Empty America: Part 23 - Houses of the Holy

The next few parts are going to be a quick rundown of Ultima Thule [North America], the Ursulines [the Caribbean] and Terranova (or Whitsunland) [South America] circa 1260-80, in no particular order. All OTL geographic correlations are approximate. Nope, I still don't have a map ready.

Domstolland [New York State, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut]

Ooof, thought Folkhagi Sebbi Ağalbertson as something gurgled alarmingly in his gut, I should not have eaten all those lampreys. Damn foreign food ... Guğrún is going to hear about this when he gets home. Always trying to get him to eat new things, no matter what it does to his insides. He blinks a couple of times and shakes his head. The supplicant's Rodd [FN23.01] was still speaking, but Ağalbertson had lost the thread of the plea, so he interrupts.

"So, these 'Jews,' they worship the same god as the Christians, but they are not Christians?" He did not bother to keep the skepticism out of his voice. He glanced out into the great hall of the Logretta. It was a large timber feasting hall, with long tables and benches beneath the great roof. It was very deliberately designed to evoke the Norsemen's vision of Valaskjalf, Odin's hall in Valhalla. The Folkhagi sat at a small dais at one end. If the Logretta was in session, the hall would be booming with the querulous - and generally drunken - voices of Domstolland's legislature. The Logretta were not sticklers for parliamentary procedure, and tended to drink, eat, and generally carouse while conducting the business of state. But this evening it was empty, except for the petitioner, his Rodd, and those contesting the petition, as is their right under the Jonsbok [FN23.02].

"The father-God of the White Christ," said Abraham Abulafia [FN23.011], Ağalbertson noted he was careful to use the Norse term, "is the Jews only God. The Christians have grafted two additional incarnations onto this God ..."

Ağalbertson interrupts again. He knows some of the rudiments of Christianity, but not many of the details. And those lampreys are really, really, not sitting well, so he would just as soon get this over with. "So, that is why the Christians hate the Jews, because they do not believe in the White Christ and the other one, the Spirit?"

"Partially, Your Excellency, that is the reason," Abulafia looked back at his client. To Ağalbertson, Abulafia seemed very cool and collected, but the English Jew looked very uncomfortable, as though he was fit to burst. In fact, he looked like Ağalbertson himself felt. Perhaps he had some lampreys as well. Ağalbertson's gut spasmed again, more sharply this time, as Abulafia continued to explain, "The Christians also blame the Jews for killing the White Christ ..."

Ağalbertson cut him off again and turned, somewhat reluctantly, to Lífsteinn Önglison, Coifi [high priest] of the Temple of Thor, and asked him if this was indeed true. Ağalbertson vaguely wished Freyr or Freyja's priests could be here instead. They were much more reasonable. Önglison seemed to be against anything that did not mean more money or power for the priesthood, and every non-Norse settler in Domstolland is one more person who will not be contributing to the upkeep of the Temples and the priests. But he was a fundamentally honest man, so he scowled and said, "According to the Christian sagas, the Jews encouraged the Romans to kill the White Christ. That is why the Christians hate the Jews, even though the White Christ himself was a Jew."

Ağalbertson gave that one some thought. The whole thing seemed kind of suspicious. Perhaps it was an excuse to be rid of these Jews, rather than a reason. So he asked.

"Master Rodd, are these Jews burdensome to the King of England, that he would expel them. Do they drain the royal fisc, subsisting on charity?"

"No, Your Excellency. Since they are prohibited from many other pursuits, they are gainfully employed in the crafts, in money-lending and in trade. Many have done well in their vocations and become quite wealthy. And although it is the King's seal on the order of expulsion, he is powerless. The real authority in England is a group of barons, led by Simon de Montfort, who despises Jews."

Aha, thinks Ağalbertson, money-lenders! This Montfort scoundrel has become indebted and seeks to expel his creditors! Shameless! Debts are rigorously enforced in Domstolland as part of the overall favorable attitude towards trade, and money-lending bore no stigma. But at least more comprehensible than this tale of Christians hating Jews because of something that happened 1200 years ago. After all, if what Önglison said was true, and the Coifi has studied the Christian faith [FN23.021], if the White Christ was not killed, the Christians would never have atoned for their offenses. Why would a king, or even a not-king like this Montfort, drive well-off subjects from his lands, for something that had to happen anyway? Then something else hits him. It is an article of Domstolland's republican faith that Christians are not capable of governing themselves, which is why they need kings. If the English King has ceded power to his earls, it is no wonder they are pursuing such foolish policies.

On the other hand, blood-feuds were something Ağalbertson could understand. A big part of any Folkhagi's job was keeping the peace by mediating between quarreling families. But the White Christ was a Jew! Ağalbertson's curiosity was at war with his desire to excuse himself and eliminate the source of his present discomfort. But the Jonsbok was adamant, once a petition is presented, it must be decided before the Folkhagi can depart the throne. As far as Ağalbertson could discern, the rule was proof against long-winded argument. And speaking of wind, his guts twisted again and he bit back a groan. If he did not get this done with soon, something very embarrassing was going to happen.

"Is it not possible that this Montfort merely seeks to evade his debts and the Jews of England could simply go elsewhere?"

"Your Excellency, there is no place safe for Jews in Christendom. The peasants hate them and believe that they brought the Tatars down upon them to destroy their Church. Even in the Tatar-ruled lands, where Jews are guaranteed protection by law, mobs murder them in the streets of the cities and burn them to death in their homes. They could flee to the Saracen lands, but many fear that they will be next to fall. The realm of the Norse is the only safe place."

Ağalbertson shook his head. These Christians must seek trouble, to invent such absurd tales. It was the Venetians who helped the Tatars ravage Christendom. Everyone knows that. He genuinely admired the Tatars. Gods, what he could do with such an army! He would blot the cursed Vinlanders and the contemptible Wessexmen off of the face Ultima Thule, to begin with, then march against the Cathayans in the West and seize their great stores of treasure. Another spasm in his abdomen brings him back to the here and now. He makes a silent vow to eat nothing but pork, apples and bread from here on out. The tale that Abulafia tells for his supplicant, who bore the strange name of "Cok" [FN23.03], makes on sense. But so much of what the Christians do makes no sense. After all, did they not drive the Domstollanders themselves from Vinland. "I have decided that since that the Christians, without a strong king to keep them from doing absurd things, would truly drive away valuable subjects of their kingdom, for supposedly doing something that had to be done for the Christian sagas to even exist. The fact that it is so utterly foolish merely makes it more believable. Fools do as fools are."

He looked over at Abulafia, who was smiling mildly.

"I would not debate Your Excellency's logic."

"That is wise."

All right, now that it was resolved, he really needed to excuse himself. "It is the decree of the Folkhagi that the petition is granted. Persons of the Jewish religion will be permitted to settle in the Commonwealth of Domstolland forthwith, provided that they designate representatives to guarantee their good behavior, renounce the White Christ thirteen times at the Dohmring, as is provided for in the Jonsbok, and submit a tithe of their personal wealth to the Commonwealth upon their arrival." He starts to rise, and Abulafia starts to bow, when suddenly the Englishman, Cok, speaks to his Rodd. Abulafia turns to Ağalbertson.

"Your Excellency, he wishes to know if his people will be required to settle in any particular portion of the Commonwealth."

Ağalbertson gave that a thought for a moment. He had a brother who owned some land near the mouth of the river. No, it was his wife who recommended the lampreys to Guğrún. He is not doing his brother any favors.

"No, they can live wherever they wish to purchase land." He is still trying to extricate himself when Cok speaks to Abulafia again.

"Pardon, Your Excellency, but he wishes to know if they will be required to wear any kind of marking or badge on their clothing."

What kind of nonsense is this, thinks Ağalbertson, his roiling insides telling him that he really, really needs to be elsewhere. "No, no," he says in a somewhat strained voice, "They can dress as they see fit. Now I must ..."

Once again, Cok, who looks like he is about to start crying with excitement, speaks to Abulafia, who appears somewhat embarrassed. "Your Excellency, he wishes to know if they will be required to cut their hair or their beards in any particular fashion."

Ağalbertson struggles to control both his temper and his tract. Cut their beards? Ridiculous! Is this Englishman vexing him deliberately? Ağalbertson has enough trouble with the Balts and their cursed hair cuts. "No! Do not be absurd. How could I order them to cut their beards or not cut their beards? Now be gone before I change my mind!" And with that, somewhat doubled over, one hand across his belly, the other one waiving off the thanks that follow him, he stomps out of the great hall.

***

One brief, well somewhat prolonged, trip to the necessary, and one equally-prolonged row with his wife Guğrún, Folkhagi Ağalbertson, much relieved, does the only thing that a civilized Norse would do, if he had a day like his. He takes a steam.

The public steam-baths of Jarnborg are immense, a warren of long-house sized rooms made from unfinished logs. The tenders of the baths keep fires blazing all through the winter, heating the rocks for the steam. In the baths, Ağalbertson is just another Domstollander, but tradition has it that the Folkhagi goes through some glad-handing when he enters, but he is then left to his thoughts unless he summons someone to speak with. The Norse realize that the leader of a nation cannot be on all the time, and needs rest from the affairs that beset him throughout the day.

So he does a bit of convivial flesh-pressing as he strips out of his clothes in the changing-room and makes his way through the clouds of steam and the crowd of ruddy, heavy-bearded Domstollanders relaxing on the benches closest to the entrance. Towards the back of one of the steam-rooms, he sees Abulafia, sitting apart from the Norsemen. Ağalbertson parks himself on the bench opposite, leans back, and sighs.

Ağalbertson opens his eyes, and starts to rise, "Your Excellency, pardon me, I did not know -" Ağalbertson waves at him to sit down.

"In here, Abulafia, there is no 'Your Excellency.' Just Ağalbertson, a farmer from up-river."

Abulafia considers that for a moment. "That is very sound, to be able to walk among your people as one of them."

Ağalbertson laughs. "They are not my people, Abulafia, they are their own. That is the difference. No King of Christendom could wander into a sauna and talk idly with his subjects of the going price of sows or barley, but I can because I am just as they are."

"What about the Vinlanders?"

