Lands of Red and Gold
- Thread starter Jared
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I think the priest is just trying to establish working relationship with the tribe, and to do this, is flattering the chieftain by showing that his ancestors' deeds are known throughout the region. Should Bana get better knowledge of sea routes while listening to the Maoris' stories, it would be an added benefit.
Kaiphranos
Donor
That would be a reasonable explanation too, but I'm working under the assumption that Nameless/Bana is Up To Something. Can't trust those Plirites...
The earliest date I can find online for coffee being smuggled into Mysore is about 1670. Do you know of any earlier dates? That particular event would be well and truly butterflied away, although obviously someone else may still smuggle coffee into India at some point.
The Dutch importation into Amsterdam is pre-POD, so that will still go ahead. Whether the Dutch grow coffee plantations elsewhere from that bush depends on the details of their colonial possessions, but at the very least they could grow it in Java.
ITTL, things could be different because the Dutch West India Company is more of a going concern; it receives extra funding as a spin-off of more investors getting rich in the Aurient. So it's possible that someone Dutch tries to turn coffee into a viable enterprise in the Dutch West Indies.
Jeeree/lemon tea doesn't have the kick of caffeine, but it is a sweetish hot beverage. It can be drunk without sugar, although as with many things, it would be sweeter with sugar. So it may well carve out a niche for itself too. It can also be grown over wider areas than traditional tea or coffee, too.
Things will become somewhat clearer in subsequent posts, but note that nowhere have I said that the Congxie control their own homeland in modern times. There is a Congxie Nation, but that doesn't mean that the Congxie have their own sovereign state.
The main thing this shows is that Nameless has done his homework. He has troubled himself to find out (and done better than the trading captain) the Maori beliefs that their mana must be traced back to their ancestors who sailed to Aotearoa. To the Maori, the story of their mana is the story of their deeds and those of their ancestors, as far back as the (possibly mythical) land of Hawaiki.
In other words, Nameless has found out, before leaving *Tasmania, the full name of the king of the Ngati Apa, and the name of his ancestor, and uses this when he arrives in Aotearoa. This is bound to make a good impression.
^^This. Nameless is nobody's fool, and knows how useful knowledge is.
I should also mention that to a Plirite priest, sea routes in themselves aren't worth much. Priests are more interested in people. If Bana/Nameless finds out about Hawaiki and how to get there, it would be so that he can visit the people there, more than anything.
You're welcome. There are at least a couple more instalments about the Ngati Apa, and probably others in the fullness of time.
That would be a reasonable explanation too, but I'm working under the assumption that Nameless/Bana is Up To Something. Can't trust those Plirites...
Everyone's up to something.
This has been touched on before, but essentially the Maori live in a state of chronic low-level warfare with their neighbours, and are duly suspicious of all outsiders. You never know whether someone is here as a spy, after all.
Many Aururians also offend the Maori unintentionally, since they don't know Maori customs, and so get driven off anyway.
Not anything earlier that, what is interesting is that the dutch java crop was from mysore and not from the aden plant.
Thing is, tea is also easier to grow, and to make, even if you still need sugar. In otl the British did not really switch off coffee until after they had established themselves in India. Tea was also considered acceptable to drink for women and children. And the switch to tea really only happened in the areas under British influence and control.
In otl coffee was the drink that moved Europeans away from alcohol to a large degree, the combination of switching to caffeine and away from alcohol, especially in the morning is large. The coffee houses also served a important function.(Lloyd's of London started out as a coffee house)
No if lemon tea is as easy to make, does not require sugar/ or less even, it could out compete coffee, especially for the lower classes.
It might also be chosen as a crop in places that in otl grew coffee. No or even less coffee cultivation would radically change Brazil (and that started as late as the 1820`s)
Also something that might be of interest is that lemon tea might become big in the Mediterranean countries. Coffee historian Ian Bersten believes that the differences in coffee taste (mostly black around the Mediterranean and Africa, with milk in the "west" owes something to genetics. The Mediterranean `s, Arabs and north Africans tended to be lactose-intolerant.
some pre colonisation aborigenes made an infusion of the flowers of the silky oak tree (Grevillea robusta) as a tonic (its very sugary and contain a lot of vitamin C), I wonder if in some form it could have evolved as a morning pick me up.
