Lands of Red and Gold
- Thread starter Jared
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Properly up to date? I've just realised that the LoRaG text version on the DoD website is a few instalments out of date. I'll have to fix that soon.
Thanks.
DoD was, after all, my first timeline. I learned a lot from writing it, but it certainly has its flaws. I figure I can just try to do better this time.
Yeah, the version I had on the website only went up to post #32. I've just updated it to the latest (post #38).
On another note, are there any cartographers who feel up to drawing a more detailed map of the Yadji Empire and its environs? It will mean depicting both the Yadji themselves, and the various European arrivals during the next couple of posts (ie English and Dutch).
mojojojo
Gone Fishin'
I was watching a documentary about the fur industry a few days ago and it got me to thinking. Is it possible that quolls would be raised for their fur? They have a rather pretty coat that you don't see in a lot of animals (black with light colored spots),while I doubt there fur is as plush as a minks could that be achieved through selective breeding?
Lands of Red and Gold #39: Ripening Pods
Lands of Red and Gold #39: Ripening Pods
“No matter what their course in life, all men will fight one battle at their death.”
- Batjiri of Jurundit [Koroit, Victoria]
* * *
London, 1635. A city less crowded with people than ten years before, but it seems that it has become more crowded with rumours to make up the difference. Tales and gossip abound in the English capital; accounts factual and fanciful of the intent of their rulers, and of the world beyond the shores of their island.
Stories abound of the grand designs which the Duke Regent [1] has whispered into the ears of the infant monarch. Of plans for intervention on the Continent, in Germany or France or Spain. Rumours are rife of the inexorable fate that Sweden faces after its royal lion finally succumbed to the Waiting Death. Some gossipmongers claim that France itself will finally join the war on the Continent.
The wildest and most oft-repeated tales, though, are of a far more exotic locale. They feature the newer new world that the Dutch have discovered. Ten thousand rumours fill the streets, it seems, each one stranger than the last. The recently translated account “My Life in the South Land”, written by a Dutch sailor [2], has only added to the gossip.
The South Land. The Great Spice Island. Teegal. A land of strange crops, strange people, and stranger animals. A land of wealth and mystery, where even the most commonplace thing becomes part of the bizarre. A place where the trees keep their leaves on their branches all year round, while their bark falls off every winter. Or peppers which are first sweet to the tongue, then burn hotter than the most intense peppers ever known before.
A place of exotic mystery, a blend of promise and terror. Trees which smell like they come from another world, maybe hell, for they fuel fires that can consume the landscape in a heartbeat, while the trees themselves then regrow within weeks. A land inhabited by beasts of mystery. A race of half-men, half-rabbit creatures who can hop like rabbits but stand upright like men. A duck-otter with fur, a duck’s beak and which lays eggs.
Tales most of all about wealth for the taking, of spices and sandalwood and bullion. A drug so fine that it makes tobacco seem like sawdust. A land where the people have battled so intensely over the centuries that their blood has stained the dust red. But gold, above all there is gold. Gold so common that the natives use its dust to dye their hair blonde.
The directors of the English East India Trading Company have heard all of these rumours. Indeed, they have started a few of their own over the years, judiciously calculated to add to the interest in London for foreign ventures. Yet for all of their knowledge, they have not been in a position to act.
Ever since a truce signed in this very city in 1619, the English East India Company has been officially at peace with its Dutch counterpart, and claims a share of the trade from the Spice Islands. The peace has been strained at times, but not yet formally broken [3]. Alienating the Dutch risks losing a guaranteed share of the sure wealth of the Spice Islands, particularly for a company which needs to rebuild after the strains on manpower and finances caused by the plagues. So the directors have never acted, especially since the rumours seem so fantastic that they must be more myth than truth.
That peace, though, grows ever more precarious. The directors have heard, through sources much more reliable than the word on the street, that the new Duke Regent shares their frustration with the Dutch. That there has been discussion of alliance with Spain against them.
Word has come, of course, of what Spain achieved in their raid on the Dutch outpost in the South Land. Of what wealth it brought them. Now the Dutch grow ever more protective of their self-asserted monopoly... but thanks to the belligerence of the Regent, the directors wonder whether it is time to challenge the Dutch.
After much discussion, they decide to take the crucial first step. Commission a fleet to explore where the Dutch do not wish other Europeans to be. If they are discovered by the Dutch, well, they will have to deal with that problem then. It is time to find out how much truth lurks within these rumours.
The captain they choose for their fleet is named William Baffin.
* * *
Year of the Twisted Serpent [April 1636]
Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]
Durigal - Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)
“We draw near to Gurndjit,” the Islander said, in his passable Dutch.
William Baffin glanced port-side, following the Islander’s gaze, and saw nothing but waves and high clouds to the north. “How can you be sure?”
The Islander nodded, a gesture which Baffin had come to learn meant disbelief to these strange men. “How can you Inglidj sail so far around the world, and yet be blind to something so plain?”
Baffin shrugged. The Islander, who answered to the name of Jerimbee Manyilti, had an often-frustrating manner. In the voyage from the Island, he had been sometimes impressed by what he saw, but often contemptuous. His views of navigation were only the most recent example. Jerimbee had been effusive in his praise of the compass, but dismissive of the English charts as lacking details such as currents, and openly mocking of the English lack of knowledge of the stars.
Still, after all that, how could he be so sure that the Intrepid and the other Company ships were nearing the Yadji port? “What should I see?”
“Watch the waves,” Jerimbee said. “Can’t you see how they change when they pass the...” He paused, as if his Dutch had run out. “The shallowing shore?”
Baffin looked, but he could not see what the Islander meant. The waves were not breaking at all, and he could make out no pattern in the swells. Of course, this Islander had led ships along this route for years, according to his claims. Perhaps he knew the route better. “So should I turn the ship north?”
“Not yet,” Jerimbee said. “This is a dangerous shore. The winds and waves will drive you ship into the cliffs if you draw too near, and your Raw Men ships cannot sail properly into the wind.”
“When should we turn?”
“Soon,” replied Jerimbee. “I will tell you.”
Baffin shrugged again; it was something he found himself doing often around the Islander. Jerimbee asked many questions, and sometimes dismissed the answers, but remained endlessly curious. Still, he was worth tolerating, since he revealed a wealth of knowledge about this Great Spice Island. He could also serve as an interpreter; his Dutch was if anything better than Baffin’s own, and other Dutch-speaking sailors were on hand to clarify words, if needed.
