Lands of Red and Gold, Act II
- Thread starter Jared
- Start date
Great update! I take it sweet peppers will now become a prized commodity to European traders?
Interesting power play by Tjibarr in the highlands. Does each faction conduct its own foreign policy? Is it possible for a new faction to come into being, or would that require so much or a shakedown that Tjibarrian (tjibarrese?) society would be in a state or collapse? I could see a faction ran by the descendants of European merchants evolving, maybe an evolution of one of the factions that openly courted English support.
Will the Nuttana explore the Pacific islands? If they become a sugar producing culture they could definitely make use of Fiji or Tonga, if they have the manpower to control them.
Interesting power play by Tjibarr in the highlands. Does each faction conduct its own foreign policy? Is it possible for a new faction to come into being, or would that require so much or a shakedown that Tjibarrian (tjibarrese?) society would be in a state or collapse? I could see a faction ran by the descendants of European merchants evolving, maybe an evolution of one of the factions that openly courted English support.
Will the Nuttana explore the Pacific islands? If they become a sugar producing culture they could definitely make use of Fiji or Tonga, if they have the manpower to control them.
Any chance of you giving us a description of an Islander/Nuttana trade ship?
I'm curious to know what they look like.
Maybe a whole chapter just on Aururian shipping. That'd be nice
I'm curious to know what they look like.
Maybe a whole chapter just on Aururian shipping. That'd be nice
twovultures
Donor
Ha! Good one!
But it appears that Prince Rupert is pretty much incapable of applying lessons learned from cultures he considers inferior-until they're kicking his ass, of course.
Hrm.... How applicable will that sort of warfare experience be for the next conflict? I imagine it could instill some bad habits in the Yadji troops, or at least unnecessary ones.
I'm a little surprised at Rupert. You'd think an Englishman would know why Highlanders and Irish and Norwegians have oft raided England for glory and riches, yet never the reverse.
The thing is, he actually does have the technological package to subdue the highlanders utterly - he just isn't using it right. With European road building and a supply train of cart horses a committed force could prevent the highland peoples from properly harvesting their crops which is all it would really take, after all.
I'm a little surprised at Rupert. You'd think an Englishman would know why Highlanders and Irish and Norwegians have oft raided England for glory and riches, yet never the reverse.
The thing is, he actually does have the technological package to subdue the highlanders utterly - he just isn't using it right. With European road building and a supply train of cart horses a committed force could prevent the highland peoples from properly harvesting their crops which is all it would really take, after all.
The Sandman
Banned
Hrm.... How applicable will that sort of warfare experience be for the next conflict? I imagine it could instill some bad habits in the Yadji troops, or at least unnecessary ones.
I'm a little surprised at Rupert. You'd think an Englishman would know why Highlanders and Irish and Norwegians have oft raided England for glory and riches, yet never the reverse.
The thing is, he actually does have the technological package to subdue the highlanders utterly - he just isn't using it right. With European road building and a supply train of cart horses a committed force could prevent the highland peoples from properly harvesting their crops which is all it would really take, after all.
Well, Rupert himself seems a little too focused on the quick nickel to consider ways to make the slow dime.
I wonder if this tactic is one that the Yadji or one of the Gunnagal peoples are likely to develop on their own, once the components have been separately demonstrated?
On the other hand, is it worth the trouble to do so? Although I suppose punching a road through to the spice-producing regions and even the eastern coast beyond might be considered worthwhile by somebody.
Have there been any significant changes yet along the long northern coast between the Gulf of Carpentaria and the northwest corner of the continent?
And have the Nuttana imported pigs from New Guinea yet? For that matter, are there any mineral deposits in New Guinea that the natives can't get at but 1600s-era European technology can?
Also, have any merchants attempted to pick up jade in Aotearoa for the Chinese market (or European, but something the Chinese might accept in trade besides bullion is always useful)?
Nice one.
The smart-arse answer is that Ruprecht is really a German.
A more long-winded and accurate answer is that Ruprecht has made two mistakes. He has overestimated the efficacy of cavalry, due to (understandably) seeing how devastating it was against other horseless Aururians in the lowlands. And he has underestimated the logistical difficulties in invading a place which is even more troublesome than the Scottish Highlands: more trees to hide in, higher and often more rugged terrain, and even more primitive transportation. The highlanders have no beasts of burden other than dogs - which are quite limiting, and which means no fodder or anything along those lines.
Sweet peppers were already starting to become popular in Europe (and to a lesser degree in Indonesia). But Prince Ruprecht's fondness of them will start a broader fashion in England and in parts of Germany. Things will certainly spread quickly from there.
Yes, where commerce is involved. Though smuggling weapons to the highlands (in violation of agreements made between Tjibarr and the eastern kingdoms) is going a little far by their usual standards.
It's theoretically possible for a new faction to be created - all it would take is enough Gunnagal sponsors wanting to create a ninth faction. But it's never happened in practice, because Tjibarri (Tjibarrese? I haven't really settled on an English version) politics is all about the balance of power. The emergence of a ninth faction would throw that right out, and the existing factions would probably combine against the new faction, depriving it of much support.
Another possibility is that one of the factions itself evolves into a new form which has more European merchants (or their descendants) involved. That's happened before in a more limited way (e.g. factions turning Plirite), and it might happen again. There would certainly be no racial bar to descendants of European merchants joining the factions. There is a cultural one - they would have to speak Gunnagal and be otherwise thoroughly acculturated - but not a racial one.
The Nuttana will certainly explore the Pacific islands over the next couple of decades. But while they will potentially find Fiji and Tonga valuable as trading partners, they don't really have the manpower to go conquering. There's only a relative handful of Nuttana around.
Give things a few decades and they may be more inclined to take a more active role in the Pacific. The Nuttana are about the only Aururian society which will be able to maintain an approximately stable population during the epidemics. This is due to a combination of being able to import large supplies of labour, having a better chance of imposing quarantine, and the fact that the epidemics aren't really virgin-soil to the Nuttana; many of their people have already contracted those diseases during visits to the Old World, and are thus in a position to provide care to the infected when those same diseases hit Aururia.
There's been scattered references through some of the earlier posts, but a recap would be good. I'll see what I can pull together in more detail, but a short version is that they are fast twin-hulled vessels, with the newer versions having multiple sails. Due to their ultimate inspiration from Polynesian designs (somewhat modified) they can sail more reliably into the wind than just about any European vessel of that age, though European ships are generally faster downwind.
Maybe a whole chapter just on Aururian shipping. That'd be nice
Possibly, in time. Or I may work some more details into the next post that touches on the Nuttana.
You're welcome.
For those non-Australians who missed it, "My Island Home" is an iconic Australian song that was used (among other things) as an unofficial Australian theme song during the Sydney Olympics.
It was originally written and performed by Neil Murray and his band, but the version sung by Christine Anu has become the most well-known (see here for a YouTube rendition).
The version ITTL is ever so slightly different.
Prince Rupert has arrogance in spades, of course, but he's not entirely stupid. His cavalry had been running through unit after unit of Tjibarr's finest soldiers without too much trouble, and previous history showed that cavalry could do the same thing to the Yadji, too.
If the finest armies which Aururia's greatest states fielded could not stand up to cavalry, he didn't think that a bunch of people whom even those Aururians regarded as savages could do much better.
And it's worth pointing out that the highlanders were hurting by the time he finished, too. They aren't that numerous, and losing even a hundred warriors was something they mourned.
It's not perfect experience, but having veterans around is always useful, since they are less likely to panic during battle.
I'm a little surprised at Rupert. You'd think an Englishman would know why Highlanders and Irish and Norwegians have oft raided England for glory and riches, yet never the reverse.
He's an overconfident cavalry general (something he demonstrated in OTL, too), of course, but not a complete idiot. He wanted glory for beating the highlanders, but expected the riches to come as reward when he came back to the Yadji heartland.
Things aren't quite that simple.
Road-building in the highlands is very hard work. There is some seriously rugged terrain in these mountains. (For instance, further north in Sydney, Europeans landed in 1788 but didn't find a path across the Blue Mountains for 25 years). This would mean building about 250km of road through mountainous terrain, with more primitive tools than Europeans were used to working with (the Yadji do have iron, but they're only a few centuries into the iron age).
Rupert would need a good supply of experienced labour to build a road, and it would take a long time to get it done. He doesn't have that much in the way of labour. His cavalry are mercenaries who are neither skilled nor interested in turning into road-builders, and his infantry are soldiers who've been sent there for battle experience and would probably be recalled if the Yadji commanders thought that they had been dragooned into building roads.
Other local labour is also devillishly to find in the required numbers. Rupert is already operating in the most distant frontier of the Yadji realm, thinly-populated at the best of times, and with already resentful subject peoples. Typhus has devastated the population, so there's now an acute labour shortage. So it wouldn't be easy to round up a thousand locals and set them to building a road year-round (rather than just in the gap when not harvesting crops).
Of course, this could all be overcome given time. If Rupert settled down for, say, 5 years of steady road-building and not much else, and breeding up a good further stock of horses, and teaching the Aururians how to create appropriate fodder and so forth, then he'd be in a wholly different logistical position.
But given the timeframe of a couple of years, there wasn't much he could do to overcome the logistical constraints.
And while I didn't figure out a way to work it into the post itself, even interfering with harvesting the crops is easier said than done. That's why Rupert didn't try much of it.
The root crops (murnong and red yam) are, well, root crops that can be harvested any time between late autumn and late spring. (Well, except when there's snow cover). They can just be left in the ground the rest of the time. It's a bit like why potatoes were more useful crops than wheat in Germany during the depredations of the Thirty Years' War, only stronger.
Rupert was too focused on the short-term, to a point, but given the two-year time window he had to work with, he accomplished about as much as he could. If he'd thought that the endeavour would take five years, he would never have started it, but gone across the water to try his luck hunting for gold in the Cider Isle.
Perhaps. The Yadji are master road-builders, by Aururian standards, but from their point of view the highlands are the arse-end of the world. The effort didn't justify the reward, up until now. Horses may well change the equation, but it's still not their main aim.