Ağalbertson snorts derisively. "The Vinlanders? They have no Folkhagi, just a collection of godars, petty men with a few more furrows than the rest, who lord themselves over the common folk like they were Earls in France." He leans forward, "It is the priests, you see, who tell the people that their God has ordered things this way, that they should toil and their betters should recline. No God made Sebbi Ağalbertson the Folkhagi! Only the people of Domstolland, who have sworn loyalty to me, and I to them."

"And the slaves ..." Abulafia says, somewhat hesitantly.

"Captives, taken in war. They are nothing, as they always have been and always will be."

Ağalbertson decides to change the subject. "Your friend, Cok, appeared unwell. Is he better, now that he is out of the presence of the fearsome overlord of the Northmen?"

Abulafia smiles, "He is not my friend. I happened to be in Domstolland because my ship stopped here to pick up cargo on its way back to Grenada. I wanted to return directly, but the captain swore by Allah that it would be the only way he could make a profit from the voyage. I encountered Cok and his party, and they implored me to champion them, since their only Norse-speaker died on the voyage from England. But he is better. The sea makes him suffer."

Ağalbertson doesn't comment on that last bit. Sea-sickness is viewed with disdain among the Norse. But Abulafia seems to read it in his face.

"He is a brave man, Cok. Travel on a ship makes him gravely ill, but his party told me that he did not hesitate to volunteer to come to Jarnborg from England to petition you. He will himself return to London with the news, no matter how sick it makes him, since he is going to sell all his possessions to pay for as many of his fellows to come here as he can. Many other merchants and prominent men are doing the same, with no or scant hope of repayment. After you granted his petition, he told me that he would rather be a penniless beggar in the streets than see one of his people deprived of the chance to breathe the free air of the Commonwealth."

Ağalbertson is impressed. The Norse have a strong sense of mutual-aid, and the epics of the flight from Vinland are familiar to every Domstollander, but he has never heard the like. "Are you going to remain, as well? Cok and his people will need your assistance. The priests will view them with suspicion and seek to turn the people against them."

"I am no Englishman," Abulafia says emphatically. Ağalbertson figured as much. He did not look like any Englishman he had ever seen. "It was only fortune that caused me to be in Domstolland when Cok and his people arrived. I must return to al-Andalus to continue my work."

"Coifi Önglison tells me that you are a scholar of the Jewish sagas."

Abulafia hesitates, "Yes, I study the kabbalah."

"The kabbalah," Ağalbertson carefully repeated the unfamiliar word. He liked learned men and was very proud of the fact that he could read and write, and that his grandfather had been taught by the great Snorri Sturluson himself, who had spread the written word among the Domstollanders. "And that brought you to Ultima Thule?"

"I needed to discuss some matters of common interest with the Pure Ones [Cathars] in Isle de Foix, but unfortunately they were not interested, so I boarded the first ship back to al-Andaleus and wound up here," He leaned back and made a contented-sounding sigh. "Much to my great satisfaction."

"You should stay in Jarnborg," Ağalbertson said, suddenly very earnest, "and continue your studies here. There are not many men of learning in Domstolland, you could begin a library or university ..." But Abulafia was already shaking his head.

"There are great things happening in the world, and I must be a part of them. Unfortunately, I cannot do that from here."

Ağalbertson could see that. Domstolland was isolated - thankfully, in his mind - from what was going on across the seas. He smiles, "You must, of course, do what you think is best. For my part, I must attend to my duties ..." He glances significantly down the steam-room at the crowd of impatient-looking Norse who had gathered, clearly eager to get a word in with their Folkhagi, but constrained by tradition from approaching him until beckoned.

Abulafia gets his meaning. Time to get going. He stands up and extends his hand. "It has been a pleasure, Your Excellency. You have my gratitude for allowing the Jews of England to settle here."

Ağalbertson shakes his hand and says, dismissively, "It is nothing. I have no doubt that they will prosper as good citizens."

As Abulafia turns to leave, something catches Ağalbertson's eye and he starts. Then he remembers what Önglison had said about the Jews' covenant with their God.

And they were worried that he would make them trim their _beards_.

***

By the mid- to late thirteenth century, Domstolland in on the trailing edge of a great transition. The pagan Norse religion, the reason for the Commonwealth's existence in the first place, has moved from essentially a private cult, sponsored by magnates in their private frohargs, to a public religion sponsored by the state. The change was perhaps inevitable, since one of the primary functions of the Domstolland government it to preclude the encroachment by Christians. Also of critical importance was the arrival of Snorri Sturluson in the 1220s. Sturluson, a Christian convert to paganism, writes down and organizes the stories of the Norse gods, thus laying the groundwork for the development of a formal, literate priesthood, sponsored by the state. The movement towards an official religion is largely supported by the smaller farmers and townspeople of Domstolland. With the development of a strong central government, the grip of the magnates' authority had been further weakened, as they were no longer permitted their own courts and armed bands (in competition with the elected local courts and organized militia) to enforce their will. One of their few remaining avenues of control was through their construction and monopolization of the frohargs. In the late 1240s, the Logretta, which is dominated by smallholders and their allies, moves decisively to abolish private control over religion and establish state sponsorship.

The change is not without its bumps, some of which changes the political map of Ultima Thule. In 1255, shortly after its completion, civic strife erupts in and around the temple of Freyr, the God of Plenty, in Tivrhofn. Skári Valdisson, a magnate of some substance, was outlawed by the Logretta in a move of very questionable legality, since the legislature was founded of much of its judicial authority when it was founded. While the controversy surrounding his conviction continued, but before his sentence was executed, Valdisson showed a ceremony at the Freyr temple, accompanied by an armed escort. A recipe for trouble - since both outlaws and weapons are prohibited in the temple. The hrafnsmal, wolf-coated temple guards, attempted to remove Valdisson peacefully, but a brawl ensued that spread into the street. Both sides summon reinforcements, and Domstolland teeters on the brink of civil war between the magnates, who are using the incident as a pretext to reassert their power, and the supporters of the government. Now there is no question but that Valdisson must go - the Logretta outlaws not only him (again) but all of his followers and allies. As the fighting continues, the governmental forces gain the upper hand. Valdisson calls for a truce. It is agreed - he will be given safe conduct, and he and his people will depart.

And so they do. This time it is by land - most of them have flocks and herds, so they are trooping west, beyond the boundaries of Domstolland [FN23.04]. The wild is, of course, not devoid of human settlement. Others who have been exiled over the years - Christian and pagan - are there, but Valdisson shows up with the biggest and most organized group, so by a small amount of force, a large amount of negotiation, and a few strategic marriages, he winds up in charge of the area now known as the Hrafenmark [Old Norse "ravenwood," roughly speaking, Ohio]. The setup is basically Icelandic a small number of powerful families holding the basic allegiances of the settlers, but with a religious mix that generally defines the political rivalries between clans. They do the usual thing - farm, hunt, fish (on Lake Mardolc [Lake Erie]). They do a fair business in ivory and furs - not as good as they would have done in earlier years. It is good news for the husbandrymen and bad news for the hunters that decades of hunting have cleared out a lot of the megafauna (great cats, dire wolves, mammoths and mastodons) from the area. What they find, they export up the Mikill River [St. Lawrence] that divides Domstolland from Vinland, and some of which they export down the Thiazis [Ohio] and Afon Ganol [Mississippi] rivers, to trade fairs in the Welsh settlements on the southern coast.

Through the thirteenth century, official Domstolland proper maintains a somewhat indifferent attitude to the goings-on in Hrafenmark, although Domstollander hunting parties, which double as war-bands once they are beyond the borders of the Commonwealth, conduct frequent forays into their new neighbor's territory, resulting in the usual Medieval day-to-day, pillaging and murdering. As a result, those villages in Hrafenmark on the eastern region and near the coast of Lake Mardolc, are stockaded. The center of gravity of Hrafenmark's agricultural population shifts westward, settling in and around some decent-sized patches of prairie, where they prosper farming the excellent soils [FN24.05].

Domstolland's real fight is with its Christian neighbors, primarily Vinland. It is a strange relationship. Domstolland and Vinland fight nearly annual battles on Lake Heimdall and the Miskill River. And the great cod fisheries off the northeast coasts are ofttimes the scene of bloody confrontations between the rival states. But neither country has sufficient power to crush the other, and the Domstollanders soon refer to these fights as the Holmgaga, a form of ritual duel. Vinland has a greater population and overall wealth, but its ability to project force is hampered by its decentralized political structure. Individual godars can join or abstain from the fray as they see fit. Niwe Wessex has done some growing up since the bad ol' days, when it was a bone to be chewed by Domstollandic raiders, and is no pushover anymore. The young, the ambitious and the ruthless of Domstolland set their sights on farther horizons.

Back home, in Jorvik and Jarnborg and Tivrhofn, the English Jews settle in - some come directly from England, others from France after it issues its own expulsion decree, directed solely at the English Jews. At first, they are viewed with some suspicion, especially by the Norse priesthood. However, when it becomes clear that they are not crypto-Christians and they display no interest whatsoever in making converts, everyone relaxes a bit.

They bring a much-needed skill set with them. The Commonwealth fisc is, and always has been, a great mess, largely because the Norse have never ran a centralized state of this sort. Ağalbertson is determined to set things to rights, and the English exiles do yeoman service putting the Commonwealth on a sound financial footing. They are then publicly feted before a very grateful Logretta. England's loss is Domstolland's gain. And they could use it at the moment.

Right after Abulafia departs Jarnborg, a Mongol embassy arrives from Aachen, to demand submission of the Folkhagi. At first perplexed, then enraged by the temerity of the il-Khan to demand surrender from the other side of the Great Ocean, Ağalbertson tears up the written message before the Logretta, to general raucous acclaim, then he orders that two of the three ambassadors be sacrificed at the Temple of Odin. Whether he is fully aware of the consequences of murdering Mongol messengers is open to debate. He has the third publicly scourged in the center of Jarnborg and sent back to Aachen with his answer, which would be "no." He and the Logretta then move. The Venetian traders, widely seen as a fifth column for the Khan, are immediately expelled. Mobs storm the Hansa trading colonies - they are, after all, vassals of the Khan - and slaughter everyone they find.