This time, though, Jerimbee stayed silent, watching the waves, and sometimes glancing up at the sun. Judging its height, if Baffin understood that gaze properly.
“We near the cape,” Jerimbee said. “Turn north.”
Baffin snapped out orders, and the Intrepid started to turn to port. Trailing behind, the other ships of his fleet – Godspeed, Lady Harrington and Delight – did the same.
The breeze blew steadily off the port quarter, driving the ships easily before it, toward the north shore. Where the greatest empire in this South Land awaited them. The Yadji. A people both capricious and wealthy, according to all reports.
Back on the Island, most of its people had told him he was a fool for sailing there without invitation. Fortunately, one of their captains had thought otherwise. And been willing to join his voyage, in exchange for a rather heavy price. Still, some prices were worth paying.
Land appeared to the northwest, a rugged, cliff-lined shore. “Steer around the cape,” Jerimbee said, waving vaguely to starboard. “Gurndjit is in the bay behind.”
Sure enough, the rocky faces of the cliffs gave way to sandy beaches, then, as the ships steered further to port, to where a natural headland had been extended by a stone breakwater. The sheltered bay beyond it looked to offer protection against even the fiercest storms.
“A safe haven,” he murmured, and then realised he had spoken in English.
The Islander recognised the word haven, though; it was close enough to the Dutch word for port. “The Yadji built that sea wall because we asked them to,” he said. “It makes this a safe port; something they would not care about otherwise.”
“They build a port like this and then do not sail from it themselves?” Baffin asked. As the Intrepid tacked into the bay, he saw a few ships tied up at quays, but they looked to be tiny, primitive boats. Nothing like the relatively elegant Islander ships.
“Oh, a little here and there, but they know nothing of navigation,” Jerimbee said. “They fish, and move a few things along the coast, but they fear to sail at night.” He nodded. “The Yadji are a peculiar people. There is nothing they do not know about building with water, or in water, but they fear to sail into deep water. They think they will be separated from their god within the earth.”
“So this port is for you Islanders?” Baffin asked. It looked to be an impressive construction for a people who would not use it themselves.
Jerimbee laughed, as if he had discerned the intent behind Baffin’s words. “Yes, built for us. The Yadji are master builders; what they can accomplish with stone and water is without equal.”
Baffin held up a hand, and gave quick orders for the helmsman to anchor the Intrepid within the bay, but away from the docks. He did not want to be trapped here, not yet, and boats could take them to shore. Then he turned back to the Islander. “It still seems... strange.”
The other man just smiled. “Trade matters to all men, does it not? Strange though the Yadji can be, they still know its value. So they built Gurndjit into a better port for us.”
“How many more ports have they built?” Baffin said.
“None quite like this,” the Islander answered. “There are two ports in all the Yadji lands which can safely harbour a great-ship. Or your Raw Men fluyts [4]. Other ports can hold smaller vessels, safely up on a beach or in sheltered coves.”
Baffin briefly wondered which other Yadji port offered such a safe haven, but filed the question for later. “We are safe from storms here, but will be we safe from the Yadji themselves, if we seek to land?”
Jerimbee shook his head. “Simple as getting a Gunnagal to argue. Row your little ships to shore. When you near land, hold up a blue flag... dark blue, you would say. Then you will be greeted with words, not swords.”
“That will keep us safe?” Baffin asked. There had to be more to it than that, or so many of the Islanders would not have warned him against coming here.
“It will keep you from being attacked simply for landing on Yadji soil.” Jerimbee chuckled. “Nothing is a complete guarantee of safety when you visit the Water People.”
“You said you could keep us safe amongst the Yadji,” Baffin said.
The Islander raised an eyebrow. “Reward comes hand in hand with danger. A man who risks nothing earns nothing.”
Baffin kept his voice as calm as he could, telling himself that the Islander brought benefits, too. “What should we do when we land, then?”
“Be careful. These Yadji are strange. Even stranger than you Inglidj, in many ways. They expect everyone to think as they do, and will not hesitate to call you out for not agreeing with them.”
Beside them, the first boat was being prepared. Baffin gestured for the Islander to walk ahead of him to the boat. Perhaps being a boat might make him more useful. “Warn me if I am about to offend them, then.”
“I will, as much as I can,” Jerimbee said.
Two boats full of sailors rowed toward the shore, both with blue flags held aloft, and with Baffin and Jerimbee in the leading boat. Landing was simple enough; the bay had wide stretches of sand to choose from.
A party of men awaited them on the shore, just above where the sand ended. With slightly darker skin than the Islanders, unless he missed his guess. The men wore a diverse mixture of garments, in a multitude of hues, but one and all they bore elaborately-patterned headbands. About half of the men had spears, too, but they were held aloft. So far as he could tell – which probably wasn’t far, given what the Islander claimed – they did not look hostile.
“Greet them in whatever manner is polite amongst the Yadji,” Baffin said.
Jerimbee talked with the Yadji at some length, with words going back and forth a few times. It seemed too long for a simple greeting, but perhaps these Yadji were as strange as the Islander claimed.
Eventually, Jerimbee said, “It is strange. We are not being greeted in the name of their priests.”
“What about their priests?”
Jerimbee said, “The Yadji priests command their people, not guide them as proper priests should. Normally, whoever welcomed us would offer us greetings in the name of their head priest, along with an invitation to attend their temple and deliver the twelfth.”
Baffin already knew about the twelfth. Before leaving the Island, Jerimbee had warned him that the Yadji temples demanded a twelfth of all trade goods from a ship as tribute to the temple and their king, before they would deign to trade at all. The rest, though, made little sense. “Who is greeting us, then?”
“A man of... stature, would you say? The... most prominent man of good birth.”
Baffin shrugged. “The headman.”
“Headman, yes, thank you. He gives commands to these Yadji as if he were their royally appointed priest. Most unusual.”
Baffin said, “Offer their headman my greetings, then, if you haven’t already done so. And ask if he invites me to meet him.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Without offering the twelfth, unless they ask for it.”
Jerimbee spoke again to the Yadji. The exchange was quicker this time, but long enough for Baffin to notice that the language which Jerimbee used with the Yadji – and which they answered – sounded exactly like the Islander tongue.
“Is the Yadji language close to your Islander speech?” he asked. Better for English traders if it was; easier to learn one new language than two.
“No, the Yadji language is nothing like ours. Alien, alien. Even the Atjuntja tongue is easier to learn than theirs [6].”