The Five Rivers kingdoms come at the situation from a different perspective. They don't really build roads in a major way, relying more on water transport. Now that they have horses, some of them are starting to think in terms of road-building (the Gunnagal were contemplating it in one of the previous posts). But there's a political complication: the two eastern kingdoms don't like the idea of their rival gaining too much influence in the highlands, since it would outflank their own lands.
It's mostly not worth the trouble. Road-building further north (say through to the Hunter Valley) is likely to be more productive.
Possibly the eastern kingdoms might want to build a road through to the eastern coast to allow them access to their own sea network, but that would still be an expensive process, and vulnerable to being cut both by the highlanders and the Yadji.
Overall, while the highlands can grow sweet peppers more easily than the lowlands, it's still perfectly possible to grow the peppers in the lowlands, it just takes some irrigation. So there's not a huge incentive to go into the region.
Not major ones. The Portuguese are now looking around that coast again, but haven't found much to make it worth setting up outposts. The Dutch have sent a ship or three along the coast, and come to much the same conclusion.
Things will change eventually, but for a trade-oriented power (as the Dutch, Portuguese and English are in this era), the northern coast of Aururia doesn't have much to interest them.
Pigs and chickens will get imported at some point soon (if not already), though I haven't specified a year.
I'm not sure offhand about easily accessible mineral deposits in New Guinea, but the problem is the disease barrier, which is huge. Europeans who venture into New Guinea too much tend to die there. (It's not as bad as tropical Africa, but it's still severe).
The same applies to the Nuttana, of course, which is why they tend to just visit briefly in places like Port Moresby (on the coast, or better yet islands off the coast).
Not yet, though someone will twig sooner or later. There's also jade in Aururia, by the way. It's in the Seven Sisters / Mutjing lands / Eyre Peninsula. There's been a couple of passing references to Mutjing wearing green stone, which is jade.
Again, the Dutch haven't recognised it yet, mostly because the jade mines are in a localised area in the eastern side of the peninsula, and the Dutch haven't visited there much yet. When they work it out, they will be very keen to obtain jade from there too.
Nice one.
The smart-arse answer is that Ruprecht is really a German.
While I accept most of that, I'm not sure about it being more forested. I'm not sure when it was removed, but Scotland did used to be very well forested. (It was definitely still pretty wooded in the medieval period, but I'm not sure where it stood by the 1600s.)
mojojojo
Gone Fishin'
IIRC they (and the Tasmanian Wolf )will have died out before any Europeans see them
I wonder - will Ruprecht's menagerie make it back to Europe? I'm assuming the Prince himself makes it back, given the trends he is responsible for (and fitting as it would be to see him skewered by numerous Tjibarri weapons...).
Oh - and just how deeply do the Raw Men comprehend the politics of Tjibarr and its factions? Do they understand that it's a historical trend for them to be so fractious, or do they think the whole edifice is about to come crashing down in a mass of infighting and are just waiting to swoop in and fight each other for the pieces? Maybe they consider it the 'sick man of Aururia', much like the Ottoman Empire was apparently on the verge of collapse for about 400 years according to OTL popular culture...
Oh - and just how deeply do the Raw Men comprehend the politics of Tjibarr and its factions? Do they understand that it's a historical trend for them to be so fractious, or do they think the whole edifice is about to come crashing down in a mass of infighting and are just waiting to swoop in and fight each other for the pieces? Maybe they consider it the 'sick man of Aururia', much like the Ottoman Empire was apparently on the verge of collapse for about 400 years according to OTL popular culture...
Deforestation has been going on in the Scottish Highlands since about 3000 BC. It was a gradual process, partly due to natural climate change (expansion of peat bogs and lowering of the treeline), but mostly due to human activity. This included some tree removal for timber purposes, but mostly clearing for agriculture and grazing. Grazing activity, in particular, prevented vegetation regrowth.
The process was well-advanced by the seventeenth century, although I don't have exact percentages to hand. On the whole, though, I expect that the Aururian highlands (which don't have grazing animals) will be much more forested than the Scottish highlands (which do).
And, as an aside, the Aururian plagues will have led to global revegation for a while. 20% population loss means that a lot of marginal agricultural lands are abandoned and left to revegetate (scrub cover at least, probably trees if it goes on for long enough), smaller herds of grazing animals, and so forth.
The effects of this will probably be big enough to show up in the climatological record. Much as it's hypothesised that the Little Ice Age was due to population declines in the Old World (Black Death) and New World (diseases from the Columbian Exchange), global CO2 levels could drop even further ITTL. Leading to an even colder world.
The Tasmanian tiger and devil will be mostly gone by the time of European contact, if not soon after. Sadly. The earlier introduction of the dog to Tasmania will ensure that.
Probably not at first. Dog breeds is a much looser concept in this period anyway, being mostly landraces rather than breeds.
In the longer term, well... TTL's version of the Australian cattle dog (i.e. Boye) is derived from a pure dingo strain, rather than the dingo-dog cross-breed that created it in OTL, but it still has some excellent qualities as a herding dog. So I expect that it will become more popular over time.
Sport the boxing kangaroo will definitely make it back to Europe, though I'm not sure how much longer he'll live afterward. Kangaroos have been known to live up to 20 years in captivity, but boxing kangaroos probably have more strain put on them than most.
Boye may make it, but chasing around after Prince Rupert on a battlefield is not conducive to a long and healthy life.
Perch the shoulder-riding quoll, well, time will tell...
So far the Raw Men have little grasp of any Aururian polities, and Tjibarr in particular mystifies them. Their views are coloured (no pun intended) by racism and general cultural chauvinism, and they think of all Aururian peoples as heathen savages. They tend to think of all Aururian polities as being vulnerable to a determined push from European powers. Pieter Nuyts' defeat has weakened but not eliminated this attitude.
But in so far as the Raw Men know about Tjibarri politics, they think of them as a bunch of chaotic infighters who are teetering on the edge of collapse. They think that this can be exploited for better trade terms and influence without too much trouble, and that it won't be much longer before Tjibarr will fall apart even without that.
The Raw Men may be in for a surprise with that view. Although of course the toll from the coming plagues (measles, influenza, typhoid, diptheria, pertussis) would seriously test even the most robust political system in the world.
I haven't actually decided yet what name quolls will get. I tend not to work out Aururian names in advance- only when it comes up in the timeline posts.
Obviously I'll need to work it out when Perch makes an appearance.
And on another note, the thing to remember about the highlands is that if the hill men can survive the next few years, then they will probably be very well placed to become horsemen. The highlands are good country for that once grazing animals are actually introduced- they create their own pastures, to an extent. And this was the country that inspired The Man From Snowy River.
Lands of Red and Gold #78: What Becomes of the Proxy-Hearted
Lands of Red and Gold #78: What Becomes of the Proxy-Hearted
Carl Ashkettle holds up the envelope. A brown wax seal holds it closed. The wax has been impressed with a design that shows an eight-pointed star surrounded by a double circle. Words have been written between the circles, words in an ancient script which Ashkettle does not even recognise, let alone read. All the same, he knows this design.
“Do you know where this letter comes from?”
Mr. Clements snickers. “Naturally. I can even read the Five Rivers script in the design, if you wish me to. I wager that you cannot match that.”
“I wrote to Panyilong [1] Billeenudyal of the Panipat [2], asking for more information about the archaeology of Yigutji.”
“You agreed not to tell any part of my tale while I still breathe,” Clements says coldly.
“Give me some credit for subtlety,” Ashkettle says. “I told him I was researching background for a commemoration of Prince Rupert’s War. And asked him a lot of questions, mostly ones to which I already know the answers. And a few which cannot be answered out of the usual history books, but which you have addressed. Shall we see if Billeenudyal’s answers match with yours?”
“Just as you like.” Clements leans back in his chair.
He slices open the top of the envelope and pulls out the letter. “Dear Mr. Ashkettle, please accept my most gracious thanks for your enquiries into- well, skip all that. Let’s see, lots of questions that don’t matter. Ah, yes. I asked for all the names that the kingdoms gave to Prince Rupert’s War.”
“You already know those; I gave them to you.”
“And you said that no-one today remembered that the kingdom of Yigutji first called it the Musket-” Ashkettle stops as his scanning eye catches up with the words on the letter. “Dear God. Billeenudyal says, Yigutji and Gutjanal both named it the Fever War once typhus struck, but what names Yigutji called the war in its early stages are barely recorded. Except that a colleague of his has recently found a letter from an absent Yigutji lord to his wife saying... saying that he will be home as soon as this musket war is over.”
Clements regards him over steepled fingers. “Why the surprise? It merely confirms the truth you had from me.”
“Yes... but... Very well, then. Tell me what happened in Yigutji after the truce expired and the Fever War resumed.”
* * *
12th Year of Regent Gunya Yadji / 13 August 1648
Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]
Koorumbin, son of Koorumbin, took a deep breath. And then another one. He paused to wipe his sweaty hands against his tunic while he struggled to force his breathing to regularity.
A simple doorway stood ahead of him. An empty doorway; the door had been removed for some reason he neither knew nor cared. Stepping through it would have been simplicity itself.
If Koorumbin could make himself do so.
Inside waited the greatest man in the Land, except for the Regent himself and his immediate family. The great prince Roo Predj. The Raw Prince, an epithet spoken with both fear and affection.
Koorumbin slowly forced himself to the door. Be bold, soldier. You have faced the Tjibarri on the field of battle. You have survived the great fever [typhus]. Surely you can step into a room!
Inside, a man stood, reading some text written on the raw men’s ultra-thin paper [3]. His skin was pinkish-red, his clothes dark-coloured and of no form which Koorumbin recognised. His most notable feature was a plumed, broad-brimmed hat that the prince wore even indoors. But the brim was not too wide to force off what sat on his shoulder.
The prince did not turn or acknowledge Koorumbin’s entry, remaining engrossed in his text. But a tiwi [quoll] perched neatly on the prince’s left shoulder. It had been looking ahead, as if reading the same text as the prince. When Koorumbin stepped inside, the tiwi turned to look at him for a moment, before returning its attention to the document in its master’s hands.
Koorumbin tapped his right boot twice on the stone floor, then waited. He had made his presence known; now he had to linger until the prince acknowledged him.