So, commercially, Domstolland is kind of cut off. Their first stroke of luck is the arrival of the English Jews. Their second is the appearance of a significant number of expatriate Genoese. These two new communities essentially take over where the Hansa and the Venetians left off. The Jewish refugees have a major advantage - they do not suffer the same restrictions as their Christian Genoese counterparts and are fully welcomed into the Domstolland community. The word starts to spread - there is a place where Jews are not made to wear badges, not subjected to extortion, discriminatory taxation and periodic massacre. The Jewish population of Domstolland begins to grow, swollen with refugees who can scarce believe their good fortune.

Even Jehovah undergoes a bit of rehabilitation. At the ground-breaking for a new synagogue in Jarnborg, Ağalbertson gives a long speech hailing the new arrivals, and calls upon "the God of the Jews whose name is so mighty it would slay anyone who spoke it" to grant good fortune to the site, which just happens to be down the street from the temple of Freyja.

It is a match made in heaven ... Valhalla ... whatever. But it works.

Empty America: Part 24 - Houses of the Holy

 

Vinland/Markland, etc.

Some people, thought Fálki Sandarrson, as his longship shot down the Mikill [St. Lawrence] River with three Domstollander ships in hot pursuit, have no sense of humor. Oh, sure - he and his men ambushed the Domstollanders' camp while they were off in the woods hunting, killed the sentries, snagged their furs, ivory and one of their ships (which was much nicer than Fálki's own) - then high-tailed it down the river, but that is just the way the game was played. No need to get all in a huff about it. But they were, and now Fálki and his men were doing their best to stay out of bow-shot of their pursuers.

It is not easy, what with being loaded down with all that swag, and even with a favorable wind filling their mainsail and all his oarsmen rowing like mad, the Domstollanders are slowly gaining on them. This is a fact that Halli, Sandarrson's steersman and second-in-command, points out with great urgency, shouting from his position aft to Sandarsson, who is standing at the prow. Like any good leader, sensitive to the feelings of his subordinates, responds in an appropriate fashion:

"No, you damned idiot! We are NOT going to toss the furs overboard! What's wrong, did you leave your balls in Anskar?!?"

Halli responds with a string of words even less appropriate for a family timeline such as this one, culminating with "- you are going to get us all killed!"

Sandarrson grins. "Not today! Row, you dogs! Your old ammas [grandmothers] could get us down this river faster!" They in a wide part of the river now [OTL's Lake St. Francois], and ... oh, Jesus ...

They are running straight into a war. Up ahead, he can see troops swarming on either bank, and in the gathering dusk he can see the lofting firefly swarm of fire-arrows flying out from his right. He knows what is going on - it is the Summer Solstice, so the Domstollanders are taking their annual grab at the fortress of Flotbjarg [Montreal].

So he barks to Halli to point them through a little narrows and into wider water.

"We need to beach!" shouts Halli, "Head for shore on the north bank -"

Sandarsson cuts him off, yelling, "How many Vinland death-marks do you have on you, Halli?"

It takes him a moment. "Six!"

"I've got eight! What are the odds of nobody in camp recognizing us?"

Halli cursed. "Well, what do we do, then?"

Sandarsson has an idea. "Swing southwest of the island!"

"No, you're not serious! We're too heavy, we will bust up -"

"Not if you do your damn job and keep us off the rocks for once!"

And so they race onwards, every minute bringing the Domstollanders on their tail closer and closer. As they cut through the wider water and hurtle towards the narrows south of the island fortress, the vengeful pagans seem to start having second thoughts and curve away towards the south bank.

It is right about then that Sandarsson and his crew hit the rapids, taking a gut-dropping plunge through the roaring, foaming water. Fire-arrows whisk over their heads, and a burning barrel of naphtha explodes against a semi-submerged rock to their left. Sandarsson, who is standing, one hand firmly grasping an upright line, is jolted off his feet as his ship slams against something.

Oh, crap.

Now they are taking water. Sandarsson roars encouragement to the rowers, who put their backs into it as water comes sluicing in through a crack in the hull.

He shouts to Halli, "I thought I told you not to run into the rocks!" He grins madly at Halli's profane reply. Sandarsson stops grinning as they whip around the bend in the river -

Oh, crap.

- and straight into the Domstollander river assault.

The water is swarming with boats loaded with armed, chain-mail-clad men, and the air is alive with flying arrows, whistling in from every direction.

"Now what?!" Halli sounds even more frantic.

"I'll think of something!"

And just then he spots a particularly large Domstollander long-boat, with a great banner fluttering above it. Even in the dim light, Sandarsson makes out a torn-up piece of parchment pinned to the flag. No doubt some treaty...

And so he does think of something. "Steer toward that ship!"

"What?! We're taking on water, and you -"

"Just do it!"

They are slowing now, as the water continues to pour in. Sandarsson's men heave mightily at the oars as Halli points them directly at the ship with the great banner. It occurred to Sandarsson that they are in a stolen Domstollander craft, with the crossed red-and-black hammer of Thor and green sickle of Freyr emblazoned broadly on their main-sail. Which, of course is why none of the pagans are shooting directly at them. For all they know, Sandarsson's boat bears messengers for their commander...

.. whose boat Sandarsson's prow just slammed into broadside.

"Swords, swords! Board, board!" Sandarsson shouts, leaping onto the Domstolland command ship. His crews drop their oars and grab their swords, and follow him over the dragon-prow of their boat. The startled Domstollanders don't stand a chance. With a mighty two-handed swipe of his axe, Sandarsson takes the head clean off the most gaudily-dressed pagan as his men wipe out the berserker bodyguard who sell their lives dearly.

With that, Sandarsson's men seize the oars of the command ship and row like mad for the opposite shore, veering away from the rest of the flotilla and making for the woods. Sandarsson climbs the mast and tears down the banner. Nonetheless, they are showered with Vinlander arrows, but fortunately everyone makes it to dry land, where they are immediately surrounded. Sandarsson holds up the Domstollander chief's head in one hand and thrusts his axe high in the other, roaring in triumph.

It takes a few minutes for everything to get sorted out, but when it is, the Vinlandic soldiers are clapping them on the backs and cheering, as they march off to the chief godar's bivouac. It seems, you see, that the man who Sandarsson separated from his head was none other than the Domstollander Folkhagi. (Not Ağalbertson, mind you, but his predecessor. A much less congenial fellow.) And the pagans, once word that their leader has fallen, are demoralized and break off the attack on Flotbjarg, retreating to their side of the river.

They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, so naturally they became heroes. Sandarsson, Halli and their crew are lauded and celebrated from one end of Vinland to the other. The Vinland Logretta, in special session, not only pardons them completely, wiping them clean of all their deathmarks, but showers them with treasure and titles.

Standing at the altar rail in Anskar Cathedral before a great roaring throng of their countrymen, newly-minted Ridder [Old Norse - knight] Fálki Sandarsson leans over to Halli and says, very quietly,

"See, I told you I would think of something."

***

Since we last visited Vinland, the first permanent European settlement in Ultima Thule has been through a lot. Explosive population growth [FN24.011], fueled by a favorable disease environment and abundant foodstuffs, has driven settlers further west along the banks of the Mikill River valley and into the Lake Heimdall region. Vinlandic hunters roam far and wide in search of furs and ivory. But the densest population remains in the eastern areas, where numerous fishing villages prosper catching cod and exporting torsk [said fish, dried and salted] to the ravenous cities of Europe. The Vinlanders set up what could fairly be called military colonies in the area that comes to be known as the land of the sunset - Solbjorgland [FN24.01]. Solbjorgland [OTL's lower peninsula of Michigan] is a prize for one reason - salt. Lots of it, generally in the form of brine springs. Salt is essential for Vinland's torsk exports and has one more significant side benefit - many olifaunts migrate into the area, using it effectively as a giant salt-lick [FN24.02]. It is a bonanza for the settlers - instead of having to go out and hunt the olifaunts, the great beasts come to them.

By the late 12th Century, Vinland had transformed itself from a Commonwealth into a part of the Kingdom of Norway. During the First Commonwealth Period (1000-1172), all of Vinland was divided into Herad [districts], each of which has its own Thing, combining both the judicial and legislative powers. Local headmen, godari [lords of men] and rikki [territorial lords], dominated the local Things, effectively becoming powers in and of themselves. The Althing fell into disuse as it became impractical for even a significant percentage of prominent Vinlanders to assemble. All this bred problems. Local magnates felt no qualms about waging private wars against each other in the west, and in the east, the owners of the fishing fleets battle each other, as well as the Wessexmen and Domstollanders, for control of the great fisheries. The fractiousness and violence endemic to Vinlandic public affairs finally became too much for the Church, particularly since the men waging these wars routinely loot local churches. After the plundering of the Anskar Cathedral of all its plate and vestments in 1163, the Archbishop of Vinland takes matters into his own hands. Bans and excommunications fly against all those who molest the Church. This, however, merely intensifies the chaos as the subordinates of the excommunicates, finding themselves released from their oaths of loyalty, vie for power. Eventually, a (sparsely attended, but valid) Althing is called, which places Vinland under the authority of the Norwegian throne. The decision is widely accepted, since it appears to give the advantage to no particular magnate or group of magnates.

The power that Vinland adds to the Norwegian crown makes it the 800 pound gorilla of northern Europe. And the Norwegian kings use that power the way all kings of the period did - they waged war against their neighbors. Eventually, Norway's power enabled it to forge, by way of some strategic marriages, the Anskar Union of Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Vinland (promoted to a kingdom within the Union from a mere vassal of Norway). The Union remained stable for a long time, and fought wars against Scotland, England, the Hansa cities and the Rus of Novgorod [FN24.03]. The Vinlanders grow restive, however. As their population and wealth grows throughout the late 12th and early 13th Centuries, they outstrip the Scandinavians who are their nominal overlords. Yet they are beset by Norwegian officialdom. The Scandinavian kings are free and easy in appointing lendrmenn and rikshovitsmenn to represent the monarchy in Vinland, who not only get substantial grants of land, but also tend to ride roughshod over the traditional power and liberties of the local Things. While inland districts are compelled to provide men for the kings' wars, coastal towns are subject to the skeppslag and required to provide warships and crews.

