CHAPTER 16: VOYAGE TO NOUVEAU GAULLE

CHAPTER 16: VOYAGE TO NOUVEAU GAULLE

Copyright: Thomas Hoskyns Leonard. Edinburgh, October 2017


                                                                                

In August 1455, Duncan and Bagoas were summoned to the dank and barren Oval Parlour in the Palace Augustus to meet with the bulging Count René and two eminent emissaries from Austria and Rome.

When Duncan and Bagoas ensconced themselves at the round oak table, Duncan was delighted to see his old friend Bishop Aeneas of Trieste sitting there, without his mitre, with a broad grin on his cheery face. Plump, pate-headed Aeneas was, by happen-stance, celebrating his fifty-first birthday.

A boss-eyed pageboy with a face like a peach brought in a small plate of sweetmeats to celebrate this wondrous occasion. The lust-breathed count gave the silly page an eyeful, took a sip of his special bubbly wine, and told him to bring a pitcher of scrumptious rosé too.

The bishop was accompanied by the wiry, raven-haired Austrian Franz Bruckner of Bregenz, the Papal Navigator Extraordinaire, who'd travelled more immediately from his plush town-house in Rome. Franz brought with him a canvas folder containing copies of an ancient map and several old parchments. He was fawning over the bishop in a manner which Duncan found to be a touch alarming.

“I won't beat around the bush, Duncan,” said the obstinate Bishop Aeneas, sticking out his elbow. “Pope Calixtus and the Emperor Frederick have asked me to represent them on a matter of essential importance. In short, we wish to commission you to lead a highly secret voyage of discovery for the purpose of developing new trade routes. Such routes could benefit the whole of Europe.”

“Is this yet another consequence of the Fall of Constantinople to the ruthless Ottomans?” Duncan wearily inquired.

“That is verily so! The Austrians of Trieste are suffering as much in the Aegean Sea as our bitter rivals in Venice. I must stress the importance of your maintaining total silence till eternity about any discoveries you make. The glory can be given later to the brash adventurers who present themselves as peaceful explorers before sending in the missionaries and the vicious troops.”

“I understand,” replied Duncan, “but where do you wish us to explore?”

“Nouveau Gaulle!” announced Aeneas, flashing his fading blue eyes in excitement.

“Where's that?” asked Bagoas, in consternation. “Is it on the River Volga in wildest Russia?”

Franz Bruckner laughed and spread out his colourful copy of the Vatican's ancient map of Nouveau Gaulle on the well-polished table.

“We discovered this map in a closet deep in the Vatican,” he replied, pressing Bagoas's knee with two firm fingers.

“Ouch!” exclaimed Bagoas.

Bruckner edged closer to his quarry of the moment.

“It is a huge island across the Sea of Atlas, midway between Europe and China. There's the Golden City of Yabar on the west coast, and that's Patowmeck on the east coast, which may not be a city. Patowmeck lies many hundreds of miles due west of Lisbon.”

“What's that slithery blue snake?” asked Bagoas, in alarm.

“That's the Misi-ziibi, the great river which flows down the middle.”

Duncan stared dubiously at the map. “How did this forgery find its way into the Vatican?”

“The Jesuits didn't hide it there!” protested the mindful Bishop Aeneas, crunching his sweetmeat. “According to one of the parchments, Patowmeck was discovered by Euric Gomes of Narbonensis in AD 480 when he sailed out of Béziers with a fleet of long-ships.”

“Where the dickens is Narbonensis?” asked Bagoas, twisting Bruckner's wrist in self-defence.

“You should know that, since you're a Captain of Provence, even if a delinquent one,” replied Duncan, somewhat surlily. “It was a Visigothic kingdom on the West Rivière, before it was snatched by the sneaky Burgundians.”

“The Visigoths stored the map in one of their heathen temples in Toulouse,” added the knowledgeable bishop, “and the Burgundians sent it on later to be kept in safe storage in the Vatican.”

“I find this hard to believe,” objected the incredulous Duncan. “Has anybody else visited this strange place called Patowmeck?”