Prince Roo Predj took some time to respond. Whether the text in front of him consumed his thoughts or not, Koorumbin did not know, and would not venture to guess. The paths of princes were their own, and common-born men did not step onto them.
Instead, he looked at the tiwi. An animal most disconcerting, if in truth it was an animal at all. A tiwi could be of any colour, spotted or striped, large or small, flat-faced or snouted. But it should not be colourless [albino].
Any colourless animal should be sacrificed as soon as it was born. The prince had not only let this animal live, he had adopted it. The tiwi had become his advisor. Perdj, as he had named it, now guided the Raw Prince in his life and deeds. A blessing, or a curse?
At length, the prince finished the page of his text, and turned around.
“Tell me your name.” A command, not a question, and spoken with the language of superiority [4]. So it always was, with the Raw Prince. Entirely understandable when speaking to a soldier, even a plume bearer [5], but the tales were that the prince spoke that way even to other princes. A man of unrivalled courage in battle, but of unparalleled arrogance the rest of the time.
Koorumbin bowed in the Inglidj fashion, as he had learned, and gave his name and rank.
When he looked back up, his gaze was on Perdj, not the prince. The tiwi turned its head slightly, as if whispering in its master’s ear.
Koorumbin bowed again, the simplest means of concealing his expression. Proof now that the Raw Prince was not merely a great man, but one in touch with forces beyond the mortal realm. Who else could have an uncoloured [albino] to guide him through his journey in this life?
But more than that, which power whispered its words to him? Was the Neverborn, the Power trapped within the earth, tapping into an uncoloured to offer wisdom to the Raw Prince? Was this arrogant royal scion from beyond the seas chosen as a harbinger of the time when the world would be riven in battle and strife as the Neverborn broke free of his immortal prison to claim his rightful rule over the world?
Or was it the Firstborn, the scorned son who had murdered his own divine mother, who had found in this colourless animal a tool to betray the Regent and the Land? Had the Firstborn chosen this uncoloured as its mortal tool, and the Raw Prince its dupe, to create bloodshed in the mortal realm? Not to aid the Neverborn, but so that those who died could be claimed by the Firstborn’s servants and conscripted into his sky armies of night, to fight against the Neverborn at the end of days?
Who could say? Koorumbin did not know. He did not dare ask. Nor could anyone ask, save the Regent himself. Tales and rumours flowed about Perdj the uncoloured tiwi, and the Raw Prince who was its mortal sword. All that could be said for certain was that a man who could tame such fearsome beasts as these horses must have an even greater power giving him advice.
“Tell me why you have come,” the prince said.
“The Regent bids you attend a war council to prepare for when the truce with Tjibarr expires. Tomorrow, at two points on the sundial after dawn.”
“Tell him I will be there,” the prince said. He turned back to his text, while the tiwi kept its gaze fixed on him as its master turned. Or was the tiwi truly the master, with the prince merely the powerful servant?
Korrumbin could not leave the dwelling quickly enough.
* * *
The truce between the Yadji and their Five Rivers enemies had been set for two years. In the event, all of the nations kept to the truce. There were some minor flare-ups where over-eager soldiers on both sides clashed. Such flare-ups were always possible, particularly with Tjibarri factions’ endless internal manoeuvring and keenness for subterfuge, but all of the flare-ups were resolved via negotiation without war being triggered.
Neither Tjibarr nor Durigal wanted to return to war early. Both sides knew that war would return in due course. They simply wanted it to continue when they were prepared for the resumption.
Responsibility for Yadji military planning fell to the aging but still formidable Biwdadjari, lord of warmasters [high general]. Other warmasters, including Prince Rupert, were duly consulted and duly ignored. The broad strategy was set by Bidwadjari, who had the Regent’s ear, and all others were permitted only to provide their views into the details of how the strategy should be implemented.
Bidwadjari’s strategy focused around Goolrin [Murray Bridge], the last great bastion of Tjibarri power along the lower Nyalananga [River Murray]. The ancient fort-city had formidable defences, and controlled the best passage across the great river. The last siege had failed only due to the outbreak of typhus, or so Bidwadjari believed. He was determined that this time, a renewed siege would succeed.
The Yadji forces had withdrawn from Goolrin’s immediate environs during the last days before the truce, but were still close enough to restart the siege quickly. What was more difficult to fathom was how effective this siege would be.
Word from merchants and others who had passed Goolrin during the truce reported that the Gunnagal were building additional earth ramparts at the base of the city walls. In the old times, that would have been foolishness, for it would simply have made it easier for the Yadji forces to storm the walls. Bidwadjari recognised its sensibility in these new times, though, for now the greatest danger was cannons breaching the walls.
Work had also been performed to strengthen the structure of the walls. All of the preparations were easily visible, thanks to continued trade. The merchants further reported that Tjibarr had been bringing ever more provisions and supplies into Goolrin , as much as could be obtained in the times of fever-induced famine. The merchants themselves had profited handsomely from supplying food and goods.
Bidwadjari’s planning was also informed by his knowledge that the plagues and war had brought significant losses to the Yadji army. More men had been recruited, but they were inexperienced, and the Land still suffered greatly. While his armies would not go unsupplied, questions remained about how effectively supplies could be brought if they needed to push deeper into the Copper Coast.
The chosen strategy was for a major siege of Goolrin, conducted by the bulk of the Yadji forces. Prince Rupert would once again be given command of the forces fighting Gutjanal. He was given permission to raid further into Gutjanal’s lands, as much as he liked. Logistics would be less of a concern because he could plunder as much food as he needed from that kingdom’s lands; those were not regions which the Regent cared so much about ruling once peace returned. The only instructions for the Raw Prince were that Djawrit [Bendigo] must be kept safe. Past that, he could conduct his campaign how he wished.
Bidwadjari himself would command the siege of Goolrin. Given that Tjibarr had invested so much in defending the city, it needed to be broken, and with that accomplished, he believed that the Yadji would almost certainly have won the broader war. The Nyalananga was the key not just to Tjibarr supplying its forces, but for trade once peace resumed. Trade ran along the Nyalananga to the coast, to the river port of Bunara [Goolwa], the sea port of Jugara [Victor Harbor] and the road between them. With that confirmed in Yadji control, Tjibarr would be cut off in its trade and blocked from any easy supply from its Nedlandj backers.
Bidwadjari would perhaps have been less confident had he considered that with Tjibarr, what was seen was not always what was happening.
For Tjibarr’s military planning, other factors were at play.
* * *
Wombat Day, Cycle of Triumph, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (17 October 1646)
Kilwalee, The Great Bend [Morgan, South Australia] [6]
Kingdom of Tjibarr
Piet van Tassel, surveyor, gave one last order for form’s sake. As instructed, one of the men accompanying him marked the last turning of the trail with a wooden pole. Van Tassel duly recorded the turning in his latest notebook, too. In truth, this last part of the surveying was entirely unnecessary. The trail here was ancient and reasonably well-travelled, marked by dog-travois or whatever these natives had been using for centuries. Only further from the town did routes diverge.
Below him, the trail ran straight down a slight slope to the walls of a town. A town which stood beside a broad river, the one which these natives called the Nyalananga. Only a trickle, perhaps, when compared to the Rhine, but still a river which was of vital importance for these Gunnagal or Tjibarri or whatever they called themselves.
A group of Gunnagal waited outside the walls of Kilwalee. Awaiting him, or so it appeared. Well, the same guides he had used to assist him in surveying would have carried word of his arrival.
When van Tassel neared the group, their leader bowed in Dutch fashion. “Piet van Tassel, I presume.”
Van Tassel bowed in turn. “So I am.”
The native said, “Good to meet you. I am Wemba of the Whites.”
Van Tassel nodded absently. The Whites were one of the numerous parties, the strange groupings that divided Tjibarr’s society. He could never work out whether it was the parties or Tjibarr’s king who ruled in truth.
Wemba said, “I trust that the surveying of the route is complete.”
“Yes. I have marked the best path for a road through to Taparee [Port Pirie]. Both with markers and with my notebooks, which I will give to you once inside the town.”
“Splendid. We will need a further survey completed soon, for the secondary road to Nookoonoo [Port Broughton], but we can discuss that further after you have had time to rest. In the meantime, you have my thanks, in the name of the Whites and His Majesty.”
“Thanks are not required. I have been well-paid,” van Tassel said, with complete sincerity.
“And you have been quicker than expected,” Wemba said. He produced a pouch from his side, and handed it over. “A further recompense for your diligence and speed, and for one more small favour you can help me with once you are in town.”
He accepted the pouch. Full, no doubt, with the kunduri which van Tassel had found so pleasing during his stay in the South-Land. “How else do you need my assistance?”
“What are your Company’s orders regarding... Pieter Nuyts?”
“He is to be arrested if found, and charged with betraying his oath to the Company.”
“Excellent. I trust you will tell Nuyts that himself, when you speak with him.” Wemba took in his expression, and laughed. “Pieter Nuyts grows weary of our hospitality, so I have brought him here for you to remind him of the alternative.”
“I will tell him,” van Tassel said. A shame that Nuyts still lived. Perhaps the Company would wish to remedy that, once van Tassel carried word of his survival.
“Again, my thanks,” Wemba said. He turned to one of the men beside him, and gave a single word instruction in Gunnagal: “Begin”.
Van Tassel knew little of the Gunnagal language, but he recognised that word. “What is beginning?”
“Road construction, of course,” Wemba said. “Quarrying the stone began months ago, and the riverboats have been stockpiling it in the town. The labourers will start immediately. So will those waiting at the other end, as soon as a rider on a fast horse brings them the order.”
“You are... quick,” van Tassel said.
“We have to be. The truce may not last the full two years, and even if it does, the road will probably not be finished by then. Even with your excellent horses and donkeys to pull carts along the road as it is built, this will still be a major work.”
“Will you need the secondary road to Nookoonoo so soon, then?”
“Survey it soon, yes. Any construction will be only with those stones and workers which can be spared from the main road.” Wemba’s gaze was disconcerting in its intensity. “We need a road to a new port just as much as your Company needs it to buy kunduri from us.”