By the mid-13th Century, the Vinlanders, by and large, have had enough. King Valdemar III Haakonson dies in 1252 and the representatives of the regent governing in the name of his successor, the boy Christiaan V) arrive in Anskar to be accepted by the Logretta (which has taken over the duty from the Althing). Instead of the enthusiastic acceptance of the new monarch that they had come to expect, the emissaries are greeted with a barrage of angry questions, "Where is the King?!? Where is the Regent?!?" Pressed by a hostile crowd, the king's men flee the chamber, and the Logretta votes by a wide margin to refuse to accept Christiaan as King of Vinland and resume the Commonwealth. But no one is enthusiastic to return to the bad old days, so the Logretta sets out to remake the government of Vinland. The Logretta creates a new post, the Armadir [steward] as leader of Vinland, chief magistrate and commander of its armies, chosen for life by the Logretta. The Logretta also reins in the powers of the local Things, holding that all persons outlawed or otherwise punished by the Thing of any Herad may appeal to Anskar - to the Logretta if it is in session or to the Armadir if it is not. Private warfare is also abolished, and anyone waging a campaign against his neighbor shall be outlawed, and the Armadir may call upon the forces of any godari or rikki to enforce the sentence. All Vinlanders must also take an oath to obey the Logretta and the Armadir. The banner of the Commonwealth of Vinland - a field of green with twin rampant sabertooth tigers to either side of a pair of crossed spears - is raised above the Logretta House.

Not everyone is happy with the outcome, however. The high clergy are pretty dissatisfied, particularly since the Logretta has not exempted them from the universal oath and placed them directly under the jurisdiction to the Armadir. Bad enough when that sort of thing is done by a proper king, but this is simply intolerable. Not only are the lay clergy aggrieved, the orders are not happy, either. Over the years, the Cistercians and others had received sizable land grants from the monarchy, and put a lot of effort into improving them. The irate landowners in the Logretta, convinced that the orders got more than their fair share of the best land, vote to appropriate large parts of it and dole them out amongst themselves or put it up for sale so that the revenue could benefit the Commonwealth.

The Archbishop of Anskar swings into action, excommunicating all those in the Logretta who voted for the offending measures, and placing all of Vinland under interdict until they are repealed. The reaction is not what he expected. This is no kingdom, dependant for its policy upon the whims of a monarch, but a popular government. And the populace of Vinland, like people throughout Christendom, is not in a particularly deferential mood vis-a-vis the Church. In the New World, as in the Old, the Tatar invasions are seen as God's punishment of a sinful and worldly Church. The Vinlanders are outraged. They have been good Catholics, sending many across the seas to Crusade against the Baltic pagans, and fighting under the banner of the Church against the brutal heathen of Domstolland. They have stomped out heresies wherever they surfaced in their land, burning Cathars and Spiritines alike whenever they are discovered. And this is how they are repaid for their loyalty.

Thus, what began as more or less a legislative rebellion - technically legal, since under ancient Scandinavian traditions, the monarch had to visit the local legislatures to obtain their fealty, and neither the new King nor his Regent did so - begins to take on a more revolutionary hue. The Archbishop's actions are also widely seen as what they are - a challenge to the legitimacy of the Commonwealth. The Logretta reconvenes and, at the request of newly-elected Armadir Jóngeirr Líkbjörn, summarily outlaws the Archbishop and any Bishops or priests who will not take the oath to obey the government. The Armadir leads Vinlandic fighting men in securing the Anskar Cathedral, while all over Vinland monasteries and churches are taken over or burned by local militias. Local priests are compelled to perform the sacraments. Some priests do not require compulsion - Vinland is home to a significant number of Franciscans, whose conspicuous poverty has made them extraordinarily popular and whose allegiance to the Church is very iffy at this point. Many Vinlandic Franciscans openly defy the interdict, and one gives Holy Communion to the entire Logretta and the Armadir in Anskar Cathedral. The Archbishop flees to Niwe Wessex and the Bishops refuse to elect a new one.

In the Logretta, a momentous question is put to the assembly - should Vinland break with the Catholic Church and establish a national Church, fully under the control of the Logretta and the Armadir? Will the Commonwealth ever be safe if the Church refuses to recognize its supremacy? Moderates among the revolutionaries note that they have yet to receive a response from the Pope, to whom they have sent an embassy with their grievances against the Archbishop. Should not they wait until they hear back from the Holy Father?

For his part, Pope Gregory X is simply appalled at the goings-on in Vinland. The Empire is overrun by the armies of Gog and Magog, under the dominion of a pagan overlord and rife with Spiritine heresy, the French are fairly giddy with the experience of running their own ecclesiastical affairs during the interregnum and their loyalty to the Papacy is paper-thin, Venice has betrayed Christendom, and Jerusalem has fallen to the Saracens. Exiled from his See, he is - basically single-handedly - trying to save the Church from ultimate destruction, and one of his Archbishops is going out of his way to alienate one of the few realms which is both safe from Tatar invasion and solidly loyal to the Church. Without dilly-dallying, he informs the Vinlanders that he will replace the Archbishop and lift the interdict if the Vinlanders will add a caveat to their oath so that the Bishops may acknowledge the primacy of the law of the Church. He also offers pardon for all crimes against the Church, and appeals to their sense of justice to offer the orders fair compensation for seized lands. By the time the Pope's message reaches the Logretta, cooler heads have gained sway, and the compromise is accepted, although not without a lot of grumbling. Vinland has gained its footing in the world and will remain loyal to the Church. For now. But the idea of a Vinlandic Church, once raised, will not go away anytime soon.

The other group of people who are aggrieved by the resumption of the Commonwealth are the godars and rikki of Solbjorgland. The majority of them are lendrmenn, who hold their lands and peoples directly from the monarchy, so they feel little loyalty to the Logretta and a lot to the new King. Worse, the Logretta, under heavy pressure from the fishermen and merchants of the eastern seaboard, lifts the royal monopoly on salt production and opens the rich Solbjorgland hunting grounds, effectively dissolving the source of the lendrmenns' great wealth. So, when the Logretta votes to resume the Commonwealth, they walk out and convene their own Althing at Hvideborg [OTL's Port Huron, ATL named after a prominent settler family]. The Hvideborg Althing does not vote to accept Christiaan as their king, but does vote to retain the monarchy and a personal union with the Norwegian crown. The fractious nobles are not inclined to give the crown to one of their own, but they dispatch an embassy - which slips through the Vinlandic blockade of their land - to retrieve an appropriate noble from Norway. With suitable encouragement, the Solbjorglandic embassy manages to bring back one that they crown King Magnus I Lagabøte ["law-mender"].

The Vinlanders are not taking any of this sitting down, of course, and the Armadir summons the forces of the Commonwealth to crush the uprising. However, there is one small matter - King Magnus has allied his throne (for a sizable price paid) with the Domstollanders. The pagan Domstollanders don't care for Christian Solbjorgland any more than they care for Vinland, but the Folkhagi is eater to see the Christian powers at each others throats, and the money is good, so he jumps in. Domstollandic ships and soldiers lend a hand in the fighting, and the Vinlanders are beaten back. In the end, as part of the ransom for some prominent Vinlandic captives, the Logretta is compelled to recognize the independence of the Kingdom of Solbjorgland. But the peace is just a beginning and not an end.

Empty America: Part 25 - The Song Remains the Same

These few parts are going to be a quick rundown of Ultima Thule [North America], the Ursulines [the Caribbean] and Terranova (or Whitsunland) [South America] circa 1260-80, in no particular order. All OTL geographic correlations are approximate.

(Jen Men, Mu-lan-P'i [San Francisco])

"I miss Hangzhow, Chang Shih-chieh," says P'u Shou-keng. Chang rolls his eyes. Everyone who spent more than a minute with P'u Shou-keng knew all too well that he missed Hangzhow. Chang believes that being away from the capital for so many years had unhinged the Transport Commissioner's mind. He has become very eccentric of late, which explains why P'u had summoned Chang to his quarters at the crack of dawn, apparently to watch him bathe. Or why P'u had not yet bothered to even look at him before launching into his standard discourse.

Stereotypically, there are two kinds of Chinese. Northerners, whose lands were overrun by the Jurchen, are taller, sturdier and prefer the saddle to the sedan chair and polo to parlor games. They are conservative, looking inward to Asia, from whence all the threats to their lands have come. Chang Shih-chieh is one such Northerner. P'u Shou-keng is ... the other kind. From the South, luxuriant, sophisticated, looking outward towards the seas.

P'u Shou-keng, the Transport Commissioner for the Northern Circuit of Mu-lan-P'i, shifting his considerable bulk in the ornate iron bathtub to expose his side to the serving girl who was sponging him off, continued his lament:

"Everything is so *dirty* here. So vulgar, so rude, so crass." He snatches his cup from yet another serving girl, who was standing beside the tub with a tray, takes a swig, and winces. "Even the wine is vile." You of all people should know that, thinks Chang, you drink enough of it. "The women are ugly and clumsy." Chang looks at the serving girls, the most elegant, delicate-featured women he had ever seen, who continue about their duties, taking no notice. "And the poetry, ugh, it is just execrable."

Chang does not say anything, so P'u clears his throat. "As you know by now, word has arrived that the Emperor is dead."

"I have heard the rumors," Chang says curtly.

"They are not rumors. I have confirmation that his ship was trying to break the blockade of Yai-shan and Lu Hsi-fu jumped overboard with the young Emperor in his arms. Neither of their bodies have been found."

"They could have survived, or there could be another member of the imperial family-"

"No. No other has been enthroned. The Mandate has passed to the invader."

Chang crosses his arms. "So you have decided?"

P'u is still not looking at him. "Yes. I have drafted a memorial offering the new Emperor my loyalty, and that of Mu-lan-P'i." He sighs, "Think of it! I will be rewarded, Chang. The Emperor will recall me to China, and I will finally be gone from this place." He levers himself out of the tub and accepts the towel offered by the serving-girl. As he dries himself, Chang nods to his aide, who has been standing discretely in the doorway and who now slips away.

"If that is your decision ..."

"It is! As the highest-ranking official in the Northern Circuit, I have the obligation to-" He stops, startled, and finally looking at Cheng. "Chang Shih-chieh, why are you armored?"

