The Legacy of Saint Brendan: A History of the Western Hemisphere, 512 to 1400

Interlude I: Castles Around the World
Retrieved From Castles Around the World

Copyright 2007, Authoritas, Lunden, Angland

The Kingdom of Setraland was a European settler-realm located in Northeastern Talbeah. It’s origins traced back to the early 6th Century efforts of Irish monks to establish monasteries on Setraland (termed by them the Insula Benedicta or Inis Tairngire, in Latin and Gaelic respectively). The land passed through the control of independent Gaelic companies and Briton warlords, but by the 11th Century it had come under the rule of the Ostish. Its borders would expand greatly under the Ostish ruler Bolverk, until it encompassed not only the island of Setraland proper but both sides of the Tullaha River and much of the coastline around the Bay of St. Peter.

Due to a long history of conflict, hillforts in the Northern European Iron Age tradition were long a part of the Setraland landscape. However, during the reign of Ansgar Wolfsbane in the 12th Century, they took on another step of sophistication and could properly be termed “castles”. While they bore some similarities to the motte-and-bailey structures dominating Europe at the time, there were several key differences due to their environment.

Generally termed as a “dun” or “borg”, the Talbeahan castles constated of one main fortified area and at least two supporting blockhouses. The central fortified area was the largest, and contained buildings central to life in the Kingdom- the church, the mead hall, smithies, etc.. This was where the population of the castle would live. Enclosing this settlement would be a wall made up of two rows of wood logs. Between the logs was dumped a mixture of rubble, rocks, and earth, with the top of it either patted down and smoothed or covered with planks. This created a walkway, as well as strengthening the overall structure.

The supporting blockhosues served exclusively military purposes. The blockhouse itself was a tower, similar to the keep in a motte-and-bailey structure, surrounded by a shorter wooden log-fence. The tower had sleeping quarters for guards, stores of food, as well as narrow slits to allow arrows to be loosed at enemies. The logic behind placing these blockhouses outside of the main settlement area was to force attackers to deal with them, as the garrison could always flee to the blockhouses if the main area was overrun, make life miserable for any trying to break down the surrounding earthworks (as discussed later), or provide arrow support should the main wall be breached.

Interlocking the blockhouses and the main settlement area was a ditch. Entry to the castle was only achieved through a bridge, which in early times was easily destroyable by its defenders, but in later times a drawbridge. Access to the blockhouses, likewise, was only through a bridge connecting the main settlement area to it. By the end of the 12th century, these bridges were beginning to be enclosed like hallways, allowing men and supplies to pass through without worry of the enemy losing arrows at them or using them to get inside.

The ditch also served another defensive purpose; earth pulled from the ditch was packed against the exterior walls of the castle. This was due to one of the main threats to these structures being fire, as well as providing additional protections against siege weaponry. It also forced those that would try to put a ladder against the wall to climb it to build longer ladders, as the earthworks prevented ladders from being laid directly against the wall.

Occasionally, the ditch would be filled with water that was diverted from a temporarily dammed river or creek, though this was more rare. Some stories talk about the ditches being full of dreki imported from the Asgardians, but this is an invention of later authors.
 
Whew! Just read this all in two days. What a well-told tale and what a great time to plug in! Anything that combines Norse-*Aztecs is going to be a heck of a thing.

Looking forward to this TL!
 
You've asked your readers what they would like to see. Well, they don't want much; merely a comprehensive, detailed, in-depth overview of the whole of North America and its various societies :neutral::neutral::neutral:

But to take it seriously - you've at last had an Asgardian actually reaching a Mayan city - good. I should like to know something about another major civilisation - the Mississipian culture and the city of Cahokia, or its IIL equivalent. Assuming the culture's not been butterflied away completely (hope not) it should, C12th, be getting into its stride, and must have been influenced indirectly if not directly by the existance of Talbeah/Setraland.

And then there's the massive hint you dropped earlier that a native cult or religion is going to arise in conflict with Christianity...
 