* * *
When the war resumed on the western (Tjibarr) front, the initial stages developed as the Yadji had anticipated. Tjibarr’s forces did not offer battle outside Goolrin, but settled in to defend the city. The Yadji armies brought in siege equipment, particularly fresh cannon supplied by their Inglidj allies, but as expected these weapons were of little value against Goolrin’s walls. Built atop countless earlier cities that had occupied the same ground, Goolrin already had natural earthen defences that were difficult to batter down with cannon. The ancient earthen slopes were close enough to bowshot from the walls that cannon could not be deployed on them. The fresh earthen ramparts above only made the bombardment even more futile.
The city would have to fall by slow attrition, betrayal from within, or potentially a negotiated surrender if the garrison could be convinced to withdraw further back into Tjibarri territory. Such had been anticipated beforehand, and as expected, the siege was a lengthy one.
The Yadji forces did not all remain pinned around Goolrin. The bulk of their armies remained near the besieged city in case of an attempted breakout or a sortie downriver by Tjibarri forces, but some remained along the occupied coast. Those soldiers launched their own fresh manoeuvres toward Tjibarri territory, though they advanced less boldly than in the pre-truce phase of the war. Biwadjari’s orders were to probe, to acquire any ground safely if it could be done so, but not to risk a major engagement which would cost vital manpower.
The Yadji forces mounted a series of raids on Tjibarr’s territory, mostly across the defensive line which Tjibarr had established on the Kudreemitjee [River Torrens]. The river was not in truth a major barrier; in summer it usually consisted of a series of waterholes, and while it flooded more during the winter and spring campaigning season, any determined force could cross it.
Indeed, the Yadji forces made several raids across the Kudreemitjee without too much trouble. These raids could not hold territory. Nor were they intended to do so, being mainly a testing of defences. Sure enough, this led to several clashes with Tjibarri forces, and it was those engagements which provided a puzzling discovery. Some of the opposing warriors were not Tjibarri at all. They were not from anywhere in the Five Rivers. They were strange, light-skinned (though not raw), tattooed warriors.
They were Maori.
* * *
3rd Day of Feasts, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (18 March 1647)
Mawhera, Lands of the Te Arawa iwi, Te Waipounamu, Aotearoa [Greymouth, Westland, South Island, New Zealand]
The man who let others call him Northwind held himself still. Softly, in the Gunnagal language which none of the Maori should understand, he told his companions, “Remain steady and unmoving on your knee, no matter what these Maori do.”
The nine Maori warriors in front of them moved back and forth in a ritualised dance, chanting words and shouting challenges, while brandishing bronze-tipped weapons. Quite imposing if you had not learned about it before, but then Northwind had found out as much as he could about the Maori before being sent on this mission. Such was his habit.
This Maori dance, the haka, was a ritual challenge, nothing more. Ostensibly the visitors’ reaction to this dance, together with the merit of their gifts, was what allowed the Maori king, or his relative, to decide whether to accept the visitors as guests. With all of the sanctity of hospitality which that implied.
In truth, the value of the gifts, and the reasons which the visitors offered for their arrival, were what mattered. The decision had already been made before the haka began. Still, it would not do to offend their hosts by showing a poor reaction to the haka [7].
Following his advice, the men on either side of him remained motionless. Good that they could follow instructions, and that neither of them were fools. Not that he would have tolerated any fools here. The Maori were hospitable enough by their own standards, but harsh to those who stepped outside of them, and Northwind would not permit anyone here who might foolishly break those standards.
The man on his left, Yeruninna, second trading captain of the Puwana bloodline, was astute enough. Most Islanders were, when profit was involved, and this voyage offered considerable profit for them.
The Island was crumbling, or so Northwind had heard, with their old trade routes being consumed by the Nedlandj and their own undeclared kingdom and granary in the Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula] ravaged by war. Where once the Islanders had demanded the best prices for premium goods like dyes and kunduri, now they were reduced to seeking almost any terms they could find for food. If Yeruninna played his role properly in this mission, it would be the first of many where Islander ships could be put to good use bringing Maori mercenaries to Taparee and Nookoonoo. If the payment was mostly badly-needed food, and little of the kunduri which the Island’s merchants had demanded in the past, well, that was a problem for the Islanders, not for Northwind.
The man on his right, Bili Narra, would be astute enough. He might be a member of the detestable Golds, but Bili Narra was still a Council member. Anyone who had served on the Council, at the heart of the Endless Dance, knew the value of composure and appearances.
This was the first time in many years that Northwind had travelled openly with a Council member. And, not coincidentally, also the first time he had acted on behalf of instructions sanctioned by the Council. Or by six of the eight factions on the Council, which was close enough for his purposes.
The two remaining factions, the Blues and the Blacks, opposed the bid to obtain Maori mercenaries. They said that in the short term, the costs in kunduri and other goods would be too high, when those same commodities could be used to purchase extra arms from the Nedlandj rather than extra mercenaries. And that in the long term, better to leave the Maori happily fighting among themselves in Aotearoa than encouraging them to undertake military adventures in the wider world.
Moving only his eyes rather than his head, Northwind checked that the gifts were still in place behind the dancing warriors. Two large pouches of kunduri, and two dozen bronze ingots, remained where they had been set. Thanks to the advice of Yeruninna, the third pouch of kunduri that Northwind had originally been given had been traded in the Cider Isle [Tasmania] for the ingots. On the Cider Isle, kunduri was more valuable, as Yeruninna had explained; wealthy Tjunini and Kurnawal used it as the standard to judge wealth [8]. While over here in Aotearoa, the Maori would value those bronze ingots more.
The only problem, in fact, had been that Yeruninna complained that these gifts were too generous. Which indeed they were, if Northwind merely wanted hospitality from the Maori. But the Islander trader forgot that not everything could be measured in terms of its value for commerce. Northwind wanted more than hospitality: he wanted an enthusiastic Maori king encouraging his warriors to come to Tjibarr to serve as mercenaries, and those same warriors to hear exaggerated stories of how wealthy Tjibarr must be, if they could give such gifts simply to be accepted as guests.
The Maori completed their haka, with three warriors collecting knives from Northwind and his companions, and handing them to their leader. The leader stepped forward, and held out the knives hilt first. “You are under the protection of ariki iwi Tuhoe.”
“I thank the ariki iwi for his welcome,” Northwind said, in the Islander language, with one of the local Maori warriors translating. “And I ask his permission to make requests of his warriors to join our armies in Tjibarr across the seas.” Not a proposition that would usually be raised so early in Maori ceremony, but with the generosity of these gifts, he did not expect any problems.
The Maori prince said, “You may speak at the marae, asking for the men to come as guest warriors [mercenaries], or to call on their kin to do the same.”
* * *
In 1648 and into 1649, warfare in the west was largely static. Goolrin remained an unassailable bulwark, beyond the capacity of the Yadji armies to storm or suborn. The front further west was slightly more fluid. When pressed, Tjibarr’s armies forces slowly gave ground rather than let themselves be bloodied too severely, but they never retreated too far. When pursuing, the Yadji forces were equally cautious, heedful of Bidwadjari’s oft-repeated orders never to risk a severe ambush or anything which might cost too many troops.
So it was that in the slow passage of military time that the Yadji forces reached as far as the line of the Winter River [Wakefield River], another ephemeral waterway that was only filled after rainfall. Here, though, Tjibarr’s armies had put more preparation into establishing a defensive line, and here the withdrawal came to an abrupt halt. Backed by several fortifications, Tjibarr’s armies made a determined stand, with their soldiers clearly deployed to engage any attackers in open battle.
Wary of them taking too many casualties, or of a potential Tjibarri advance overland to cut them off from retreat, Bidwadjari refused to sanction an all-out assault on Tjibarr’s defensive lines. The Yadji advance was abandoned as both sides settled into largely defensive posturing, with only small-scale raids happening on both sides.
While the Yadji forces never realised it, the raids continued mostly because of the Maori mercenaries’ insistence on responding to any raid with one of their own. This caused Tjibarr’s commanders as much frustration as countering the raids did for the Yadji warmasters. Tjibarr’s strategy relied on a lengthy defensive campaign and a drawn-out war; unnecessary casualties in pointless raids only reduced their soldiers’ numbers.
In the eastern front, under the command of ever-bold Prince Rupert, the warfare would never be so static. The resumption of warfare saw the Raw Prince order an immediate advance into Gutjanal’s territory, with Yadji infantry supporting the European cavalry, to force battle with Gutjanal’s forces. He succeeded in winning several battles, but the price of victory was higher than expected. Gutjanal had not been idle during the truce; more of its soldiers were armed with pikes and muskets, and they remained disciplined under attack.
Rupert had little patience for his Yadji subcommanders who bemoaned the losses of soldiers, but he had rather more recognition of their concern that advancing too far might risk Djawrit falling into enemy hands. That threat constrained Rupert like no other; he might have countermanded other Yadji orders, but not where it involved a risk to the town which was the main source of the gold he so dearly craved.
The Raw Prince devised an alternative strategy. If he could not risk too much of his infantry, he would leave them to defend Djawrit. He chose instead to take the path of destruction. The River Nyalananga itself lay to the north, holding the core of Gutjanal’s population, and also conveniently close to the border with Tjibarr. Rupert chose to deploy his cavalry on a great sweep through Gutjanal’s territory, using their mobility to its full advantage. If he could cause enough destruction, he might force Gutjanal from the war. Failing that, he hoped it would take pressure off the siege of Goolrin, for it should force Tjibarr to defend its eastern border.
The campaign which followed would make Rupert’s name long-reviled throughout the Five Rivers; indeed, it would stain his name for centuries to come. Taking a handful of native scouts who knew the local terrain and who had learned to ride, Rupert launched his ride of terror.
The Grand Raid (as Rupert named it), or the Ride of Blood (as later Aururians named it) began just north of Djawrit, and followed a generally northern route to the Nyalananga. The actual path was deliberately erratic, sometimes veering east or west, since Rupert wanted to cause maximum confusion about his path and particularly make Tjibarr fear that the raid was intended to strike its soil.