Baffin said, “Why not use their language? You said you could speak to the Yadji.”
Jerimbee shook his head. “I can. I have traded with the Yadji for years. I know how to speak with them.”
“No, why...” Baffin paused, wondering whether the problem was translating his question into Dutch, or just Islander deviousness. “Why don’t you know the Yadji language, if you have traded with them for years?”
“Only a fool tries to speak to the Yadji in their tongue,” Jerimbee said. “They are capricious, their language intricate, and to use it incorrectly can be taken as a mortal insult. Better to use another language which does not offer the same risks. The Yadji understand Nangu, usually. Or Gunnagal, sometimes.”
The Islander turned back to the Yadji, and after a brief exchange, said, “Their headman invites you to meet him, if you wish. And they have not mentioned the twelfth.”
“Lead on, then.”
Striding through the roads of Gurndjit, Baffin was struck by a sense of orderliness. Of careful organisation. Both of the city itself, and the people who inhabited it. The streets were wide and paved with black basalt fitted together in regular patterns. The inhabitants moved quietly on those streets, rarely obstructing each other, and with none of the arguments or tempers he would have expected to see in an English city.
It took him longer to realise what else was strange about Gurndjit: the smell. Or, rather, the lack of stench. Oh, the city had odours – the smell of salt wafting up from the bay, of bread or something like it being baked in a couple of buildings which they passed. But none of the smell of refuse or excrement which would have been normal in an English city. The people here did not empty chamber pots into the streets. He wondered, briefly, what they did with them [7].
The Yadji led them to a building complex surrounded by a low wall constructed from some pale yellow stone. The wall looked to be more ceremonial than functional; it was only about three feet tall. About half a dozen buildings stood within the complex, and beyond that was a lagoon.
The Islander muttered something in what sounded like his own language, although it was too quiet for Baffin to be sure. The Islander continued in Dutch, “Very strange. This is their main temple... but with no sign of any priests.”
“Where could they have gone?”
Jerimbee said, “To await rebirth, probably. I know nothing else that would remove all the priests.”
“Won’t they tell you?” Baffin asked. It would help to know just who he was negotiating with.
“Do not ask! Never risk that kind of question with the Yadji. That is true at any time, and doubly so in a civil war. That’s why I haven’t asked which prince they back for the throne.”
“The winning one, surely,” Baffin said.
Jerimbee said, “Gunya, probably – he is said to mistrust priests. But for now, simply talk to their headman as if he is the ruler, and you should do well.”
Inside the temple, he found it easy to believe that anyone who lived here was a ruler. It seemed as if gold glinted everywhere. Gilt lining to the shutters on their glassless windows. Gold ornamentation on vases, columns and statues. Most of all, gold as personal decoration – most of the people they passed wore some form of gold, either as jewellery or woven into the threads of their clothing or headbands.
The headman himself had outdone his fellows, naturally. Gold and silver armbands, gold and pearl-studded tunic, a single thread of gold in his headband, and some staff in his hand which had a golden orb at the top.
The headman sat on a chair, but there was nowhere else to sit in the chamber. Did that make the chair a throne? Baffin considered asking that question, but the headman started talking, and then Jerimbee translated.
“He bids you welcome to Gurndjit, but does not offer his name,” the Islander said.
“Why does no name matter?” Baffin asked.
Jerimbee muttered something in his own language again, then went on in Dutch. “The Yadji do not speak the name of their king while he lives. It is as if this headman claims the royal privilege.”
Baffin shrugged. While he wanted to know who he was negotiating with, he cared little for the intricacies of Yadji customs. “Tell him that I am Commander William Baffin, sailing for the East India Trading Company.”
The Islander relayed that, then said, “He asks if you are of the same people he has heard tales of from the far west. The Nedlandj, he says.”
“Tell him no, we are Inglidj. We know of the Nedlandj, but we are not of their kind.”
Through Jerimbee, the question came back, “Are you friends of theirs?”
A good question, Baffin thought. Part of his orders were to do what he could to loosen the Dutch grip on the South Land, but he did not know if there were already relations between these Yadji and the Dutch. If they were already established friends, then denying Anglo-Dutch friendship would annoy the Yadji. If the two were enemies, then he would be missing out on an opportunity.
In the end, he said, “Tell him we and the Nedlandj have been both friends and enemies in the past.”
“A good answer,” the Islander said, before he translated it. “The headman says that he would like to hear more about the Inglidj, and invites you to eat with him.”
“Tell him yes, of course,” Baffin said.
The headman barked what were clearly commands, even though Baffin understood not a word. Two men at either side of him hurried out. More plain-clad men and women entered the chamber, carrying linen-lined cushions which they handed to Baffin, Jerimbee, and the dozen sailors with them.
The cushions were surprisingly soft; Baffin could not guess what filled them. The two dozen attendants around the headman sat, too, leaving only a handful of guards and servants standing.
Food arrived soon thereafter, carried on wooden plates, and accompanied by knives as the only utensils. The centrepiece of the meal was some sort of fish, cut into long fillets, baked dark, and covered with some sort of thick, peppery sauce. It was accompanied by some odd long, black, thin creations of dough [egg noodles], and what looked for all the world like chopped celery.
After the headman invited them to eat, the Islander cut one slice of the fish, and his eyes widened. “This is an honour!”
“We are honoured by being served fish in a port?” Baffin said. Personally, he would have considered a fine cut of beef as a greater honour, but the South Land had no cattle that he had heard of.
Jerimbee made a dismissive gesture. “This is not sea-born fish. The fishing is very poor in Yadji waters, anyway [8]. The Yadji grow their fish in lakes and ponds which they build for themselves. Fish here is under noble control. And this fish is eel, the most prized of all.”
During the meal, the headman asked a variety of questions about England, about its people, and about why Baffin had come. He gave general answers as best he could, not wanting to reveal too much. He explained that he was here to explore, not to trade, and offered gifts as a sign of gratitude for the welcome he had received. He explained that he sailed on behalf of a company, not a king. The headman did not seem to grasp this concept at all – although Baffin noted that the Islander looked much more interested when translating it – and Baffin ended up by saying that he sailed in the service of a group of powerful men.
In time, the headman asked what else Baffin planned to do among the Yadji. Jerimbee took the opportunity to add a few words of his own as advice. “Make it plain that you are not going to interfere in their civil war. Not in any way.”
“Why not?” Baffin had been contemplating the idea, although his four ships did not carry much in the way of cannon or anything else which might help. These South Landers knew nothing of guns, though; perhaps something could be made of that.