“Yes indeed,” responded Bishop Aeneas, with a confident smile. “According to another document in the Vatican, Patowmeck was rediscovered by the Moorish Jewish explorer Ibrahim-ibn-Yaqub in AD 958. Ibrahim was sent there by the Caliph of Cordova. The Moors in Cordova were, at that time, very advanced in culture, before they were battered into submission by the barbaric Christians. They even illuminated their towns with gentile street lights.”

“That sounds much more convincing,” admitted Duncan, gritting his teeth. “The same gentleman explored the region surrounding Cracow on behalf of the worthy Caliph several years later. He unearthed all sorts of interesting details about the mating habits of the Vistulan chiefs. They didn't even bother to bathe themselves afterwards. They wafted their bodies in steam to let their pores open!”

[Author's Note: For more details of Ibrahim-Ibn-Yaqub's exploration of Vistulania, see pp 234-235 of Europe: A History by Norman Davies (1997).]

“Ibn-Yaqub was doubtlessly a spy for the Vatican,” claimed Bruckner, with a quiet snigger.

The incontinent bishop checked his hose for wetness, blinked, and chuckled politely.

“Ibn-Yaqub also discovered a stack of useful information in Patowmeck,” he explained. “The Patata clan of the Sac tribe, who lived along the eastern shores of an extremely long bay, were highly civilised, completely peace-loving, and very caring and welcoming to all travellers. They were therefore much respected by all the more violent clans and tribes in Nouveau Gaulle, even the cannibals from the northern city of Aztalan, and were preserved, uneaten, in their heritage.”

[Author's Notes: The highly regarded Native American Sac tribe were also known as the Sauk, and they were divided into clans of various names, including the Patata (Potato) and also the Fish, Ocean, Thunder, Sturgeon, Bear, Fox, Deer, Beaver, Snow, and Wolf. In contrast, the Aztalan have been thought by many to be cannibals, though this has never been definitely proven by archaeological excavation. See, for example http://archives.chicagotribune.com/1982/06/20/page/2.tribe18/article/mystery-of-wisconsins-cannibal-indian-tribe. The remains of their medieval city survives in Jefferson County, Wisconsin.]

“Maybe the Patata will still be there when we visit them,” enthused Bagoas, twisting his thumb into Bruckner's shoulder-blades. “I'm sure their women are very pretty.”

“They grow a strange sort of vegetable also called patatas,” added the bishop, scratching his ear, “which look like apples with thick, dirty skins.”

“Maybe I should roast one of these patatas fruit in a fire and spread lard on it,” said Bagoas, sticking his sharp fingernails into Bruckner's backside. “It would hopefully taste better than boiled turnips.”

“But who discovered this Golden City of Yabar on the west coast of Nouveau Gaulle?” inquired Duncan, dipping his tongue into his insipid rosé.

“That was the Chinese general Wanyan Loushi,” replied Bruckner, wriggling in pain, “in 1128 AD and at the height of the reign of Emperor Taizong of Jin. He sailed his gargantuan fleet between two promontories and into a mighty bay.”

“Only according to the charlatan Marco Polo, I would presume,” responded Duncan, with a dark frown.

“That's another story.”

“Well anyway, my dear friends,” enthused the happy Bishop Aeneas. “If everything goes according to plan, you'll be setting sail from Marseilles on the next Summer solstice. Two lateen-rigged caravels will have arrived by then from Trieste to take you on your top secret voyage of discovery. Strong oaken booms have been secured horizontally to their mainmasts.”

“We will return by the Summer Solstice of 1457,” added Franz Bruckner, straightening his gown. “so that I can cherish my ten love puppets on Lake Garda.”

Bagoas frowned and darkened his brow. “Methinks I'll bring my good wife Meg with me. I have no need of stupid puppets.”

“But will the winter be warm?” inquired Duncan, quickly changing the subject.

“There will be enough snow and ice to freeze your monkeys off,” replied Franz, staring rudely at Bagoas.

“A toast to the success of your mission, and felicitations to dear Bishop Aeneas on achieving his anniversary,” announced Count René, whilst his boss-eyed slave refilled his watchful master's crystal glass with fizzy, bubbly wine.

“Send out the girls so that we may know them!” yelped the dissolute Aeneus P., taking a gulp of his tepid rosé.