For some reason, I read about Nameless and my mind thinks of the early Jesuits in Asia, culturally reaching out to the Pagans to convert them.
Interesting...
Interesting...
The surviving New Netherlands is due to a combination of factors, of which the richer WEIC is only one.
The key changes are:
- more wealth, especially gold, flowing back to the investors in the EIC
- some of the EIC investors were also speculators in the West India Company
- while much of this speculative wealth was wasted, some of it led to productive outcomes
- most particularly, this led to decent fortifications at New Amsterdam, which made capturing the place much harder than simply sailing in a fleet (as happened OTL)
- Aururian diseases delay the British Great Migration of the 1630s into the 1640s, giving the New Netherlands more breathing room
- Willem Kieft dying of the same Aururial plagues, butterflying away the disaster of Kieft's War
- the *Thirty Years War (i.e. Twenty Years' War) leads to more emigration of Anabaptists to Dutch colonies, including New Amsterdam, and creating a population who are staunchly against being incorporated into a less religiously tolerant colonial empire (such as England under Charles II)
- generally more successful Dutch endeavours in the *Anglo-Dutch Wars, which means that the New Netherlands are less likely to be lost in war
Which does make things interesting for where coffee is going to end up. Certainly the plant is still going to be a major crop, but where and when it's grown may turn out to be quite different from OTL.
Lemon tea cultivation may take long enough to become widespread that the coffeehouses of OTL develop in some form, although I'm not sure. One related idea I'm considering is that TTL may well see "kunduri houses" - smoke houses, more or less - which occupy a similar social role as OTL coffee houses anyway.
Lemon tea (Leptospermum petersonii) can be grown in a wide variety of places, although I'd need to check how viable it would be in Brazil. In OTL, there's plantations of lemon tea (grown for essential oil, not so much as tea) in Kenya, Zaire, South Africa, Zimbabwe and Guatemala, and the plant is grown as an ornamental in much of the U.S. west coast. I'm not sure at what altitude the plant is grown in Kenya, though - I wouldn't be surprised if it's in the highlands, not the lowlands.
One thing I'd certainly expect is that few people who drink lemon tea will be adding milk to it. Whether that means that it becomes more popular around the Mediterranean... perhaps.
The odd thing is that even if it's popular there, it may well not be grown there. While the plant tolerates a wide variety of soil conditions and so forth, I'm not sure how well it would cope with Mediterranean summer droughts. (In its native range, rainfall is often heaviest in summer.) On the other hand, the plant also turns into an invasive species in all sorts of places, so who can be sure?
Given that the flowers of Grevillea robusta are reported to contain hydrogen cyanide, that would be an interesting morning pick me up indeed.
It would be a rare Plirite priest who wouldn't try to convert the locals, although there are ways and means of going about that.
mojojojo
Gone Fishin'
I know the Australians of this TL have dogs bred for their wool. Well, check this out https://www.alternatehistory.com/discussion/showpost.php?p=7154164&postcount=1294
Given that the flowers of Grevillea robusta are reported to contain hydrogen cyanide, that would be an interesting morning pick me up indeed.
pick me up, lay me down, one way or another, you won't have to face the day tired.
Now that is a perfect example of owners who look like their pets...
The odd thing is that, with one rather significant exception, the Aururian cultures don't really have any concerns about racial identity. Cultural identity, yes; racial identity, no.
So while the different appearance of these children would certainly cause notice and comment, in itself having a foreign father won't be a barrier to fitting into any particular Aururian culture. Failing to learn the relevant language and cultural mores would be a problem, of course.
The significant exception, however, is the culture with the most children of mixed European-Aururian heritage: the Atjuntja. The Atjuntja do have a visual ideal of a person of high class: dark skin, blonde hair. A person with mixed heritage who had mid-coloured skin and dark hair would be of very low status; someone with blonde hair and mid-coloured skin of confused status but certainly not regarded as pure Atjuntja.
Edit: Brain fart on my part: the Atjuntja prefer dark hair for those of high class. Dark skin, blond hair is how they characterise those of low class. So mixed-heritage children with dark hair will possibly have reasonable social status, but not those with blonde hair.
Grevilleas are something which I've looked at a couple of times to try to work out if there's a good ATL usage for the plants, but other than timber, nothing much has really sprung up.