The Ride of Blood saw Rupert’s forces burn or otherwise destroy the farms and villages they passed. Fire was their most frequent weapon, both for crops and for buildings, but they would strike down as many villagers as they could find. He ordered the larger towns bypassed, having no desire to become trapped in urban warfare, but in several smaller towns he had his cavalry ride through the towns, firing what they could and cutting down any townsfolk who did not flee quickly enough.
Rupert’s soldiers took little in the way of plunder. They collected only the most valuable gold or occasional gems, and claimed enough food and water for them and their horses. The rest of the food which they found was burned in its storehouses. Anyone who tried to resist was killed, along with many others who were not even trying to resist.
The route of his raid brought his horsemen to the Nyalananga a little west of the great town of Yalooka [Echuca]. Rupert famously stopped there to piss into the Nyalananga “so that the Tjibarri downriver can drink of my water” before he remounted and led his cavalry further east. They passed by the walls of Yalooka, deliberately in sight of Gutjanal’s defenders to be seen to be riding east, before turning south again once out of sight. The Ride took a more circuitous but equally destructive route south and then west before returning to Yadji-held territory near Djawrit.
The farmlands, villages and even small towns in the Ride’s path would take years to recover. The memories would linger for much longer.
Despite this, the Ride came no closer to forcing Tjibarr or Gutjanal from the war. Tjibarr’s strategy relied on fighting a defensive war for long enough that the Yadji felt that nothing more they could gain would be worth the blood and treasure. Gutjanal was committed to continuing the war because, as its king told the council of elders, “Better befriend Tjibarr and let them arm us than surrender to the Regency and let them disarm us.” Further, smaller-scale raids by Rupert and his cavalry were no more successful in forcing Gutjanal to a separate peace.
The war endured until February 1650, when the beleaguered garrison of Goolrin, weakened by starvation, could not fend off a determined Yadji assault. Even then, the price paid in Yadji blood was severe.
With the fall of Goolrin, the Regent was satisfied. The border was close enough to where he believed it should be. The Yadji armies were exhausted, supplies dwindling, and there was little to be gained and much to be risked by continuing the war. The real prize had always been the trade that flowed through Bunara [Goolwa] and Jugara [Victor Harbor]. The valued commerce in kunduri, perfumes, incense, resins, dyes, spices and other goods was what mattered; the border had been pushed further mostly to make that trade more secure.
So, from what he believed was a position of strength, Gunya Yadji opened negotiations with Tjibarr and Gutjanal. The border with Tjibarr was settled essentially on the line reached at the end of the fighting. With Gutjanal still furious over the devastation, and with Tjibarr prepared to continue the war unless Gutjanal was included in the peace, the Regent eventually agreed to return to what was largely the pre-war border in the east. Only a few border towns, now mostly ravaged, were conceded by Gutjanal, but Gunya Yadji found that acceptable in exchange for the concessions in the west. And for the trade which the Yadji now expected would flow through there.
So peace was declared.
Only later did the Yadji learn of the road which Tjibarr had constructed between Kilwalee and Taparee, beginning during the later days of the truce and completed while the warfare was bogged down in defensive struggles. In time, they learned of the horses and donkeys which were being used with carts to transport goods along that road.
The new road was longer and much more expensive for transport than the equivalent road via Jugara. Such was the consequence of a route with less water transport and more by land, particularly when stations needs to be constructed along the route to provide fodder and water for the beasts of burden. Only light, high-value goods could be conveyed profitably along that route: drugs and spices in one direction, perhaps, and firearms and books going the other. Nonetheless, it represented a route to the sea, and one which remained under the control of Tjibarr.
For Prince Rupert, once the peace was negotiated, he had little more interest in Aururia. He waited for a couple more months of peace, in case war resumed. During that time, he was finally rewarded with the riches he expected. The gifts which the Regent bestowed on him were mostly exquisite Yadji weavings, formed from threads of gold and embedded with gems, though he carded little for their craft and more for their bullion.
Rupert showed what was for him, more tact than he usually displayed, when he made his apologies to the Regent that he needed to return to England to resume his royal duties in his homeland. The Regent wished him fair passage and gave more departing gifts, of similar worth. Again showing more tact than he had first displayed on the savage shores, Rupert made gifts of his own in the form of several horses and European weapons.
About a hundred and fifty of his mercenaries chose to remain in Yadji service, and they kept more than their share of the horses, thanks to exchanging more Yadji gold with their fellow soldiers. The rest chose to follow Prince Rupert back home.
Thus came to an end the war which would be known as Prince Rupert’s War. But in a land where the previous thirty-odd years of peace between Tjibarr and Durigal had been a record, no-one expected this new peace to last too long.
Nor had the wider era of war ended. For the Dutch and English companies were still in undeclared war from the Cape to New Guinea. In Aururia itself the lure of spices and gold still called from other parts of the continent. And the invitation which had been provided for Maori mercenaries had rekindled their interest in the world beyond Aotearoa.
* * *
Clements says, “Yigutji’s soldiers played no role in the Fever War. Not that I knew of at the time. People spoke on the streets, wondering whether we would ever send soldiers anywhere.”
“Did any get sent?”
“No, it never eventuated. None of the three kingdoms had much trust for each other. I remember gossip about our soldiers going to fight for Gutjanal and Tjibarr at various times, but they remained home. The most believable rumours that I heard were that our soldiers would be deployed to the border forts with the highlanders, who were stirring up trouble again, so that Gutjanal could spare more soldiers to fight off Prince Rupert.”
“Why didn’t that happen?” Ashkettle asks.
Clements shrugs. “So much mistrust, as I said. Perhaps that might have been overcome, if someone hadn’t sold muskets to the highlanders.”
“Truly? I thought that the highlanders captured muskets from the Yadji invasion during the truce.”
“Is that what the history books say?” Clements laughs. “Perhaps the highlanders got some more muskets during the invasion, but they had them before the war. They even struck at our border forts a couple of times. I never found out where the highlanders obtained those muskets from. We blamed Gutjanal for smuggling them, and they blamed us. Whatever the reason, it was enough to prevent us cooperating with Gutjanal in defending against the highlanders.”
“And is that all you can remember about the Fever War?”
Clements hesitates. An unusual occurrence for him; he usually oozes confidence. Is there a tear glistening in his eye? “My worst memory of the Fever War happened during the truce, not the fighting. It was... a senior physician visited my family’s workshop. Pimballa, I think he was called. He had been studying with Gunnagal colleagues in Tapiwal [Robinvale, Victoria]. He was trapped there for several months during the quarantine, and kept away for several more months because there was a quarantine here in the city... where I worked, that is.”
Clements pauses. Yes, there is a glistening, a moistness in his eye. “I remember asking him if the physicians had found a cure for the great fever. Typhus, as we now call it.”
“They couldn’t cure it, surely,” Ashkettle says. “Antibiotics weren’t-”
Clements holds up a hand. “Pimballa said that it wasn’t the fever which worried him so much. His colleagues had been reading raw men texts, which spoke of many other diseases. Some worse than great fever. And most of those had not yet reached us. He said, and I remember his words well, even now: “The fever brings death. What I fear is that the Raw Men have brought us worse than death. They have brought us the time of the great dying”.”
* * *
[1] Panyilong can be translated approximately as “person with responsibility for disputing”, or more succinctly if more ambiguously as “disputer”. It is an academic title which is roughly equivalent to professor or associate professor.
[2] In full, the Tjagarr Panipat, from a Gunnagalic phrase which means “Place of Great Disputation”. The Panipat is a prestigious higher educational institution (among other things) which claims to be Aururia’s oldest university.
[3] The Yadji use a form of paper made from the bark of wattle-skins, which while it can be written on, is thicker and rougher than European-made paper.
[4] The Yadji language contains a variety of forms of pronouns which indicate varying degrees of rank and familiarity, and different forms of verbs which convey a similar sense of instruction or supplication. Prince Ruprecht has learned only the most commanding and superior forms of these words.
[5] “Plume bearer” is a Yadji military rank approximately equivalent to first sergeant or second lieutenant.
[6] Kilwalee (Morgan) is a town just south of the location where the Nyalananga abruptly changes from the roughly westerly course it follows for most of its length, to a southerly course for its last journey to the sea. Tjibarr calls this change in direction the Great Bend; historically it is called North West Bend.
[7] See post #59 for a more detailed description of an allohistorical Maori greeting ritual, including the haka.
[8] i.e. the closest which the pre-coinage peoples of the Cider Isle come to a medium of exchange. Kunduri is in effect the currency for wealthier inhabitants of the Cider Isle.
* * *
Thoughts?
Carl Ashkettle holds up the envelope. A brown wax seal holds it closed. The wax has been impressed with a design that shows an eight-pointed star surrounded by a double circle. Words have been written between the circles, words in an ancient script which Ashkettle does not even recognise, let alone read. All the same, he knows this design.
“Do you know where this letter comes from?”
Mr. Clements snickers. “Naturally. I can even read the Five Rivers script in the design, if you wish me to. I wager that you cannot match that.”
“I wrote to Panyilong [1] Billeenudyal of the Panipat [2], asking for more information about the archaeology of Yigutji.”
“You agreed not to tell any part of my tale while I still breathe,” Clements says coldly.
“Give me some credit for subtlety,” Ashkettle says. “I told him I was researching background for a commemoration of Prince Rupert’s War. And asked him a lot of questions, mostly ones to which I already know the answers. And a few which cannot be answered out of the usual history books, but which you have addressed. Shall we see if Billeenudyal’s answers match with yours?”
“Just as you like.” Clements leans back in his chair.
He slices open the top of the envelope and pulls out the letter. “Dear Mr. Ashkettle, please accept my most gracious thanks for your enquiries into- well, skip all that. Let’s see, lots of questions that don’t matter. Ah, yes. I asked for all the names that the kingdoms gave to Prince Rupert’s War.”
“You already know those; I gave them to you.”
“And you said that no-one today remembered that the kingdom of Yigutji first called it the Musket-” Ashkettle stops as his scanning eye catches up with the words on the letter. “Dear God. Billeenudyal says, Yigutji and Gutjanal both named it the Fever War once typhus struck, but what names Yigutji called the war in its early stages are barely recorded. Except that a colleague of his has recently found a letter from an absent Yigutji lord to his wife saying... saying that he will be home as soon as this musket war is over.”
