chunk of cash, which he used both to raise troops and for some notable bribes. Thirdly, while not everyone recognised the Bavarian claims to an electorate, the Habsburgs already had, which made it more important for them to keep Bavaria onside.

[11] A similar term arose after the historical sack of Magdeburg on 20 May 1631. Allohistorically, Magdeburg was spared a similar sack, since the Protestants and Catholics largely fought in other theatres.

[12] Karl Gustav would historically become King Karl X Gustav of Sweden in 1654, after Kristina’s abdication.

[13] Historically, Gaston and Marguerite met in Lorraine when Gaston fled there after taking refuge from Cardinal Richelieu’s wrath, and were married a year later than happened allohistorically (ie in 1632). In allohistory, Gaston became friendly with De Chaulnes, the post-Richelieu chief minister, met Marguerite earlier while visiting Lorraine, and had no problem gaining royal recognition for his marriage.

[14] The consequences of the war and the plagues lead to more extensive depopulation of Bohemia, since more of the fighting is conducted there. After the war, this will lead to more German emigration into the emptier land; in the long run, more of the population will be Germanophone.

[15] With the seizure of Antwerp the Dutch could, in fact, have acquired rather more of the Spanish Netherlands; they had captured the main port which allowed the Spanish access to that region. The Dutch did not push further for a combination of foreign policy and domestic political reasons. The Dutch preferred to have a weakened Spain there as a buffer against gaining a land border with the French. The Dutch were also opposed to too much expansion because of domestic concerns; it would require greater military expenditure, and so risked increasing the power of the Stadtholder.

[16] The Jülich-Berg and Cleve-Mark split was related to the previously mentioned dispute over the Lorraine succession. As had happened historically, the former United Duchies of Jülich-Cleves-Berg were disputed between the Catholic Count Palatine of Neuburg and the Hohenzollerns. This was eventually resolved historically by dividing it into the Catholic territories of Jülich-Berg (to Neuburg) and the Protestant territories of Cleve-Mark (to the Hohenzollerns). Allohistorically, with the Emperor supporting the Hohenzollerns and opposing anyone related to the anti-Emperor Frederick V of the Palatinate, the entirety of this region was given to the Hohenzollerns. The various Protestant powers, of course, hardly cared that territory was being taken from a minor Catholic prince to be handed to a Calvinist one.

[17] The Hohenzollerns kept their Electoral vote because a Protestant Elector was needed for religious balance within the Empire. No-one (apart from the Swedes themselves) wanted to have a Swedish claimant as Elector, so any claims which the Swedes might have made from annexing parts of Brandenburg were disregarded. Saxony, likewise, already had an Electoral vote and could thus not acquire any claims from taking the rest of Brandenburg. Raising another Protestant state to an Electorship was not in keeping with tradition, and in any case the main Protestant contender would have been Holstein (ie the King of Denmark as Duke of Holstein), which was no better than Sweden. So the Hohenzollerns kept the title and the vote, although as happened historically with Bavaria, they were soon usually called the Electors of Lorraine.

[18] From a historical point of view, the Hohenzollerns have done poorly here. From Lorraine, they are not in the same position to unify Germany as they would have done historically. From an immediate point of view, though, they have acquired some respectably wealthy territories and are if anything better off financially than they were before the war (although without gains such as Pomerania which they would have had historically).

[19] While this may sound odd to modern readers, a similar arrangement happened historically in Saxony, which was recognised as Protestant territory, but its monarchs converted to Catholicism. This led to Catholic monarchs persecuting Catholics in Saxony.

[20] Gaining Rügen and the city of Bremen was minor in territorial terms, but actually represented a huge financial windfall for the Danish monarchy, since it allowed them to tax North German trade. Combined with their other taxation opportunities (it’s not piracy if a government does it) from the Treaty of Lübeck, such as Hamburg, the Danish crown will find itself swimming in money over the next few decades.

[21] The new Swedish acquisitions have roughly doubled the country’s population. In the short term this strengthens them against their main rival, Poland. In the longer term, this means that Sweden has entered the big league of powers, and conversely it is also seen as much more threatening by its neighbours.

* * *

Thoughts?

 

[Jared]

Lands of Red and Gold #55: The Lord’s Prayer

Writing the next major instalment of Lands of Red and Gold – about the fate of Baffin’s expedition and related events – is taking me longer than I’d planned. In the meantime, here’s another brief glimpse into the future of the LRGverse.

* * *

“Knowing yourself is wisdom;
Knowing others is insight;
Knowing how to act is essential.”
- Congxie saying

* * *

Dawson (formerly Unega) [Montgomery, Alabama]
Alleghania

Sometimes, Myumitsi Makan feels that he has lived an eternity in this town that the unegas [1] call Dawson. Other times, he feels as if only yesterday he came to this town to make a new name and find men who could not remember his old name.