“Yadji are mistrustful of outsiders, always. Prince Bailgu has already turned down offers of assistance from Gutjanal [9]. Even if you are offered a pact, that will likely alienate many of the other... royal men, who will turn to the other prince.”
That sounded strange, to Baffin’s way of thinking, but this was why he had the Islander here. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Stay out, as we of the Island have done.” Jerimbee’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Most of us on the Island. But let one prince win, then negotiate for terms.”
Sound advice, but Baffin doubted he would still be here whenever the Yadji princes finally settled their differences with pact or with blood. Or perhaps when Tjibarr invaded from the northwest . That was one other idea which he had considered; much talk back on the Island had been about whether Tjibarr would take advantage of the confusion to invade the Yadji. He had considered contacting Tjibarr instead of sailing here, but had decided that there were more advantages here.
Wait. Perhaps there is a way. “Do you think that this headman would agree to let some of my men wait here – in peace – until I return?”
Jerimbee looked surprised. “Perhaps, for the right gifts. And if you offered the right reason.”
“Tell him that I would like to leave men behind... while my ships return home to discuss possible trade. Tell him that I do not offer trade now, just friendship, but trade can follow in time, if he is willing, and after I have carried his words to my powerful men.”
The Islander talked to the headman; the conversation went back and forth for some time. Baffin wondered if Jerimbee was taking the time to throw in some trade negotiations of his own; he still did not fully trust the Islander, and he knew that all of that man’s people had a lust for profit.
“He asks how long your men would stay here,” Jerimbee said, after a while.
“Until my ship returns to my homeland, and another comes in its place.” Well, perhaps his ships would only need to return as far as India before the Company sent out another ship. No need to confuse them, though, or reveal just how far away England was. “A year, perhaps two. It depends on the winds and God.”
The Islander frowned. “Best not to mention to the Yadji that you fear interference from a god.”
“There is but one God,” Baffin said. He was far from the most pious of men, but still, some things could not be denied.
Jerimbee did not answer directly, but disbelief was plain on his face. He turned back to the headman, though.
Baffin hoped that the headman accepted. The more that he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. What the headman and other people wore here made it plain that wealth was here for the offering. Gold in abundance here, just as the Dutch had already found in the west.
“A land of gold,” he murmured. A fitting name for this place, perhaps. No, it would be best in Latin, so that all men understood it.
“Aururia,” William Baffin said.
* * *
[1] The Duke Regent is William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Historically, he was an accomplished soldier, equestrian, diplomat and politician, whose close relationship with the Stuarts saw him awarded a series of titles, including Earl of Newcastle in 1628, and he was named a Duke after the Restoration in 1660.
In allohistorical Britain, the first wave of the Aururian plagues swept through Britain in 1628, causing considerable deaths among British notables, although ironically enough sparing George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, who would have been assassinated by a rogue soldier in August. In the nobility-deprived days after the first plague, Cavendish rose quickly in the favour of Charles I, along with Thomas Wentworth, although Buckingham remained the most prominent favourite. Cavendish was promoted to Duke of Newcastle in October 1630, and Thomas Wentworth was named Earl of Strafford in February 1631.
Charles I died in November 1631 during the second wave of Aururian plagues. This left an uncertain regency, since the infant Charles II did not have any of the close male relatives who would have been a natural choice as regent. Buckingham intrigued to be awarded the position, but by this time he was despised enough in Britain that Wentworth and Cavendish were able to defeat his manoeuvres. Cavendish was named Duke Regent, although Wentworth retains a powerful influence.
[2] Written by Pieter Stins, a Dutch sailor on de Houtman’s first and second voyages to Aururia. See post #23.
[3] Historically, the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of Defence in 1619 was irrevocably strained by the Amboyna massacre in 1623. Allohistorically, the different circumstances of Dutch discovery of Aururia meant that they were more focused on this new prize, and not quite as suspicious of English involvement in Ambon Island. There has been no equivalent to the Amboyna massacre. While the Dutch and English are still trading rivals and frequently accuse each other of bad faith, there has been no formal breach as of 1635.
[4] Fluyts is a Dutch kind of sailing vessel designed for maximum cargo volume in trans-oceanic voyages. The Nangu have adopted this name as a generic name for any large European ship.
[5] To Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, including the Nangu, blue and azure (light blue) are separate colours, similarly to how red and pink are treated by English-speakers.
[6] When the Nangu think of how close languages are, they mean more than whether languages are closely-related. They also think in terms of ease of learning. In that sense, Atjuntja is easier to learn than Junditmara (the Yadji language), since it does not have the same intricate social customs which govern its usage.
In a linguistic sense, the Atjuntja language is also nearer to Nangu than Junditmara, although the relationship is not a close one. The Atjuntja language, along with the related Yaora languages of the south-west, and many of the languages of the desert peoples, are distantly related to Gunnagalic languages. The Junditmara language is a linguistic isolate; while it did formerly have related languages nearby, those were all extinguished during the Gunnagalic migrations of 900 BC – 200 AD. (Refer to post #6.)
[7] At this time, sanitation was not an advanced concept in England. (Or indeed anywhere much in Europe, with some slight exceptions such as Paris, and even then the main purpose of Paris’s sewer system was to remove stormwater). London’s sewers were open ditches designed to carry waste into the Thames. The unhygienic consequences were inevitable.
In comparison, the Yadji and their predecessors have used covered sewers for centuries. In the upper class houses, they even have flush toilets (something which the English do know of, but are not so effective at putting into practice).
[8] Fishing in Australian waters is poor at the best of times. It is even poorer off Yadji waters since their various kinds of dams and artificial wetlands mean that most sediment gets deposited again before it reaches the sea. This means that Yadji coastal waters are relatively nutrient-deprived, and even more barren of fishing than they were historically.
[9] Gutjanal is a kingdom in the Upper *Murray, which is sometimes allied with Tjibarr on the Lower *Murray, and sometimes fights against them.
* * *
Thoughts?
“No matter what their course in life, all men will fight one battle at their death.”
- Batjiri of Jurundit [Koroit, Victoria]
* * *
London, 1635. A city less crowded with people than ten years before, but it seems that it has become more crowded with rumours to make up the difference. Tales and gossip abound in the English capital; accounts factual and fanciful of the intent of their rulers, and of the world beyond the shores of their island.