Clements regards him over steepled fingers. “Why the surprise? It merely confirms the truth you had from me.”
“Yes... but... Very well, then. Tell me what happened in Yigutji after the truce expired and the Fever War resumed.”
* * *
12th Year of Regent Gunya Yadji / 13 August 1648
Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]
Koorumbin, son of Koorumbin, took a deep breath. And then another one. He paused to wipe his sweaty hands against his tunic while he struggled to force his breathing to regularity.
A simple doorway stood ahead of him. An empty doorway; the door had been removed for some reason he neither knew nor cared. Stepping through it would have been simplicity itself.
If Koorumbin could make himself do so.
Inside waited the greatest man in the Land, except for the Regent himself and his immediate family. The great prince Roo Predj. The Raw Prince, an epithet spoken with both fear and affection.
Koorumbin slowly forced himself to the door. Be bold, soldier. You have faced the Tjibarri on the field of battle. You have survived the great fever [typhus]. Surely you can step into a room!
Inside, a man stood, reading some text written on the raw men’s ultra-thin paper [3]. His skin was pinkish-red, his clothes dark-coloured and of no form which Koorumbin recognised. His most notable feature was a plumed, broad-brimmed hat that the prince wore even indoors. But the brim was not too wide to force off what sat on his shoulder.
The prince did not turn or acknowledge Koorumbin’s entry, remaining engrossed in his text. But a tiwi [quoll] perched neatly on the prince’s left shoulder. It had been looking ahead, as if reading the same text as the prince. When Koorumbin stepped inside, the tiwi turned to look at him for a moment, before returning its attention to the document in its master’s hands.
Koorumbin tapped his right boot twice on the stone floor, then waited. He had made his presence known; now he had to linger until the prince acknowledged him.
Prince Roo Predj took some time to respond. Whether the text in front of him consumed his thoughts or not, Koorumbin did not know, and would not venture to guess. The paths of princes were their own, and common-born men did not step onto them.
Instead, he looked at the tiwi. An animal most disconcerting, if in truth it was an animal at all. A tiwi could be of any colour, spotted or striped, large or small, flat-faced or snouted. But it should not be colourless [albino].
Any colourless animal should be sacrificed as soon as it was born. The prince had not only let this animal live, he had adopted it. The tiwi had become his advisor. Perdj, as he had named it, now guided the Raw Prince in his life and deeds. A blessing, or a curse?
At length, the prince finished the page of his text, and turned around.
“Tell me your name.” A command, not a question, and spoken with the language of superiority [4]. So it always was, with the Raw Prince. Entirely understandable when speaking to a soldier, even a plume bearer [5], but the tales were that the prince spoke that way even to other princes. A man of unrivalled courage in battle, but of unparalleled arrogance the rest of the time.
Koorumbin bowed in the Inglidj fashion, as he had learned, and gave his name and rank.
When he looked back up, his gaze was on Perdj, not the prince. The tiwi turned its head slightly, as if whispering in its master’s ear.
Koorumbin bowed again, the simplest means of concealing his expression. Proof now that the Raw Prince was not merely a great man, but one in touch with forces beyond the mortal realm. Who else could have an uncoloured [albino] to guide him through his journey in this life?
But more than that, which power whispered its words to him? Was the Neverborn, the Power trapped within the earth, tapping into an uncoloured to offer wisdom to the Raw Prince? Was this arrogant royal scion from beyond the seas chosen as a harbinger of the time when the world would be riven in battle and strife as the Neverborn broke free of his immortal prison to claim his rightful rule over the world?
Or was it the Firstborn, the scorned son who had murdered his own divine mother, who had found in this colourless animal a tool to betray the Regent and the Land? Had the Firstborn chosen this uncoloured as its mortal tool, and the Raw Prince its dupe, to create bloodshed in the mortal realm? Not to aid the Neverborn, but so that those who died could be claimed by the Firstborn’s servants and conscripted into his sky armies of night, to fight against the Neverborn at the end of days?
Who could say? Koorumbin did not know. He did not dare ask. Nor could anyone ask, save the Regent himself. Tales and rumours flowed about Perdj the uncoloured tiwi, and the Raw Prince who was its mortal sword. All that could be said for certain was that a man who could tame such fearsome beasts as these horses must have an even greater power giving him advice.
“Tell me why you have come,” the prince said.
“The Regent bids you attend a war council to prepare for when the truce with Tjibarr expires. Tomorrow, at two points on the sundial after dawn.”
“Tell him I will be there,” the prince said. He turned back to his text, while the tiwi kept its gaze fixed on him as its master turned. Or was the tiwi truly the master, with the prince merely the powerful servant?
Korrumbin could not leave the dwelling quickly enough.
* * *
The truce between the Yadji and their Five Rivers enemies had been set for two years. In the event, all of the nations kept to the truce. There were some minor flare-ups where over-eager soldiers on both sides clashed. Such flare-ups were always possible, particularly with Tjibarri factions’ endless internal manoeuvring and keenness for subterfuge, but all of the flare-ups were resolved via negotiation without war being triggered.
Neither Tjibarr nor Durigal wanted to return to war early. Both sides knew that war would return in due course. They simply wanted it to continue when they were prepared for the resumption.
Responsibility for Yadji military planning fell to the aging but still formidable Biwdadjari, lord of warmasters [high general]. Other warmasters, including Prince Rupert, were duly consulted and duly ignored. The broad strategy was set by Bidwadjari, who had the Regent’s ear, and all others were permitted only to provide their views into the details of how the strategy should be implemented.
Bidwadjari’s strategy focused around Goolrin [Murray Bridge], the last great bastion of Tjibarri power along the lower Nyalananga [River Murray]. The ancient fort-city had formidable defences, and controlled the best passage across the great river. The last siege had failed only due to the outbreak of typhus, or so Bidwadjari believed. He was determined that this time, a renewed siege would succeed.
The Yadji forces had withdrawn from Goolrin’s immediate environs during the last days before the truce, but were still close enough to restart the siege quickly. What was more difficult to fathom was how effective this siege would be.
Word from merchants and others who had passed Goolrin during the truce reported that the Gunnagal were building additional earth ramparts at the base of the city walls. In the old times, that would have been foolishness, for it would simply have made it easier for the Yadji forces to storm the walls. Bidwadjari recognised its sensibility in these new times, though, for now the greatest danger was cannons breaching the walls.
Work had also been performed to strengthen the structure of the walls. All of the preparations were easily visible, thanks to continued trade. The merchants further reported that Tjibarr had been bringing ever more provisions and supplies into Goolrin , as much as could be obtained in the times of fever-induced famine. The merchants themselves had profited handsomely from supplying food and goods.
Bidwadjari’s planning was also informed by his knowledge that the plagues and war had brought significant losses to the Yadji army. More men had been recruited, but they were inexperienced, and the Land still suffered greatly. While his armies would not go unsupplied, questions remained about how effectively supplies could be brought if they needed to push deeper into the Copper Coast.
The chosen strategy was for a major siege of Goolrin, conducted by the bulk of the Yadji forces. Prince Rupert would once again be given command of the forces fighting Gutjanal. He was given permission to raid further into Gutjanal’s lands, as much as he liked. Logistics would be less of a concern because he could plunder as much food as he needed from that kingdom’s lands; those were not regions which the Regent cared so much about ruling once peace returned. The only instructions for the Raw Prince were that Djawrit [Bendigo] must be kept safe. Past that, he could conduct his campaign how he wished.
Bidwadjari himself would command the siege of Goolrin. Given that Tjibarr had invested so much in defending the city, it needed to be broken, and with that accomplished, he believed that the Yadji would almost certainly have won the broader war. The Nyalananga was the key not just to Tjibarr supplying its forces, but for trade once peace resumed. Trade ran along the Nyalananga to the coast, to the river port of Bunara [Goolwa], the sea port of Jugara [Victor Harbor] and the road between them. With that confirmed in Yadji control, Tjibarr would be cut off in its trade and blocked from any easy supply from its Nedlandj backers.
Bidwadjari would perhaps have been less confident had he considered that with Tjibarr, what was seen was not always what was happening.
For Tjibarr’s military planning, other factors were at play.
* * *
Wombat Day, Cycle of Triumph, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (17 October 1646)
Kilwalee, The Great Bend [Morgan, South Australia] [6]
Kingdom of Tjibarr
Piet van Tassel, surveyor, gave one last order for form’s sake. As instructed, one of the men accompanying him marked the last turning of the trail with a wooden pole. Van Tassel duly recorded the turning in his latest notebook, too. In truth, this last part of the surveying was entirely unnecessary. The trail here was ancient and reasonably well-travelled, marked by dog-travois or whatever these natives had been using for centuries. Only further from the town did routes diverge.
Below him, the trail ran straight down a slight slope to the walls of a town. A town which stood beside a broad river, the one which these natives called the Nyalananga. Only a trickle, perhaps, when compared to the Rhine, but still a river which was of vital importance for these Gunnagal or Tjibarri or whatever they called themselves.
A group of Gunnagal waited outside the walls of Kilwalee. Awaiting him, or so it appeared. Well, the same guides he had used to assist him in surveying would have carried word of his arrival.
When van Tassel neared the group, their leader bowed in Dutch fashion. “Piet van Tassel, I presume.”
Van Tassel bowed in turn. “So I am.”
The native said, “Good to meet you. I am Wemba of the Whites.”
Van Tassel nodded absently. The Whites were one of the numerous parties, the strange groupings that divided Tjibarr’s society. He could never work out whether it was the parties or Tjibarr’s king who ruled in truth.
Wemba said, “I trust that the surveying of the route is complete.”
“Yes. I have marked the best path for a road through to Taparee [Port Pirie]. Both with markers and with my notebooks, which I will give to you once inside the town.”
“Splendid. We will need a further survey completed soon, for the secondary road to Nookoonoo [Port Broughton], but we can discuss that further after you have had time to rest. In the meantime, you have my thanks, in the name of the Whites and His Majesty.”
“Thanks are not required. I have been well-paid,” van Tassel said, with complete sincerity.
“And you have been quicker than expected,” Wemba said. He produced a pouch from his side, and handed it over. “A further recompense for your diligence and speed, and for one more small favour you can help me with once you are in town.”