Tonight, he most definitely feels the former. In his head, he knows that it has been only three years since he first came to Dawson. Now, though, he looks upon the mass of Congxie who have come at his urging, and he thinks that it should have been much longer. Dawson has simply grown so fast. This place of mills [factories] and workshops, this place for the reshaping of cotton, iron, and timber, is a lodestone for the dispossessed, the adventuresome, and, amongst unegas, the avaricious.

The flickering whale oil lamps are not particularly bright, but they suffice to show him how many people have crowded into this place. A large Christian church, built most foolishly by optimistic unega plutocrats who believed that the Congxie would abandon the Seven-fold Path and become slaves to a hanged god.

Most days, even their Sundays, this church stands empty of Congxie. Tonight, though, it is filled to the rafters. Literally; the smaller child labourers have been passed up to where they can sit on the cross-beams.

Voices fill the church; the Congxie are not a quiet people at the best of times. Makan makes his way slowly to the pulpit to address the workers. For what will be a sermon, in fact, if not one which the Christian priests would endorse.

“Silence for Mr Jenkins!” several people call out, and by degrees, quiet falls. As quiet as a gathering of Congxie ever gets, that is.

“Tell us, Mr Jenkins!” someone calls out.

Makan smiles. Mister Jenkins. An essential honorific, that. Unegas would call him by his assumed surname alone, if they had their way, and the tale is that many of them used to try with other Congxie, in the first days. Newcomers to Dawson still try, often-times. They soon learn.

If Congxie are going to be called by a surname chosen in English, of all languages, then they will be shown respect. If an unega refers to him by surname alone, Makan hears only the wind. Most Congxie in Dawson act in like manner. It is this accomplishment, more than anything else, which has persuaded him to organise the morrow’s bold endeavour.

“My friends, this is the night for planning, and tomorrow is the day for decisiveness!”

“Say it, mister!” a woman shouts, to general acclaim.

Makan gives the woman a nod – Cordiality, he thinks her name is – and continues speaking. “Together we must stand,” he says, to another round of acclamation.

“Together, we must strike a great blow,” he says. “Our actions are born of new circumstances, in this new town the unegas have built.” On land they had forcibly stolen from the Congxie, but that is something which Makan does not let himself dwell on that.

“Remember: the unegas speak of this land as a new world. In truth, it never was new. Our forefathers dwelt here since time immemorial.” Relative silence falls, now. Is that because they are considering, or just that they are bored? He does not know, but this message still needs to be heard.

“The true new world comes from knowledge, not from exploration. This modern age is a time of machines, of learning how metal and timber can be crafted by the fires of the earth. This is the age of machines... and we labour in the mills for the bosses who own those machines.”

“We slave, you mean!” someone calls out.

“Oft-times, yes,” Makan says. “But hear me, my friends: there is more to this new age than just a few bosses who care naught for the difference between a slave and a Congxie.”

This time, he thinks that the silence is thoughtful. All to the good.

“This is a new world. A world with new ways of working. With new rules. There is no yindewarra [2]. No proper tradition.” He pauses again to let that be considered, then adds, “Even when the bosses are good men, they have no yindewarra to guide them how to act. Not in this new world, where the rules have changed.”

The crowd starts to descend into angry mutters. Makan says, “We must teach them new rules, proper rules. And we must do it together. If we stand alone, each of us will be nothing. Alone, all the power is with the owners. With the bosses. Only by acting together can we balance their power. We must stand in...” he pauses, hen chooses an English word, since it seems to fit better. “We must stand in solidarity.”

“Solidarity!” The crowd repeat the word over and over, until it becomes a chant.

When the noise subsides again, someone asks, “Can we really do this, Mr Jenkins?” The crowd believes it, of course, or they would not be here. All the same, they want reassurance.

Makan smiles broadly, even though he is not sure how many can make it out. Not for the first time, he is glad that he is known by an assumed surname. The surname Makan is not an auspicious one, these days.

“Remember our forefathers. Remember how the Congxie were born. They rejected the new rules which the unegas sought to impose on them, even then. They rose as one. They acted as one. And they triumphed!”

This time, cheers ring out. Once the crowd quietens again, he says, “Spread the word. Let everyone know. The mills will fall silent tomorrow. No Congxie will work at their mills, by their rules. We will not work tomorrow, and we will not work again until they listen to us.”

* * *

[1] “Unega” is literally translated as “white”; the word is of Cherokee origin. In the Congxie language, it has become one of their words for people of European descent. The word is not particularly respectful, although in Makan’s era it is not an explicit insult. (It would later become derogatory.)

[2] Yindewarra is a Congxie word which is roughly translated as “tradition”, but with stronger connotations: it refers to the proper, established way of doing things. In accordance with Plirite morality, people are expected to act with propriety, in accordance with their station and with established conducts of behaviour. Behaving without yindewarra is seen as breaking the Second Path. In an established Plirite society, it is a good way to get condemned, ostracised or, if a ruler, deposed.

* * *

Thoughts?