Stories abound of the grand designs which the Duke Regent [1] has whispered into the ears of the infant monarch. Of plans for intervention on the Continent, in Germany or France or Spain. Rumours are rife of the inexorable fate that Sweden faces after its royal lion finally succumbed to the Waiting Death. Some gossipmongers claim that France itself will finally join the war on the Continent.
The wildest and most oft-repeated tales, though, are of a far more exotic locale. They feature the newer new world that the Dutch have discovered. Ten thousand rumours fill the streets, it seems, each one stranger than the last. The recently translated account “My Life in the South Land”, written by a Dutch sailor [2], has only added to the gossip.
The South Land. The Great Spice Island. Teegal. A land of strange crops, strange people, and stranger animals. A land of wealth and mystery, where even the most commonplace thing becomes part of the bizarre. A place where the trees keep their leaves on their branches all year round, while their bark falls off every winter. Or peppers which are first sweet to the tongue, then burn hotter than the most intense peppers ever known before.
A place of exotic mystery, a blend of promise and terror. Trees which smell like they come from another world, maybe hell, for they fuel fires that can consume the landscape in a heartbeat, while the trees themselves then regrow within weeks. A land inhabited by beasts of mystery. A race of half-men, half-rabbit creatures who can hop like rabbits but stand upright like men. A duck-otter with fur, a duck’s beak and which lays eggs.
Tales most of all about wealth for the taking, of spices and sandalwood and bullion. A drug so fine that it makes tobacco seem like sawdust. A land where the people have battled so intensely over the centuries that their blood has stained the dust red. But gold, above all there is gold. Gold so common that the natives use its dust to dye their hair blonde.
The directors of the English East India Trading Company have heard all of these rumours. Indeed, they have started a few of their own over the years, judiciously calculated to add to the interest in London for foreign ventures. Yet for all of their knowledge, they have not been in a position to act.
Ever since a truce signed in this very city in 1619, the English East India Company has been officially at peace with its Dutch counterpart, and claims a share of the trade from the Spice Islands. The peace has been strained at times, but not yet formally broken [3]. Alienating the Dutch risks losing a guaranteed share of the sure wealth of the Spice Islands, particularly for a company which needs to rebuild after the strains on manpower and finances caused by the plagues. So the directors have never acted, especially since the rumours seem so fantastic that they must be more myth than truth.
That peace, though, grows ever more precarious. The directors have heard, through sources much more reliable than the word on the street, that the new Duke Regent shares their frustration with the Dutch. That there has been discussion of alliance with Spain against them.
Word has come, of course, of what Spain achieved in their raid on the Dutch outpost in the South Land. Of what wealth it brought them. Now the Dutch grow ever more protective of their self-asserted monopoly... but thanks to the belligerence of the Regent, the directors wonder whether it is time to challenge the Dutch.
After much discussion, they decide to take the crucial first step. Commission a fleet to explore where the Dutch do not wish other Europeans to be. If they are discovered by the Dutch, well, they will have to deal with that problem then. It is time to find out how much truth lurks within these rumours.
The captain they choose for their fleet is named William Baffin.
* * *
Year of the Twisted Serpent [April 1636]
Gurndjit [Portland, Victoria]
Durigal - Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)
“We draw near to Gurndjit,” the Islander said, in his passable Dutch.
William Baffin glanced port-side, following the Islander’s gaze, and saw nothing but waves and high clouds to the north. “How can you be sure?”
The Islander nodded, a gesture which Baffin had come to learn meant disbelief to these strange men. “How can you Inglidj sail so far around the world, and yet be blind to something so plain?”
Baffin shrugged. The Islander, who answered to the name of Jerimbee Manyilti, had an often-frustrating manner. In the voyage from the Island, he had been sometimes impressed by what he saw, but often contemptuous. His views of navigation were only the most recent example. Jerimbee had been effusive in his praise of the compass, but dismissive of the English charts as lacking details such as currents, and openly mocking of the English lack of knowledge of the stars.
Still, after all that, how could he be so sure that the Intrepid and the other Company ships were nearing the Yadji port? “What should I see?”
“Watch the waves,” Jerimbee said. “Can’t you see how they change when they pass the...” He paused, as if his Dutch had run out. “The shallowing shore?”
Baffin looked, but he could not see what the Islander meant. The waves were not breaking at all, and he could make out no pattern in the swells. Of course, this Islander had led ships along this route for years, according to his claims. Perhaps he knew the route better. “So should I turn the ship north?”
“Not yet,” Jerimbee said. “This is a dangerous shore. The winds and waves will drive you ship into the cliffs if you draw too near, and your Raw Men ships cannot sail properly into the wind.”
“When should we turn?”
“Soon,” replied Jerimbee. “I will tell you.”
Baffin shrugged again; it was something he found himself doing often around the Islander. Jerimbee asked many questions, and sometimes dismissed the answers, but remained endlessly curious. Still, he was worth tolerating, since he revealed a wealth of knowledge about this Great Spice Island. He could also serve as an interpreter; his Dutch was if anything better than Baffin’s own, and other Dutch-speaking sailors were on hand to clarify words, if needed.
This time, though, Jerimbee stayed silent, watching the waves, and sometimes glancing up at the sun. Judging its height, if Baffin understood that gaze properly.
“We near the cape,” Jerimbee said. “Turn north.”
Baffin snapped out orders, and the Intrepid started to turn to port. Trailing behind, the other ships of his fleet – Godspeed, Lady Harrington and Delight – did the same.
The breeze blew steadily off the port quarter, driving the ships easily before it, toward the north shore. Where the greatest empire in this South Land awaited them. The Yadji. A people both capricious and wealthy, according to all reports.
Back on the Island, most of its people had told him he was a fool for sailing there without invitation. Fortunately, one of their captains had thought otherwise. And been willing to join his voyage, in exchange for a rather heavy price. Still, some prices were worth paying.
Land appeared to the northwest, a rugged, cliff-lined shore. “Steer around the cape,” Jerimbee said, waving vaguely to starboard. “Gurndjit is in the bay behind.”
Sure enough, the rocky faces of the cliffs gave way to sandy beaches, then, as the ships steered further to port, to where a natural headland had been extended by a stone breakwater. The sheltered bay beyond it looked to offer protection against even the fiercest storms.
“A safe haven,” he murmured, and then realised he had spoken in English.
The Islander recognised the word haven, though; it was close enough to the Dutch word for port. “The Yadji built that sea wall because we asked them to,” he said. “It makes this a safe port; something they would not care about otherwise.”