You've asked your readers what they would like to see. Well, they don't want much; merely a comprehensive, detailed, in-depth overview of the whole of North America and its various societies :neutral::neutral::neutral:

But to take it seriously - you've at last had an Asgardian actually reaching a Mayan city - good. I should like to know something about another major civilisation - the Mississipian culture and the city of Cahokia, or its IIL equivalent. Assuming the culture's not been butterflied away completely (hope not) it should, C12th, be getting into its stride, and must have been influenced indirectly if not directly by the existance of Talbeah/Setraland.

And then there's the massive hint you dropped earlier that a native cult or religion is going to arise in conflict with Christianity...

Yeah, so just like some little things XD

I’m glad people remember my hint dropping :p

The K’omani I have mentioned every now and again is Cahokia. Cahokia is a later name, and K’omani is a name I pulled from one of the likely linguistic residents of Cahokia in its hey-day (I really liked it, thought it sounded cool, it makes sense in the TL, etc.). K’omani and its faith is going to be more featured in the coming chapters as it interacts more and more with the Europeans, but I suppose I could do some more teasers about it!
 
Another thing to notice is that a whole lot ignored ideas are going to be swapped between the two groups, especially as Native groups begin to utilize European defensive structures (Motte and Bailey).
 
The K’omani I have mentioned every now and again is Cahokia. Cahokia is a later name, and K’omani is a name I pulled from one of the likely linguistic residents of Cahokia in its hey-day (I really liked it, thought it sounded cool, it makes sense in the TL, etc.). K’omani and its faith is going to be more featured in the coming chapters as it interacts more and more with the Europeans, but I suppose I could do some more teasers about it

Ah, I rather suspected this group might have something to do with a new religion! In OTL even after the passing of their civilisation, Mississipian Iconography (and hence mythology?) seems to have had a deep impact on many North American peoples. There's a lot that's potentially usable there.
 
I would like a map so I know where stuff or if that not possible just have next to the new words for the places they are in have something next to it saying what if would be called in otl?

Yes! This would be super useful. And if you're not skilled in map making (neither am I!) I'm sure you could find a reader who would be more than happy to lend you their skills!
 
It looks like European settlement is already having a huge impact on local cultures and demographics.
Some interesting butterflies in Europe, more empires, and an Islam analogue evolving in a different direction.
Religion and culture are already developing differently to OTL, and I'm looking forard to seeing how things go.
 
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A Slice of Life: Marchawc, 1140 AD
A Slice of Life: Marchawc, the Tullaha River Marches, 1140 A.D.

You wake up to the sound of the bell chiming the dawn. You rub your eyes in a vain attempt to become more fully aware of your surroundings, and then all but tumble out of bed. You rise to your feet and rub your head, muttering to yourself. Perhaps you overdid it a bit at cups. You stretch and then continue to the washbasin, where you splash some stagnant water on your face to drive the night away.

You pause for a moment and stare at the water, as your watery, distorted reflection looks back at you. You rub a hand over your beard before reaching for the bone comb next to the basin. You groom yourself, feeling the sharp pricks of the comb against your scalp. Like most men of your rank, you have fairly good hygiene- an inheritance from the Ostish. You bathe at least once a week, which, according to a merchant that you met at a river fair a year ago, is a rarity in the lands of the Frankish Emperor. Apparently there they only bathe once a year- which you don’t quite believe.

How could they stand the smell?

You pull on your overshirt, your trousers having accompanied you to bed the night before. You then gird on your sword belt, the broad-leather strip bringing your loose shirt in at your waist. You snap on your arm-ring, etched with the words GLADIUS EX PATRICIUS. They’re in Latin, so you have no idea what those words mean, as you can barely read your own language. These arm rings are another inheritance from the Ostish; some lords and company chiefs have taken to distributing these to men that enter their service as both a demonstration of their wealth and a reminder of where one’s loyalties lie.

You shrug. It used to bother you, as it made you feel almost as if you were one of Padraig’s thralls, but you’ve grown accustomed to it. Besides, it looks nice, and stands as an immediate notice to all that you are a marchawc in the service of a lord.