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Actually there won't be any such people, not for a few generations.
The colored hair gene in Australia and that in Europe are unrelated and non-compatible. A person with a white-blonde Norwegian father and white-blonde Atjunja mother would have at most auburn hair, possibly flat black or dark brown. The European gene is tied to skin pigmentation, meaning those genes would be scantly expressed, and the Australian gene is recessive, meaning the European parent kills that. It'd be down the line where their descendants would spontaneously develop as surprise blondes. The first generation will all be dark-skinned redheads and brunettes.
Those later generations, though. They are going to break some hearts.
Hrm. Who can rid me of this turbulent smiley? Ah never mind.
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For Aboriginal Australian languages, yes, virtually all of the OTL languages lack fricatives. The only rare exceptions are a few individual languages where recent (in linguistic terms) change has caused other sounds to shift into fricatives. Even then, OTL Australian languages entirely lack the "h" sound (a pseudo-fricative) which virtually every other language in the world possesses, and they don't have any sibiliants ("s" "z" etc) either.
The other proviso is that this applies to Aboriginal Australian languages, but not to Torres Strait Islander languages, which may well have fricatives - though I don't recall offhand. There may be a few languages in Cape York - the northernmost part of Australia - which have borrowed fricatives from Torres Strait Islanders, too.
I have to plead guilty to a brain fart here: I was thinking backwards. The Atjuntja themselves have dark hair; it's their subjects who tend to have blond hair, though it's not universal.
That said, I'm not sure if the blond-haired gene (which appeared in OTL) is actually recessive. In parts of west-central Australia in OTL, nearly 100% of the population had blond hair as children, though many of them had their hair darkened as adults.
Even if the gene is recessive when compared to OTL dark hair, that doesn't mean it's recessive when compared to the European genes for blond hair. Some alleles are recessive when compared to some alleles but dominant or co-dominant when compared to others. IIRC, for instance, brown eyes are dominant over blue eyes, but co-dominant when compared to green eyes.
Either way, though, the lighter skin will be one cause of lower social status, regardless of the hair colour.
Lands of Red and Gold #60: Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone
Lands of Red and Gold #60: Heart of Glass, Heart of Stone
“What sacrifice of mankind and blood unbound has brought Mexicans to this fatal shore?”
- William Baffin, recorded in the journal of his voyage to Aururia, 1636
* * *
Time of the Closure [August 1636]
Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, New South Wales], Kingdom of Daluming
A clamour of voices. A crowding of many priests, from lowly skull-polisher to the Father [high priest] himself, mixed with men of the court. Speaking out of turn, over each other, heedless of rank or propriety.
All most strange. Against fortune, against custom. But then, who could expect decorum to be honoured when the end of the world drew near?
Ilangi the priest said little, letting the multi-speaker, disjointed conversation wash over him. He saw little accomplishment in speaking. Not until he had something worth saying. Some times were made for declaration, some for proper thought. Most of the men in the throne room mistook this time for the former.
Significantly, King Otella said nothing for a long time, too. Content to listen and inform himself, perhaps. The monarch was a difficult man to anticipate.
Not that any man could predict what would happen at such a time. A time of which much had been foretold, but none that could be confirmed. A time that would bring change, and a future which might not even contain men any longer.
At length, the king extended one hand and gathered the staff of office from its resting place across his knees. A simple staff of red-brown wood, carved fresh from an ironbark tree [1] at the start of His Majesty’s reign. As were all staves of office. Only the head of the staff was preserved: gold carved into the shape of a miniature skull, its eye sockets inset with a blue sapphire and a white pearl, symbolising the Blue and White Lands.
The more alert courtiers and priests saw that His Majesty had taken up his staff, and fell silent. The less alert, and the more stupid – those often being the same men – kept talking. Until the king said, not over-loudly, “Attend me.”
Absolute silence descended soon thereafter. The king was merciful compared to some of his predecessors, and was not known to have had men executed over trivialities. But only an utter fool would knowingly test the limits of the royal patience.
“How many niches in the Mound of Memory are yet unfilled?” Ortella said.
The Father said, “Twenty-three.”
