Lands of Red and Gold, Act II
- Thread starter Jared
- Start date
O_O
Is it just me or does that Kangaroo look like he saying "if you keep taking pictures of me I'll pummel you...then bury you in this burlap sack I just happened to have".
Is it just me or does that Kangaroo look like he saying "if you keep taking pictures of me I'll pummel you...then bury you in this burlap sack I just happened to have".
The Aururians don't bait kangaroos. It's not something that would really occur to them. This isn't because they have any ideas about preventing animal cruelty. It's just that they view kangaroo boxing as a form of circus-style entertainment, not as a serious contest to see who wins. It's their equivalent of a circus display, not a serious sport.
Europeans may try that, sadly.
The other book I'm co-authoring is in second draft/rewrite form. That needs to get finished before I work out anything more with finishing and publishing The Fox and the Jackal.
Never mess with a 'roo. They mess right back!
Kangaroos don't "rifle" - they demand with menaces!
Standover tactics are easy when you're 2 metres tall.
Lands of Red and Gold #75: The Day You Went Away
Lands of Red and Gold #75: The Day You Went Away
“The state is where a man lives; the nation is what a man is.”
- Lincoln Derwent and Solidarity Jenkins, “The Nationalist Manifesto”
* * *
Azure Day, Cycle of Bunya Nuts, 404th Year of Harmony (3.12.404) / 2 August 1643
Munmee [Cowell, South Australia]
Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula]
Dawn by the waters of Mudfish Harbour [Franklin Harbour]. The brightest of the stars were just fading, overwhelmed by the first glimmers of daylight brought by the still-unrisen sun. Enough to make out a gloomy almost-dark shape across the far side of the harbour, marking the sacred island [Entrance Island] that guarded the two entrances to the harbour.
A perfect time for contemplation and prayers, when the familiar rituals of the fourth path helped to shape a man’s thoughts into insight.
Coorabbin, king of Munmee and an ever-decreasing realm outside his city’s walls, was a man sorely in need of insight. He did not feel helpless, exactly, but never could he remember being so buffeted by the winds of disharmony. Never could he remember feeling that the consequences of men acting with waal [bringing discord] in the wider world could overcome the most harmonious actions of himself and his subjects.
Monarch he might be, head of his city and a realm beyond its walls which he had always fondly believed to be the third-most powerful realm in the Seven Sisters behind Pankala [Port Lincoln] and Luyandi [Port Kenny]. Half a dozen or so other monarchs might hold similar views about the rank of their realm, but he alone was correct.
Now, being third amongst the monarchs only meant that he felt more responsible for managing the disharmony that had been brought upon the Seven Sisters.
Between his prayers and his contemplation, insight slowly dawned. The trouble had started with Luyandi, he realised. Yes, the disharmony had begun when Maralinga, semi-king [1] of Luyandi, placed himself under the influence of the Nedlandj from across the seas.
From what he heard, Luyandi had included terms in that agreement to prevent a strike against the Island, either by their own soldiers or those of the Nedlandj. A valuable recognition, since even the often-fools of Luyandi knew that the Island’s actions brought them balance. What Coorabbin now realised was that Maralinga had failed to see that not striking against the Island was not the same thing as not striking against the Island’s interests. Or against their own interests, either, although that was a longer-term problem.
The pact with the Nedlandj had brought Luyandi wealth and protection. But it placed their desires in the hands of those without harmony, without insight. The Nedlandj were wealthy and powerful, but they were not followers of the Sevenfold Path, and they did not recognise when their actions brought disharmony to the people they touched. Nor did the Nedlandj even care, so much as he could tell.
All of the problems started from that pact. Now war raged across the Seven Sisters. The last Islander ship from Pankala had reported that the city was still under siege, its inhabitants facing famine. The armies of Luyandi and its new allies among the Seven Sisters had combined to impose their will on Pankala, capturing territory and seeking tribute.
In the past, arbiters from the Island – priests and elders – would have worked to resolve any conflict in the Seven Sisters. They would have sought to maintain harmony by negotiating an end to these differences, or at least limited the spread of the conflict. Now, the Island was at war with itself, in its outlook if not always directly by force of arms. Its arbiters were few, and their influence fading. The struggles in the Seven Sisters continued unchecked, and grew worse with every passing month.
Coorabbin rose from his prayers as the dawn gradually transformed into day. His contemplation had offered insight into the reasons for the growing disharmony, but no guidance in what actions could be taken to manage it.
The growing light revealed him to be a balding man with a square-cut beard. His face and arms were marked by scars that showed he had survived the blister-rash [chickenpox]. He would have been a tall man, once, but now he walked with a stoop, brought on by age and perhaps by the growing burden of caring for his people. He wore few adornments to show his rank; the main one that was visible was a golden chain studded with greenstone, worn around his neck.
The breaking of the day also showed a ship negotiating its path through the narrow inlet at the north entrance to the harbour. An Islander ship which must have been waiting for enough light to make the passage. Even at this distance, with the strengthening light he could make out the purple colour that dominated the sails. He could not make out the design on the sail that went with it, but there was no need. Only one bloodline had purple sails: the Liwang.
Strange indeed that they would send a ship here. And worrisome. The Liwang were traders in dyes more than anything else. It was their control of dye production which let them afford such a fantastically expensive choice as colouring their sails with sea purple. They mostly traded on the Island itself, and rarely sent ships here. For the Liwang to have a ship here could mean only some event of great import – or perhaps that the trade on the Island had grown so troubled that the Liwang had to resort to sending ships abroad in hope of finding profit.
Coorabbin made his way back to the palace. His guards trailed unobtrusively behind him. Another sign of the changing times, that. Before, he had felt confident enough in the trust of his people and his neighbours that he did not bother bringing guards when he conducted his morning prayers beside the harbour. Now, he went nowhere without guards. Disharmony had all sorts of unforeseen consequences.
He was not long in the palace before word came that the Liwang trading-captain was at the gates and sought an audience. He granted it after only a brief delay to show that the time of the king was valuable, without being so long to risk offence to one of the wealthiest Islander bloodlines.
The trading-captain wore purple, too. The wealth of the Liwang was legendary. He went down on one knee in acknowledgement of being in royal presence. Coorabbin quickly gave him leave to rise.
The captain stood and said, “I am Narntijara of the Liwang. I am honoured to be in your presence, Your Exaltedness.”
An odd phrasing, and one which made it clear that Narntijara would be offering no gift to the royal household. Strange. Offering a gift was not mandatory, and Coorabbin would never insist on it from Islanders, but it would be usual practice if seeking royal favour. Whatever brought the Liwang here, it was something unusual, and probably not trade.
“Do you seek permission to trade?” the king asked. Permission was only a formality, even if no gift was offered, and in routine trading visits Islanders would not even bother to visit the palace.
“If the king pleases, I will seek among his subjects for suppliers of yams and wealth-seeds. Flax-seeds too, if they can be spared.”
“You may trade for them,” Coorabbin said. He kept his voice neutral, but a hundred questions sprung to mind. Why were the Liwang, of all bloodlines, trading for food? Why had they come as far as Munmee instead of one of the nearer ports?
Oh, Pankala was besieged, but even that was rarely enough to stop Islander ships calling. Even if the Luyandi had managed to blockade the harbour, they would not hinder a Liwang ship. Even if somehow entering Pankala was not possible, there were other ports between here and Pankala.
“I thank you. And in exchange, I bring word of grave news which has afflicted Pankala.”
“Does the siege continue?” the king asked.
Narntijara shook his head. “It does, but that is not the dire news. A new plague has broken out within Pankala’s walls. A deadly fever which brings rash, delirium, and most often death. Many of the people are dead or dying, including the king. Perhaps the plague has spread to the armies outside, too. With the warning of plague, I did not stay long enough to find out, nor did I visit a port in between.”
The king absently scratched at his waist, flicking a couple of lice off while he considered. This was dire news indeed. Plague was bad enough in itself, but it also meant that the armies of Luyandi and its allies would soon be victorious. If there was anything left of Pankala for them to occupy.
Such was the balance in action. Luyandi had brought war, and its consequences were severe both on its neighbours and itself. The balance would be restored, one way or another, of course. But Coorabbin now wondered if the balance might only be restored because all of the peoples of the Seven Sisters were too badly-afflicted by plague to continue fighting.
* * *
Venus's Day, Cycle of Water, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (20 August 1646)
Tapiwal [Robinvale], Victoria]
Kingdom of Tjibarr
Tjee Burra had a gift that few men could match: superior memory. When he heard facts, or read them, they usually remained with him for life. He needed to speak a man’s name only once to remember both his name and his face forever. So it had always been, since his youth. Though it had taken reaching adulthood to convince him that he should sometimes feign forgetfulness, and conceal his true prowess.