You pull on your boots, then step out from your small private bedchamber into the hallway, making your way to the dun’s chapel. Your fellow marchawcs are already there, alongside the other members of the dun- the non-noble soldiers of the garrison, the blacksmith, the brewer, the miller, the merchants, the priest (of course), and your lord, the Chief Padraig of the Gribin Company. He sits in front, next to his wife (a full blooded Afonbreni). She rests her hand on the swell of her belly- the entire dun is waiting breathlessly for the birth of an heir.

The morning Mass is, thankfully, brief, and you file out after the service. Your feet carry you to the bata field. Some hale and hearty looking lads are already warming up, throwing the ball back and forth with their sticks. You watch for a minute. Bata is based on a vicious ceremonial game that the Afonbren played a century ago. Of course, it’s been modified from that- there are a few more rules, especially as Chief Padraig isn’t partial to maiming outside of the battlefield. More emphasis is placed on passing the ball to each other, while in the Afonbren version (you are told), there was more focus on beating each other half to death.

That’s not to say bata is any less vicious. It’s still common for men to be knocked out or forced to sit on the side after a particularly hard hit from an opposing stick leaves them dazed. You took a particularly bad knock a few weeks ago, and that’s been keeping you away from the game. Still, maybe today…

A hand touching your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. You turn, hand idly drifting towards your sword hilt, but you relax when you see that it is Gwrtheyrn, one of your fellow marchawcs.

Gwrtheyrn is older, reaching the point where he might step out of active service in Padraig’s retinue and focus on his patrimony. His hair, going steel grey, is cut the same way as yours- shaved on the sides, combed forward on the top- but he wears a mustache as opposed to a beard. He speaks with a slight Briton accent.

“My friend, what say you that we ride out and visit our holds today?” You open your mouth to protest, then think better of it. It has been a while since you’ve visited the small farming community that Padraig granted to you in exchange for your service as marchawc. It would probably be a good idea to remind the people there that you are their master, maybe collect any taxes owed to you, maybe resolve a dispute… or maybe not. If you have to decide who owns a chicken again you might scream…

“Sure!” You say, putting on your best smile. Gwrtheyrn nods, and the two of you walk to the stables. The thrall there notices your approach, and has your horses saddled before you can say anything. You nod to him and, reaching into the coin purse that shares your belt with your sword, you toss him a small copper penny. He quickly pockets it. That makes you smile- all thralls have this dream of eventually buying their liberty. Few ever really achieve it, but it keeps them going.

You and Gwrtheyrn ride out of the gates of the dun, your horses hooves sounding against the wood of the bridge. You’re forced to a walk as you pick your way through the small settlement that has been built up around the fortification- maybe a hundred or so souls, clustered together in longhouses and huts, a mixture of Fanaithe and Afonbren. Soon, though, you are out of the settled area and you put your spurs to your beast.

The two of you ride at a trot through the woods that cluster both sides of the pathway. You scan the woods carefully, wishing to yourself that you had brought your spears. Heathen Afonbren, still bitter at their defeat all those years ago, have been known to strike from the undergrowth. Gwrtheyrn notices your concern and chuckles.

“It’s not harvesting season yet- they’ll stay out in the wastes until they can come in and try to grab something out of the fields.” You relax only slightly, and glance over at him.

“I heard they attacked the Dun of the Loegaire Company. Recently, too.” The older man shakes his head.

“If they did, it’s because the Loegaire harassed them. The heathen’s around here don’t attack unless they absolutely need to- unless we hit them first. Then no telling how they may act.” You nod cautiously. Gwrtheyrn in his old age has been getting philosophical about the heathens. One might even accuse him of being a little sympathetic.

You wouldn’t, though. You’ve seen Gwrtheyrn in action.

After about two hours of riding, you arrive at Gwrtheyrn’s patrimony. It’s a well-ordered little town of some fifty souls next to a small stream. The people bow their heads respectfully as you two pass. The two of you dismount in front of the log meadhall in the center of the town, where a young man leans idly against the door, whittling. He glances up.

“Father,” he says. Gwrtheyrn nods.