No-one added, but Ilangi knew, that those few niches remained unfilled because the priestly hierarchy had become ever more vigilant in assessing any new heads for suitability. Most had been rejected, over the past couple of years. He had presided over several such judgments himself, and invariably found that those who sought a place in memory were unworthy.
That practice had caused its own problems. Where rejection of a head had been rare, now it had become commonplace. The remaining few niches could only hold those of the uttermost quality, but that simple truth had been difficult to grasp amongst the warriors. His Majesty may have heard whispers of the discontent that caused, but that would not come from the priests. Their role was to protect His Majesty from any who would interfere with his divine duty.
“So few, out of so many,” the king said. “Selecting who could fill the remainder must have required great diligence.”
The Father bowed, neatly avoiding answering. An astute practice, when reading the royal mood was ever more difficult.
“Even when a head deserves memory, it need not always be on the Mound,” the king said.
The décor of the throne room proved that. The walls held many niches too, skulls which had been placed here over the years for one reason or another. Being of royal blood ordinarily entitled a man to be preserved on the Mound upon his death, but some chose to be honoured here instead. Other niches had been filled with warriors’ heads to defend the monarch in death as they had in life.
Not that all the skulls in this room were from the worthy. His Majesty casually sipped his ganyu [spiced yam wine] from the polished skull of the last would-be usurper who sought to claim the throne. The crown of the skull had been smoothly sliced off and re-attached by bronze hinges, while glass had been set to fill the eye sockets, nasal cavity, and ear holes, and both to attach and seal the jaw. The usurper had been denied Memory, but was still remembered.
“Identifying the worthy skull-bearers to fill the Mound is a formidable task,” the Father said.
“And it has been yours,” the king said. “So advise me.”
The Father’s face went smooth. Too smooth. Ilangi, who had long experience judging the moods of the senior priests, knew that this meant that the Father concealed reluctance to speak. Surely due to not wanting to express a view contrary to the decision which the king had already made. Death would be a rare punishment for the highest priest, but more than one previous incumbent of his office had found himself reassigned to spiritual duties in the western highlands for offering statements which the king did not want to hear.
“A time of change beckons. That is inevitable, as legends and sacred writings foretell. What is not foretold is what the People must do to ensure that we endure through the change.”
“That is truth, but not a path of action. I keenly await your advice,” the king said.
“The Mound of Memory must sustain us,” the Father said. “Its near-completion tells us that its purpose is nearly ready to implement, but it is still up to us to fill the remaining niches with the most worthy, so that the Mound can fulfill its destiny. Surely most of the remaining niches must be filled by these raw men – or those capable of besting them. It cannot be chance that these raw men have come now.”
“No. Their arrival is fated. The Closure is upon us,” the king said.
That produced a wide murmur of assent, as men prostrated themselves in recognition. Ilangi was among them. His heart started to beat faster. He already knew that the end of the world drew knew, but hearing His Majesty’s declaration made it feel so much more real.
Otella casually lifted his staff, and quiet returned. “But we still must know what role these raw men will play in the Closure. What do they say they want?”
The Father looked to another man, the interpreter Keajura, who had spoken most with these raw men. The interpreter said, “They babble of their Association and their desire for trade.”
“Trade!” the Father said. “As if they are some mere Islanders who care more for baubles than for morals!”
The king remained quiet, leaving the Father to go smooth-faced again. The highest priest turned back to the interpreter. “Do these men truly say they have sailed from the other side of the world?”
The interpreter shook his head. “They do.”
The Father said, “They have come at the Closure of the world, from the uttermost ends of the earth. Surely they cannot be some mere merchants!”
Weenggina pushed forward to stand beside the Father. Captain of the king’s guard, the man had a notorious reputation. Nicknamed “Twelve-Man”, he had won twelve duels against other blooded warriors whose skulls now resided in the Mound. Fortunately for the priests, Wennggina had not accepted any more duels since his appointment as captain; if he had fought and died, not even the most ardent priest could deny the man’s right to fill one of the remaining niches in the Mound.
“How many men have these Inglundirr killed?” Weenggina demanded.
“They deny having killed anybody, let alone a blooded warrior,” the interpreter said. “To a man, they deny it.”
“Spoken like Islander cowards!” Weenggina said. “Though even they have sometimes been persuaded to fight.”
The interpreter said, “The right words can persuade almost anyone to fight. Particularly if spoken by a warrior carrying a very large sword.”