His talents had naturally led him to a field where they were well-suited: medicine. In his youth, he quickly built an excellent reputation in that field. Though only a moderately-skilled surgeon, his diagnoses were swift and drew on the established wisdom that all physicians conveyed on parchment and tablet, and when they spoke with one another. Before he had seen thirty years, he was already recognised as a senior physician.
While he retained his interest in medicine, his talents had soon found wider application. He had been raised to cheer the Grays on the football field. Here, too, his memory served him well in recognising what tactics worked or failed, in noticing and remembering each player’s strengths and weaknesses. He began to give advice to the sentinel for the Grays. That advice proved effective, and so he was heeded more and more.
Perhaps he might have ended up taking over the sentinel’s office, until the Gray leaders realised that his talents also made him the perfect choice for managing the faction’s sources within Tjibarr and throughout the Five Rivers and Durigal [the Yadji realm]. He did not need to commit facts to parchment or tablet, and could allocate and coordinate activities better than any rivals.
In time, his abilities had brought him to the leadership of the Grays – at least in so far as the faction had a leader. His was the most prominent voice in the faction, at least. In a faction even more prone to argument than most Gunnagal, leadership was a very amorphous concept.
Despite having that rank, he had remained involved in medicine for all of his life. For diagnosis and advice, that is; it had been twenty years since he had performed any surgery. But he still read the reports which physicians provided of their activities, and often stood on the five-man panels that were used to judge another physician’s competence.
Today, it seemed, the responsibilities of both halves of his life had become one.
Today, the first case had been found in Tapiwal of a new plague. A plague new to that city, but which had broken out along the Copper Coast a couple of months before, afflicting both Tjibarr’s defending armies, and the Yadji invaders.
What that would mean for the war and the Endless Dance amongst Tjibarr’s factions – well, in truth, he would need to think long about that question. He needed to determine as much as he could in his role as a physician, but that knowledge would have much wider application.
The patient had been isolated in one room of the physicians’ hall in Tapiwal. As per standard practice. And Tjee Burra had expected that the new plague would provoke a vigorous argument amongst the city’s physicians about how to treat it.
What he had not expected as that Tapiwal’s healers [2] would intervene and demand that they should be the ones responsible for treating the fevered woman. Healers! The strains of heated argument were the musical accompaniment of the morning, with healers and physicians holding voluminous debate about who had the authority.
Tjee Burra let the argument continue in the background as he considered matters. Shouts and raised voices did not trouble him, any more than they would trouble any true Gunnagal; such behaviour was as natural as breathing. A man should adopt a more restrained style when conducting meetings that were part of the Dance, but for this sort of discussion, there was no such need.
At length, he signalled to Lopitja, another senior physician. The man was called Lopitja the Red by some, for good reason. Discussions between physicians were sometimes considered to be above the dance of the factions. That was not strictly true, of course; any knowledge which a faction supporter acquired would be used to the advantage of that faction. But physicians could move freely between factions, and usually the knowledge they acquired was shared between all physicians regardless of any affiliation. Nor would any physician refuse to treat someone even if they were a known supporter of another faction.
The two physicians moved aside to a slightly quieter section of the hall. “Would you care to wager on how long that little discussion will go on?” Tjee Burra asked.
“I prefer to attain embarrassment wagering on football, not medicine,” Lopitja said dryly. “Though this is a worse argument than most. It could last months if neither side wish to back down.” He ventured a slight smile. “If it did, we would have to rename this hall the place of great disputation.”
“It could be swiftly resolved if we needed it, naturally,” Tjee Burra said. “But let them argue for a little longer. I’d like your advice first.”
“Resolved how? It is a perplexing matter. A new plague, a fever which produces both rash and delirium. How do you decide that [3]?”
“Oh, come now,” Tjee Burra said. “It is not a new plague. It is spotted fever.”
The other physician raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know that malady.”
“Because it is very uncommon. Up until now,” Tjee Burra said. At Lopitja’s inquiring grunt, he went on, “Spotted fever strikes occasionally on the Copper Coast. Rarely, and usually far out in the countryside where the person recovers or dies before a physician can be found and travel to them. But Nyureegarr wrote about several cases of it, and I’m sure I’ve read about one or two other physicians who treated it, longer ago.”
He remembered their names perfectly, in fact. Four other physicians had mentioned spotted fever, though only two had described treating more than one case of the affliction. But concealing his gifts was part of his nature by now.
“The same plague?” Lopitja asked.
“The same, or a very close variant,” Tjee Burra said. “The rash usually starts on the limbs rather than the chest, and diarrhoea is more common with that strain of spotted fever than what I’ve heard about this outbreak here. And this version seems to spread faster between men. But what concerns me is how best to treat it.”
“Ah.” Lopitja may not have been as skilled a Dancer as Tjee Burra, but he knew how to listen to what was not said. “You want to know if I’ve learned anything in the Raw Men’s medical books about how to cure it.”
“You’ve had more time to learn the Nedlandj language than I,” said Tjee Burra.
In truth, learning new languages was, sadly, one area where Tjee Burra’s usually strong memory failed him. He could remember the names of people in other languages – as best he could pronounce those names, anyway – but not grasp the intricacies of speaking in a whole new language. Even if he could have spared the time from coordinating the endless business of the Grays, he would have difficulty learning it.
“The books I have read reveal nothing useful, I fear,” Lopitja said. “Treatments which use animals or plants not found in the Five Rivers. Or draining the blood from the fevered men – and we saw how well that worked the last time it was tried.”
Tjee Burra shook his head. The Raw Men’s use of bleeding had been tried on men afflicted with swamp-rash, and the panel who observed the practice had universally condemned it. Perhaps the treatment would work better for other diseases, but no physician wanted to risk his reputation by trying it.
“What did – Nyureegarr, I think you said – recommend to treat spotted fever?”
“Gum-water [i.e. wattle gum dissolved in water] mixed with salt, if the person had diarrhoea [4]. And a tonic of sarsaparilla, if not [5].”
Lopitja looked back toward the ongoing argument, and past that to the door to where the fevered woman still lingered. “I fear we will soon have many opportunities to find out whether it works.
* * *
Typhus: the common name for a group of related diseases with similar symptoms, particularly a very high fever, mental confusion and delirium, and often a widespread skin rash or spots. These diseases include one of the deadliest diseases in history, epidemic typhus, and confusingly, typhoid fever, another of history’s deadliest diseases, and whose name means “typhus-like” because it has some similar symptoms of high fever and mental confusion.
True typhus diseases are caused by any of several related species of Rickettsia bacteria. Epidemic typhus (Rickettsia prowazekii), spread by infected lice, is the most dangerous of these diseases as it is capable of causing wide-scale epidemics as infected lice spread from person to person. The related disease of murine or endemic typhus (Rickettsia typhi), is spread by fleas, usually from rats, and while it can be deadly to individuals, it is much less likely to turn into an epidemic.
There are several more related diseases around the world caused by other species of Rickettsia, usually transmitted by ticks but sometimes by fleas or mites. These are collectively called spotted fevers, such as Rocky Mountain spotted fever (Rickettsia rickettsii) found in the Americas. The spotted fevers were often fatal before modern antibiotics, but were very rarely spread from person to person. A similar disease called scrub typhus (or bush typhus) is in fact caused by a different genus of bacteria (Orientia), but is also has similar symptoms and is spread by invertebrate bites, in this case chiggers (trombiculid mites).
The Gunnagal physicians of the 1640s knew little of these matters, of course. They knew nothing about epidemic typhus or typhoid until they found a few references within purchased European medical texts. Even then, these descriptions were just two out of many diseases being described which had not yet reached Aururia.
However, some Gunnagal physicians did know about spotted fever. For Aururia harbours three kinds of typhus-type illnesses. Two of these, scrub typhus and Australian tick typhus (Rickettsia australis) are usually found in the tropical north of the continent, far from the knowledge of Gunnagal physicians.
But one form, Flinders Island spotted fever (Rickettsia honei), occurs along the coastal strip of fertile land which the Gunnagal call the Copper Coast, whose most prominent historical city is Adelaide. The disease is in fact far more widespread than that region, being found in scattered regions around Aururia and Asia, including places as far afield as historical Flinders Island in Bass Strait, and in Thailand and Nepal.
Even within the Copper Coast, Flinders Island spotted fever is a rare disease. The natural hosts are various species of small marsupials, and it is transmitted to humans by a couple of species of tick that prefer moist climates and so are usually found only very near to the coast. The marsupial hosts avoid human presence, too, so cases only happen in rural dwellers who are venturing into bushland away from farms.
Infected people face a complex of symptoms which are similar to epidemic typhus, though usually less severe. There is none of the sensitivity to bright light found in typhus, the spotted rash is more severe than in typhus and spreads from the extremities first instead of the chest and torso, and diarrhoea is a much more common complication. It is sometimes fatal, and effective treatment is impossible without antibiotics, but still, the majority of those infected survive.