With two strides, Cheng is upon him, punching him square in the face with a mailed fist and knocking him back into the tub. Cheng clamps his hands around his neck and squeezes, forcing P'u Shou-keng's head under the water. One of the serving girls leaps upon Cheng's back and begins pummeling him around the head and shoulders. But Cheng is focused and remorseless, throttling P'u in the bathtub until he stops struggling. Suddenly, a squad of crossbowmen bursts in, led by Cheng's aide. One of them seizes the serving girl roughly and pulls her off Cheng. The General lets go of P'u, then picks up the dropped towel and dries off his armor. He turns to his soldiers, one of whom is holding his dagger to the serving girl's throat, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Turn her loose. She is the closest thing to a man in this place. Ladies, let this be a civics lesson for you." He pats the end of one of the crossbows [FN25.01], "the Mandate of Heaven grows from the barrel of one of these." He turns to his soldiers and points to P'u Shou-keng's body, "You, clean up this offal." And with that, he strides out of the room, with his aide in tow.

"Cheng Shih-chieh, what do we do now?"

Cheng Shih-chieh has, up to now, been keeping his own counsel from his underlings, counting on their loyalty to act without explanation. But now does not hesitate. "We make Mu-lan-P'i as self-sufficient as we can. And then we wait."

"Wait for what?"

"The arrival of the Son of Heaven."

***

Mu-lan-P'i! Unquestionably the largest and most populous state in the New World. In Ultima Thule, Chinese control extends roughly from Dayu [Vancouver] Island, west through the Pai Hu [Columbia] River area and down the coast to Jen Men. As of 1280, this stretch is the most populously settled region. The Song government finally and completely reconciled itself to the fact that it was going to have a permanent (and wealthy) overseas colony. The Song is, at the time, generally concerned about the well-being of its smallholders (the "bu yi"), and looking for a way to give them larger farms, without the more politically-difficult about breaking up the land-holdings of the wealthy. So, it begins settling them in the regions north of Jen Men, where they can clear land and build farms. Most farm millet or barley, but, once the government in Hangzhow lifts its restrictions, wet rice agriculture [25.011] and bamboo cultivation spring up throughout the region. As incentives, the Chinese government promises not only larger landholdings than the settlers could expect in China, but also preferential treatment (i.e. easier access to "protection") for those from Mu-Lan-P'i who are able to take the exams to join the scholar-bureaucrat class. Thus, they salve their Confucian consciences - the settlers will not be able to honor their ancestors' graves back in China, but they can more readily advance themselves and their families. There is even a test site in Jen Men for the overseas Chinese, so they do not have to incur the great costs of traveling back to China to take the exams.

One of those immigrants is a truly remarkable young woman named Huang Daopo. We will get back to her later.

The area north of Jen Men is also soon also alive with fishermen, and fur hunters and trappers. Small-scale iron and coal mining also becomes established in the area, to supply the settlers with farming tools and other metal goods. And the settlement of the region is not only a government operation. Various Buddhist monasteries take it upon themselves to set up shop in Mu-lan-P'i, with significant numbers of monks settling in the mountains.

Moving South from Jen Men, Chinese settlements tend to be all about silver mining. Major strikes were made in the 1190s, leading to the founding of Xin Chengshi [Guanajuato, Mexico] and Jinshu Shih [Taxco, Mexico]. The Chinese soldiers, no strangers to road-building, are put to work liking the cities of the interior with Kuei-Men [Acapulco] on the coast and its link to China.

South of Kuei-Men are the trading emporia in Zhongmeizhou [Panama], established shortly after Enrico Pescatore and his companions arrived in Kuei-Men. [FN25.02]. The emporia are the most cosmopolitan areas of Mu-lan-P'i. A good number of the Turk, Arab and other traders who had taken up residence in Song China's coastal cities have moved their operations to Zhongmeizhou for easier access (via the Ursulines) to Western goods and gold. The emporia bustle with commercial activity, and the exchange is prodigious.

South of Zhongmeizhou, all those decades of aggressive prospecting by Chinese geologists pays off, big time. They hit the mother load, and soon a massive mining operation has sprung up in the high in the rarified atmosphere of Yinshang [OTL's Potosi, Bolivia]. Hordes of miners pour in, and silver comes pouring out of Yinshang in truly epic quantities - we are talking *tons* here. It seems that the only limit is manpower availability. But the Song know you gotta spend money to make money, and massive junks are soon transporting thousands of miners and others to the Yinshang region.

However, as the Mongol invasion of Song China progresses, the regime just has other things on its mind besides colonization. The manpower crisis in Yinshang, Chengshi, Jinshu Shih, Jen Men, and elsewhere continues unabated. Under pressure from Hangzhow to increase output to support the war effort, but not provided with the additional men to do it, officials in Mu-lan-P'i take matters into their own hands. A military expedition is organized to Suxiang [OTL's Easter] Island by the government of the Southern Circuit in Yinshang. After some initial skirmishes with the locals, well and truly settled by Chinese weaponry, the invaders clamp a corvee down on the indigenous populace, who are hauled off to Yinshang to work in the mines and fields. The success of this program, and the fact that the officials in Yinshang are not slapped down by Hangzhow inspires a similar effort by the government of the Northern Circuit in Jen Men. For some time, the Chinese have had a naval supply and repair station at Richu [OTL's Pearl] Harbor in the Pheng-lai [Hawaiian] Islands. However, until the late thirteenth century, the Chinese have, for the most part, not troubled the inhabitants of the islands. But now, in need of laborers, the government in Jen Men dispatches a garrison to Richu to round up workers. As in Suxiang, this is done not without some resistance by the Polynesian inhabitants of the Pheng-lai Islands, but the Chinese get the labor they need [FN25.03].

After the fall of the Song government in China, Chang Shih-chieh's counterpart in the Southern Circuit in Yinshang follows Chang's lead and seizes power to await the arrival of a Song heir. Chang is as good as his word - he sets about to make Mu-lan-P'i as self-sufficient as possible, to prepare it as a base from which the Song heir could gather his strength to liberate China from the Mongol invader. He orders all the xian [county] and zhou [prefecture] governments to survey the resources at hand, so that he could see what needed to make Mu-lan-P'i economically independent of China. The results are promising. Mu-lan-P'i is already self-sufficient in foodstuffs, and the iron and coal deposits in the northern regions are big enough to be worth exploiting. Plus, of course, the secure warehouses in both the Northern and Southern Circuits bulge with precious metals, once waiting to be shipped to Hangzhow, but now available for other purposes. Whatever they do not have, they can buy from the Westerners in the Ursulines. After the opening of Mu-lan-P'i to trade with the West and before the fall of the Song, there were a number of proposals to build a road west and establish a trading settlement at Ti-chu Shih [OTL's Veracruz]. These proposals were rejected out of fear that the government's control over the port, so far from the administrative centers, would be weak, and silver from the interior would be smuggled out of Mu-lan-P'i. After the fall of the Song, and after Cheng Shih-chieh legalizes the export of silver, construction begins on a road to Ti-chu Shih using the Army and corvee workers from the interior. Manpower is scarce and it is slow going, but it is going to be done.

When Cheng takes stock of what he has in Mu-lan-P'i, he realizes that there are several critical shortages that need to be addressed locally - cloth manufacture, ship-building and armaments. With regards to cloth, the Song stricture against silk manufacture in Mu-lan-P'i - enacted at the behest of mainland Chinese producers - falls away very quickly. The silkworms and mulberry leaves that were once black-market items come out of hiding. The real problem is that in Mu-lan-P'i, Chinese women, the traditional spinners, are not quite as interested in the work as they were back in China. Essentially, the home-spinning that Chinese women did to supplement the family income is not as important to the household economy in Mu-lan-P'i as it was in China because the farmers have larger plots and are doing much better than they were in China. While spinning and weaving are still done as domestic manufactures, the output does not leave the home in the quantities that Mu-lan-P'i needs. This is where Huang Daopo comes in. Long interested in improving cloth manufacture, she manages to get a proposal through that the government should set up cloth factories in and around Jen Men, employing as spinners and weavers the wives and daughters of the newly-arrived refugees from the mainland. Chang is intrigued - he had not really looked beyond the traditional methods - so he pushes Huang's proposal. Mu-lan-P'i is fortunate in that many craftsmen, ironworkers and other artisans had fled the Mongol invasion, doubtlessly motivated by the Mongols' known tendency for enslaving skilled workers and hauling them off to Karakorum [FN25.04]. Thus, Cheng's government had a wealth of manufacturing talent to draw upon. So, the craftsmen were settled in Jen Men and the towns of the Yinshang area and their womenfolk were employed in newly-built cloth factories. To those who object, citing traditional Chinese disinclination to women working outside the home, Huang and Cheng cite to 'gong li,' the pragmatism that led to the establishment of Mu-lan-P'i in the first place. Huang does not rest on her laurels, she tirelessly pushes the most technically advanced machinery: treadle-pumped spinning wheels for silk and water-driven spinning wheels (for hemp, cotton and ramie). It takes some doing, but the government of Mu-lan-P'i are determined to keep its people clothed using their own efforts. They are not motivated solely by practical considerations - independence from silk imports from Khubilai Khan's China is of great symbolic importance as well as it signifying Mu-lan-P'i standing on its own two feet.

Arming Mu-lan-P'i is of even greater importance. Cheng looks out over the western horizon, hoping that he will see a ship bearing the heir to the Song dynasty. But he is constantly haunted by the thought that he will instead one day see a great armada of 400-foot junks bearing thousands of Mongol warriors onto the shores of Mu-lan-P'i. His real nightmare is invasion from both East and West - the Yuan attacking from across the great ocean and the Khan of the Franks using his Venetian allies to get a military foothold on the Eastern shore. So Mu-lan-P'i needs weapons, and ships to bear those weapons. One of his first orders of business is to establish a Weapons Bureau and a Gunpowder Bureau. Both attract many craftsmen. Chang rides them hard, constantly demanding progress and updates on that progress. Cheng diverts workers from precious metals production and sets them to mining the known coal and iron deposits in northern Mu-lan-P'i. The Weapons Bureau responds quickly, establishing forges and turning out armor, spears and swords.

The Gunpowder Bureau, which has set up shop on the outskirts of Jen Men in a workshop that, because of its sulphrous emanations, is soon known to locals as the Chouyo Cheijian [skunk works], is slower to report developments. Its memorials to the government are vague, sometimes even evasive. Finally Cheng grows frustrated and decides to go down to the Chouyo Cheijian himself and see what the holdup is.

***

Lu You and Yang Su are at it again, bickering so loudly that all the workers at the Chouyo Cheijian stop what they are doing and watch. Lu is the Chief Engineer of the workshop and Yang Su is his assistant, but at the moment he is decidedly not acting like a subordinate, waving his finger under Lu's nose.

