Lands of Red and Gold, Act II
- Thread starter Jared
- Start date
It would be interesting to see what you come up with for Kiyungu spears. (They aren't quite at the pike stage).
For Nangu ships, there are descriptions of them scattered about the posts, mostly here and also the swift-ships here. A version of either a great-ship or a swift-ship would be interesting.
In general, think twin-hulled, lateen-rigged ships with one mast (for most ships) and multiple masts for later ships.
Lands of Red and Gold #105: How To Tame Your Dragon
Lands of Red and Gold #105: How To Tame Your Dragon
The next Hunter-related post has been delayed while I do some more exploration of details re military matters. In the meantime, here’s some food for thought. Thanks go to Thesaurus Rex and DValdron for the inspiration and many of the ideas for this post.
* * *
“The avaricious man seeks gold. The astute man knows that information can be worth more than gold.”
- Maliba son of Lopitja, Green faction leader in Tjibarr
* * *
11 March 1710
Nookoonoo [Port Broughton], Kingdom of Tjibarr
“A poor port, indeed,” Captain Max Belcher muttered, mostly to himself.
The town which the natives called Nookoonoo was built where the harbour narrowed to an inlet, and they had built a jetty out to the narrow deep channel. The harbour widened considerably downstream, but that expanse was shallow, consisting of mudflats and mangroves. Only one narrow channel was navigable, and it turned several times before it reached the waters of the main gulf [Spencer Gulf].
With such a hazardous path, Belcher had not dared to bring the Doddington into port under sail. He had called for a native pilot, and even then put sailors in a boat in front to tow the ship into the dock.
“Why choose here, of all the Tjibarri ports?” he asked, again to himself. One drawback of this voyage is that he had not had any passengers of suitable status travelling with him, depriving him of decent conversation. So now he had fallen into what was probably a dangerous habit.
But whether bad habit or not, the question remained. Jugara [Victor Harbor] was by far the best Tjibarri port, and Taparee [Port Pirie] a reasonable alternative if war threatened Jugara, as happened often. Nookoonoo was a minor port, one he had never even visited before, despite four voyages to Jugara and one to Taparee [1]. Why had that accursed Gunnagal merchant-king insisted on this trade happening here?
Belcher left his officers to supervise unloading the cargo, and ambled down the jetty toward the town, such as it was. His officers knew what they were doing. His task was to find the more unorthodox part of the trading; the reason why he had agreed to bring the shipment of saltpetre and cotton cloth to this backward port rather than Jugara.
Fortunately, finding the native representative was easy in such a small town. A medium-sized man with an over-sized square-cut beard that well-to-do Tjibarri wore nowadays, with ear-rings, nose-rings and finger-rings of gold. Not all Tjibarri were ostentatious, but those who were tended to make kings look poor.
Two bodyguards accompanied the representative. Both carried large, obvious steel swords with the bent shape typical of Aururian blades. Presumably the weapons were symbolic, since any serious Tjibarri warrior carried a carbine or musket.
Belcher and the native aristocrat went through a round of polite introductions and enquiries after each other’s well-being. The representative named himself “Mariba Tjapung; Mariba of the Greens.” From one of the strange religious parties that vied for rule of Tjibarr. The bodyguards were left unnamed.
Belcher said, “The cargo is intact. Saltpetre and cloth are being unloaded as we speak. Have your men brought the goods?”
Mariba nodded, proof that he understood proper English customs. “Indigo dye and kunduri, as negotiated with your English company. Your new company, I mean.”
The Oriental Company, the native meant. The new company formed since King James [2] had broken the East India Company’s monopoly through a bid to sell shares in the rival company. Good for the king’s finances, no doubt, but particularly good for Belcher. His expertise in oriental voyages made it easy for him to earn more while serving the new company. While also gaining the opportunity to make a private trade as part of the main voyage.
“The goods are as agreed. The price remains to be set.”
Mariba waved a hand. “My merchants will negotiate that with your ship’s officers. With you, I wish to discuss the other cargo.”
Belcher nodded. “Twenty mulberry seedlings, of the variety that silkworms favour. And a great quantity of seed.” Seed was easy enough to transport from India; keeping the seedlings viable had been rather more difficult.
“The young trees are in good health, and of the right type?” Mariba said.
“Of course.”
“This must be seen in Wokunga [Snowtown, SA], by two men who know the original trees well,” the native aristocrat said.
“In where?”
“A town two days ride inland, on the coach. You will bring the seedlings with you there, for inspection by my knowledgeable men,” Mariba said.
“That was no part of the agreement,” Belcher said curtly.
“The agreement was for viable trees. Unless I can know that your young trees are healthy, then we have no agreement.”
“This is-” Belcher stopped, remembering the native saying. Never trust a Gunnagal. Sometimes said about the Gunnagal, and sometimes by the Gunnagal. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you have no agreement, we will not sell you any indigo or kunduri, and you can explain to your masters in the Oriental Company why you brought a ship to Nookoonoo for no profit.” Mariba’s tone was pleasant, but his eyes never wavered from staring at the captain.
“This should have been negotiated beforehand,” Belcher said.
Mariba shrugged, then produced a large leather pouch and tossed it over. “For your trouble, then.”
The captain could feel the kunduri-cigars inside even before he opened them. He sniffed them, and smelt the faint aroma of citrus.
“Lime-cured, of course,” Mariba said. “The flavour will not last the voyage back to Europe. Best you smoke them soon… or give them to those of your associates who will too.”
He meant bribe the ship’s officers, which Belcher had already arranged to do. Silence needed to be maintained. Sailing the ship further cost time and risked damage, so only the private consideration for bringing these seedlings had made it worth the effort. Astute of him to realise it. But then, Gunnagal are rarely stupid.
“Why not simply bring your experts here?”
“They have other pressing tasks which I will not spare them from, even for four days,” Mariba said. “But come, you have been offered well, and I doubt you would have your ship unloaded and reloaded in four days… even if you did not want to grant your crew any leave on shore.”