Thus, for the Gunnagal of pre-Houtmanian Aururia, spotted fever was a minor affliction. It was sorry news for the unfortunate few who caught it, but it was just one of many diseases which could be transmitted from animals, but fortunately never made the jump to becoming human-to-human transmitted diseases.
Rare or not, a few Gunnagal physicians noticed the disease. In their usual way, they described the symptoms and the treatments they attempted. These descriptions were available to other physicians, although the disease was so sporadic in its appearance that even many physicians who read of it did not remember it. The few who did, though, were quick to recognise typhus as a close cousin of spotted fever. Naturally, having recognised spotted fever – or so they thought – Gunnagal physicians attempted to use those treatments they knew.
The first of these treatments was extremely simple: dissolve wattle-gum in water, add salt, and serve to the patient in small amounts, regularly, until they improve. Gunnagal physicians developed this technique several centuries earlier. Lacking sugar or honey, wattle-gum is one of their prime sweeteners, and it dissolves easily in water. Gum-water was one of their common sweet beverages. All it took was adding salt to turn it into a treatment that worked reasonably well against many diseases that produce fluid loss, such as diarrhoea or gastroenteritis.
Gunnagal physicians had, in fact, stumbled across a primitive form of oral rehydration therapy [6]. It often helped in saving the lives of people who contracted acute diarrhoea or other infections. It would have been even more effective if Gunnagal physicians had a proper conception of the importance of proportions in treatments. Unfortunately, while in some respects Tjibarr society was very concerned about accurate measurements – such as in measuring time – in medicine, the idea had developed that if a little of a treatment is good, more of it is better. So, often over-enthusiastic carers would supply fluids with too much wattle-gum or salt, which prevented enough fluids being absorbed.
The other treatment which Gunnagal physicians adopted was providing a tonic of sweet sarsaparilla. This was again a practice they adopted for many other diseases, but in this case, it was of no use even against spotted fever. Sarsaparilla tonic does have some capacity to reduce inflammation, and is an extremely effective cure for scurvy, but otherwise its only benefit is as a placebo.
Against epidemic typhus, neither of these treatments would be effective cures. Fluid loss is only rarely the major problem with epidemic typhus, so the gum water with salt treatment that the Gunnagal physicians attempted gave only the most limited assistance. Sarsaparilla tonic was even less helpful.
Before the development of antibiotics, the only really effective response to typhus was quarantine. Even enforcing that would be difficult in such a louse-ridden age.
* * *
The Yadji had been at war with Tjibarr and its Five Rivers allies for just over a year when typhus appeared in the Yadji armies besieging Goolrin [Murray Bridge]. Until this time, the course of the war had broadly favoured the Yadji armies. Tjibarr’s armies had been defeated and pushed back, with Jugara [Victor Harbor] now in their hands, along with an ever-increasing stretch of the Copper Coast. Gutjanal’s armies gained some initial victories following their surprise declaration of war, but even there, the Yadji forces were regaining ground.
The outbreak of what their European allies called camp-fever devastated the Yadji armies. Almost a third of their soldiers were killed, and the epidemic quickly spread more broadly across the Copper Coast, including to other Yadji forces in the region. The Yadji besiegers were forced to withdraw from Goolrin.
Fortunately for the Yadji, they did not have to retreat too far. Tjibarr responded by imposing a quarantine which meant that its own forces did not advance far until the epidemic had abated. The Yadji were also still supported by Inglidj cavalry who were immune to typhus, or so it appeared. In truth, that was because the Inglidj forces were mostly German veterans who had already endured and survived typhus during the late war in Europe.
With his military position crumbling, Bidwadjari sought permission from the Regent to negotiate a truce with Tjibarr’s forces. He explained that his armies needed time to recover – even the survivors were in no condition to fight – and he hoped that an extended truce might make the pact between the Five Rivers nations collapse, as it had done so often in the past.
Gunya Yadji granted permission, so Bidwadjari sent an emissary to request formal truce negotiations. He quickly received two unpleasant surprises. The first was that Tjibarr insisted that the truce cover all three Five Rivers nations, or none. The second was that the Nedlandj insisted on being represented at the truce negotiations, and Tjibarr supported that demand.
Under the Regent’s standing orders, no Nedlandj men could enter Yadji territory and live. This made even finding a place to conduct negotiations difficult, since according to Yadji custom, all of the land they occupied was now part of their territory. Eventually, after furious discussions with the two princes sent to negotiate on the Regent’s behalf, agreement was reached to conduct negotiations at a temporary encampment set up on an island in the middle of the Nyalananga, downstream from Goolrin [Long Island, Murray Bridge].
The truce negotiations between Tjibarr and the Yadji were reasonably straightforward, since the two powers had a long history of negotiating truces when it suited their mutual interests. Neither side expected this truce to end the war, only to delay it in accord with ancient custom. The only real question was the duration of the truce, with discussions about whether it should be one year, two years, or somewhere in between. Eventually, they settled on two years.
The complications in the negotiations came from the presence of the Nedlandj. The Nedlandj wanted the truce to include amnesty for the Company employees in the Copper Coast. The Yadji princes responded that the Regent’s order was clear: all Nedlandj who set foot in the Land of the Five Directions would be killed.
The Nedlandj protested that many of their ships were already en route between Jugara and their homeland, and did not know who now ruled Jugara. With shipping times and communications being what they were, ships could still arrive at Jugara for many more months without realising that they were entering Yadji territory. They would not have known, since word of the Yadji conquest would not have reached them before they set out. Two years, it could take, since voyages to and from Europe took up to a year.
After some more lengthy discussions back with the Regent, the Yadji made some concessions. For the next twenty-five full moons, any Nedlandj who landed in Jugara would be permitted to live, and to conduct trade with nominated Tjibarr and Nangu merchants. The Regent’s agents would collect a twelfth of all goods that passed each way, both Tjibarr and Nedlandj. During that time, any Nedlandj who ventured out of sight of Jugara would be killed. After twenty-five full moons, all trade would be controlled by the Yadji, and only Inglidj and Nangu ships would be permitted to visit. The Nedlandj would be killed if they appeared.
With that concession, the truce was agreed. But both sides knew that Prince Rupert’s War was not yet over.
* * *
History does not record exactly where and when typhus first arrived in Aururia. The first outbreak mentioned in surviving records was in Pankala in July 1643, but typhus almost certainly disembarked earlier. In comparison to most previous Old World diseases to enter the Land of Gold, typhus was relatively slow to spread and variable in its mortality rate. Its proliferation and lethality depended on how crowded people were, and their available nutrition; poorly nourished people were much more vulnerable to its effects, particularly when crowded together.
Almost certainly, typhus arrived on a Dutch ship sometime in the late 1630s or early 1640s. It may well have been a low-level disease that went unnoticed for several years; if the early victims were well-nourished, many of them would have survived.
Indeed, the disease may well have arrived multiple times within a handful of years. By this time, the Dutch East India Company was rapidly expanding its trade with Aururia, and many ships arrived directly in the Seven Sisters, the Island or Jugara without stopping in Atjuntja lands first. Given the near-simultaneous outbreaks in the Seven Sisters and Tiayal [the Atjuntja realm], and the appearance at Goolrin three years later without any known records of outbreaks at Copper Coast ports, it is possible that separate ships had brought typhus to each locale, rather than being transmitted by local contact.
Whatever the route it used to arrive, when it came, typhus was deadly.
The disease appeared first in the war-ravaged Seven Sisters, and quickly spread across Mutjing lands. A couple of months later, an epidemic flared up in the famine-stricken lands of north-western Tiayal, and propagated more slowly across all of the Atjuntja lands. Quarantine kept typhus from the Island for a time, but eventually it flared up there, too.
In 1646 typhus appeared in Goolrin among the besieging Yadji armies, and from there, its spread was largely unstoppable. Over the next few years, it spread to most of the farming peoples of the continent. It sometimes spread to the hunter-gatherer populations of the central and northern regions of the continent, although its spread was more variable. Sometimes lice-infested, panic-stricken survivors would flee from their dying band to seek refuge in another band, thus propagating the disease. In other cases, the infestation would burn out amongst hunter-gather bands.
On average, the initial typhus epidemic, on top of the previous plagues, wars and famines, brought the death toll in Aururia to about 25% of the pre-contact population. However, some areas were hit much harder than others. The war-engulfed regions of the Seven Sisters and the Cider Isle had compact, dense populations which meant that typhus could easily spread, particularly in the armies, and so that survivors could easily flee and break any attempted quarantine. Both regions suffered severe population collapse, losing more than a third of their pre-contact population.