He accepted the pouch. Full, no doubt, with the kunduri which van Tassel had found so pleasing during his stay in the South-Land. “How else do you need my assistance?”
“What are your Company’s orders regarding... Pieter Nuyts?”
“He is to be arrested if found, and charged with betraying his oath to the Company.”
“Excellent. I trust you will tell Nuyts that himself, when you speak with him.” Wemba took in his expression, and laughed. “Pieter Nuyts grows weary of our hospitality, so I have brought him here for you to remind him of the alternative.”
“I will tell him,” van Tassel said. A shame that Nuyts still lived. Perhaps the Company would wish to remedy that, once van Tassel carried word of his survival.
“Again, my thanks,” Wemba said. He turned to one of the men beside him, and gave a single word instruction in Gunnagal: “Begin”.
Van Tassel knew little of the Gunnagal language, but he recognised that word. “What is beginning?”
“Road construction, of course,” Wemba said. “Quarrying the stone began months ago, and the riverboats have been stockpiling it in the town. The labourers will start immediately. So will those waiting at the other end, as soon as a rider on a fast horse brings them the order.”
“You are... quick,” van Tassel said.
“We have to be. The truce may not last the full two years, and even if it does, the road will probably not be finished by then. Even with your excellent horses and donkeys to pull carts along the road as it is built, this will still be a major work.”
“Will you need the secondary road to Nookoonoo so soon, then?”
“Survey it soon, yes. Any construction will be only with those stones and workers which can be spared from the main road.” Wemba’s gaze was disconcerting in its intensity. “We need a road to a new port just as much as your Company needs it to buy kunduri from us.”
* * *
When the war resumed on the western (Tjibarr) front, the initial stages developed as the Yadji had anticipated. Tjibarr’s forces did not offer battle outside Goolrin, but settled in to defend the city. The Yadji armies brought in siege equipment, particularly fresh cannon supplied by their Inglidj allies, but as expected these weapons were of little value against Goolrin’s walls. Built atop countless earlier cities that had occupied the same ground, Goolrin already had natural earthen defences that were difficult to batter down with cannon. The ancient earthen slopes were close enough to bowshot from the walls that cannon could not be deployed on them. The fresh earthen ramparts above only made the bombardment even more futile.
The city would have to fall by slow attrition, betrayal from within, or potentially a negotiated surrender if the garrison could be convinced to withdraw further back into Tjibarri territory. Such had been anticipated beforehand, and as expected, the siege was a lengthy one.
The Yadji forces did not all remain pinned around Goolrin. The bulk of their armies remained near the besieged city in case of an attempted breakout or a sortie downriver by Tjibarri forces, but some remained along the occupied coast. Those soldiers launched their own fresh manoeuvres toward Tjibarri territory, though they advanced less boldly than in the pre-truce phase of the war. Biwadjari’s orders were to probe, to acquire any ground safely if it could be done so, but not to risk a major engagement which would cost vital manpower.
The Yadji forces mounted a series of raids on Tjibarr’s territory, mostly across the defensive line which Tjibarr had established on the Kudreemitjee [River Torrens]. The river was not in truth a major barrier; in summer it usually consisted of a series of waterholes, and while it flooded more during the winter and spring campaigning season, any determined force could cross it.
Indeed, the Yadji forces made several raids across the Kudreemitjee without too much trouble. These raids could not hold territory. Nor were they intended to do so, being mainly a testing of defences. Sure enough, this led to several clashes with Tjibarri forces, and it was those engagements which provided a puzzling discovery. Some of the opposing warriors were not Tjibarri at all. They were not from anywhere in the Five Rivers. They were strange, light-skinned (though not raw), tattooed warriors.
They were Maori.
* * *
3rd Day of Feasts, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (18 March 1647)
Mawhera, Lands of the Te Arawa iwi, Te Waipounamu, Aotearoa [Greymouth, Westland, South Island, New Zealand]
The man who let others call him Northwind held himself still. Softly, in the Gunnagal language which none of the Maori should understand, he told his companions, “Remain steady and unmoving on your knee, no matter what these Maori do.”
The nine Maori warriors in front of them moved back and forth in a ritualised dance, chanting words and shouting challenges, while brandishing bronze-tipped weapons. Quite imposing if you had not learned about it before, but then Northwind had found out as much as he could about the Maori before being sent on this mission. Such was his habit.
This Maori dance, the haka, was a ritual challenge, nothing more. Ostensibly the visitors’ reaction to this dance, together with the merit of their gifts, was what allowed the Maori king, or his relative, to decide whether to accept the visitors as guests. With all of the sanctity of hospitality which that implied.
In truth, the value of the gifts, and the reasons which the visitors offered for their arrival, were what mattered. The decision had already been made before the haka began. Still, it would not do to offend their hosts by showing a poor reaction to the haka [7].
Following his advice, the men on either side of him remained motionless. Good that they could follow instructions, and that neither of them were fools. Not that he would have tolerated any fools here. The Maori were hospitable enough by their own standards, but harsh to those who stepped outside of them, and Northwind would not permit anyone here who might foolishly break those standards.
The man on his left, Yeruninna, second trading captain of the Puwana bloodline, was astute enough. Most Islanders were, when profit was involved, and this voyage offered considerable profit for them.
The Island was crumbling, or so Northwind had heard, with their old trade routes being consumed by the Nedlandj and their own undeclared kingdom and granary in the Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula] ravaged by war. Where once the Islanders had demanded the best prices for premium goods like dyes and kunduri, now they were reduced to seeking almost any terms they could find for food. If Yeruninna played his role properly in this mission, it would be the first of many where Islander ships could be put to good use bringing Maori mercenaries to Taparee and Nookoonoo. If the payment was mostly badly-needed food, and little of the kunduri which the Island’s merchants had demanded in the past, well, that was a problem for the Islanders, not for Northwind.
The man on his right, Bili Narra, would be astute enough. He might be a member of the detestable Golds, but Bili Narra was still a Council member. Anyone who had served on the Council, at the heart of the Endless Dance, knew the value of composure and appearances.
This was the first time in many years that Northwind had travelled openly with a Council member. And, not coincidentally, also the first time he had acted on behalf of instructions sanctioned by the Council. Or by six of the eight factions on the Council, which was close enough for his purposes.
The two remaining factions, the Blues and the Blacks, opposed the bid to obtain Maori mercenaries. They said that in the short term, the costs in kunduri and other goods would be too high, when those same commodities could be used to purchase extra arms from the Nedlandj rather than extra mercenaries. And that in the long term, better to leave the Maori happily fighting among themselves in Aotearoa than encouraging them to undertake military adventures in the wider world.
Moving only his eyes rather than his head, Northwind checked that the gifts were still in place behind the dancing warriors. Two large pouches of kunduri, and two dozen bronze ingots, remained where they had been set. Thanks to the advice of Yeruninna, the third pouch of kunduri that Northwind had originally been given had been traded in the Cider Isle [Tasmania] for the ingots. On the Cider Isle, kunduri was more valuable, as Yeruninna had explained; wealthy Tjunini and Kurnawal used it as the standard to judge wealth [8]. While over here in Aotearoa, the Maori would value those bronze ingots more.
The only problem, in fact, had been that Yeruninna complained that these gifts were too generous. Which indeed they were, if Northwind merely wanted hospitality from the Maori. But the Islander trader forgot that not everything could be measured in terms of its value for commerce. Northwind wanted more than hospitality: he wanted an enthusiastic Maori king encouraging his warriors to come to Tjibarr to serve as mercenaries, and those same warriors to hear exaggerated stories of how wealthy Tjibarr must be, if they could give such gifts simply to be accepted as guests.
The Maori completed their haka, with three warriors collecting knives from Northwind and his companions, and handing them to their leader. The leader stepped forward, and held out the knives hilt first. “You are under the protection of ariki iwi Tuhoe.”
“I thank the ariki iwi for his welcome,” Northwind said, in the Islander language, with one of the local Maori warriors translating. “And I ask his permission to make requests of his warriors to join our armies in Tjibarr across the seas.” Not a proposition that would usually be raised so early in Maori ceremony, but with the generosity of these gifts, he did not expect any problems.
The Maori prince said, “You may speak at the marae, asking for the men to come as guest warriors [mercenaries], or to call on their kin to do the same.”
* * *
In 1648 and into 1649, warfare in the west was largely static. Goolrin remained an unassailable bulwark, beyond the capacity of the Yadji armies to storm or suborn. The front further west was slightly more fluid. When pressed, Tjibarr’s armies forces slowly gave ground rather than let themselves be bloodied too severely, but they never retreated too far. When pursuing, the Yadji forces were equally cautious, heedful of Bidwadjari’s oft-repeated orders never to risk a severe ambush or anything which might cost too many troops.
So it was that in the slow passage of military time that the Yadji forces reached as far as the line of the Winter River [Wakefield River], another ephemeral waterway that was only filled after rainfall. Here, though, Tjibarr’s armies had put more preparation into establishing a defensive line, and here the withdrawal came to an abrupt halt. Backed by several fortifications, Tjibarr’s armies made a determined stand, with their soldiers clearly deployed to engage any attackers in open battle.
Wary of them taking too many casualties, or of a potential Tjibarri advance overland to cut them off from retreat, Bidwadjari refused to sanction an all-out assault on Tjibarr’s defensive lines. The Yadji advance was abandoned as both sides settled into largely defensive posturing, with only small-scale raids happening on both sides.
While the Yadji forces never realised it, the raids continued mostly because of the Maori mercenaries’ insistence on responding to any raid with one of their own. This caused Tjibarr’s commanders as much frustration as countering the raids did for the Yadji warmasters. Tjibarr’s strategy relied on a lengthy defensive campaign and a drawn-out war; unnecessary casualties in pointless raids only reduced their soldiers’ numbers.
In the eastern front, under the command of ever-bold Prince Rupert, the warfare would never be so static. The resumption of warfare saw the Raw Prince order an immediate advance into Gutjanal’s territory, with Yadji infantry supporting the European cavalry, to force battle with Gutjanal’s forces. He succeeded in winning several battles, but the price of victory was higher than expected. Gutjanal had not been idle during the truce; more of its soldiers were armed with pikes and muskets, and they remained disciplined under attack.