“They build a port like this and then do not sail from it themselves?” Baffin asked. As the Intrepid tacked into the bay, he saw a few ships tied up at quays, but they looked to be tiny, primitive boats. Nothing like the relatively elegant Islander ships.
“Oh, a little here and there, but they know nothing of navigation,” Jerimbee said. “They fish, and move a few things along the coast, but they fear to sail at night.” He nodded. “The Yadji are a peculiar people. There is nothing they do not know about building with water, or in water, but they fear to sail into deep water. They think they will be separated from their god within the earth.”
“So this port is for you Islanders?” Baffin asked. It looked to be an impressive construction for a people who would not use it themselves.
Jerimbee laughed, as if he had discerned the intent behind Baffin’s words. “Yes, built for us. The Yadji are master builders; what they can accomplish with stone and water is without equal.”
Baffin held up a hand, and gave quick orders for the helmsman to anchor the Intrepid within the bay, but away from the docks. He did not want to be trapped here, not yet, and boats could take them to shore. Then he turned back to the Islander. “It still seems... strange.”
The other man just smiled. “Trade matters to all men, does it not? Strange though the Yadji can be, they still know its value. So they built Gurndjit into a better port for us.”
“How many more ports have they built?” Baffin said.
“None quite like this,” the Islander answered. “There are two ports in all the Yadji lands which can safely harbour a great-ship. Or your Raw Men fluyts [4]. Other ports can hold smaller vessels, safely up on a beach or in sheltered coves.”
Baffin briefly wondered which other Yadji port offered such a safe haven, but filed the question for later. “We are safe from storms here, but will be we safe from the Yadji themselves, if we seek to land?”
Jerimbee shook his head. “Simple as getting a Gunnagal to argue. Row your little ships to shore. When you near land, hold up a blue flag... dark blue, you would say. Then you will be greeted with words, not swords.”
“That will keep us safe?” Baffin asked. There had to be more to it than that, or so many of the Islanders would not have warned him against coming here.
“It will keep you from being attacked simply for landing on Yadji soil.” Jerimbee chuckled. “Nothing is a complete guarantee of safety when you visit the Water People.”
“You said you could keep us safe amongst the Yadji,” Baffin said.
The Islander raised an eyebrow. “Reward comes hand in hand with danger. A man who risks nothing earns nothing.”
Baffin kept his voice as calm as he could, telling himself that the Islander brought benefits, too. “What should we do when we land, then?”
“Be careful. These Yadji are strange. Even stranger than you Inglidj, in many ways. They expect everyone to think as they do, and will not hesitate to call you out for not agreeing with them.”
Beside them, the first boat was being prepared. Baffin gestured for the Islander to walk ahead of him to the boat. Perhaps being a boat might make him more useful. “Warn me if I am about to offend them, then.”
“I will, as much as I can,” Jerimbee said.
Two boats full of sailors rowed toward the shore, both with blue flags held aloft, and with Baffin and Jerimbee in the leading boat. Landing was simple enough; the bay had wide stretches of sand to choose from.
A party of men awaited them on the shore, just above where the sand ended. With slightly darker skin than the Islanders, unless he missed his guess. The men wore a diverse mixture of garments, in a multitude of hues, but one and all they bore elaborately-patterned headbands. About half of the men had spears, too, but they were held aloft. So far as he could tell – which probably wasn’t far, given what the Islander claimed – they did not look hostile.
“Greet them in whatever manner is polite amongst the Yadji,” Baffin said.
Jerimbee talked with the Yadji at some length, with words going back and forth a few times. It seemed too long for a simple greeting, but perhaps these Yadji were as strange as the Islander claimed.
Eventually, Jerimbee said, “It is strange. We are not being greeted in the name of their priests.”
“What about their priests?”
Jerimbee said, “The Yadji priests command their people, not guide them as proper priests should. Normally, whoever welcomed us would offer us greetings in the name of their head priest, along with an invitation to attend their temple and deliver the twelfth.”
Baffin already knew about the twelfth. Before leaving the Island, Jerimbee had warned him that the Yadji temples demanded a twelfth of all trade goods from a ship as tribute to the temple and their king, before they would deign to trade at all. The rest, though, made little sense. “Who is greeting us, then?”
“A man of... stature, would you say? The... most prominent man of good birth.”
Baffin shrugged. “The headman.”
“Headman, yes, thank you. He gives commands to these Yadji as if he were their royally appointed priest. Most unusual.”
Baffin said, “Offer their headman my greetings, then, if you haven’t already done so. And ask if he invites me to meet him.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Without offering the twelfth, unless they ask for it.”
Jerimbee spoke again to the Yadji. The exchange was quicker this time, but long enough for Baffin to notice that the language which Jerimbee used with the Yadji – and which they answered – sounded exactly like the Islander tongue.
“Is the Yadji language close to your Islander speech?” he asked. Better for English traders if it was; easier to learn one new language than two.
“No, the Yadji language is nothing like ours. Alien, alien. Even the Atjuntja tongue is easier to learn than theirs [6].”
Baffin said, “Why not use their language? You said you could speak to the Yadji.”
Jerimbee shook his head. “I can. I have traded with the Yadji for years. I know how to speak with them.”
“No, why...” Baffin paused, wondering whether the problem was translating his question into Dutch, or just Islander deviousness. “Why don’t you know the Yadji language, if you have traded with them for years?”
“Only a fool tries to speak to the Yadji in their tongue,” Jerimbee said. “They are capricious, their language intricate, and to use it incorrectly can be taken as a mortal insult. Better to use another language which does not offer the same risks. The Yadji understand Nangu, usually. Or Gunnagal, sometimes.”
The Islander turned back to the Yadji, and after a brief exchange, said, “Their headman invites you to meet him, if you wish. And they have not mentioned the twelfth.”
“Lead on, then.”
Striding through the roads of Gurndjit, Baffin was struck by a sense of orderliness. Of careful organisation. Both of the city itself, and the people who inhabited it. The streets were wide and paved with black basalt fitted together in regular patterns. The inhabitants moved quietly on those streets, rarely obstructing each other, and with none of the arguments or tempers he would have expected to see in an English city.
It took him longer to realise what else was strange about Gurndjit: the smell. Or, rather, the lack of stench. Oh, the city had odours – the smell of salt wafting up from the bay, of bread or something like it being baked in a couple of buildings which they passed. But none of the smell of refuse or excrement which would have been normal in an English city. The people here did not empty chamber pots into the streets. He wondered, briefly, what they did with them [7].