The Atjuntja were also more severely affected than most, with some areas already afflicted by famines born of rat plagues, and the loss of workers was also severe enough that famine became a more widespread affliction. The typhus epidemic hit the Yadji about as hard as the average in Aururia, but the toll included an unfortunately large percentage of their veteran soldiers.
The Five Rivers suffered much less than most of its neighbours. There were some outbreaks of typhus, including a couple which were transmitted through their territory up the Anedeli [River Darling] and Gurrnyal [Lachlan River] to the lands beyond. But their physicians knowledge and credibility meant that quarantines were imposed much more effectively, isolating cities or villages as needed. While typhus still cost many lives, in comparison to their neighbours, the Five Rivers were fortunate.
In time, the typhus epidemic spread as far as the Kiyungu, although their northernmost outposts past Quamba [Mackay, Queensland] were spared. The Nuttana trading association there imposed their own, effective quarantine. The epidemic spread to most of the eastern coast, too, but its transmission was slower, and it bypassed many of the more isolated communities.
Across Aururia, the average death toll was thus a quarter of their population, similar to when the first Antonine Plague swept through the Roman Empire. But the concentration of this toll in some areas meant that those regions were on the verge of social breakdown.
The Seven Sisters, in particular, was devastated. War between the city-states had already been raging for several years, and now typhus nearly depopulated some cities. Pankala had been the foremost Mutjing city for nearly two centuries, but the epidemic killed over half of its population, and most of the survivors abandoned the city. Pankala was reduced to a minor town under the effective control of Luyandi.
Across the peninsula, the war-shattered populations could no longer resist the advances of the Dutch-backed armies of Luyandi. After the plagues had subsided, in 1648 the king of Luyandi proclaimed himself “first among equals” for the Mutjing lands. He established a council of the monarchs of the city-states (with the notable exception of Pankala), which notionally governed the peninsula, but which was in truth nothing but an extension of his will. In 1659, the entire peninsula would be proclaimed a Dutch protectorate.
The collapse of Mutjing society in turn had drastic consequences for the Nangu. For centuries, the Island’s population had been much larger than could be sustained by farming their limited arable land, even supplemented by fishing. Most of their population were non-farming specialists - merchants, sailors, dyemakers, shipbuilders, and others – who could not farm properly even if they had land available. The Island relied on food imports from the Seven Sisters.
With Mutjing supplies cut off, the Island was forever changed. Before de Houtman first made contact with Aururia in 1619, there were about 70,000 Nangu, with 60,000 living on the Island itself and 10,000 scattered around their various trade ports, colonies, and economic vassals. While the Island had never conducted a formal census, it is estimated that between 50,000 and 55,000 survived the various plagues that culminated in a typhus epidemic. With its remaining farmland, fishing fleet and scattered imports of food from the Seven Sisters or Tjibarr, the Island could feed about 20,000 people.
The result was a Nangu diaspora. The process had already begun before typhus reached the Seven Sisters. Some Nangu had already fled the Island to a variety of destinations, such as the new Nuttana ports. Many more Nangu would join the exodus in the years after. Some of these exiles did not come from the Island itself; several of the older Nangu outposts were abandoned entirely, such as their outpost of Isolation which had already been declining due to the fall in trade with the Atjuntja.
A few of the fleeing Nangu went to the Seven Sisters, because they believed that they could best find food and maintain their faith amongst their Plirite fellows, the Mutjing. Many more fled further afield. Some joined the Nangu ports on the Copper Coast, particularly Dogport and Jugara. A few went to their protected outpost of Yellow Pine on the Cider Isle. Some joined their co-religionists on the eastern coast of Aururia, or the Tjunini and Kurnawal on the Cider Isle. The Kalendi bloodline, and many of their allies, began a mass exodus to Aotearoa.
But the largest group of exiles from the Island travelled the farthest, to the Kiyungu and the growing trade towns further north. This migration, more than anything else, marked the foundation of the Nuttana as their own power: a core of Nangu exiles, together with many Kiyungu labourers and farmers, and a few people of other cultures whom they persuaded to join them.
* * *
From: “The World Historical Dictionary”
Nangu Diaspora
(1) The exodus of Nangu from Gurree Island [the Island] to destinations either within Aururia or overseas. This exodus is usually considered to consist of two waves, or sometimes three:
(i) The pre-Houtmanian exodus of Nangu to colonies or cities within their economic hegemony, from approximately 1400 to 1620. The principal targets of the first wave included Jugara, Dogport, Pankala, Munmee, and Luyandi.
(ii) The large-scale migrations from Gurree during 1635 to 1660, due to economic collapse and famine. The main destinations of the second wave were Wujal [Cooktown] and smaller Nuttana ports, Aotearoa, Okinawa, and some locations which had already received Nangu migrants during the first wave.
(iii) More controversially, any of the subsequent emigrations of peoples of Nangu heritage to destinations further afield, principally the Congxie and Kogung.
(2) A descendant of one of the waves of the Nangu Diaspora who continues to reside outside Aururia.
* * *
10th Year of Regent Gunya Yadji / 13 September 1646
Baringup [Ravenswood, Victoria]
Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]
The Yadji prince who explained the news to him appeared pleased by it. Once he understood the fellow’s explanation, Prince Ruprecht did not share the sentiment.
“This will not do,” Ruprecht murmured, in German. No Yadji understood that tongue. “Two years of peace? This will not do at all.”
He had come to this distant land of savages to win gold and glory for himself, but this peace would deny him both.
“I must do something about this,” Ruprecht said. “I must ensure that I can win glory.”
* * *
[1] Coorabbin does not consider the kings of Luyandi to be full kings because they are elected monarchs.
[2] People of the Five Rivers draw a distinction between “natural” and “supernatural” illnesses. “Natural” illnesses are broadly those with some visible external symptoms (e.g. rashes, coughing), and “supernatural” illnesses are those without any such signs (e.g. delirium). Physicians treat natural illnesses, while supernatural illnesses are treated by a separate class of priest-healers who use spiritual treatments. However, there are occasionally demarcation disputes over whether an illness is natural or supernatural.
[3] The argument here has arisen because a disease which is a fever alone is considered to be a supernatural illness. A fever with visible external signs, however, is viewed as a natural illness and treated as such. The argument has arisen because a disease which produces delirium is usually considered a supernatural illness. Epidemic typhus (the disease here) produces a characteristic fever, and both a rash and (often) delirium. Hence the Gunnagal are having difficulty classifying the disease.
[4] This actually works.
[5] This doesn’t.
[6] This is a process of administering fluids with salt and sugar (or equivalents) in measured proportions, to counteract fluid and salt loss. It has the advantage of being cheap and easy to administer, and thus is widespread today in treating dysentery or similar illnesses. While the specific therapy is a relatively recent development in modern medicine, it has historical antecedents. The Indian medical tradition recommended mixtures of fluids (e.g. rice water, coconut juice, and carrot soup) with similar effects.
* * *
Thoughts?
“The state is where a man lives; the nation is what a man is.”
- Lincoln Derwent and Solidarity Jenkins, “The Nationalist Manifesto”
* * *
Azure Day, Cycle of Bunya Nuts, 404th Year of Harmony (3.12.404) / 2 August 1643
Munmee [Cowell, South Australia]
Seven Sisters [Eyre Peninsula]
Dawn by the waters of Mudfish Harbour [Franklin Harbour]. The brightest of the stars were just fading, overwhelmed by the first glimmers of daylight brought by the still-unrisen sun. Enough to make out a gloomy almost-dark shape across the far side of the harbour, marking the sacred island [Entrance Island] that guarded the two entrances to the harbour.
A perfect time for contemplation and prayers, when the familiar rituals of the fourth path helped to shape a man’s thoughts into insight.
Coorabbin, king of Munmee and an ever-decreasing realm outside his city’s walls, was a man sorely in need of insight. He did not feel helpless, exactly, but never could he remember being so buffeted by the winds of disharmony. Never could he remember feeling that the consequences of men acting with waal [bringing discord] in the wider world could overcome the most harmonious actions of himself and his subjects.
Monarch he might be, head of his city and a realm beyond its walls which he had always fondly believed to be the third-most powerful realm in the Seven Sisters behind Pankala [Port Lincoln] and Luyandi [Port Kenny]. Half a dozen or so other monarchs might hold similar views about the rank of their realm, but he alone was correct.
Now, being third amongst the monarchs only meant that he felt more responsible for managing the disharmony that had been brought upon the Seven Sisters.
Between his prayers and his contemplation, insight slowly dawned. The trouble had started with Luyandi, he realised. Yes, the disharmony had begun when Maralinga, semi-king [1] of Luyandi, placed himself under the influence of the Nedlandj from across the seas.