Belcher considered all of this, particularly the cigars. It was worth the trouble. “I will do it.”
After making arrangements with his crew to manage the unloading and reloading, and packing the seedlings with the utmost care, Belcher found himself on a horse-drawn coach. Six horses pulled it, and they stopped around noon to change for fresh horses.
Mariba proved a pleasant enough travelling companion, talking about things many and varied, and asking many polite questions about India and England. The Green aristocrat – or priest or merchant-king or whatever his role was as a faction leader – skilfully deflected any questions about why he was willing to pay a sizable bribe for such common trees. Although Belcher could guess the reason, at least in general terms. These Gunnagal wanted to breed silkworms, and needed the trees to do it.
Let them try. Many have failed, throwing wealth after silk. Even if they succeeded, it would mean nothing to Belcher.
As evening drew near, Mariba ordered the coach to halt at a small town [Merriton]. Its role as a coach-station was obvious: a sprawling two-storey building which functioned as an inn, larger stables behind, and ample exercise fields for the horses.
One feature puzzled Belcher. A strange, vaguely pyramid-shaped pile of rock, with a great many wooden ledges set at irregular places around the pyramid. The top few ledges were partitioned off, while the lower ledges were open. Most of the ledges – and all of the top ones – held lizards, positioning themselves to catch the last of the afternoon sun.
He walked closer, intrigued. The lizards were good-sized; the largest looked over two feet long. Most of them were red, but a few were white. Each of the lizards had a strange beard-like structure handing beneath their mouths.
“What are those… little dragons?” Belcher asked.
“Travellers’ food,” Mariba said. “Many coach stations keep them, here along the drier reaches. They are useful for supplying travellers, since they eat very little themselves and in hard times can keep for months with almost no food or water.”
“Do they taste good?” The prospect of eating a lizard did not appeal over much. The reptiles looked quite pleasant to the eye, but not to the palate.
“Edible,” Mariba said, and shrugged. “I prefer beef or noroon [emu], myself.”
“They look more congenial than I would have thought for a lizard.”
“They make good pets, I am told,” Mariba said. “If you wish, I could obtain one as a gift for you.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I would have little use for a pet lizard aboard ship.” Belcher had already been reminded today of the manoeuvring of Gunnagal. Who could say what strings would come with this gift? If Belcher had accepted a pet little dragon from Mariba, he would have to name it Ruthless.
“As you wish. Let us go inside to warmth and food and ganyu [yam wine].”
Inside the inn, once Mariba gave his name, they were ushered into a private dining room rather than the louder main room. After a discussion in Gunnagal – spoken too fast for Belcher’s limited understanding of the language – the servant handed over two goblets and a small sheet of paper.
Mariba passed one of the goblets to Belcher, while reading the paper. The Green leader made no effort to hide the message, but then Belcher knew nothing of the strange Gunnagal script. Whatever the news was, Mariba received it poorly; he looked rather distressed by the time he had finished.
“Poor news?” Belcher asked.
“Word from the northeast. The far northeast, beyond even the end of the spice roads, at the other end of the world.”
“What word did the message bring?”
“News that will change the world,” Mariba said, but he refused to be drawn further.
* * *
To see what a little dragon looks like, click here.
* * *
To understand the tale of the little dragons and how they were tamed for human needs, one must step back in time nearly three thousand years. This is a time known to archaeologists as the Interregnum, a period of approximately three centuries when the society they called the Formative Gunnagal collapsed. The Formative Gunnagal was a flourishing civilization along the Nyalananga [River Murray] whose agricultural prehistory went back more than fifteen hundred years prior.
The Interregnum marked an abrupt end to the prosperity of the Formative Gunnagal: war, drought and ecological collapse saw populations crash and economies ruined. The earliest city to fall was one which later inhabitants called Goolrin [Murray Bridge]; its original name does not survive.
Goolrin sat on the lower reaches of the Nyalananga, and was one of the six ancient Wisdom Cities of the Formative Gunnagal. While in an area of low rainfall by Aururian agricultural standards (350 mm), it was located close to rich sources of copper ore, including some with impurities which allowed the creation of arsenical bronze. The destruction of Goolrin was one of the major triggers of the Interregnum.
Many of the survivors of Goolrin’s fall moved away in part of what became the Great Migrations, but some stayed in the area. Urban living proved to be difficult as the climate grew ever more arid, but farmers still survived by using drought-tolerant crops.
As the droughts of the Interregnum persisted, the ecology changed. Much of the existing flora and fauna retreated south-east, toward the cooler, wetter climes, while more arid-adapted species became established around former Goolrin and its environs.
One of the desert-dwelling species which moved into vacated Goolrin was a medium-sized lizard with a peculiar “beard” under its chin. This was the lizard which another history would call the inland bearded dragon (Pogona vitticeps). To the local inhabitants, the beard was similar to the traditional depictions of the Rainbow Serpent, so they named the lizards little serpents. When rendering this name into European languages, it would usually be translated as little dragons.
The little dragons were among the species to benefit most from the climate change and the effects of human agriculture. Farming cleared much of the land and eliminated many species, but created opportunities for those animals – such as little dragons – that had a flexible diet and low food requirements (as cold-blooded reptiles). The little dragons bred quickly in these conditions, and became a familiar sight around Goolrin farms.
With such frequent contact, many of the little dragons habituated to human presence. Sometimes humans kept them as pets [3], and in other cases occasionally fed them, or just tolerated them. Naturally, while people sometimes fed the little dragons, they also let the dragons feed the people [4].
Some people decided to use the dragons more consistently for food. The early form of this was a haphazard process, with few people deliberately farming the little dragons. Instead, early management of little dragons consisted mostly of throwing occasional vegetable matter, insects or miscellaneous food scraps to dragons kept in enclosures, or even those which just lived around settlements.