"You are an idiot! How do you expect me to get any work done with you diverting my workers, my supplies -"

Lu is not giving an inch. "Silence, you! I am in charge of this workshop and I decide what should be worked on first!"

"You mean your toy?1? You will be lucky if it does not blow your arms off!"

"Fool! You and your hidebound ways have no place in this workshop, if I did not need every craftsman I would -" Lu looks around. All the other workers have turned towards the door of the shop and are bowing deeply. All the blood in his face drains away when he sees that Cheng Shih-chieh and his staff striding towards him. It takes Yang Su a moment to notice.

"Do not ignore me, old man! I should - Oh ..." The combatants step back and bow to the most powerful man in Ultima Thule, who is plainly not happy.

"What is going on here?" Chang Shih-chieh strides forward to confront Lu and Yang, "I have sent you numerous orders Master Lu, and all I receive in return are excuses and evasions! I can see now why there is no progress, with the two of you quarreling at the top of your lungs in the middle of the workshop floor. Is this how you do your duty to the State?"

Lu bows again. "I most deeply apologize for this display, sir. And I know that Yang Su apologizes as well." He gives Yang a surreptitious kick in the side of the leg. Yang hangs his head and mumbles an apology.

"I do not wish apologies, I want results! Why were you two arguing in front of the workers?"

Yang Su interjects, cutting off his supervisor. "It is him, my Lord, with his ridiculous project, taking metal and huo yao [gunpowder] that I need -" Cheng holds up his hand, silencing him.

"Master Lu, what are you working on at the moment, that your subordinate should be so agitated?"

Lu visibly puffs up with pride. "It is this, my Lord." He slaps his hand down on a large iron cylinder, about the size of a water barrel, with a single small hole in one rounded end and two iron loops on the top. "This is the all-conquering thunder-bomb."

Cheng, who is not one to stand on ceremony when weapons are discussed, squats down to have a closer look. "What does it do?"

Lu looks pleased enough to burst. "It is filled with huo yao, my Lord -"

Cheng interjects. "You have enough powder for your work?"

"Yes, my Lord, although we are running low at the moment. I have dispatched another ship with a mining crew to Chang Kung Tao [OTL's Baja California] [FN25.05] for more xiao [saltpeter]. So we should be fully supplied soon."

"Good."

"But the all-conquering thunder-bomb is a weapon to destroy ships. It is mounted on a long bamboo pole beneath the water line at the prow of a flying-tiger ship [FN25.06]. The flying-tiger ship, rams the all-conquering thunder-bomb against the hull of an enemy ship and the bomb then detonates, blasting a great hole in the side and causing it to sink."

Cheng looks skeptical. He is no technician, but he knows a thing or two about huo yao. "How is it detonated?"

"A probing question, my Lord. There will be a flint-and-steel sparker device inside the bomb. A mechanism -" Lu glances smugly over at Yang, who scowls, "- of my own design. It is sealed in behind a wax plug. To detonate the device, a gunnery officer on the ship pulls on a cord, which triggers the mechanism, which in turn ignites the huo yao."

Cheng is impressed. "Ingenious. And this could sink a zhu li jian [battleship]?"

Yang snorts. "No, it will not!"

Cheng looks at him. "You do not care for this device?"

Now it is Lu's turn to scowl, but Yang presses onward. "No. My Lord, I was in the navy before I came to Jen Men there are numerous problems with this weapon. First, the firing mechanism is fragile and will likely malfunction. Then where will the sailors be? And the bomb itself and the pole needed to support it at the prow are both heavy. To keep from unbalancing the ship, more weight will be needed to be added aft. It will make the ship slow and unwieldy. Enemies could easily smash such a ship before it ever gets close enough to detonate the bomb. My Lord, our ships have always fought at a distance. To bring a flying tiger ship so close to a large enemy vessel would be the height of foolishness!"

Cheng gives this some thought. His fears about a Mongol attack have been very acute of late. After sitting on the fence for years, Li T'an has finally declared for Khubilai Khan. Li T'an, formerly the Richu harbormaster under the Song, Li' has been running the Pheng-lai Islands like a personal fiefdom - using ship crews who fled from the Chinese mainland as muscle - since the dynasty fell. But now, he has openly announced his allegiance to the Khan, no doubt in exchange for assurances that Li will be left to his own devices.

And now the Khan has a potential base far out in the Eastern Ocean [FN25.07], from which he could assault the shores of Mu-lan-P'i. He thinks again about the massive army that the Khan could assemble and he thinks about the great length of coastline where they could land and he thinks about the meager forces he has at his command, scattered hither and yon all over Mu-lan-P'i. If he is going to save the Song New World for the Emperor, he will have to defeat the Mongols far out at sea. And while flying-tiger ships are essential for any fighting in Jen Men bay or Kui-Men harbor, they are useless out at sea. But he cannot shake his fascination for the all-conquering thunder-bomb. And the harbors would need defending ...

"And Yang Su, what are you working on?"

"An improvement to the fire-lance, my Lord. By casting a heavier tube from iron and increasing the power of the huo yao -" Cheng, who is still contemplating the bomb and barely listening, holds up his hand, and Yang stops.

"Can you do both - the bomb and the fire-lance?

No matter what century you are in, no matter what continent you are on, no matter what culture you come from, if you ask government scientists this question, you will get the same answer:

"Yes," says Lu, "but -"

"We will need more materials," says Yang.

"And more men," says Lu.

"And more money!" they both say in unison.

"Then you shall have it. I will issue the orders today. And the Weapons Bureau will be instructed that your projects are to have precedence for men and materials. If it comes to the point when we need swords and crossbows ..." Cheng trails off. Yeang and Lu look at him expectantly.

"Then it will be too late." And just like that, he turns and walks out of the Chouyo Cheijian.

***

"He's pissed on the powder bags again!" Lu You exclaims in disgust.

"Who?" says Yang Su.

"The Emperor!" Lu snaps irritably, "who do you think?"

The Emperor was an old drunk who steadfastly maintains that he is the heir to the Song Dynasty. From what Yang could glean, he was actually a skilled ironworker once, who, driven to despair by some unmentionable tragedy back in China, had taken to drink and delusion. Yang took pity on the old drunk, and let him hang around the Chouyo Cheijian. There was hardly a person in Jen Men who had not suffered great misfortune from the Mongol invasion, so Yang thought it was incumbent upon them to look after each other and show sympathy. He made an exception for Lu.

"So dry it out! It is not as if we can spare it - the shipment of xiao is late again."

Lu was indignant. "You dry it out, Yang! I am director of this facility. I do not dry out urine-soaked huo yao bags."

As Yang started to protest, Lu cut him off, suddenly smiling. "Besides, don't you need it for the test-firing of your da pao tomorrow?"

Yang cursed. Lu was right. Cheng Shih-chieh had set a strict timetable for the development and testing of their weapons. If they wanted more time, they had to go ask Chang, personally. Yang did it once, and he did not care to try it again. Cheng was not a patient man. So he sets to drying out the powder. Ugh, he thinks. That old drunk had a truly heroic bladder capacity and the bags were soaked through. When the powder dries, it was all caked. So he crumbles it up as best he could.

And the next morning, on the Chouyo Cheijian's proving ground, Yang test-fires his huo yao [cannon]. The barrel bursts, killing Yang and his assistants in a blast of cast iron splinters. Lu and his men rush out onto the field to lend aid, but there are no survivors. The entire Chouyo Cheijian goes into mourning for their fallen co-workers. Lu calls a halt to it, lecturing the workers on their duty to Mu-lan-P'i and how Yang would not wanted them to neglect their work. "When the bandits and their Khan arrive, it will only be our weapons that can stop them."

He then goes to Yang's desk and looks through his notes. The gun was properly cast, with no obviously flaws mentioned. The projectile was of standard size. The optimal formula for the powder was followed [FN25.08]. It had to be the Emperor's piss that blew up the gun.

So Lu gets the Emperor some more wine.

For his fallen subordinate and rival, Lu sets aside his bomb for the time being, and goes to work on Yang's huo yao, strengthening the barrel, adjusting the powder amounts. He is short on iron, and he figures he can save on metal by casting the barrel in a single piece and boring out the barrel. It takes a few tries to get it right, but if there is one thing the Chinese know (and there are, in fact, many) it is cast iron.

By the next "clear and bright," when all of Mu-lan-P'i are paying respects to their ancestors, Lu You, his men, and a harnessed pair of ill-behaved giant sloths [megalonyx jefffersoni, about the size of an ox] are honoring Yang Su by wheeling a powerful cast-iron cannon out to the edge of the Eastern Ocean. The gun is loaded, and at Lu's command, a mighty blast roars out over the sea, followed moments later by a sizable column of water erupting where the iron shot splashes into the ocean.

Lu passes around the cups and the wine and he, his men, and Emperor (who is truly awe-struck with what his piss has wrought) toast the memory of Yang Su, and death to the Mongols.

Empty America: Part 26 - Jolly Mon

Alessandria Province, San Erasmus [Santiago, Cuba]

Chao Yen-Wei was barely in the door of the great plantation villa when he was accosted by some long-haired blonde lout in a leather jerkin and bedecked with gold chains and arm-bands, who waved a cup in his face and exhorted him to "have a beer, it don't cost nothin!" Chao managed to extricate himself from the man and resume his search for the proprietor. It wasn't easy - there was some sort of huge party going on and the house was teeming with people, all of whom seemed to be various stages of intoxication. In the courtyard at the center of the villa, some sort of play was being performed. The music grates on Chao's ears [FN26.01], and Chao thinks the lyrics ("Springtime for Batu"?!?) were in very questionable taste. But still he presses on. Chao is not the only Chinese there, a fact that he finds both reassuring in this strange place full of strange people, and alarming, for he has business to do with the proprietor, and his masters in the great Kuan commercial family will not be happy if someone else has beaten him to it.

He peeks his head into another room, where a bald monk in orange robes sits cross-legged before a great crowd of men of the sort who accosted Chao in the doorway. A collection of long-haired blondes and red-heads with metal caps and leather jerkins. The monk is holding forth:

"Say something once, why say it again?" His barbarian audience nods vigorously and shouts out agreement, waving axes and short swords enthusiastically. "When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed ..."