From what he heard, Luyandi had included terms in that agreement to prevent a strike against the Island, either by their own soldiers or those of the Nedlandj. A valuable recognition, since even the often-fools of Luyandi knew that the Island’s actions brought them balance. What Coorabbin now realised was that Maralinga had failed to see that not striking against the Island was not the same thing as not striking against the Island’s interests. Or against their own interests, either, although that was a longer-term problem.
The pact with the Nedlandj had brought Luyandi wealth and protection. But it placed their desires in the hands of those without harmony, without insight. The Nedlandj were wealthy and powerful, but they were not followers of the Sevenfold Path, and they did not recognise when their actions brought disharmony to the people they touched. Nor did the Nedlandj even care, so much as he could tell.
All of the problems started from that pact. Now war raged across the Seven Sisters. The last Islander ship from Pankala had reported that the city was still under siege, its inhabitants facing famine. The armies of Luyandi and its new allies among the Seven Sisters had combined to impose their will on Pankala, capturing territory and seeking tribute.
In the past, arbiters from the Island – priests and elders – would have worked to resolve any conflict in the Seven Sisters. They would have sought to maintain harmony by negotiating an end to these differences, or at least limited the spread of the conflict. Now, the Island was at war with itself, in its outlook if not always directly by force of arms. Its arbiters were few, and their influence fading. The struggles in the Seven Sisters continued unchecked, and grew worse with every passing month.
Coorabbin rose from his prayers as the dawn gradually transformed into day. His contemplation had offered insight into the reasons for the growing disharmony, but no guidance in what actions could be taken to manage it.
The growing light revealed him to be a balding man with a square-cut beard. His face and arms were marked by scars that showed he had survived the blister-rash [chickenpox]. He would have been a tall man, once, but now he walked with a stoop, brought on by age and perhaps by the growing burden of caring for his people. He wore few adornments to show his rank; the main one that was visible was a golden chain studded with greenstone, worn around his neck.
The breaking of the day also showed a ship negotiating its path through the narrow inlet at the north entrance to the harbour. An Islander ship which must have been waiting for enough light to make the passage. Even at this distance, with the strengthening light he could make out the purple colour that dominated the sails. He could not make out the design on the sail that went with it, but there was no need. Only one bloodline had purple sails: the Liwang.
Strange indeed that they would send a ship here. And worrisome. The Liwang were traders in dyes more than anything else. It was their control of dye production which let them afford such a fantastically expensive choice as colouring their sails with sea purple. They mostly traded on the Island itself, and rarely sent ships here. For the Liwang to have a ship here could mean only some event of great import – or perhaps that the trade on the Island had grown so troubled that the Liwang had to resort to sending ships abroad in hope of finding profit.
Coorabbin made his way back to the palace. His guards trailed unobtrusively behind him. Another sign of the changing times, that. Before, he had felt confident enough in the trust of his people and his neighbours that he did not bother bringing guards when he conducted his morning prayers beside the harbour. Now, he went nowhere without guards. Disharmony had all sorts of unforeseen consequences.
He was not long in the palace before word came that the Liwang trading-captain was at the gates and sought an audience. He granted it after only a brief delay to show that the time of the king was valuable, without being so long to risk offence to one of the wealthiest Islander bloodlines.
The trading-captain wore purple, too. The wealth of the Liwang was legendary. He went down on one knee in acknowledgement of being in royal presence. Coorabbin quickly gave him leave to rise.
The captain stood and said, “I am Narntijara of the Liwang. I am honoured to be in your presence, Your Exaltedness.”
An odd phrasing, and one which made it clear that Narntijara would be offering no gift to the royal household. Strange. Offering a gift was not mandatory, and Coorabbin would never insist on it from Islanders, but it would be usual practice if seeking royal favour. Whatever brought the Liwang here, it was something unusual, and probably not trade.
“Do you seek permission to trade?” the king asked. Permission was only a formality, even if no gift was offered, and in routine trading visits Islanders would not even bother to visit the palace.
“If the king pleases, I will seek among his subjects for suppliers of yams and wealth-seeds. Flax-seeds too, if they can be spared.”
“You may trade for them,” Coorabbin said. He kept his voice neutral, but a hundred questions sprung to mind. Why were the Liwang, of all bloodlines, trading for food? Why had they come as far as Munmee instead of one of the nearer ports?
Oh, Pankala was besieged, but even that was rarely enough to stop Islander ships calling. Even if the Luyandi had managed to blockade the harbour, they would not hinder a Liwang ship. Even if somehow entering Pankala was not possible, there were other ports between here and Pankala.
“I thank you. And in exchange, I bring word of grave news which has afflicted Pankala.”
“Does the siege continue?” the king asked.
Narntijara shook his head. “It does, but that is not the dire news. A new plague has broken out within Pankala’s walls. A deadly fever which brings rash, delirium, and most often death. Many of the people are dead or dying, including the king. Perhaps the plague has spread to the armies outside, too. With the warning of plague, I did not stay long enough to find out, nor did I visit a port in between.”
The king absently scratched at his waist, flicking a couple of lice off while he considered. This was dire news indeed. Plague was bad enough in itself, but it also meant that the armies of Luyandi and its allies would soon be victorious. If there was anything left of Pankala for them to occupy.
Such was the balance in action. Luyandi had brought war, and its consequences were severe both on its neighbours and itself. The balance would be restored, one way or another, of course. But Coorabbin now wondered if the balance might only be restored because all of the peoples of the Seven Sisters were too badly-afflicted by plague to continue fighting.
* * *
Venus's Day, Cycle of Water, 14th Year of His Majesty Guneewin the Third (20 August 1646)
Tapiwal [Robinvale], Victoria]
Kingdom of Tjibarr
Tjee Burra had a gift that few men could match: superior memory. When he heard facts, or read them, they usually remained with him for life. He needed to speak a man’s name only once to remember both his name and his face forever. So it had always been, since his youth. Though it had taken reaching adulthood to convince him that he should sometimes feign forgetfulness, and conceal his true prowess.
His talents had naturally led him to a field where they were well-suited: medicine. In his youth, he quickly built an excellent reputation in that field. Though only a moderately-skilled surgeon, his diagnoses were swift and drew on the established wisdom that all physicians conveyed on parchment and tablet, and when they spoke with one another. Before he had seen thirty years, he was already recognised as a senior physician.
While he retained his interest in medicine, his talents had soon found wider application. He had been raised to cheer the Grays on the football field. Here, too, his memory served him well in recognising what tactics worked or failed, in noticing and remembering each player’s strengths and weaknesses. He began to give advice to the sentinel for the Grays. That advice proved effective, and so he was heeded more and more.
Perhaps he might have ended up taking over the sentinel’s office, until the Gray leaders realised that his talents also made him the perfect choice for managing the faction’s sources within Tjibarr and throughout the Five Rivers and Durigal [the Yadji realm]. He did not need to commit facts to parchment or tablet, and could allocate and coordinate activities better than any rivals.
In time, his abilities had brought him to the leadership of the Grays – at least in so far as the faction had a leader. His was the most prominent voice in the faction, at least. In a faction even more prone to argument than most Gunnagal, leadership was a very amorphous concept.
Despite having that rank, he had remained involved in medicine for all of his life. For diagnosis and advice, that is; it had been twenty years since he had performed any surgery. But he still read the reports which physicians provided of their activities, and often stood on the five-man panels that were used to judge another physician’s competence.
Today, it seemed, the responsibilities of both halves of his life had become one.
Today, the first case had been found in Tapiwal of a new plague. A plague new to that city, but which had broken out along the Copper Coast a couple of months before, afflicting both Tjibarr’s defending armies, and the Yadji invaders.
What that would mean for the war and the Endless Dance amongst Tjibarr’s factions – well, in truth, he would need to think long about that question. He needed to determine as much as he could in his role as a physician, but that knowledge would have much wider application.
The patient had been isolated in one room of the physicians’ hall in Tapiwal. As per standard practice. And Tjee Burra had expected that the new plague would provoke a vigorous argument amongst the city’s physicians about how to treat it.
What he had not expected as that Tapiwal’s healers [2] would intervene and demand that they should be the ones responsible for treating the fevered woman. Healers! The strains of heated argument were the musical accompaniment of the morning, with healers and physicians holding voluminous debate about who had the authority.
Tjee Burra let the argument continue in the background as he considered matters. Shouts and raised voices did not trouble him, any more than they would trouble any true Gunnagal; such behaviour was as natural as breathing. A man should adopt a more restrained style when conducting meetings that were part of the Dance, but for this sort of discussion, there was no such need.
At length, he signalled to Lopitja, another senior physician. The man was called Lopitja the Red by some, for good reason. Discussions between physicians were sometimes considered to be above the dance of the factions. That was not strictly true, of course; any knowledge which a faction supporter acquired would be used to the advantage of that faction. But physicians could move freely between factions, and usually the knowledge they acquired was shared between all physicians regardless of any affiliation. Nor would any physician refuse to treat someone even if they were a known supporter of another faction.