With little dragons being kept around, often in enclosures, occasional breeding was inevitable. Usually this was incidental, with males and females being kept together and sometimes provided with enough soil to bury their eggs. A few farmers became more systematic about it, pairing males with females and allowing them enough suitable places for the females to bury their eggs.
With these practices, little dragons were effectively tamed, but not domesticated. Two further innovations were required for effective domestication: understanding the social nature of little dragons, and learning to control egg incubation.
The key social fact about little dragons was that the males are territorial. Keeping adult males close together was unviable; they would fight if kept confined in too small an enclosure. Females, too, established a social hierarchy if kept in close quarters, although they were much less aggressive than the males.
Several little dragon farmers independently recognised solutions to this problem. One solution was to keep adult males in separate enclosures. A second was simply to keep very few adult males, by eating or releasing the smaller ones. A third, related solution was to create enclosures with sufficient space and sunning spots at different levels and locations, to allow the little dragons to establish a social hierarchy amongst themselves. Together, these solutions allowed considerable numbers of little dragons to be kept in suitable enclosures.
The key biological fact about little dragons was that they laid eggs where their viability and sex depended on natural factors. Like almost all lizards, little dragons did not incubate their eggs, and relied upon soil depth and type, and the amount of sunlight, to incubate for them. The temperature at which the eggs were incubated also affected whether they were mostly males or mostly females.
Farmers figured out how to manage egg incubation by a process of mostly trial and error, with a few innovative leaps. The earliest form of little dragon farming did not manage egg incubation at all, simply leaving the eggs where the females laid them. This often produced unviable eggs, since the confined little dragons were unable to select their optimum laying site, only choosing the best spot within a small enclosure.
The first deliberate egg incubation efforts were made for reasons of convenience, when farmers tried to bury the eggs of several females in a single location. They discovered that sometimes this worked, but often the eggs were unviable. They quickly learned the general characteristics of soil which were needed: slight moisture with neither too wet nor too dry, and reasonably aerated. Soils which were overly dry or too aerated could dry out the eggs, while overly moist or waterlogged soils would ruin the eggs. Figuring out the right depth and level of insolation took longer, but gradually farmers realised that the time of year, level of sunlight, surrounding vegetation or other natural barriers that might block the light, and depth of the eggs, affected their viability. In time, the best-informed farmers were capable of choosing locations which not only allowed most eggs to survive, but at a temperature which ensured that most (although not all) hatchlings were of the desired gender.
During the Interregnum, and shortly afterwards, little dragons thus became domesticated. The dragon farmers did not consciously practice much selective breeding, but unconscious selection led to dragons bred for docility, larger size, faster growth and (in females) greater egg-laying. Docility came about both because of the initial self-selection – those dragons which did not habituate to human presence were not tamed – and because any aggressive dragons were likely to find themselves roasted. Selection for faster growth happened because the earliest-maturing dragons tended to be the ones picked to breed; the slower growers were given a new career atop baked wattleseed flatbread. Larger size was selected because farmers kept only a few males to breed, and so kept only those they deemed prime breeding stock. Females, too, were limited in numbers, since farmers only had so many enclosures. So smaller females, together those who produced unviable or insufficient numbers of eggs, joined the surplus males as dragonsteak.
* * *
One of allohistory’s odder questions to arise is: once you have tamed your dragon, what do you want to do with it?
During the Interregnum, Aururian farmers searched for as many answers as possible to that question. In practice, though, little dragons were useful largely for meat production. They were very good at that purpose, particularly in comparison to the main other livestock available was the domesticated duck. In a time of persistent droughts, little dragons much lower nutritional requirements and ability to survive long periods without food was a considerable advantage. Increasing numbers of farmers used little dragons as an alternative or supplement to duck farming.
The principal disadvantage of little dragons was that there was not much to do with them other than harvest them for meat. They were not useful for egg production, where ducks were more reliable and regular in producing eggs. Leather could be made from little dragons’ skin, but in the era of the Interregnum, hunting was much more convenient as a source of leather.
Dragon farming was widespread during the later half of the Interregnum (750-600 BC), and for some time thereafter, even as wetter conditions returned to Aururia. Duck farming experienced something of a resurgence, which reduced some of the use of dragons.
However, the real significant change came with the domestication of the emu and its spread across Aururian agricultural societies. The emu also had a flexible diet, and while it did not have the same low food requirements as dragons, it produced much more meat in a convenient form, together with egg production at a greater rate than the little dragons. The spread of emu farming also curtailed a small-scale shift to little dragons for leather production. Emus also had a status advantage for farmers: owning a large herd of emus was deemed more socially high-status than a few big enclosures of small lizards.
Dragon farming did not disappear, but it rarely formed a mass-scale endeavour. Instead, farming of little dragon occupied two main niches: low-intensity, small scale farming; and as a suitable microlivestock for drier areas where emu or duck farming was marginal. Prosperous, large-scale farmers rarely bothered farming little dragons, but smaller farmers might find it worthwhile to have a few enclosures of little dragons to feed with crop waste and occasional insects. (In wealthier farms, much of the crop waste went to the emus). Farmers in the more marginal lands relied on little dragons for much of their meat production, since the dragons made more efficient use of limited water and food resources. Where food and water were more abundant, though, it was a more effective use of farmers’ time to herd emus or raise ducks.
Little dragons were bred for some more specialised purposes. A common one was that many urban households would buy dragon hatchlings that they could efficiently feed with household scraps (and which would find their own household insects) before later turning them into food. Little dragons were popular pets in urban centres even when not being raised for food. Some dragon breeders chose to breed dragons for display purposes, such as different colours or finer textured skin; the latter of these was even used occasionally for specialist leather production.
And, of course, when the spread of horses allowed Tjibarri faction leaders to implement stage coaches, little dragons were one of the most cost- and land-effective ways of providing meat to travellers along the stage routes.