“Son.” You remain quiet- you know that there is no real love lost between Gwrtheyrn and his eldest. You follow the older marchawc into the hall, where a woman sits and listens to a very old villager complain. You can’t understand him- he’s speaking a pidgin dialect that’s more cluttered with Afonbreni terminology. The woman waves him away, stands up, and relinquishes the seat to Gwrtheyrn. The two embrace before he sits- this is his wife. While the older man takes a turn listening to the complaint, she fetches a loaf of bread and a pot of honey and butter.

You’re working on your second hefty slice when Gwrtheyrn and the old man finish their discussions. Gwrtheyrn walks over to you, nods to his wife, and then continues walking to the door. You sigh and stand, cramming what was left in your mouth. The two of you ride away from the village again, and soon are among the trees.

You swallow and manage to speak.

“That wasn’t too long.” Gwrtheyrn shrugs.

“That was the village headman giving his report. Things are progressing as usual. That’s all I really needed to know.” You nod. The older marchawc is in a weird mood- he always gets this way after seeing his son. You know he’ll be fine by tomorrow, but that’s not going to help you.

After another two hours of riding, you find yourself at your own patrimony, located further down the same stream. It’s quite different from Gwrtheyrn’s- smaller, only about fourteen people or so, living in one longhouse. Things are slightly more chaotic as well, with animals of all kinds milling about. One particularly stubborn ox stares at you, blocking the direct path to the door. You shout at it, but it doesn’t budge. Only the arrival of a small child with a goad forces the beast to go, as you feel your cheeks redden.

You dismount, and duck into the longhouse. It’s smoky inside, the floor covered with furs and straw and various paraphernalia. A woman is nursing a baby in the corner. Your headman, a middle-aged man dressed in an esiba [1] skin coat, rises when he realizes it is you, bowing his head.

“M’lud,” he says in thick, local dialect. You wave your hand.

“How are things here?” You say, while you wrack your brain for the man’s name. You rarely come out here, and it shows.

“Goud, m’lud, goud. Noffing tu rally sey.” You nod again, eyes taking in the space in the room.

“Do you have any thing for me?” He goes to shrug, then thinks better of it.

“Don’ worry, m’lud. We’ll gets ye yer dues wen we gets to fe fair, we will. Sell sum good beeves, we will.” You nod. The local fair is coming in the near future, so it’s not that unreasonable to wait.

“That is all, my good man.” He nods.

“M’lud.”

You exit the longhouse, letting the cool breeze wash over your face and chase away the oppressive air that existed inside. You nod to Gwrtheyrn, and the two of you begin the ride back to the dun. After a few minutes of riding, the older marchawc surprises you by turning in his saddle and speaking.

“Now, what was that?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What was what?” He shakes his head.

“You’ve not really spent that much time there, have you?” You nod. No use hiding it.

“So? They can manage themselves.” Gwrtheyrn rolls his eyes.

“Sure, sure. They can manage themselves right into Hell, at the rate they’re going.” You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve let them get soft. They think they have an absentee landlord, who has no roots. As long as they get you a little bit of silver, you don’t mind what they do.” You half-nod, then stop.

“No, that’s not—”

“Listen, friend. Some advice from me? Get married, settle your family there. A wife of a marchawc can be an effective goad in getting a village on the right track. Find a girl with some sense, have some kids, make sure that you get them off on the right foot in life.” You open your mouth to respond, by Gwrtheyrn shrugs.

“But what do I know, anyway?” He then puts his spurs to his horse and rides off. The sudden action spooks your own mount, who you have to calm. As you whisper to your beast, you watch the older marchawc ride into the distance.

[1] - Raccoon
 
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Hope we're going ahead! I'm very interested in further colonization by non-thior-thiar and maybe the birth of a great Maya state.
 

Pretaporter

Banned
I've only 'liked' the first & latest entries to this story, so as not to be a 'notification-nuisance', but I would like @Rognvald to know how much I have enjoyed reading the entire story in one sitting today.

I haven't read much Pre-1900, but I was intrigued by the title in our author's sig, and then hooked from the first entry.

This is terrifically well written, with so much historical info fitted comfortably in the narrative (no infodumps!) that even a post-Industrialisation man like myself only had to google but once.