The two physicians moved aside to a slightly quieter section of the hall. “Would you care to wager on how long that little discussion will go on?” Tjee Burra asked.
“I prefer to attain embarrassment wagering on football, not medicine,” Lopitja said dryly. “Though this is a worse argument than most. It could last months if neither side wish to back down.” He ventured a slight smile. “If it did, we would have to rename this hall the place of great disputation.”
“It could be swiftly resolved if we needed it, naturally,” Tjee Burra said. “But let them argue for a little longer. I’d like your advice first.”
“Resolved how? It is a perplexing matter. A new plague, a fever which produces both rash and delirium. How do you decide that [3]?”
“Oh, come now,” Tjee Burra said. “It is not a new plague. It is spotted fever.”
The other physician raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know that malady.”
“Because it is very uncommon. Up until now,” Tjee Burra said. At Lopitja’s inquiring grunt, he went on, “Spotted fever strikes occasionally on the Copper Coast. Rarely, and usually far out in the countryside where the person recovers or dies before a physician can be found and travel to them. But Nyureegarr wrote about several cases of it, and I’m sure I’ve read about one or two other physicians who treated it, longer ago.”
He remembered their names perfectly, in fact. Four other physicians had mentioned spotted fever, though only two had described treating more than one case of the affliction. But concealing his gifts was part of his nature by now.
“The same plague?” Lopitja asked.
“The same, or a very close variant,” Tjee Burra said. “The rash usually starts on the limbs rather than the chest, and diarrhoea is more common with that strain of spotted fever than what I’ve heard about this outbreak here. And this version seems to spread faster between men. But what concerns me is how best to treat it.”
“Ah.” Lopitja may not have been as skilled a Dancer as Tjee Burra, but he knew how to listen to what was not said. “You want to know if I’ve learned anything in the Raw Men’s medical books about how to cure it.”
“You’ve had more time to learn the Nedlandj language than I,” said Tjee Burra.
In truth, learning new languages was, sadly, one area where Tjee Burra’s usually strong memory failed him. He could remember the names of people in other languages – as best he could pronounce those names, anyway – but not grasp the intricacies of speaking in a whole new language. Even if he could have spared the time from coordinating the endless business of the Grays, he would have difficulty learning it.
“The books I have read reveal nothing useful, I fear,” Lopitja said. “Treatments which use animals or plants not found in the Five Rivers. Or draining the blood from the fevered men – and we saw how well that worked the last time it was tried.”
Tjee Burra shook his head. The Raw Men’s use of bleeding had been tried on men afflicted with swamp-rash, and the panel who observed the practice had universally condemned it. Perhaps the treatment would work better for other diseases, but no physician wanted to risk his reputation by trying it.
“What did – Nyureegarr, I think you said – recommend to treat spotted fever?”
“Gum-water [i.e. wattle gum dissolved in water] mixed with salt, if the person had diarrhoea [4]. And a tonic of sarsaparilla, if not [5].”
Lopitja looked back toward the ongoing argument, and past that to the door to where the fevered woman still lingered. “I fear we will soon have many opportunities to find out whether it works.
* * *
Typhus: the common name for a group of related diseases with similar symptoms, particularly a very high fever, mental confusion and delirium, and often a widespread skin rash or spots. These diseases include one of the deadliest diseases in history, epidemic typhus, and confusingly, typhoid fever, another of history’s deadliest diseases, and whose name means “typhus-like” because it has some similar symptoms of high fever and mental confusion.
True typhus diseases are caused by any of several related species of Rickettsia bacteria. Epidemic typhus (Rickettsia prowazekii), spread by infected lice, is the most dangerous of these diseases as it is capable of causing wide-scale epidemics as infected lice spread from person to person. The related disease of murine or endemic typhus (Rickettsia typhi), is spread by fleas, usually from rats, and while it can be deadly to individuals, it is much less likely to turn into an epidemic.
There are several more related diseases around the world caused by other species of Rickettsia, usually transmitted by ticks but sometimes by fleas or mites. These are collectively called spotted fevers, such as Rocky Mountain spotted fever (Rickettsia rickettsii) found in the Americas. The spotted fevers were often fatal before modern antibiotics, but were very rarely spread from person to person. A similar disease called scrub typhus (or bush typhus) is in fact caused by a different genus of bacteria (Orientia), but is also has similar symptoms and is spread by invertebrate bites, in this case chiggers (trombiculid mites).
The Gunnagal physicians of the 1640s knew little of these matters, of course. They knew nothing about epidemic typhus or typhoid until they found a few references within purchased European medical texts. Even then, these descriptions were just two out of many diseases being described which had not yet reached Aururia.
However, some Gunnagal physicians did know about spotted fever. For Aururia harbours three kinds of typhus-type illnesses. Two of these, scrub typhus and Australian tick typhus (Rickettsia australis) are usually found in the tropical north of the continent, far from the knowledge of Gunnagal physicians.
But one form, Flinders Island spotted fever (Rickettsia honei), occurs along the coastal strip of fertile land which the Gunnagal call the Copper Coast, whose most prominent historical city is Adelaide. The disease is in fact far more widespread than that region, being found in scattered regions around Aururia and Asia, including places as far afield as historical Flinders Island in Bass Strait, and in Thailand and Nepal.
Even within the Copper Coast, Flinders Island spotted fever is a rare disease. The natural hosts are various species of small marsupials, and it is transmitted to humans by a couple of species of tick that prefer moist climates and so are usually found only very near to the coast. The marsupial hosts avoid human presence, too, so cases only happen in rural dwellers who are venturing into bushland away from farms.
Infected people face a complex of symptoms which are similar to epidemic typhus, though usually less severe. There is none of the sensitivity to bright light found in typhus, the spotted rash is more severe than in typhus and spreads from the extremities first instead of the chest and torso, and diarrhoea is a much more common complication. It is sometimes fatal, and effective treatment is impossible without antibiotics, but still, the majority of those infected survive.
Thus, for the Gunnagal of pre-Houtmanian Aururia, spotted fever was a minor affliction. It was sorry news for the unfortunate few who caught it, but it was just one of many diseases which could be transmitted from animals, but fortunately never made the jump to becoming human-to-human transmitted diseases.
Rare or not, a few Gunnagal physicians noticed the disease. In their usual way, they described the symptoms and the treatments they attempted. These descriptions were available to other physicians, although the disease was so sporadic in its appearance that even many physicians who read of it did not remember it. The few who did, though, were quick to recognise typhus as a close cousin of spotted fever. Naturally, having recognised spotted fever – or so they thought – Gunnagal physicians attempted to use those treatments they knew.
The first of these treatments was extremely simple: dissolve wattle-gum in water, add salt, and serve to the patient in small amounts, regularly, until they improve. Gunnagal physicians developed this technique several centuries earlier. Lacking sugar or honey, wattle-gum is one of their prime sweeteners, and it dissolves easily in water. Gum-water was one of their common sweet beverages. All it took was adding salt to turn it into a treatment that worked reasonably well against many diseases that produce fluid loss, such as diarrhoea or gastroenteritis.
Gunnagal physicians had, in fact, stumbled across a primitive form of oral rehydration therapy [6]. It often helped in saving the lives of people who contracted acute diarrhoea or other infections. It would have been even more effective if Gunnagal physicians had a proper conception of the importance of proportions in treatments. Unfortunately, while in some respects Tjibarr society was very concerned about accurate measurements – such as in measuring time – in medicine, the idea had developed that if a little of a treatment is good, more of it is better. So, often over-enthusiastic carers would supply fluids with too much wattle-gum or salt, which prevented enough fluids being absorbed.
The other treatment which Gunnagal physicians adopted was providing a tonic of sweet sarsaparilla. This was again a practice they adopted for many other diseases, but in this case, it was of no use even against spotted fever. Sarsaparilla tonic does have some capacity to reduce inflammation, and is an extremely effective cure for scurvy, but otherwise its only benefit is as a placebo.
Against epidemic typhus, neither of these treatments would be effective cures. Fluid loss is only rarely the major problem with epidemic typhus, so the gum water with salt treatment that the Gunnagal physicians attempted gave only the most limited assistance. Sarsaparilla tonic was even less helpful.
Before the development of antibiotics, the only really effective response to typhus was quarantine. Even enforcing that would be difficult in such a louse-ridden age.
* * *
The Yadji had been at war with Tjibarr and its Five Rivers allies for just over a year when typhus appeared in the Yadji armies besieging Goolrin [Murray Bridge]. Until this time, the course of the war had broadly favoured the Yadji armies. Tjibarr’s armies had been defeated and pushed back, with Jugara [Victor Harbor] now in their hands, along with an ever-increasing stretch of the Copper Coast. Gutjanal’s armies gained some initial victories following their surprise declaration of war, but even there, the Yadji forces were regaining ground.