* * *
“I have crossed the Rubicon with stout heart, beating drums and flapping banners; my soldiers are full of courage and their officers ripe with aspiration; and our commanders hunger for triumph, and will proceed according to plan. I shall not return to Dresden until I have proven myself worthy of my crown and my blood.”
- Christian Albert I, Elector of Saxony, in a letter to his wife, 15 December 1742. Written shortly after Saxon troops had crossed the border to seize the much-disputed territory of Bohemia, following the death of the Holy Roman Emperor Leopold II. This invasion marked the beginning of the European theatre of the Nine Years’ War.
* * *
[1] Jugara [Victor Harbor] is by far the best Tjibarri port in normal circumstances, being closest by land to usable inland ports on the Nyalananga [River Murray] and thus to water transportation to the core of Tjibarr. It is, however, close to Yadji territory, and sometimes conquered by the Yadji. So after the introduction of European horses and cattle as beasts of burden, Tjibarr built a great road to Taparee [Port Pirie], with a secondary road to Nookoonoo [Port Broughton]. Nookoonoo is very much a second-rate port, even when Jugara is unavailable.
[2] That is, King James II of England & Ireland and James VII of Scotland. This is not the historical James II who was the younger son of Charles I, since allohistorically Charles I died before that James was born. This is the allohistorical son of Charles II of England, born in 1652 and ruler since 19 January 1685, after his father died of kidney failure (much as Charles II did historically, but slightly earlier).
[3] Historically, inland bearded dragons are the third most popular pet in Australia.
[4] Which leads to the really important question: what do little dragons taste like? I am reliably informed both that bearded dragons taste like chicken, and that they do not taste like chicken, but rather like peanut. As a compromise, little dragons taste like satay chicken.
* * *
Thoughts?
The next Hunter-related post has been delayed while I do some more exploration of details re military matters. In the meantime, here’s some food for thought. Thanks go to Thesaurus Rex and DValdron for the inspiration and many of the ideas for this post.
* * *
“The avaricious man seeks gold. The astute man knows that information can be worth more than gold.”
- Maliba son of Lopitja, Green faction leader in Tjibarr
* * *
11 March 1710
Nookoonoo [Port Broughton], Kingdom of Tjibarr
“A poor port, indeed,” Captain Max Belcher muttered, mostly to himself.
The town which the natives called Nookoonoo was built where the harbour narrowed to an inlet, and they had built a jetty out to the narrow deep channel. The harbour widened considerably downstream, but that expanse was shallow, consisting of mudflats and mangroves. Only one narrow channel was navigable, and it turned several times before it reached the waters of the main gulf [Spencer Gulf].
With such a hazardous path, Belcher had not dared to bring the Doddington into port under sail. He had called for a native pilot, and even then put sailors in a boat in front to tow the ship into the dock.
“Why choose here, of all the Tjibarri ports?” he asked, again to himself. One drawback of this voyage is that he had not had any passengers of suitable status travelling with him, depriving him of decent conversation. So now he had fallen into what was probably a dangerous habit.
But whether bad habit or not, the question remained. Jugara [Victor Harbor] was by far the best Tjibarri port, and Taparee [Port Pirie] a reasonable alternative if war threatened Jugara, as happened often. Nookoonoo was a minor port, one he had never even visited before, despite four voyages to Jugara and one to Taparee [1]. Why had that accursed Gunnagal merchant-king insisted on this trade happening here?
Belcher left his officers to supervise unloading the cargo, and ambled down the jetty toward the town, such as it was. His officers knew what they were doing. His task was to find the more unorthodox part of the trading; the reason why he had agreed to bring the shipment of saltpetre and cotton cloth to this backward port rather than Jugara.
Fortunately, finding the native representative was easy in such a small town. A medium-sized man with an over-sized square-cut beard that well-to-do Tjibarri wore nowadays, with ear-rings, nose-rings and finger-rings of gold. Not all Tjibarri were ostentatious, but those who were tended to make kings look poor.
Two bodyguards accompanied the representative. Both carried large, obvious steel swords with the bent shape typical of Aururian blades. Presumably the weapons were symbolic, since any serious Tjibarri warrior carried a carbine or musket.
Belcher and the native aristocrat went through a round of polite introductions and enquiries after each other’s well-being. The representative named himself “Mariba Tjapung; Mariba of the Greens.” From one of the strange religious parties that vied for rule of Tjibarr. The bodyguards were left unnamed.
Belcher said, “The cargo is intact. Saltpetre and cloth are being unloaded as we speak. Have your men brought the goods?”
Mariba nodded, proof that he understood proper English customs. “Indigo dye and kunduri, as negotiated with your English company. Your new company, I mean.”
The Oriental Company, the native meant. The new company formed since King James [2] had broken the East India Company’s monopoly through a bid to sell shares in the rival company. Good for the king’s finances, no doubt, but particularly good for Belcher. His expertise in oriental voyages made it easy for him to earn more while serving the new company. While also gaining the opportunity to make a private trade as part of the main voyage.
“The goods are as agreed. The price remains to be set.”
Mariba waved a hand. “My merchants will negotiate that with your ship’s officers. With you, I wish to discuss the other cargo.”
Belcher nodded. “Twenty mulberry seedlings, of the variety that silkworms favour. And a great quantity of seed.” Seed was easy enough to transport from India; keeping the seedlings viable had been rather more difficult.
“The young trees are in good health, and of the right type?” Mariba said.
“Of course.”
“This must be seen in Wokunga [Snowtown, SA], by two men who know the original trees well,” the native aristocrat said.
“In where?”
“A town two days ride inland, on the coach. You will bring the seedlings with you there, for inspection by my knowledgeable men,” Mariba said.
“That was no part of the agreement,” Belcher said curtly.
“The agreement was for viable trees. Unless I can know that your young trees are healthy, then we have no agreement.”