Bravo!
 
I've only 'liked' the first & latest entries to this story, so as not to be a 'notification-nuisance', but I would like @Rognvald to know how much I have enjoyed reading the entire story in one sitting today.

I haven't read much Pre-1900, but I was intrigued by the title in our author's sig, and then hooked from the first entry.

This is terrifically well written, with so much historical info fitted comfortably in the narrative (no infodumps!) that even a post-Industrialisation man like myself only had to google but once.

Bravo!
Well thank you! Those are some kind words!

I’m just curious- what was the one that that you did have to Google? :p
 
Interlude II: Three Excerpts
Three Excerpts on European History

From The Myth of the “Second Imperial” Collapse

An Essay by Taurin Laurent, 2016


One of the most oft-repeated tropes of late-11th and early-12th century European history is that of the “Second Imperial” or “Frankish” Collapse. Scholars who support this view point to the general decline of centralized control in the Second Empire [1], the increase of inter-Imperial violence, and the failure of the Empire to mount a significant response to King Stanislaus of Lechia’s push to the Elbe. Though the Imperial office continued for centuries afterwards, many scholars of this period disregard the Empire as an institution after this point.

I contend, however, that this is a false view. An examination of Frankish rulership, from the establishment of the Frankish state to the so-called “Imperial Collapse”, reveals that the century or so that followed Aurelien’s solidification of control over Western Christendom were an aberration. Frankish rulership, aside from this period, was never centralized in nature. Even the titles of the Emperor reflected this, as he was “Over-King of the Franks”, recognizing the other Frankish monarchs as “Brother-Kings”.

In all reality, the “Imperial Collapse” was merely a return to how Frankish rule traditionally took place, as a reaction to decades of unusually centralized control. In response to the three main points expressed in the first paragraph, I will show how the decline of centralization was responsible for the “Nuestrian Revival”; how inter-Imperial violence helped “trim the fat” within the Empire; and how the Imperial presence East of the Elbe was not as solid as some believe…


From The Meeting of Civilizations: The Ismaili-Christian Frontiers, 697-Present

Yusha al-Nasab and Vesna Olegevna, 2018


The Rhomanian reconquest of Asia Minor from 1086 to 1125 was made possible through their liberal usage of Rus mercenaries. Hailing from the half-Ostish, half-Slavic swamps and forests of Eastern Europe, the Rus were quick to flock to the Rhomanian banner upon hearing promises of gold and loot. When the Rhomanian government was slow to pay them back, however, the Rus were known to take matters into their own hands, sometimes sailing across the Aegean and sacking Rhomanian towns on mainland Greece. Even Constantinople itself was nearly sacked, only averted by the intercession of the Patriarch.

The Rhomanians eventually grew tired of the Rus antics, and in 1123, while forces under Basil Sakellarios were finishing the job of pushing the Ismaili forces into Syria (and making not-so-secret plans to follow up this campaign with a push into Syria itself), Emperor Angelos gave the go-ahead for a purge of the Rus. Angelos hoped to punish the Rus for their blatant piracy, reassure the lords of his realm that he could control his mercenary force, and save the treasury money that would be spent paying them off.

His plan backfired, and brought an end to Rhomanian expansion.

A large force of Rus, under Vsevolod Vsevolodevitch, was the first confronted by Rhomanian forces; when ordered to relinquish their arms in exchange for payment, Vsevolod detected something was wrong and immediately lashed out, routing the Rhomanian force. Word of this spread, and soon the war-torn peninsula was plunged again into conflict, this time between the two cooperative Christian powers. Emperor Angelos tried his best to put a lid on the situation, but it was too far gone.

Basil Sakellarios learned of this, and saw that this was the perfect chance to take advantage of the situation. Sakellarios marched his armies back from Syria and sought to bring the Rus to terms before moving on to Constantinople. After an inconclusive series of clashes with Vsevolod, Sakellarios sat in parley with him and agreed to, in exchange for the Rus giving up the captives and loot they had taken since the beginning of hostilities with the Rhomanian government and promises of military service, grant them land tracts in Asia Minor. Vsevolod, fearing that he couldn’t maintain a longer campaign, readily agreed.