Ah, thinks Chao disdainfully. A Taoist. As a rather stern Confucian, he looks upon the Taoists as a collection of useless navel-gazers whose egalitarianism and tendency towards withdrawing themselves from the world pose a threat to a correct social order. Like many others, he is somewhat alarmed that they have moved to Mu-Lan-P'i in such great numbers and vaguely wished that the Regent would follow the example of the emperors of old and secularize the Taoist monasteries en masse.

He keeps going. It seems like all the rooms in the villa a filled with revelers and the air is positively thick with bhang smoke. Coughing, he stops and looks at a mosaic, evidently a portrait of the the proprietor, that adorns the wall. Primitive, he thinks, but not without a certain appeal. Chao has been told that the settlers in these islands from Yidali [Italy] revere and mimic (in styles, anyway, if not in virtue, from what Chao has seen of the party so far), certain revered ancestors of over a thousand years past, and this sort of mosaic is in that ancient tradition [FN26.011]. Reverence of the ancients is something Chao can understand, and he latches onto it to convince himself that at least something about these barbarians is not totally unfamiliar. Again, he wonders why Master Kuan had not selected someone with more experience in dealing with these people for this mission. Chao himself has had only limited dealings with the barbarians, since his duties have mostly involved business arrangements within Mu-Lan-P'i, but Master Kuan's assistants have briefed him thoroughly on what to expect. He still wishes that someone else was doing it.

But his is not to question why, his is to push his way through the drunken masses and do his best to find the master of the house and surrounding lands. He wandered into another great room where a band was serenading a large crowd of exuberant dancers [FN26.02]. Chao clamps his hands over his ears and flees. He doesn't know what 'Jungle Love' is, and he doesn't want to find out.

But eventually he finds the proprietor, who is, oddly enough, standing alone out on a patio, decked out in his distinctive Venetian robes and hat, perfectly fitting the description that Chao had been given. As Chao approaches, he notices that he is holding a very large glass and swaying rhythmically to the music coming from the tall windows. Chao bows, and introduces himself in Arabic, the lingua franca of the trade between Mu-lan-P'i and the Ursulines. All of a sudden, the man punches his fist in the in the air and sings out, "If you're hungry, take a bite of me!"

"What?!" Chao says, very alarmed.

"Sorry." Chao can see that the man is very drunk. "Maffeo Polo." Chao, remembering that this is how the barbarians greet each other, takes it.

Polo sweeps his arm around unsteadily, "this is my place."

"Yes, I see. It is very impressive. Is this gathering for an occasion ..."

Polo grinned broadly and weaved a little bit. "My sister, she's taking her vows ... or whatever ... as a Cathar perfect."

Chao searched his memory. The barbarian cults were all so similar, it was difficult to keep track. Then he remembered, and said, as a burst of music and laughter rolled out the window. "The Cathars, are they not an ... ascetic sect?"

"That's why I didn't invite her."

"Oh."

Polo just looked at him and continued to sway unsteadily to the music.

"And you are not a Cathar adherent, but you celebrate her achievement?"

Polo squints and leans forward, swaying a bit, to gaze at Chao intently. "You're not with the Inquisition, are you?"

Chao, who had no idea what that meant, says, "Ah, no. I represent the Kuan Family and am here with a -"

Polo cuts him off. "Good. The Podesta ran those bastards off the island not more than two years ago. Didn't think they'd be back so soon and -" he looks Chao up and down, "-so cleverly disguised."

Chao sighs to himself and wonders what barbarians are like to do business with when they are sober. But it does not seem like he is going to find out anytime soon. "Signor Polo, I have come bearing a business proposition from my masters in the Kuan family. If I could take you away from the revelry for the moment, I believe you would find it most interesting."

Polo raises his eyebrows. "Business proposition?"

"Yes. I understand that you are the largest cultivator of sugar cane on this island."

Polo grins. To Chao, he already appears less drunk. Perhaps the word "business" has that affect on these barbarians. "That's right. From here to the horizon, it's all mine. Bought out the rest of the colleganza a few years ago, and some of the neighboring plantations suddenly suffered ..." he looked at Chao very significantly, "financial difficulties, so I bought them, too."

Chao wondered what "difficulties" Polo's neighbors suffered and whether those difficulties involved the axe-swinging hooligans he saw inside the villa. But he decides it was better not to ask. "Excellent. Signor Polo, have you ever considered growing cotton on part of your holdings?"

Polo shakes his head vigorously, then puts his hands on his cheeks to steady it. "The big money's in sugar, not cotton, especially since the government let up on distilling liquor in the islands. Better return, and you don't have to worry about the ships bursting at the seams in the middle of the ocean" [FN26.03].

Chao says, "I believe the difficulties in shipping can be dealt with correctly."

Polo still looks skeptical. He shakes his head again. "It takes too much labor to get the seeds out of the fiber. Do you know how expensive slaves are, what with the State sitting on -"

"That difficulty, too, has been dealt with in Mu-Lan-P'i" [FN26.04].

Polo scratches his chin. "Still, I don't see how it could profit me to turn land from sugar to cotton."

"I believe I can show you how it could be done."

"Gold?" Polo says hopefully.

"Silver." Chao says firmly.

And so they haggle about price and quantity and delivery. But eventually, after a lot of back and forth, an agreement is reached. Speed in negotiation and precision in terms is not aided, Chao thinks, by the quantity of liquor that Polo has consumed, but he is a sharp enough operator, even in his cups. Polo will grow cotton for the Kuan family textile enterprise. And he will do quite well by himself for the effort.

"This," says Polo, "calls for a celebration." Chao does not know how Polo could remain on his feet if things got any more celebratory. Polo pulls a nice fat spliff out from underneath his cloak, slides it appreciatively below his nose, then lights it with a candle and takes a deep drag. He holds it out to Chao and, without exhaling and in a strained voice, says, "Here, goof on this."

"Pardon?" Chao is suspicious. He knows about bhang, but he's never tried it.

Polo exhales a great cloud of smoke and grins widely. "Gufa. Norse word for smoke."

"Those fair-haired men in leather shirts?"

Polo takes another hit and nods. "Business associates. And they brought the beer." He extends the spliff to Chao again and looks at him expectantly. Chao considers this for a minute. It would be very rude to refuse the hospitality of a new business partner of Master Kuan.

So he takes the spliff and puts it to his lips.


[tempus fugit]


The next morning, Chao wakes up in the fountain in the villa's plaza, his head splitting. His first thought as he shakes his head and groans, is the girl, the olive-skinned one with the long, dark hair. The one who seemed so very friendly and so curious about "the men and women of Cathay and how they ..."

Oh, my.

But she is no where in sight. So Chao wipes his soaking wet hair back from his face and hoists himself out of the fountain. Maybe he should not apprise Master Kuan of how enthusiastically he availed himself of Polo's hospitality. For the first time, his office does not seem so much like a burden, and notwithstanding the pounding between his ears he smiles, thinking of the drinking, the dancing, the singing, the laughing with the great crowds of other guests, and he remembers the olive-skinned girl with the long, dark hair. But, Chao is eager to get back to Jen Men and tell his superiors of the deal he has struck and he will be his way.

Just as soon as he can find his clothes.

***

In the late 13th Century, the three central facts of European colonization in the Ursulines are sugar, trade with Mu-Lan-P'i, and gold. But first, some politics. And that means the Lion City. With the destruction of Genoa and the fall of Pisa, Venice now enjoys maritime supremacy in the Ursuline Sea. Shortly after the fall of Genoa, a Venetian expeditionary force commanded by the dashing Admiral Lorenzo Tiepolo seizes the Isole del Benedetto [Isles of the Blessed. OTL's Canaries], overwhelming fierce resistance led by notable Genoese Admiral Ugo Venta, who retreats to Lisbon. We will hear more from both Venta and the Portuguese later. But now, Venice controls an important stepping-stone from the Mediterranean to the Ursulines. In the Ursulines proper, Venice and its ally, the Emirate of Grenada, have sovereignty over a majority of the inhabited islands, with the notable exceptions of the Ile de Foix [Santo Domingo], which is held by the independent Kingdom of Foix, and Antilla, which is held as a fiefdom of the Kingdom of Aragon. But the Venetians have snapped up the the Perditas [OTL's Turks and Caicos] from their Genoese owners and forced Pisa to hand over the Zaccarias [OTL's Bahamas] and the Arcipelago da San Ranieri [OTL's Anguilla, St. Martin, St. Maarten, St. Kitts & Nevis].

Now, the sugar. Plantation agriculture is what brought the Europeans to the Ursulines in the first place, and it expands at a very steady clip. The largest of the sugar islands is, of course, San Erasmus [Cuba]. While the island is ruled by Venice (divided into six provinces, one for each of the Venetian sestieri - neighborhoods), the population is a polyglot. The plantation elite on most of the island - who either operate the plantations for their own benefit or in partnership with Venetian colleganzas - tend to be Venetians, but with a lot of Italians from the Terra Firma mixed in as well.

By law, all the Venetian proprietors of holdings over a certain size are cittadini, a cut above the rabble in the street. This a requirement that grates with some of the low-born settlers, especially up and coming men, the "gente nuova" who see their chances for advancement curtailed. This is exactly why the Senate enacted the measure in the first place. The oligarchs of Venice are haunted by the fear that their overseas colonies might become outposts of government by the "populo," especially after some rioting by mobs in Italian cities governed by Venetian podestas. The wealthiest trading families - Visconti, Querini, Contarini, Morosini, Dandolo - all have major holdings in the Ursulines. From their sedimen donicale [main estates] in the countryside, they dominate the courts and the assemblies and the podestas of the islands tend to be drawn from their ranks.

In the fields, the sharecroppers and the slaves - the economy is definitely mixed and free - are also a mixture. There are a significant number of Italian peasants, imported to share-crop, and a larger number of slaves, primarily Central Asian pagans [Cumans] and Greeks [FN26.05]. Other portions of the island are technically under the rule of Grenada, farmed by Muslim proprietors and governed by the Emir's agents. All the cultivators on San Erasmus clamber for the Lion City to permit the import of African slaves, since Venetian and Genoese mariners have made contact with the powers on the western coast of Africa, who seem ready to sell. The Venetians, however, have a mercantilist approach to their colonies, and insist upon the metropolis maintaining a monopoly on the slave traffic, which will continue to flow through Venice.