“This is-” Belcher stopped, remembering the native saying. Never trust a Gunnagal. Sometimes said about the Gunnagal, and sometimes by the Gunnagal. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you have no agreement, we will not sell you any indigo or kunduri, and you can explain to your masters in the Oriental Company why you brought a ship to Nookoonoo for no profit.” Mariba’s tone was pleasant, but his eyes never wavered from staring at the captain.
“This should have been negotiated beforehand,” Belcher said.
Mariba shrugged, then produced a large leather pouch and tossed it over. “For your trouble, then.”
The captain could feel the kunduri-cigars inside even before he opened them. He sniffed them, and smelt the faint aroma of citrus.
“Lime-cured, of course,” Mariba said. “The flavour will not last the voyage back to Europe. Best you smoke them soon… or give them to those of your associates who will too.”
He meant bribe the ship’s officers, which Belcher had already arranged to do. Silence needed to be maintained. Sailing the ship further cost time and risked damage, so only the private consideration for bringing these seedlings had made it worth the effort. Astute of him to realise it. But then, Gunnagal are rarely stupid.
“Why not simply bring your experts here?”
“They have other pressing tasks which I will not spare them from, even for four days,” Mariba said. “But come, you have been offered well, and I doubt you would have your ship unloaded and reloaded in four days… even if you did not want to grant your crew any leave on shore.”
Belcher considered all of this, particularly the cigars. It was worth the trouble. “I will do it.”
After making arrangements with his crew to manage the unloading and reloading, and packing the seedlings with the utmost care, Belcher found himself on a horse-drawn coach. Six horses pulled it, and they stopped around noon to change for fresh horses.
Mariba proved a pleasant enough travelling companion, talking about things many and varied, and asking many polite questions about India and England. The Green aristocrat – or priest or merchant-king or whatever his role was as a faction leader – skilfully deflected any questions about why he was willing to pay a sizable bribe for such common trees. Although Belcher could guess the reason, at least in general terms. These Gunnagal wanted to breed silkworms, and needed the trees to do it.
Let them try. Many have failed, throwing wealth after silk. Even if they succeeded, it would mean nothing to Belcher.
As evening drew near, Mariba ordered the coach to halt at a small town [Merriton]. Its role as a coach-station was obvious: a sprawling two-storey building which functioned as an inn, larger stables behind, and ample exercise fields for the horses.
One feature puzzled Belcher. A strange, vaguely pyramid-shaped pile of rock, with a great many wooden ledges set at irregular places around the pyramid. The top few ledges were partitioned off, while the lower ledges were open. Most of the ledges – and all of the top ones – held lizards, positioning themselves to catch the last of the afternoon sun.
He walked closer, intrigued. The lizards were good-sized; the largest looked over two feet long. Most of them were red, but a few were white. Each of the lizards had a strange beard-like structure handing beneath their mouths.
“What are those… little dragons?” Belcher asked.
“Travellers’ food,” Mariba said. “Many coach stations keep them, here along the drier reaches. They are useful for supplying travellers, since they eat very little themselves and in hard times can keep for months with almost no food or water.”
“Do they taste good?” The prospect of eating a lizard did not appeal over much. The reptiles looked quite pleasant to the eye, but not to the palate.
“Edible,” Mariba said, and shrugged. “I prefer beef or noroon [emu], myself.”
“They look more congenial than I would have thought for a lizard.”
“They make good pets, I am told,” Mariba said. “If you wish, I could obtain one as a gift for you.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I would have little use for a pet lizard aboard ship.” Belcher had already been reminded today of the manoeuvring of Gunnagal. Who could say what strings would come with this gift? If Belcher had accepted a pet little dragon from Mariba, he would have to name it Ruthless.
“As you wish. Let us go inside to warmth and food and ganyu [yam wine].”
Inside the inn, once Mariba gave his name, they were ushered into a private dining room rather than the louder main room. After a discussion in Gunnagal – spoken too fast for Belcher’s limited understanding of the language – the servant handed over two goblets and a small sheet of paper.
Mariba passed one of the goblets to Belcher, while reading the paper. The Green leader made no effort to hide the message, but then Belcher knew nothing of the strange Gunnagal script. Whatever the news was, Mariba received it poorly; he looked rather distressed by the time he had finished.
“Poor news?” Belcher asked.
“Word from the northeast. The far northeast, beyond even the end of the spice roads, at the other end of the world.”
“What word did the message bring?”
“News that will change the world,” Mariba said, but he refused to be drawn further.
* * *
To see what a little dragon looks like, click here.
* * *
To understand the tale of the little dragons and how they were tamed for human needs, one must step back in time nearly three thousand years. This is a time known to archaeologists as the Interregnum, a period of approximately three centuries when the society they called the Formative Gunnagal collapsed. The Formative Gunnagal was a flourishing civilization along the Nyalananga [River Murray] whose agricultural prehistory went back more than fifteen hundred years prior.
The Interregnum marked an abrupt end to the prosperity of the Formative Gunnagal: war, drought and ecological collapse saw populations crash and economies ruined. The earliest city to fall was one which later inhabitants called Goolrin [Murray Bridge]; its original name does not survive.
Goolrin sat on the lower reaches of the Nyalananga, and was one of the six ancient Wisdom Cities of the Formative Gunnagal. While in an area of low rainfall by Aururian agricultural standards (350 mm), it was located close to rich sources of copper ore, including some with impurities which allowed the creation of arsenical bronze. The destruction of Goolrin was one of the major triggers of the Interregnum.
Many of the survivors of Goolrin’s fall moved away in part of what became the Great Migrations, but some stayed in the area. Urban living proved to be difficult as the climate grew ever more arid, but farmers still survived by using drought-tolerant crops.
As the droughts of the Interregnum persisted, the ecology changed. Much of the existing flora and fauna retreated south-east, toward the cooler, wetter climes, while more arid-adapted species became established around former Goolrin and its environs.