Rupert had little patience for his Yadji subcommanders who bemoaned the losses of soldiers, but he had rather more recognition of their concern that advancing too far might risk Djawrit falling into enemy hands. That threat constrained Rupert like no other; he might have countermanded other Yadji orders, but not where it involved a risk to the town which was the main source of the gold he so dearly craved.
The Raw Prince devised an alternative strategy. If he could not risk too much of his infantry, he would leave them to defend Djawrit. He chose instead to take the path of destruction. The River Nyalananga itself lay to the north, holding the core of Gutjanal’s population, and also conveniently close to the border with Tjibarr. Rupert chose to deploy his cavalry on a great sweep through Gutjanal’s territory, using their mobility to its full advantage. If he could cause enough destruction, he might force Gutjanal from the war. Failing that, he hoped it would take pressure off the siege of Goolrin, for it should force Tjibarr to defend its eastern border.
The campaign which followed would make Rupert’s name long-reviled throughout the Five Rivers; indeed, it would stain his name for centuries to come. Taking a handful of native scouts who knew the local terrain and who had learned to ride, Rupert launched his ride of terror.
The Grand Raid (as Rupert named it), or the Ride of Blood (as later Aururians named it) began just north of Djawrit, and followed a generally northern route to the Nyalananga. The actual path was deliberately erratic, sometimes veering east or west, since Rupert wanted to cause maximum confusion about his path and particularly make Tjibarr fear that the raid was intended to strike its soil.
The Ride of Blood saw Rupert’s forces burn or otherwise destroy the farms and villages they passed. Fire was their most frequent weapon, both for crops and for buildings, but they would strike down as many villagers as they could find. He ordered the larger towns bypassed, having no desire to become trapped in urban warfare, but in several smaller towns he had his cavalry ride through the towns, firing what they could and cutting down any townsfolk who did not flee quickly enough.
Rupert’s soldiers took little in the way of plunder. They collected only the most valuable gold or occasional gems, and claimed enough food and water for them and their horses. The rest of the food which they found was burned in its storehouses. Anyone who tried to resist was killed, along with many others who were not even trying to resist.
The route of his raid brought his horsemen to the Nyalananga a little west of the great town of Yalooka [Echuca]. Rupert famously stopped there to piss into the Nyalananga “so that the Tjibarri downriver can drink of my water” before he remounted and led his cavalry further east. They passed by the walls of Yalooka, deliberately in sight of Gutjanal’s defenders to be seen to be riding east, before turning south again once out of sight. The Ride took a more circuitous but equally destructive route south and then west before returning to Yadji-held territory near Djawrit.
The farmlands, villages and even small towns in the Ride’s path would take years to recover. The memories would linger for much longer.
Despite this, the Ride came no closer to forcing Tjibarr or Gutjanal from the war. Tjibarr’s strategy relied on fighting a defensive war for long enough that the Yadji felt that nothing more they could gain would be worth the blood and treasure. Gutjanal was committed to continuing the war because, as its king told the council of elders, “Better befriend Tjibarr and let them arm us than surrender to the Regency and let them disarm us.” Further, smaller-scale raids by Rupert and his cavalry were no more successful in forcing Gutjanal to a separate peace.
The war endured until February 1650, when the beleaguered garrison of Goolrin, weakened by starvation, could not fend off a determined Yadji assault. Even then, the price paid in Yadji blood was severe.
With the fall of Goolrin, the Regent was satisfied. The border was close enough to where he believed it should be. The Yadji armies were exhausted, supplies dwindling, and there was little to be gained and much to be risked by continuing the war. The real prize had always been the trade that flowed through Bunara [Goolwa] and Jugara [Victor Harbor]. The valued commerce in kunduri, perfumes, incense, resins, dyes, spices and other goods was what mattered; the border had been pushed further mostly to make that trade more secure.
So, from what he believed was a position of strength, Gunya Yadji opened negotiations with Tjibarr and Gutjanal. The border with Tjibarr was settled essentially on the line reached at the end of the fighting. With Gutjanal still furious over the devastation, and with Tjibarr prepared to continue the war unless Gutjanal was included in the peace, the Regent eventually agreed to return to what was largely the pre-war border in the east. Only a few border towns, now mostly ravaged, were conceded by Gutjanal, but Gunya Yadji found that acceptable in exchange for the concessions in the west. And for the trade which the Yadji now expected would flow through there.
So peace was declared.
Only later did the Yadji learn of the road which Tjibarr had constructed between Kilwalee and Taparee, beginning during the later days of the truce and completed while the warfare was bogged down in defensive struggles. In time, they learned of the horses and donkeys which were being used with carts to transport goods along that road.
The new road was longer and much more expensive for transport than the equivalent road via Jugara. Such was the consequence of a route with less water transport and more by land, particularly when stations needs to be constructed along the route to provide fodder and water for the beasts of burden. Only light, high-value goods could be conveyed profitably along that route: drugs and spices in one direction, perhaps, and firearms and books going the other. Nonetheless, it represented a route to the sea, and one which remained under the control of Tjibarr.
For Prince Rupert, once the peace was negotiated, he had little more interest in Aururia. He waited for a couple more months of peace, in case war resumed. During that time, he was finally rewarded with the riches he expected. The gifts which the Regent bestowed on him were mostly exquisite Yadji weavings, formed from threads of gold and embedded with gems, though he carded little for their craft and more for their bullion.
Rupert showed what was for him, more tact than he usually displayed, when he made his apologies to the Regent that he needed to return to England to resume his royal duties in his homeland. The Regent wished him fair passage and gave more departing gifts, of similar worth. Again showing more tact than he had first displayed on the savage shores, Rupert made gifts of his own in the form of several horses and European weapons.
About a hundred and fifty of his mercenaries chose to remain in Yadji service, and they kept more than their share of the horses, thanks to exchanging more Yadji gold with their fellow soldiers. The rest chose to follow Prince Rupert back home.
Thus came to an end the war which would be known as Prince Rupert’s War. But in a land where the previous thirty-odd years of peace between Tjibarr and Durigal had been a record, no-one expected this new peace to last too long.
Nor had the wider era of war ended. For the Dutch and English companies were still in undeclared war from the Cape to New Guinea. In Aururia itself the lure of spices and gold still called from other parts of the continent. And the invitation which had been provided for Maori mercenaries had rekindled their interest in the world beyond Aotearoa.
* * *
Clements says, “Yigutji’s soldiers played no role in the Fever War. Not that I knew of at the time. People spoke on the streets, wondering whether we would ever send soldiers anywhere.”
“Did any get sent?”
“No, it never eventuated. None of the three kingdoms had much trust for each other. I remember gossip about our soldiers going to fight for Gutjanal and Tjibarr at various times, but they remained home. The most believable rumours that I heard were that our soldiers would be deployed to the border forts with the highlanders, who were stirring up trouble again, so that Gutjanal could spare more soldiers to fight off Prince Rupert.”
“Why didn’t that happen?” Ashkettle asks.
Clements shrugs. “So much mistrust, as I said. Perhaps that might have been overcome, if someone hadn’t sold muskets to the highlanders.”
“Truly? I thought that the highlanders captured muskets from the Yadji invasion during the truce.”
“Is that what the history books say?” Clements laughs. “Perhaps the highlanders got some more muskets during the invasion, but they had them before the war. They even struck at our border forts a couple of times. I never found out where the highlanders obtained those muskets from. We blamed Gutjanal for smuggling them, and they blamed us. Whatever the reason, it was enough to prevent us cooperating with Gutjanal in defending against the highlanders.”
“And is that all you can remember about the Fever War?”
Clements hesitates. An unusual occurrence for him; he usually oozes confidence. Is there a tear glistening in his eye? “My worst memory of the Fever War happened during the truce, not the fighting. It was... a senior physician visited my family’s workshop. Pimballa, I think he was called. He had been studying with Gunnagal colleagues in Tapiwal [Robinvale, Victoria]. He was trapped there for several months during the quarantine, and kept away for several more months because there was a quarantine here in the city... where I worked, that is.”
Clements pauses. Yes, there is a glistening, a moistness in his eye. “I remember asking him if the physicians had found a cure for the great fever. Typhus, as we now call it.”
“They couldn’t cure it, surely,” Ashkettle says. “Antibiotics weren’t-”
Clements holds up a hand. “Pimballa said that it wasn’t the fever which worried him so much. His colleagues had been reading raw men texts, which spoke of many other diseases. Some worse than great fever. And most of those had not yet reached us. He said, and I remember his words well, even now: “The fever brings death. What I fear is that the Raw Men have brought us worse than death. They have brought us the time of the great dying”.”
* * *
[1] Panyilong can be translated approximately as “person with responsibility for disputing”, or more succinctly if more ambiguously as “disputer”. It is an academic title which is roughly equivalent to professor or associate professor.
[2] In full, the Tjagarr Panipat, from a Gunnagalic phrase which means “Place of Great Disputation”. The Panipat is a prestigious higher educational institution (among other things) which claims to be Aururia’s oldest university.
[3] The Yadji use a form of paper made from the bark of wattle-skins, which while it can be written on, is thicker and rougher than European-made paper.
[4] The Yadji language contains a variety of forms of pronouns which indicate varying degrees of rank and familiarity, and different forms of verbs which convey a similar sense of instruction or supplication. Prince Ruprecht has learned only the most commanding and superior forms of these words.
[5] “Plume bearer” is a Yadji military rank approximately equivalent to first sergeant or second lieutenant.
[6] Kilwalee (Morgan) is a town just south of the location where the Nyalananga abruptly changes from the roughly westerly course it follows for most of its length, to a southerly course for its last journey to the sea. Tjibarr calls this change in direction the Great Bend; historically it is called North West Bend.
[7] See post #59 for a more detailed description of an allohistorical Maori greeting ritual, including the haka.
[8] i.e. the closest which the pre-coinage peoples of the Cider Isle come to a medium of exchange. Kunduri is in effect the currency for wealthier inhabitants of the Cider Isle.
* * *
Thoughts?
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