The king laughed. Rather more than the interpreter’s small witticism deserved, to Ilangi’s mind, but he dutifully chuckled along with the rest of the court.
“If it please the king, I will challenge them personally,” Weenggina said.
“Your ardour befits you, as always, but that will not be necessary,” the king said. He clicked the staff on the ground beside him three times. I have decided, the action declared.
“These raw men will be instructed to name two champions to fight each other. The winner will fight a blooded warrior, to determine who is worthy of the Mound. If the raw men refuse to name champions, then blooded warriors will kill two of them, and those warriors may fight each other to determine who shall be added to the Mound.”
* * *
[1] The grey ironbark tree, Eucalyptus paniculata, which has distinctive red-brown heartwood. This wood is extremely hard and pest-resistant, and so is the wood chosen to carve the Daluming monarch’s staff of office. Because of these qualities, it is rare that even the most long-reigning monarch would need to replace their staff of office during their lifetime.
* * *
Thoughts?
“What sacrifice of mankind and blood unbound has brought Mexicans to this fatal shore?”
- William Baffin, recorded in the journal of his voyage to Aururia, 1636
* * *
Time of the Closure [August 1636]
Yuragir [Coffs Harbour, New South Wales], Kingdom of Daluming
A clamour of voices. A crowding of many priests, from lowly skull-polisher to the Father [high priest] himself, mixed with men of the court. Speaking out of turn, over each other, heedless of rank or propriety.
All most strange. Against fortune, against custom. But then, who could expect decorum to be honoured when the end of the world drew near?
Ilangi the priest said little, letting the multi-speaker, disjointed conversation wash over him. He saw little accomplishment in speaking. Not until he had something worth saying. Some times were made for declaration, some for proper thought. Most of the men in the throne room mistook this time for the former.
Significantly, King Otella said nothing for a long time, too. Content to listen and inform himself, perhaps. The monarch was a difficult man to anticipate.
Not that any man could predict what would happen at such a time. A time of which much had been foretold, but none that could be confirmed. A time that would bring change, and a future which might not even contain men any longer.
At length, the king extended one hand and gathered the staff of office from its resting place across his knees. A simple staff of red-brown wood, carved fresh from an ironbark tree [1] at the start of His Majesty’s reign. As were all staves of office. Only the head of the staff was preserved: gold carved into the shape of a miniature skull, its eye sockets inset with a blue sapphire and a white pearl, symbolising the Blue and White Lands.
The more alert courtiers and priests saw that His Majesty had taken up his staff, and fell silent. The less alert, and the more stupid – those often being the same men – kept talking. Until the king said, not over-loudly, “Attend me.”
Absolute silence descended soon thereafter. The king was merciful compared to some of his predecessors, and was not known to have had men executed over trivialities. But only an utter fool would knowingly test the limits of the royal patience.
“How many niches in the Mound of Memory are yet unfilled?” Ortella said.
The Father said, “Twenty-three.”
No-one added, but Ilangi knew, that those few niches remained unfilled because the priestly hierarchy had become ever more vigilant in assessing any new heads for suitability. Most had been rejected, over the past couple of years. He had presided over several such judgments himself, and invariably found that those who sought a place in memory were unworthy.
That practice had caused its own problems. Where rejection of a head had been rare, now it had become commonplace. The remaining few niches could only hold those of the uttermost quality, but that simple truth had been difficult to grasp amongst the warriors. His Majesty may have heard whispers of the discontent that caused, but that would not come from the priests. Their role was to protect His Majesty from any who would interfere with his divine duty.
“So few, out of so many,” the king said. “Selecting who could fill the remainder must have required great diligence.”
The Father bowed, neatly avoiding answering. An astute practice, when reading the royal mood was ever more difficult.
“Even when a head deserves memory, it need not always be on the Mound,” the king said.
The décor of the throne room proved that. The walls held many niches too, skulls which had been placed here over the years for one reason or another. Being of royal blood ordinarily entitled a man to be preserved on the Mound upon his death, but some chose to be honoured here instead. Other niches had been filled with warriors’ heads to defend the monarch in death as they had in life.