One of the desert-dwelling species which moved into vacated Goolrin was a medium-sized lizard with a peculiar “beard” under its chin. This was the lizard which another history would call the inland bearded dragon (Pogona vitticeps). To the local inhabitants, the beard was similar to the traditional depictions of the Rainbow Serpent, so they named the lizards little serpents. When rendering this name into European languages, it would usually be translated as little dragons.
The little dragons were among the species to benefit most from the climate change and the effects of human agriculture. Farming cleared much of the land and eliminated many species, but created opportunities for those animals – such as little dragons – that had a flexible diet and low food requirements (as cold-blooded reptiles). The little dragons bred quickly in these conditions, and became a familiar sight around Goolrin farms.
With such frequent contact, many of the little dragons habituated to human presence. Sometimes humans kept them as pets [3], and in other cases occasionally fed them, or just tolerated them. Naturally, while people sometimes fed the little dragons, they also let the dragons feed the people [4].
Some people decided to use the dragons more consistently for food. The early form of this was a haphazard process, with few people deliberately farming the little dragons. Instead, early management of little dragons consisted mostly of throwing occasional vegetable matter, insects or miscellaneous food scraps to dragons kept in enclosures, or even those which just lived around settlements.
With little dragons being kept around, often in enclosures, occasional breeding was inevitable. Usually this was incidental, with males and females being kept together and sometimes provided with enough soil to bury their eggs. A few farmers became more systematic about it, pairing males with females and allowing them enough suitable places for the females to bury their eggs.
With these practices, little dragons were effectively tamed, but not domesticated. Two further innovations were required for effective domestication: understanding the social nature of little dragons, and learning to control egg incubation.
The key social fact about little dragons was that the males are territorial. Keeping adult males close together was unviable; they would fight if kept confined in too small an enclosure. Females, too, established a social hierarchy if kept in close quarters, although they were much less aggressive than the males.
Several little dragon farmers independently recognised solutions to this problem. One solution was to keep adult males in separate enclosures. A second was simply to keep very few adult males, by eating or releasing the smaller ones. A third, related solution was to create enclosures with sufficient space and sunning spots at different levels and locations, to allow the little dragons to establish a social hierarchy amongst themselves. Together, these solutions allowed considerable numbers of little dragons to be kept in suitable enclosures.
The key biological fact about little dragons was that they laid eggs where their viability and sex depended on natural factors. Like almost all lizards, little dragons did not incubate their eggs, and relied upon soil depth and type, and the amount of sunlight, to incubate for them. The temperature at which the eggs were incubated also affected whether they were mostly males or mostly females.
Farmers figured out how to manage egg incubation by a process of mostly trial and error, with a few innovative leaps. The earliest form of little dragon farming did not manage egg incubation at all, simply leaving the eggs where the females laid them. This often produced unviable eggs, since the confined little dragons were unable to select their optimum laying site, only choosing the best spot within a small enclosure.
The first deliberate egg incubation efforts were made for reasons of convenience, when farmers tried to bury the eggs of several females in a single location. They discovered that sometimes this worked, but often the eggs were unviable. They quickly learned the general characteristics of soil which were needed: slight moisture with neither too wet nor too dry, and reasonably aerated. Soils which were overly dry or too aerated could dry out the eggs, while overly moist or waterlogged soils would ruin the eggs. Figuring out the right depth and level of insolation took longer, but gradually farmers realised that the time of year, level of sunlight, surrounding vegetation or other natural barriers that might block the light, and depth of the eggs, affected their viability. In time, the best-informed farmers were capable of choosing locations which not only allowed most eggs to survive, but at a temperature which ensured that most (although not all) hatchlings were of the desired gender.
During the Interregnum, and shortly afterwards, little dragons thus became domesticated. The dragon farmers did not consciously practice much selective breeding, but unconscious selection led to dragons bred for docility, larger size, faster growth and (in females) greater egg-laying. Docility came about both because of the initial self-selection – those dragons which did not habituate to human presence were not tamed – and because any aggressive dragons were likely to find themselves roasted. Selection for faster growth happened because the earliest-maturing dragons tended to be the ones picked to breed; the slower growers were given a new career atop baked wattleseed flatbread. Larger size was selected because farmers kept only a few males to breed, and so kept only those they deemed prime breeding stock. Females, too, were limited in numbers, since farmers only had so many enclosures. So smaller females, together those who produced unviable or insufficient numbers of eggs, joined the surplus males as dragonsteak.
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One of allohistory’s odder questions to arise is: once you have tamed your dragon, what do you want to do with it?
During the Interregnum, Aururian farmers searched for as many answers as possible to that question. In practice, though, little dragons were useful largely for meat production. They were very good at that purpose, particularly in comparison to the main other livestock available was the domesticated duck. In a time of persistent droughts, little dragons much lower nutritional requirements and ability to survive long periods without food was a considerable advantage. Increasing numbers of farmers used little dragons as an alternative or supplement to duck farming.
The principal disadvantage of little dragons was that there was not much to do with them other than harvest them for meat. They were not useful for egg production, where ducks were more reliable and regular in producing eggs. Leather could be made from little dragons’ skin, but in the era of the Interregnum, hunting was much more convenient as a source of leather.
Dragon farming was widespread during the later half of the Interregnum (750-600 BC), and for some time thereafter, even as wetter conditions returned to Aururia. Duck farming experienced something of a resurgence, which reduced some of the use of dragons.
However, the real significant change came with the domestication of the emu and its spread across Aururian agricultural societies. The emu also had a flexible diet, and while it did not have the same low food requirements as dragons, it produced much more meat in a convenient form, together with egg production at a greater rate than the little dragons. The spread of emu farming also curtailed a small-scale shift to little dragons for leather production. Emus also had a status advantage for farmers: owning a large herd of emus was deemed more socially high-status than a few big enclosures of small lizards.