The Yadji led them to a building complex surrounded by a low wall constructed from some pale yellow stone. The wall looked to be more ceremonial than functional; it was only about three feet tall. About half a dozen buildings stood within the complex, and beyond that was a lagoon.
The Islander muttered something in what sounded like his own language, although it was too quiet for Baffin to be sure. The Islander continued in Dutch, “Very strange. This is their main temple... but with no sign of any priests.”
“Where could they have gone?”
Jerimbee said, “To await rebirth, probably. I know nothing else that would remove all the priests.”
“Won’t they tell you?” Baffin asked. It would help to know just who he was negotiating with.
“Do not ask! Never risk that kind of question with the Yadji. That is true at any time, and doubly so in a civil war. That’s why I haven’t asked which prince they back for the throne.”
“The winning one, surely,” Baffin said.
Jerimbee said, “Gunya, probably – he is said to mistrust priests. But for now, simply talk to their headman as if he is the ruler, and you should do well.”
Inside the temple, he found it easy to believe that anyone who lived here was a ruler. It seemed as if gold glinted everywhere. Gilt lining to the shutters on their glassless windows. Gold ornamentation on vases, columns and statues. Most of all, gold as personal decoration – most of the people they passed wore some form of gold, either as jewellery or woven into the threads of their clothing or headbands.
The headman himself had outdone his fellows, naturally. Gold and silver armbands, gold and pearl-studded tunic, a single thread of gold in his headband, and some staff in his hand which had a golden orb at the top.
The headman sat on a chair, but there was nowhere else to sit in the chamber. Did that make the chair a throne? Baffin considered asking that question, but the headman started talking, and then Jerimbee translated.
“He bids you welcome to Gurndjit, but does not offer his name,” the Islander said.
“Why does no name matter?” Baffin asked.
Jerimbee muttered something in his own language again, then went on in Dutch. “The Yadji do not speak the name of their king while he lives. It is as if this headman claims the royal privilege.”
Baffin shrugged. While he wanted to know who he was negotiating with, he cared little for the intricacies of Yadji customs. “Tell him that I am Commander William Baffin, sailing for the East India Trading Company.”
The Islander relayed that, then said, “He asks if you are of the same people he has heard tales of from the far west. The Nedlandj, he says.”
“Tell him no, we are Inglidj. We know of the Nedlandj, but we are not of their kind.”
Through Jerimbee, the question came back, “Are you friends of theirs?”
A good question, Baffin thought. Part of his orders were to do what he could to loosen the Dutch grip on the South Land, but he did not know if there were already relations between these Yadji and the Dutch. If they were already established friends, then denying Anglo-Dutch friendship would annoy the Yadji. If the two were enemies, then he would be missing out on an opportunity.
In the end, he said, “Tell him we and the Nedlandj have been both friends and enemies in the past.”
“A good answer,” the Islander said, before he translated it. “The headman says that he would like to hear more about the Inglidj, and invites you to eat with him.”
“Tell him yes, of course,” Baffin said.
The headman barked what were clearly commands, even though Baffin understood not a word. Two men at either side of him hurried out. More plain-clad men and women entered the chamber, carrying linen-lined cushions which they handed to Baffin, Jerimbee, and the dozen sailors with them.
The cushions were surprisingly soft; Baffin could not guess what filled them. The two dozen attendants around the headman sat, too, leaving only a handful of guards and servants standing.
Food arrived soon thereafter, carried on wooden plates, and accompanied by knives as the only utensils. The centrepiece of the meal was some sort of fish, cut into long fillets, baked dark, and covered with some sort of thick, peppery sauce. It was accompanied by some odd long, black, thin creations of dough [egg noodles], and what looked for all the world like chopped celery.
After the headman invited them to eat, the Islander cut one slice of the fish, and his eyes widened. “This is an honour!”
“We are honoured by being served fish in a port?” Baffin said. Personally, he would have considered a fine cut of beef as a greater honour, but the South Land had no cattle that he had heard of.
Jerimbee made a dismissive gesture. “This is not sea-born fish. The fishing is very poor in Yadji waters, anyway [8]. The Yadji grow their fish in lakes and ponds which they build for themselves. Fish here is under noble control. And this fish is eel, the most prized of all.”
During the meal, the headman asked a variety of questions about England, about its people, and about why Baffin had come. He gave general answers as best he could, not wanting to reveal too much. He explained that he was here to explore, not to trade, and offered gifts as a sign of gratitude for the welcome he had received. He explained that he sailed on behalf of a company, not a king. The headman did not seem to grasp this concept at all – although Baffin noted that the Islander looked much more interested when translating it – and Baffin ended up by saying that he sailed in the service of a group of powerful men.
In time, the headman asked what else Baffin planned to do among the Yadji. Jerimbee took the opportunity to add a few words of his own as advice. “Make it plain that you are not going to interfere in their civil war. Not in any way.”
“Why not?” Baffin had been contemplating the idea, although his four ships did not carry much in the way of cannon or anything else which might help. These South Landers knew nothing of guns, though; perhaps something could be made of that.
“Yadji are mistrustful of outsiders, always. Prince Bailgu has already turned down offers of assistance from Gutjanal [9]. Even if you are offered a pact, that will likely alienate many of the other... royal men, who will turn to the other prince.”
That sounded strange, to Baffin’s way of thinking, but this was why he had the Islander here. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Stay out, as we of the Island have done.” Jerimbee’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Most of us on the Island. But let one prince win, then negotiate for terms.”
Sound advice, but Baffin doubted he would still be here whenever the Yadji princes finally settled their differences with pact or with blood. Or perhaps when Tjibarr invaded from the northwest . That was one other idea which he had considered; much talk back on the Island had been about whether Tjibarr would take advantage of the confusion to invade the Yadji. He had considered contacting Tjibarr instead of sailing here, but had decided that there were more advantages here.
Wait. Perhaps there is a way. “Do you think that this headman would agree to let some of my men wait here – in peace – until I return?”
Jerimbee looked surprised. “Perhaps, for the right gifts. And if you offered the right reason.”
“Tell him that I would like to leave men behind... while my ships return home to discuss possible trade. Tell him that I do not offer trade now, just friendship, but trade can follow in time, if he is willing, and after I have carried his words to my powerful men.”
The Islander talked to the headman; the conversation went back and forth for some time. Baffin wondered if Jerimbee was taking the time to throw in some trade negotiations of his own; he still did not fully trust the Islander, and he knew that all of that man’s people had a lust for profit.