Not that all the skulls in this room were from the worthy. His Majesty casually sipped his ganyu [spiced yam wine] from the polished skull of the last would-be usurper who sought to claim the throne. The crown of the skull had been smoothly sliced off and re-attached by bronze hinges, while glass had been set to fill the eye sockets, nasal cavity, and ear holes, and both to attach and seal the jaw. The usurper had been denied Memory, but was still remembered.
“Identifying the worthy skull-bearers to fill the Mound is a formidable task,” the Father said.
“And it has been yours,” the king said. “So advise me.”
The Father’s face went smooth. Too smooth. Ilangi, who had long experience judging the moods of the senior priests, knew that this meant that the Father concealed reluctance to speak. Surely due to not wanting to express a view contrary to the decision which the king had already made. Death would be a rare punishment for the highest priest, but more than one previous incumbent of his office had found himself reassigned to spiritual duties in the western highlands for offering statements which the king did not want to hear.
“A time of change beckons. That is inevitable, as legends and sacred writings foretell. What is not foretold is what the People must do to ensure that we endure through the change.”
“That is truth, but not a path of action. I keenly await your advice,” the king said.
“The Mound of Memory must sustain us,” the Father said. “Its near-completion tells us that its purpose is nearly ready to implement, but it is still up to us to fill the remaining niches with the most worthy, so that the Mound can fulfill its destiny. Surely most of the remaining niches must be filled by these raw men – or those capable of besting them. It cannot be chance that these raw men have come now.”
“No. Their arrival is fated. The Closure is upon us,” the king said.
That produced a wide murmur of assent, as men prostrated themselves in recognition. Ilangi was among them. His heart started to beat faster. He already knew that the end of the world drew knew, but hearing His Majesty’s declaration made it feel so much more real.
Otella casually lifted his staff, and quiet returned. “But we still must know what role these raw men will play in the Closure. What do they say they want?”
The Father looked to another man, the interpreter Keajura, who had spoken most with these raw men. The interpreter said, “They babble of their Association and their desire for trade.”
“Trade!” the Father said. “As if they are some mere Islanders who care more for baubles than for morals!”
The king remained quiet, leaving the Father to go smooth-faced again. The highest priest turned back to the interpreter. “Do these men truly say they have sailed from the other side of the world?”
The interpreter shook his head. “They do.”
The Father said, “They have come at the Closure of the world, from the uttermost ends of the earth. Surely they cannot be some mere merchants!”
Weenggina pushed forward to stand beside the Father. Captain of the king’s guard, the man had a notorious reputation. Nicknamed “Twelve-Man”, he had won twelve duels against other blooded warriors whose skulls now resided in the Mound. Fortunately for the priests, Wennggina had not accepted any more duels since his appointment as captain; if he had fought and died, not even the most ardent priest could deny the man’s right to fill one of the remaining niches in the Mound.
“How many men have these Inglundirr killed?” Weenggina demanded.
“They deny having killed anybody, let alone a blooded warrior,” the interpreter said. “To a man, they deny it.”
“Spoken like Islander cowards!” Weenggina said. “Though even they have sometimes been persuaded to fight.”
The interpreter said, “The right words can persuade almost anyone to fight. Particularly if spoken by a warrior carrying a very large sword.”
The king laughed. Rather more than the interpreter’s small witticism deserved, to Ilangi’s mind, but he dutifully chuckled along with the rest of the court.
“If it please the king, I will challenge them personally,” Weenggina said.
“Your ardour befits you, as always, but that will not be necessary,” the king said. He clicked the staff on the ground beside him three times. I have decided, the action declared.
“These raw men will be instructed to name two champions to fight each other. The winner will fight a blooded warrior, to determine who is worthy of the Mound. If the raw men refuse to name champions, then blooded warriors will kill two of them, and those warriors may fight each other to determine who shall be added to the Mound.”
* * *
[1] The grey ironbark tree, Eucalyptus paniculata, which has distinctive red-brown heartwood. This wood is extremely hard and pest-resistant, and so is the wood chosen to carve the Daluming monarch’s staff of office. Because of these qualities, it is rare that even the most long-reigning monarch would need to replace their staff of office during their lifetime.
* * *
Thoughts?
Fascinating. Just brings up how alien the Aboriginal languages could sound to an outsider.
Well, Pannij (Spanish) it is then, Atjuntjas.
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