With this accomplished, Sakellarios moved to Constantinople, where he deposed Angelos and proclaimed himself Emperor. This marked the beginning of the Slavic settlement of Asia Minor, a region better known today as Yarkaya [2] thanks to this decision of the future ruler of Rhomania…


From Gallaecia: The Engine of Exploration

By Wulf Alfredsson, 2017


Gallaecia was officially reborn by treaty between Miro the Suevian and Pelagio of Hispania in 1070 A.D., as a result of mistakes made by Alfonso’s ancestors during their seemingly endless and fruitless wars in Northern Africa. The Suevians of Gallaecia had never fully lost their identity, even under hundreds of years of Hispanian rule [3]. Much of the credit for this, of course, rests in their initial refusal to abandon their Arian faith, followed by their maintenance of their own lands and customs with the official approval of the Hispanian monarchy. While this had bought the Hispanians decades of domination over Gallaecia, this allowed the Suevi to raise a new king up on their shields with relative ease.

Miro and his descendants would oversee the rise of a Kingdom that could not look to its land borders for conquest. Though Hispania was often divided between noblemen and kings at odds with one another, Gallaecia was small, and could not hope to take land from its larger neighbor without potentially invoking its wrath. No, Gallaecia’s vehicle for expansion was always going to be the sea; and it was particularly blessed to have Miro as its first monarch.

Miro had been a veteran of the wars of the Hispanian Kings in North Africa. He had spent most of his adult life fighting on that continent. But he had developed a sense that Africa was much larger than it was commonly thought at the time- interactions with migratory nomads and traders who crossed the Great Desert informed Miro of a vast Empire that was full of wealth that lay just beyond the sands. Miro became determined to reach this Empire; this goal would be inherited by his children.

While the Setralanders and their descendants were sailing down the coast of Talbeah and interacted with the Maya, the Gallaecians began to sail down the coasts of Africa. Shipbuilding technology, pioneered by the Ostish and the Irish Fanaithe before them [4], enabled these journeys, but the Gallaecians would point their ships in a completely different direction…


[1] – This author follows the conventions of most of Europe by referring to the Empire established by Aurelien as the Second Empire. Rhomania, of course, was a continued off-shoot of the First Empire, and thus not referred to as the “Second”.

[2] – Yarkaya, coming from Yarkaya Zemlya, or “Bright Land”, which is the Yarkayan Rusyn name for what Rhomanians and Romans before them referred to as Asia Minor.

[3] – Of note is the author’s use of the term “Hispanian”, without the qualifier of “Visigothic”. Pelagio, despite being the monarch associated with the end of Iberian unity and the man who officially abandoned dreams of conquest in North Africa, was the first true “Hispanian” ruler. This is especially evidenced by his preferring of a version of his Latin baptismal name “Pelagius” over his Visigothic name “Ricimir”. He oversaw the flourishing of a new culture during his reign; while not warlike, he developed the economy of his Kingdom and saw it regain some of the prestige it had lost in its military failures.

[4] – The shipbuilding advancements that enabled the initial bought Trans-Atlantic trade of the 6th-10th Centuries were spread across Europe by Britons fleeing the advance of the Anglo-Saxons, as well as Gaelic mercenaries. The later wave of advancements brought on by the Ostish spread via interactions along their trading sphere.
 
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So we have an evidently heavily Slavic-settled Anatolia, yet an intact ERE. Will be quite interesting to see how this will develop.

Also, Arian Gallaecians! It seems like that branch of Christianity might find some respite through overseas exploration after all.
 
So we have an evidently heavily Slavic-settled Anatolia, yet an intact ERE. Will be quite interesting to see how this will develop.

Also, Arian Gallaecians! It seems like that branch of Christianity might find some respite through overseas exploration after all.
They’re like semi-Arian. The Suevi were the last major Germanic group to kick the Arian habit *officially*, though there is a fairly substantial “underground” Arian Church at this point (if you believe some Hispanian sources, of course)
 
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