The outbreak of what their European allies called camp-fever devastated the Yadji armies. Almost a third of their soldiers were killed, and the epidemic quickly spread more broadly across the Copper Coast, including to other Yadji forces in the region. The Yadji besiegers were forced to withdraw from Goolrin.
Fortunately for the Yadji, they did not have to retreat too far. Tjibarr responded by imposing a quarantine which meant that its own forces did not advance far until the epidemic had abated. The Yadji were also still supported by Inglidj cavalry who were immune to typhus, or so it appeared. In truth, that was because the Inglidj forces were mostly German veterans who had already endured and survived typhus during the late war in Europe.
With his military position crumbling, Bidwadjari sought permission from the Regent to negotiate a truce with Tjibarr’s forces. He explained that his armies needed time to recover – even the survivors were in no condition to fight – and he hoped that an extended truce might make the pact between the Five Rivers nations collapse, as it had done so often in the past.
Gunya Yadji granted permission, so Bidwadjari sent an emissary to request formal truce negotiations. He quickly received two unpleasant surprises. The first was that Tjibarr insisted that the truce cover all three Five Rivers nations, or none. The second was that the Nedlandj insisted on being represented at the truce negotiations, and Tjibarr supported that demand.
Under the Regent’s standing orders, no Nedlandj men could enter Yadji territory and live. This made even finding a place to conduct negotiations difficult, since according to Yadji custom, all of the land they occupied was now part of their territory. Eventually, after furious discussions with the two princes sent to negotiate on the Regent’s behalf, agreement was reached to conduct negotiations at a temporary encampment set up on an island in the middle of the Nyalananga, downstream from Goolrin [Long Island, Murray Bridge].
The truce negotiations between Tjibarr and the Yadji were reasonably straightforward, since the two powers had a long history of negotiating truces when it suited their mutual interests. Neither side expected this truce to end the war, only to delay it in accord with ancient custom. The only real question was the duration of the truce, with discussions about whether it should be one year, two years, or somewhere in between. Eventually, they settled on two years.
The complications in the negotiations came from the presence of the Nedlandj. The Nedlandj wanted the truce to include amnesty for the Company employees in the Copper Coast. The Yadji princes responded that the Regent’s order was clear: all Nedlandj who set foot in the Land of the Five Directions would be killed.
The Nedlandj protested that many of their ships were already en route between Jugara and their homeland, and did not know who now ruled Jugara. With shipping times and communications being what they were, ships could still arrive at Jugara for many more months without realising that they were entering Yadji territory. They would not have known, since word of the Yadji conquest would not have reached them before they set out. Two years, it could take, since voyages to and from Europe took up to a year.
After some more lengthy discussions back with the Regent, the Yadji made some concessions. For the next twenty-five full moons, any Nedlandj who landed in Jugara would be permitted to live, and to conduct trade with nominated Tjibarr and Nangu merchants. The Regent’s agents would collect a twelfth of all goods that passed each way, both Tjibarr and Nedlandj. During that time, any Nedlandj who ventured out of sight of Jugara would be killed. After twenty-five full moons, all trade would be controlled by the Yadji, and only Inglidj and Nangu ships would be permitted to visit. The Nedlandj would be killed if they appeared.
With that concession, the truce was agreed. But both sides knew that Prince Rupert’s War was not yet over.
* * *
History does not record exactly where and when typhus first arrived in Aururia. The first outbreak mentioned in surviving records was in Pankala in July 1643, but typhus almost certainly disembarked earlier. In comparison to most previous Old World diseases to enter the Land of Gold, typhus was relatively slow to spread and variable in its mortality rate. Its proliferation and lethality depended on how crowded people were, and their available nutrition; poorly nourished people were much more vulnerable to its effects, particularly when crowded together.
Almost certainly, typhus arrived on a Dutch ship sometime in the late 1630s or early 1640s. It may well have been a low-level disease that went unnoticed for several years; if the early victims were well-nourished, many of them would have survived.
Indeed, the disease may well have arrived multiple times within a handful of years. By this time, the Dutch East India Company was rapidly expanding its trade with Aururia, and many ships arrived directly in the Seven Sisters, the Island or Jugara without stopping in Atjuntja lands first. Given the near-simultaneous outbreaks in the Seven Sisters and Tiayal [the Atjuntja realm], and the appearance at Goolrin three years later without any known records of outbreaks at Copper Coast ports, it is possible that separate ships had brought typhus to each locale, rather than being transmitted by local contact.
Whatever the route it used to arrive, when it came, typhus was deadly.
The disease appeared first in the war-ravaged Seven Sisters, and quickly spread across Mutjing lands. A couple of months later, an epidemic flared up in the famine-stricken lands of north-western Tiayal, and propagated more slowly across all of the Atjuntja lands. Quarantine kept typhus from the Island for a time, but eventually it flared up there, too.
In 1646 typhus appeared in Goolrin among the besieging Yadji armies, and from there, its spread was largely unstoppable. Over the next few years, it spread to most of the farming peoples of the continent. It sometimes spread to the hunter-gatherer populations of the central and northern regions of the continent, although its spread was more variable. Sometimes lice-infested, panic-stricken survivors would flee from their dying band to seek refuge in another band, thus propagating the disease. In other cases, the infestation would burn out amongst hunter-gather bands.
On average, the initial typhus epidemic, on top of the previous plagues, wars and famines, brought the death toll in Aururia to about 25% of the pre-contact population. However, some areas were hit much harder than others. The war-engulfed regions of the Seven Sisters and the Cider Isle had compact, dense populations which meant that typhus could easily spread, particularly in the armies, and so that survivors could easily flee and break any attempted quarantine. Both regions suffered severe population collapse, losing more than a third of their pre-contact population.
The Atjuntja were also more severely affected than most, with some areas already afflicted by famines born of rat plagues, and the loss of workers was also severe enough that famine became a more widespread affliction. The typhus epidemic hit the Yadji about as hard as the average in Aururia, but the toll included an unfortunately large percentage of their veteran soldiers.
The Five Rivers suffered much less than most of its neighbours. There were some outbreaks of typhus, including a couple which were transmitted through their territory up the Anedeli [River Darling] and Gurrnyal [Lachlan River] to the lands beyond. But their physicians knowledge and credibility meant that quarantines were imposed much more effectively, isolating cities or villages as needed. While typhus still cost many lives, in comparison to their neighbours, the Five Rivers were fortunate.
In time, the typhus epidemic spread as far as the Kiyungu, although their northernmost outposts past Quamba [Mackay, Queensland] were spared. The Nuttana trading association there imposed their own, effective quarantine. The epidemic spread to most of the eastern coast, too, but its transmission was slower, and it bypassed many of the more isolated communities.
Across Aururia, the average death toll was thus a quarter of their population, similar to when the first Antonine Plague swept through the Roman Empire. But the concentration of this toll in some areas meant that those regions were on the verge of social breakdown.
The Seven Sisters, in particular, was devastated. War between the city-states had already been raging for several years, and now typhus nearly depopulated some cities. Pankala had been the foremost Mutjing city for nearly two centuries, but the epidemic killed over half of its population, and most of the survivors abandoned the city. Pankala was reduced to a minor town under the effective control of Luyandi.
Across the peninsula, the war-shattered populations could no longer resist the advances of the Dutch-backed armies of Luyandi. After the plagues had subsided, in 1648 the king of Luyandi proclaimed himself “first among equals” for the Mutjing lands. He established a council of the monarchs of the city-states (with the notable exception of Pankala), which notionally governed the peninsula, but which was in truth nothing but an extension of his will. In 1659, the entire peninsula would be proclaimed a Dutch protectorate.
The collapse of Mutjing society in turn had drastic consequences for the Nangu. For centuries, the Island’s population had been much larger than could be sustained by farming their limited arable land, even supplemented by fishing. Most of their population were non-farming specialists - merchants, sailors, dyemakers, shipbuilders, and others – who could not farm properly even if they had land available. The Island relied on food imports from the Seven Sisters.
With Mutjing supplies cut off, the Island was forever changed. Before de Houtman first made contact with Aururia in 1619, there were about 70,000 Nangu, with 60,000 living on the Island itself and 10,000 scattered around their various trade ports, colonies, and economic vassals. While the Island had never conducted a formal census, it is estimated that between 50,000 and 55,000 survived the various plagues that culminated in a typhus epidemic. With its remaining farmland, fishing fleet and scattered imports of food from the Seven Sisters or Tjibarr, the Island could feed about 20,000 people.