“He asks how long your men would stay here,” Jerimbee said, after a while.
“Until my ship returns to my homeland, and another comes in its place.” Well, perhaps his ships would only need to return as far as India before the Company sent out another ship. No need to confuse them, though, or reveal just how far away England was. “A year, perhaps two. It depends on the winds and God.”
The Islander frowned. “Best not to mention to the Yadji that you fear interference from a god.”
“There is but one God,” Baffin said. He was far from the most pious of men, but still, some things could not be denied.
Jerimbee did not answer directly, but disbelief was plain on his face. He turned back to the headman, though.
Baffin hoped that the headman accepted. The more that he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. What the headman and other people wore here made it plain that wealth was here for the offering. Gold in abundance here, just as the Dutch had already found in the west.
“A land of gold,” he murmured. A fitting name for this place, perhaps. No, it would be best in Latin, so that all men understood it.
“Aururia,” William Baffin said.
* * *
[1] The Duke Regent is William Cavendish, 1st Duke of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Historically, he was an accomplished soldier, equestrian, diplomat and politician, whose close relationship with the Stuarts saw him awarded a series of titles, including Earl of Newcastle in 1628, and he was named a Duke after the Restoration in 1660.
In allohistorical Britain, the first wave of the Aururian plagues swept through Britain in 1628, causing considerable deaths among British notables, although ironically enough sparing George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, who would have been assassinated by a rogue soldier in August. In the nobility-deprived days after the first plague, Cavendish rose quickly in the favour of Charles I, along with Thomas Wentworth, although Buckingham remained the most prominent favourite. Cavendish was promoted to Duke of Newcastle in October 1630, and Thomas Wentworth was named Earl of Strafford in February 1631.
Charles I died in November 1631 during the second wave of Aururian plagues. This left an uncertain regency, since the infant Charles II did not have any of the close male relatives who would have been a natural choice as regent. Buckingham intrigued to be awarded the position, but by this time he was despised enough in Britain that Wentworth and Cavendish were able to defeat his manoeuvres. Cavendish was named Duke Regent, although Wentworth retains a powerful influence.
[2] Written by Pieter Stins, a Dutch sailor on de Houtman’s first and second voyages to Aururia. See post #23.
[3] Historically, the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of Defence in 1619 was irrevocably strained by the Amboyna massacre in 1623. Allohistorically, the different circumstances of Dutch discovery of Aururia meant that they were more focused on this new prize, and not quite as suspicious of English involvement in Ambon Island. There has been no equivalent to the Amboyna massacre. While the Dutch and English are still trading rivals and frequently accuse each other of bad faith, there has been no formal breach as of 1635.
[4] Fluyts is a Dutch kind of sailing vessel designed for maximum cargo volume in trans-oceanic voyages. The Nangu have adopted this name as a generic name for any large European ship.
[5] To Gunnagalic-speaking peoples, including the Nangu, blue and azure (light blue) are separate colours, similarly to how red and pink are treated by English-speakers.
[6] When the Nangu think of how close languages are, they mean more than whether languages are closely-related. They also think in terms of ease of learning. In that sense, Atjuntja is easier to learn than Junditmara (the Yadji language), since it does not have the same intricate social customs which govern its usage.
In a linguistic sense, the Atjuntja language is also nearer to Nangu than Junditmara, although the relationship is not a close one. The Atjuntja language, along with the related Yaora languages of the south-west, and many of the languages of the desert peoples, are distantly related to Gunnagalic languages. The Junditmara language is a linguistic isolate; while it did formerly have related languages nearby, those were all extinguished during the Gunnagalic migrations of 900 BC – 200 AD. (Refer to post #6.)
[7] At this time, sanitation was not an advanced concept in England. (Or indeed anywhere much in Europe, with some slight exceptions such as Paris, and even then the main purpose of Paris’s sewer system was to remove stormwater). London’s sewers were open ditches designed to carry waste into the Thames. The unhygienic consequences were inevitable.
In comparison, the Yadji and their predecessors have used covered sewers for centuries. In the upper class houses, they even have flush toilets (something which the English do know of, but are not so effective at putting into practice).
[8] Fishing in Australian waters is poor at the best of times. It is even poorer off Yadji waters since their various kinds of dams and artificial wetlands mean that most sediment gets deposited again before it reaches the sea. This means that Yadji coastal waters are relatively nutrient-deprived, and even more barren of fishing than they were historically.
[9] Gutjanal is a kingdom in the Upper *Murray, which is sometimes allied with Tjibarr on the Lower *Murray, and sometimes fights against them.
* * *
Thoughts?
I have heard that 2 of the greatest challenges facing writers of speculative fiction are world building and creating engaging plots and characters. Many excel at just one or the other. You are a master of both.
Hear hear!
Jared, I will gladly purchace any writing you care to publish. Get out there and kick T-dove off his laurels for us!
Probably their hands or leaves. Although being as inventive as the Aurarian peoples are, I could see someone breeding the Paperbark Tea Tree to make better tea from. With a consequence being that a softer barker was also bred and eventually used to clean themselves with.
mojojojo
Gone Fishin'
Would this result in an earlier spread of toilet paper through out the world? What were Europeans using during this time period?
God only knows
According to Wiki
, it was hands or water mostly, but feathers, leaves and rags were used also. Paper to clean with was apparently used in the 6th century AD.LAWRL...sorry Jared, but we've become sidetracked by the pressing topic of Auraurian Bum Rags.
LAWRL...sorry Jared, but we've become sidetracked by the pressing topic of Auraurian Bum Rags.
Well, it seems silly, but it is a legitimate cultural question to consider.
If they use a hand, do they wash it or do they only eat with the clean hand? How does this effect eating edicate? Is it an insult to touch someone with the hand used for cleansing? Things like that.
Thande
Donor
Great update.
One minor thing, it's generally thought (though no-one really knows) that Baffin was a Londoner of common birth, so he should probably have been able to recognise eel meat, considering it was one of the main meat staples of lower-class Londoners from the Middle Ages right up until the mid-twentieth century.
One minor thing, it's generally thought (though no-one really knows) that Baffin was a Londoner of common birth, so he should probably have been able to recognise eel meat, considering it was one of the main meat staples of lower-class Londoners from the Middle Ages right up until the mid-twentieth century.
Exactly. Great note to end a post on...now it really is the "Land of Gold".
Kaiphranos
Donor
On the other hand, this means that if he recognizes it, he's unlikely to be impressed...
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