Dragon farming did not disappear, but it rarely formed a mass-scale endeavour. Instead, farming of little dragon occupied two main niches: low-intensity, small scale farming; and as a suitable microlivestock for drier areas where emu or duck farming was marginal. Prosperous, large-scale farmers rarely bothered farming little dragons, but smaller farmers might find it worthwhile to have a few enclosures of little dragons to feed with crop waste and occasional insects. (In wealthier farms, much of the crop waste went to the emus). Farmers in the more marginal lands relied on little dragons for much of their meat production, since the dragons made more efficient use of limited water and food resources. Where food and water were more abundant, though, it was a more effective use of farmers’ time to herd emus or raise ducks.
Little dragons were bred for some more specialised purposes. A common one was that many urban households would buy dragon hatchlings that they could efficiently feed with household scraps (and which would find their own household insects) before later turning them into food. Little dragons were popular pets in urban centres even when not being raised for food. Some dragon breeders chose to breed dragons for display purposes, such as different colours or finer textured skin; the latter of these was even used occasionally for specialist leather production.
And, of course, when the spread of horses allowed Tjibarri faction leaders to implement stage coaches, little dragons were one of the most cost- and land-effective ways of providing meat to travellers along the stage routes.
* * *
“I have crossed the Rubicon with stout heart, beating drums and flapping banners; my soldiers are full of courage and their officers ripe with aspiration; and our commanders hunger for triumph, and will proceed according to plan. I shall not return to Dresden until I have proven myself worthy of my crown and my blood.”
- Christian Albert I, Elector of Saxony, in a letter to his wife, 15 December 1742. Written shortly after Saxon troops had crossed the border to seize the much-disputed territory of Bohemia, following the death of the Holy Roman Emperor Leopold II. This invasion marked the beginning of the European theatre of the Nine Years’ War.
* * *
[1] Jugara [Victor Harbor] is by far the best Tjibarri port in normal circumstances, being closest by land to usable inland ports on the Nyalananga [River Murray] and thus to water transportation to the core of Tjibarr. It is, however, close to Yadji territory, and sometimes conquered by the Yadji. So after the introduction of European horses and cattle as beasts of burden, Tjibarr built a great road to Taparee [Port Pirie], with a secondary road to Nookoonoo [Port Broughton]. Nookoonoo is very much a second-rate port, even when Jugara is unavailable.
[2] That is, King James II of England & Ireland and James VII of Scotland. This is not the historical James II who was the younger son of Charles I, since allohistorically Charles I died before that James was born. This is the allohistorical son of Charles II of England, born in 1652 and ruler since 19 January 1685, after his father died of kidney failure (much as Charles II did historically, but slightly earlier).
[3] Historically, inland bearded dragons are the third most popular pet in Australia.
[4] Which leads to the really important question: what do little dragons taste like? I am reliably informed both that bearded dragons taste like chicken, and that they do not taste like chicken, but rather like peanut. As a compromise, little dragons taste like satay chicken.
* * *
Thoughts?
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Same here!
I couldn't help but to internally giggle with joy as I was reading my dragon proposal be put to use in what is probably one of the most famous TLs on here. I'm a man, dammit... And what great execution too! That part about the dominance pyramid was really intriguing; an interesting way to house multiple males in a single enclosure.
You think selective breeding might serve to make them more docile around other dragons as well? On the inverse side, maybe male-male aggression could be exploited for something like cockfights...
As well as one of the most popular reptile pets in the world
I think most reptiles don't vary too terribly much in taste and texture. I wouldn't put it past them having a sort of nutty taste to them, given the insects they eat also have that flavor (don't ask...unless you want to), but overall 'chicken' might dominate the flavor, given their 'white meat' status. Never eaten a lizard before, but I've had frog legs. They did have a sort of chicken-like vibe to them, but also a sort of fishy cod-like taste as well; softer and somewhat chewy compared to a chicken's often dry, stringy texture.
From what I've heard of people's descriptions, meat from most lizards also has a sort of fishy flavor to it (which probably led to some Uromastyx species being referred to as fish of the desert) along with the lean chicken flavor. I imagine 'little dragon' meat would taste similar, perhaps with a less gamey taste, being domesticated with an artificial diet and all. And that possible nutty taste.
I've had the opportunity to try a (roasted) lizard (don't know the species) in Vietnam a while back, and yeah, I'd say it's basically chicken with a hint of funk. A comparison to amphibians (I've tried frogs, a friend has eaten axolotls) is pretty apt, and despite these being essentially all lean meat, they never get as dry as chicken can.
I still think that battered or breaded and deep-fried reptile meat is best, although I'm only basing that on alligator meat. I don't think lizard and alligator would be all that dissimilar if prepared that way, right?
BTW: your idea for lizard farming is great!
twovultures
Donor
In addition to food and leather, bearded dragons are great for hilarious online absurdity.
Kaiphranos
Donor
Fun! Alternate cuisine is always of interest. How edible are the dragon eggs?
(Also, is that a Frederick the Great counterpart I spy in that quote at the bottom?)
(Also, is that a Frederick the Great counterpart I spy in that quote at the bottom?)
Thanks again for the ideas - it's always good to be able to add depth to the LoRaGverse.
Gracias.
Some people have certainly tried - I got the descriptions of how they tasted from various people online who were commenting on what the dragons had tasted like.
You could probably arrange that if you want.
As Thesaurus Rex mentions, it is a common pet around much of the world."What are you having for dinner?"
"Dragon soup."
That depends how expensive oil is there, something which I've not quite settled on. The main vegetable oil is linseed oil, prepared from Aururian flax. Wattleseed oil is around, but more tedious to make, so it's not as common. It's a shame that the Australian species of olives have not been domesticated - I'd considered that, but given how long it took to domesticate Eurasian olives, I didn't think that it would happen in Aururia in the available timeframe.