The result was a Nangu diaspora. The process had already begun before typhus reached the Seven Sisters. Some Nangu had already fled the Island to a variety of destinations, such as the new Nuttana ports. Many more Nangu would join the exodus in the years after. Some of these exiles did not come from the Island itself; several of the older Nangu outposts were abandoned entirely, such as their outpost of Isolation which had already been declining due to the fall in trade with the Atjuntja.
A few of the fleeing Nangu went to the Seven Sisters, because they believed that they could best find food and maintain their faith amongst their Plirite fellows, the Mutjing. Many more fled further afield. Some joined the Nangu ports on the Copper Coast, particularly Dogport and Jugara. A few went to their protected outpost of Yellow Pine on the Cider Isle. Some joined their co-religionists on the eastern coast of Aururia, or the Tjunini and Kurnawal on the Cider Isle. The Kalendi bloodline, and many of their allies, began a mass exodus to Aotearoa.
But the largest group of exiles from the Island travelled the farthest, to the Kiyungu and the growing trade towns further north. This migration, more than anything else, marked the foundation of the Nuttana as their own power: a core of Nangu exiles, together with many Kiyungu labourers and farmers, and a few people of other cultures whom they persuaded to join them.
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From: “The World Historical Dictionary”
Nangu Diaspora
(1) The exodus of Nangu from Gurree Island [the Island] to destinations either within Aururia or overseas. This exodus is usually considered to consist of two waves, or sometimes three:
(i) The pre-Houtmanian exodus of Nangu to colonies or cities within their economic hegemony, from approximately 1400 to 1620. The principal targets of the first wave included Jugara, Dogport, Pankala, Munmee, and Luyandi.
(ii) The large-scale migrations from Gurree during 1635 to 1660, due to economic collapse and famine. The main destinations of the second wave were Wujal [Cooktown] and smaller Nuttana ports, Aotearoa, Okinawa, and some locations which had already received Nangu migrants during the first wave.
(iii) More controversially, any of the subsequent emigrations of peoples of Nangu heritage to destinations further afield, principally the Congxie and Kogung.
(2) A descendant of one of the waves of the Nangu Diaspora who continues to reside outside Aururia.
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10th Year of Regent Gunya Yadji / 13 September 1646
Baringup [Ravenswood, Victoria]
Durigal [Land of the Five Directions]
The Yadji prince who explained the news to him appeared pleased by it. Once he understood the fellow’s explanation, Prince Ruprecht did not share the sentiment.
“This will not do,” Ruprecht murmured, in German. No Yadji understood that tongue. “Two years of peace? This will not do at all.”
He had come to this distant land of savages to win gold and glory for himself, but this peace would deny him both.
“I must do something about this,” Ruprecht said. “I must ensure that I can win glory.”
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[1] Coorabbin does not consider the kings of Luyandi to be full kings because they are elected monarchs.
[2] People of the Five Rivers draw a distinction between “natural” and “supernatural” illnesses. “Natural” illnesses are broadly those with some visible external symptoms (e.g. rashes, coughing), and “supernatural” illnesses are those without any such signs (e.g. delirium). Physicians treat natural illnesses, while supernatural illnesses are treated by a separate class of priest-healers who use spiritual treatments. However, there are occasionally demarcation disputes over whether an illness is natural or supernatural.
[3] The argument here has arisen because a disease which is a fever alone is considered to be a supernatural illness. A fever with visible external signs, however, is viewed as a natural illness and treated as such. The argument has arisen because a disease which produces delirium is usually considered a supernatural illness. Epidemic typhus (the disease here) produces a characteristic fever, and both a rash and (often) delirium. Hence the Gunnagal are having difficulty classifying the disease.
[4] This actually works.
[5] This doesn’t.
[6] This is a process of administering fluids with salt and sugar (or equivalents) in measured proportions, to counteract fluid and salt loss. It has the advantage of being cheap and easy to administer, and thus is widespread today in treating dysentery or similar illnesses. While the specific therapy is a relatively recent development in modern medicine, it has historical antecedents. The Indian medical tradition recommended mixtures of fluids (e.g. rice water, coconut juice, and carrot soup) with similar effects.
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Thoughts?
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We know that Werringi visited the Ryukyus and the Nuttana have started to trade there.
Woah, the Nuttana are going to be an interesting animal; a settler colony by Aururians, in Aururia, for Aururians, that, very quickly after formation, begins functioning independently and spreading its influence even farther afield. I'm definitely intrigued by Nangu settlement in Okinawa, and by whatever Kogung turns out to be.
I would say "the country" rather than "the state". "Country" is geographical; "state" is a political body. And "the state" at least nowadays means "the government".
Splendid as always.
Huh. Even as weak as the treatment is, it's likely to improve as the comparison-minded Gunnagal notice better survival amongst those who get a little less salt and gum, or who get extra water on the side.
Might this play out to the relative advantage of the Gunnagal if slightly more survive?
Might this play out to the relative advantage of the Gunnagal if slightly more survive?
Yes, but you live in OTL. Terminology is fluid, given centuries of linguistic divergence.
Strange as it may seem, I don't actually know that yet.
I tend not to invent new words or names for things in *Australia until they're needed. Inventing authentic names for places, people and animals takes up a lot of time and thought, so I don't do it until required.
I didn't create the word for emus until the Dutch needed to know what they were called; I didn't decide on this timeline's name for kangaroos until a European encountered them and asked what they were called.
So when the platypus and koala (and wombat - the world needs more wombats) appear in a form when Europeans need to know what they're called, I'll work out a name for them.
It's been confirmed in post #49 that the Nuttana (well, okay, the "Coral states" - not necessarily the same thing) are trading with Japan via the Ryukyus throughout Japan's period of seclusion.
If they're involved in such active trade, it's logical - though not guaranteed - that some form of expatriate community gets set up there.
As to how big or long-lasting that community is, well, time will tell.
The Nuttana are certainly going to be an unusual entity. While no historical parallel should be stretched too far, it's as if the Hanseatic League had more secure local geography and were sitting on a pile of good sugar land. The rest more or less writes itself.
The Kogung are another of those things which have been touched on very briefly earlier, but not in any detail. They were briefly mentioned in one of the Christmas specials as an example of a Plirite people who celebrate some of the secular aspects of Christmas. There's been some vague hints in other posts, but nothing that's easy to piece together.
I can say this much: the Kogung are a people who won't even form until the eighteenth century. While I may do some sort of foreshadowing post, they probably won't be covered until this timeline gets toward the end of Act II (~1700-1740s).
To the Yadji, he's the sort of friend who makes you prefer your enemies.
Prince Rupert was problematical enough in OTL when acting as a military commander in the English Civil War. Put him on a continent of people whom he views as heathen savages, and his behaviour is unlikely to be warm and friendly. Though often entertaining, in a macabre sort of way.
Hmm. I was aiming for a quote which showed how some words and ideology have changed significantly in the altered history of this timeline. Though I am certainly open to changing it to another word if it makes more sense.
Peeling back the veil a bit, "nationalism" and "nation" ITTL are used in a different sense to how they developed historically. They are both expressions of cultural identity, but - at least to Derwent & Jenkins and those inspired by them - they are not linked to political sovereignty or popular sovereignty in the same way in which they would be viewed in OTL.
To put it more succinctly, Derwent & Jenkins would consider the "nation-state" to be an oxymoron.
To them, a state is both a political and geographical entity, but more of the latter. It's not - or at least, it doesn't have to be - a nation.
I'm not sure of another word which would convey the same meaning. "Country" is close, but doesn't have the same overtones of political entity. "Polity", perhaps, but that can also refer to what would be sub-state entites.
The treatment isn't actually that weak - even with the proportions sometimes being off, the majority of patients treated with it survive.
Some of those who died would have died even if the proportions had been right (in modern terms, that would be those who needed intravenous fluid treatment). Most trials of different treatments are also conducted with relatively small groups - no more than twelve, and usually less than ten. Sheer random variation means that it would be hard to pick up a differential effect in these circumstances. Too much random noise, and not a strong enough signal.
So, in short, identifying better survival rates by fiddling with proportions would require a better knowledge of statistics and probability theory than the Gunnagal possess. They would need to be setting up trials with dozens of people, not 3-10 at a time.
More broadly, the whole problem of "more is better" is just one of those misconceptions which medical traditions pick up, and which are often hard to budge. On the whole, the Gunnagal medical tradition doesn't have as many deadly misconceptions as developed in European medical tradition (bleeding, I'm looking at you), but it's not free of them, either.
Very much so. While every nation is going to lose a large part of its population, the Gunnagal are going to be better off than their neighbours. This is already starting. Up until now, the Yadji realm and Five Rivers had approximately equal population (2.5 million each, in 1618), but now the Yadji population is lower. Things will get worse in subsequent epidemics.