The other major sugar island is Jasirah al-Zanata [Jamaica], which is governed in toto by the Emirate of Grenada, but its trade is monopolized by Venice. Its population tends to be more homogenous - virtually entirely Muslims from the Grenadan metropolis, but with some North Africans mixed in. Under the rule of the Emirate, things are a bit more strictly in line with Islamic practice. The sugar grown on al Zanata is not distilled into liquor on the island, for example, but processed and exported as-is. With the improvements in shipping in the thirteenth century making oceanic transport of bulk commodities more economical, this is not a big economic hindrance, but it does point Muslim entrepreneurs in other directions. And that means spices and citrus. The oranges and lemons are for local consumption, but the spices are the cash cow. Da Conti's project to bring East Indian spices to the Ursulines has been a bust. Imperfect information about exactly where the spices are grown is the real problem. Those in East Indian spice trade are not exactly forthcoming. But, native plants in the Ursulines fill the gap. Mace is a big one, being grown on nearly all the Ursuline Islands and exported in bulk, it is almost too successful. It certainly has a satisfying flavor - being hotter than a Malabar pepper - but it becomes fairly common (as spices go) and loses a lot of its cachet for the houte monde back in the Old World. In other words, it is the rarity and expense of spices that are a big part of their appeal with the European elites, and the availability and comparative cheapness of mace is essentially curbs its desirability for the elites. But Ursuline peppers do find their way in the cuisines of the non-nobles, who benefit from the jolt of flavor.

Allspice from Jasirah al-Zanata, on the other hand, is a big hit with the elites whose agents browse the European and Muslim spice markets. Not only for its taste, which is very satisfying to the European palate, but the fact that it comes from a Muslim outpost acquires a bit of that old Spice Road exoticism. The Grenadan authorities strictly regulate quantities grown and exported to keep the prices up so it keeps from suffering the decline in prestige that mace suffers. The other success is ginger. Ginger root transports very easily, and Chinese sailors have been growing it in boxes on the decks of their junks for a long time to ward off scurvy. Planters in the Ursulines get a hold of some live ginger root shortly after contact with Mu-lan-P'i, and soon it is growing all over the islands.

And then there is the gold. Word that the Chinese have discovered gold in Mu-Lan-P'i triggers the New World's first European gold rush. By the late 13th Century, the Occitians have made significant strikes in the ramshackle and thinly-settled Kingdom of Foix, which then suffers an influx of outsiders. Most of them originate in France, Iberia, Lombardy and Sicily, and many do not share the live-and-let live attitude that the Cathars and their fellow travelers brought with them from Languedoc. The immigrants are compelled to take an oath of allegiance to the Foix monarchy, however, and the difficulties are minimal, as of yet. The gold rush also brings a burst of prosperity to Foix that it really needed - it was suffering from the discriminatory (a nice term for extortionate) Venetian shipping practices. Plus the fact that many of the most influential people in the kingdom - the Cathar Perfect - are militantly ascetic can put a damper on the luxury trade that is a major wealth generator elsewhere. But prosper Foix does. The still somewhat rough-hewn Royal government establishes a mint, and the Treasury takes a cut of all the gold pulled from the ground. The discovery of gold is the impetus the Foix monarchy needed to consolidate its power - it is only by the exercise of strong central authority that the Occitians can keep from being overwhelmed by the immigrants and get their share of the treasure. Eventually even the Perfect get into the act. They have a weakness for books, particularly Aristotle, other 'natural philosophers,' and Bacon's translations of Chinese works. The Perfect and their credente followers are directing some of Foix's wealth towards the acquisition of significant Royal and private libraries.

And then again there is trade with Mu-lan-P'i. The Ursulines are the conduit through which Cathayan goods - silk and porcelains primarily, plus spices reexported from the Spice Islands - flow through to Europe. Into Mu-lan-P'i flow European and Ursuline goods. The Chinese take an interest in Venetian glass, not for the quality as much as for the novelty value of it. But mostly what they want is raw materials - sugar and cotton. Plus mercury. The miners of Mu-lan-P'i have discovered that they need large quantities of mercury to fully exploit the silver deposits. The Iberian powers fortuitously have sizable deposits of mercury. So, quicksilver flows into Mu-Lan-P'i and silver flows out. But it is not only goods that are exchanged - ideas and technology make their way into the hands of the European traders who do extensive business with the overseas Chinese and through them, back to Europe. But, closer to home, many Ursuline planters, like Polo, switch at least some of their acreage over to cotton to sell to the Cathayans, who pay them very well for it.

Venice, by virtue of having the most potent naval force in the Ursuline Sea - not large, but very capable - controls western access the Mu-lan-P'i trade emporia in Zhongmeizhou [FN26.06]. Anyone who wants to trade with the Cathayans has gotta pay the Lion City its due, something that triggers a lot of resentment, especially among the exiled Genoese, who, operating from Portugual and Foix, still seethe with hatred towards the Venetians for the destruction of their home city. It is this hatred, and the desire to break the Venetian monopoly, that drives the Vivaldi brothers to take unprecedented risks for fame, fortune and vengeance. But we will get to that later.

Notes:

[FN23.01] Old Norse "voice." In this case, the representative of the person bringing a plea before the Folkhagi.

[FN23.011] http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=699&letter=A

[FN23.02] The fundamental law of Domstolland, akin to a constitution.

[FN23.021] To the extent anyone could, given the fact that Christian priests are flatly prohibited from Domstolland and the Christian traders are expelled if they discuss their beliefs openly.

[FN23.03] Cok, son of Abraham. OTL, John Fitz John killed him with his bare hands in 1264 during the Baronial troubles. By decree of the author, in ATL John dies a horrible death on the battlefield in Flanders. Perhaps a horse steps on him.

[FN23.04] To the extent there can be said to be western boundaries of any of the states of Ultima Thule. It tends to be defined as the furthest-most area in which the authorities (such as they are) bother to try to exclude others or exert control over settlers.

[FN23.05] The Norse, coming originally from Iceland, don't have the whole 'if trees don't grow there, my crops won't grow there' thing that OTL settlers tended to have. Plus, they like not having to cut down and remove a lot of trees.

[FN24.01] Since it is the furthest west. I am thinking this might be my last "-land" named Norse territory.

[FN24.011] Not the 5% annual growth, but still pretty solid.

[FN24.02] OTL, lots of mammoth and mastodon skeletons have been found in the area. The current theory is that they suffered from a sodium deficiency similar to elephants, and mammoths and mastodons migrated into the area, stocked up, then migrated back to their usual feeding grounds.

[FN24.03] As a result, the Hebrides and the Isle of Man are firmly in Scandinavian hands through the 13th Century, as is Novgorod.

[FN25.01] The really cool repeating ones. http://www.atarn.org/chinese/rept_xbow.htm.

[FN25.011] OK, I have googled this a couple times, and I have not come up with any definitive answers about whether the rice that the Chinese were growing in the 13th Century - a quick-growing rice imported from Champha (in Vietnam), which could yield two crops per year in Southern China - could be raised in OTL's Northern California, Oregon and Washington. However, in OTL the area grows a _lot_ of rice, what appears to be domesticated North American wild rice:

http://www.hort.purdue.edu/newcrop/proceedings1993/v2-235.html
http://www.encyclopedia.com/html/section/rice_CultivationandHarvesting.asp

So, for now, we will go with the Chinese settlers in Mu-lan-P'i domesticating and raising the wild variety. Given Chinese horticultural prowess, I doubt that it would be difficult, and I imagine settlers from South China would prefer it to the northern diet of millet and such.

[FN25.02] Trade between the West and Mu-lan-P'i will be discussed in the section about the Ursulines and Everyplace Else.

[FN25.03] Apropos of the recent 'Chinese using black slaves' thread on SHWI, that did in fact happen, but perhaps only on a comparatively small scale. Quoting Levathes, Louise, "When China Ruled the Seas" (Oxford U. Press 1994) at 38: "The extent of the China slave trade is difficult to determine. Enslavement had been a form of punishment since Han times, so there was no shortage of men and women in bondage in China. Nevertheless, it was said, "most of the wealthy people" in guangzhou "kept devil slaves" as gatekeepers. African slaves were treated little better than beasts of burden. They were made to lift heavy weights and, because the Chinese believe they swam 'without blinking their eyes,' were employed to repair leaking boats."

[FN25.04] Actually, Khubilai Khan encouraged the craft industries in China and, unlike after the fall of Jin China, Song Chinese craftsmen were not marched to Mongolia in great numbers. But a reputation is a tough thing to shake.

[FN25.05] Home of some of the largest saltpeter deposits in the Western Hemisphere.

[FN25.06] The *really* cool man-powered paddlewheel warships that the Chinese invented. Thanks to, er, toilitpaper for pointing me to 'Fighting ships of the Far East' from Osprey.

[FN25.07] Linguistic inertia - the Chinese in Mu-lan-P'i are still referring to the Pacific as the Eastern Ocean.

[FN25.08] The readily-available saltpeter has caused the Chouyo Cheijian's chemists to hit on the 75% saltpeter - 15% charcoal - 10% sulphur formula that they need for powerful gunpowder.

[FN26.01] The Chinese invented timbre in musical instruments a long time ago. As of the 13th Century, the Europeans are still working on it.

[FN26.011] The wealthier Venetians in the Ursulines have built themselves Roman-style villas. This is a good example: http://www.villa-rustica.de/tour/indexe.html This is another good one: http://www.canterburytrust.co.uk/schools/gallery/gall09i.htm. As San Erasmus is still a comparatively newly-settled territory, I figure most of the villas are more modest, but still very nice.

[FN26.02] A medieval circle dance turns into a conga line soooo easily.

[FN26.03] During this time frame, Europeans are still using screw jacks to sqeeze sacks of cotton into the holds of their ships. If your ship does not quite have the hull integrity it should, the results can be kind of embarrassing for all involved.

[FN26.04] It is a simple enough device, really. Huang Daopo, the 13th Century advocate of advanced weaving methods (who, ATL, resides in Mu-Lan-P'i), is said to have urged the use of a machine much like a primative cotton gin.

[FN26.05] Greeks, as schismatics, were eligible to be enslaved, a situation which will not endure indefinitely.

[FN26.06] Think the Portuguese in OTL's Indian Ocean during the 16thC, but more effective.


 

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