I don't know whether emu fat/oil would be suitable for cooking; online sources are so full of exaggerated claims about the merits of emu oil that I've never quite worked it out. If it is suitable, of course, then there would be plenty of emu fat/oil around in places for deep frying and other such cooking methods.
So, in short: a definite maybe.
Dragons in general could be used in all sorts of ways: roasted with sweet peppers would be common (a lot of meat was cooked that way in OTL Aboriginal cuisine), fried, grilled, cooked in soups or stews: you name.
I thought that would be a logical way of doing it - give the lizards the chance to be separate, to have their choice of how much they sun themselves, but not be able to fight.
I'm not sure whether selective breeding would make them generally more docile in terms of male-male aggression, which is why I wrote it so that the male dragons were generally separated. I do think that female dragons could be bred to be more accommodating of each other, since even in the wild when dragons come together because of good food sources, they establish a form of hierarchy (something like chickens) but can stay in the same area.
Now I'm imagining what might happen once peanuts are introduced to Aururia and used to feed dragons to give them an enhanced flavour.
I assume they're edible - most eggs are - but haven't actually found any sources on that one way or the other.
Well-spotted. (Nice to see that at least one of the Easter Eggs got noticed. I'm suprised I haven't been lynched for the How to Train Your Dragon puns, though.)
That quotation was a paraphrase of something which Frederick the Great wrote in OTL, of course. Personality-wise, Christian Albert I is somewhere between OTL's Frederick the Great of Prussia and John George III of Saxony.
What remains to be seen, of course, is whether he's a Frederick the Great counterpart (i.e. Saxony wins its fronts in the Nine Years' War) or just a Frederick the Great wannabe (i.e. Saxony loses, Bavaria and allies win).
More generally, as I've mentioned in passing before, the Nine Years' War is TTL's closest analogue to the Seven Years' War of OTL, including fighting on multiple continents, but the parallels should not be taken too far. The concluding sequence of chapters for Act II of LoRaG largely features the Aururian theatre of the Nine Years' War.
Reptile eggs are a bit icky for those of us used to bird eggs. The 'whites' don't coagulate like the whites of bird eggs do, so you don't get a nice solidish white 'white'.
To be honest, I've never really eaten any of my lizards' eggs. I've typically just thrown out the infertile ones...maybe I should have taken one for science, what do you think?
One time on TV I saw Andrew Zimmern try some (boiled?) iguana eggs. The taste itself was fine if a bit gamey, but the soft, chewy, creamy texture put off some people. A reptile-based YouTube channel called SnakeBytes made a video about eating snake eggs. They made incisions in the leathery shells and squeezed them out, the eggs taking on a kind of creamy consistency. Apparently it tasted just like a chicken egg, but with a chewier texture. Might make for interesting omelettes. People have definitely eaten weirder stuff.
Now I wonder what other stuff people might do with them. Pickled dragon eggs, anyone? Haha.
Actually...that might be interesting. We already have ways to make eggs keep for months; perhaps dragon eggs can be given the same 'rough-living' benefits as the live dragons. I've pickled (chicken) eggs before; the process seems to have leached out a bit of moisture, giving the egg a somewhat more 'crunchy' (not the word I'm searching for, but close) feel. Pickling would not only give people another (mostly) year-round available food source but also possibly make the eggs less chewy, and of course add flavor. I'd have to find out for sure, though...I'll just go on Craigslist and ask someone for their bearded dragon eggs
Of course there are also other ways to preserve eggs, such as salting...and century eggs...
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Now I wonder what other stuff people might do with them. Pickled dragon eggs, anyone? Haha.
Actually...that might be interesting. We already have ways to make eggs keep for months; perhaps dragon eggs can be given the same 'rough-living' benefits as the live dragons. I've pickled (chicken) eggs before; the process seems to have leached out a bit of moisture, giving the egg a somewhat more 'crunchy' (not the word I'm searching for, but close) feel. Pickling would not only give people another (mostly) year-round available food source but also possibly make the eggs less chewy, and of course add flavor. I'd have to find out for sure, though...I'll just go on Craigslist and ask someone for their bearded dragon eggs
Of course there are also other ways to preserve eggs, such as salting...and century eggs...
Now this does get intriguing. When you use lizards as living storage lagers, it's easier to think of their eggs as being good for long-term storage, too.
I wonder what the Gunnagal would be for pickled, salty, well-aged dragon egg.
Now this does get intriguing. When you use lizards as living storage lagers, it's easier to think of their eggs as being good for long-term storage, too.
I wonder what the Gunnagal would be for pickled, salty, well-aged dragon egg.
Maybe spiced? Hotter environments went crazy for spicy flavours after the Columbian Exchange, so maybe cayenne dragon egg is a possibilty...
Chilli is one of the most widespread additions to Aururian cuisine in the Houtmanian Exchange. Some cultures adopt it with nearly everything. Some adopt it with merely something.
Which leads to the allohistorical old trick question: is a cayenne dragon egg a chilli flavoured dragon egg or an egg from a Cayenne dragon?
Jared, one old post of yours about the postulated gene flow between South Asians and Australian Aboriginals should probably be changed. There really was no solid evidence for any such event or "shipwreck" and now it seems that Y-DNA haplogroup K is more probably related to the Papuan S.
There's no clear answer yet, but Occam's Razor isn't favoring the Indian admixture hypothesis.
There's no clear answer yet, but Occam's Razor isn't favoring the Indian admixture hypothesis.
mojojojo
Gone Fishin'
Given how important horses are to the Tjarrlinghi and their culture, I wonder what they would make of centaurs when & if they see any Raw Manart that depicts them. Could that serve as an inspiration to their folklore/religion the way that Europen images of mermaids inspired many African depictions of water spirits ? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mami_Wata#cite_note-13 http://www.fowler.ucla.edu/press/press-release-mami-wata-arts-water-spirits-africa-and-its-diasporas http://www.ecu.edu/african/sersas/Siegel400.htm