Duncan caught a whiff of noxious odour and saw a pool of piddle at the holy bishop's feet.

“Do try to be more careful, Your Grace,” suggested Franz Bruckner, smirking a touch impolitely.

“I'm glad you'll soon be in another continent,” growled Aeneas P.

During the months that followed, Meg agreed to accompany Bagoas on the forthcoming voyage to Patowmeck, and arranged to leave her pretty laddie Simeon in Countess Ruth's safekeeping in the Château Carmel.

Ruth appointed several local women and a nurse to also tend to her five children in Sephora so that she could relax in her boudoir and conservatory in her own special way. The tall Swiss amputee Bernard Bernoulli was always ready to lend a helping hand. The countess would, thereby, experience few difficulties in coping with her finances and affairs of business.

Bishop Aeneas sent Duncan a stash of gold from Duke Ladislaus the Posthumous, reputedly the most prickly fashion-monger in all of Austria, and asked him to purchase a large collection of modestly priced paintings and portraits. The idea was to trade these with the peaceful Sac for any items of value which they wished to offer in return.

Consequently, Duncan, Meg and Ruth took time out to tour the galleries of Montpellier, Marseilles and Nice seeking the sorts of artwork which might appeal to the Sac. They also purchased a dozen or so small Grecian statuettes.

As an afterthought, Duncan decided to also load several crates packed with jars of marmelada onto the caravels, since he thought they might appeal to the palates of the Patata. Bagoas purchased several barrels of especially rich mead so he could splice the mainbrace.

Count René very wisely advised Duncan and Bagoas that it would be best to present themselves in Patowmeck as unarmed explorers, without any religious affectation or affiliation. Nevertheless, Captain Bagoas de Frêne made plans to stow a bundle of weaponry in the holds of each ship, and he borrowed two small cannon from La Compagnie de Marseilles to hide in the prows.

The Countess Ruth was standing staring on the quayside with a solemn-looking Bernard Bernoulli during the morning of the Summer Solstice of 1457, when the Yvonne raised anchor and slipped quietly out of the Harbour of Marseilles.

Duncan, Meg, Bagoas were standing in hooded gowns on the quarterdeck with the captain of the ship, whilst the navigator Franz Bruckner peered from the prow. The Yvonne was followed, under a similar cloak of secrecy, by L' Esprit d' Aventure.

The dwarfs who worked long hours in Le Soldat de L'Étain Inn came out and waved good-bye to their kindly proprietors Bagoas and Meg as they left on their foolhardy trip.

The rabbit-eared dwarf from the palace in Mantua peered in a mirror and thought he saw a refection of an Italian duchess perched on the mast on the second caravel. But it was the gunwale girl from Monaco instead. Her main duty was to peer over the side of the boat for fish.

And when the caravels passed the Commandry of the Knights Hospitaller of Saint John to their starboard, they ploughed straight on through the rolling waves to the west.

A couple of months later, the lovely Countess Ruth rubbed her pert belly whilst taking a stroll along the cliff top.

“Moses wept bushes of fire!” she exclaimed. “I do believe that I'm expecting my sixth pretty baby sooner than anticipated. I wonder who the dear Papa can be?”

“How many possibilities are there?” inquired the studious Bernard Bernoulli, who was always interested in a mathematical calculation.

The Countess counted her fingers. “Let me see: Un, deux, trois. Yes! That's all that there can be.”

“That gives me a propensity of one chance in three,” concluded Bernard, gripping his wooden crutch and staring out to sea.

When the Yvonne and L' Esprit d' Aventure tacked past Gibraltar, Duncan was scared that the Marinid galleons would come out and squash them like ducks. But when they sailed through the Straights of Hercules into the Sea of Atlas and turned towards Cape Trafalgar, Duncan felt like an eagle with unclipped wings.

Franz, the extraordinary Papal Navigator told the pilot to steer straight across the Gulf of Cadiz before following the Portuguese coast to the north.

Duncan spent the time meditating in the gentle sea breeze, and thoughts drifted into his head about the time he'd visited Rum and Eigg in his youth. But, just as the Cuillin Hills on Skye flashed into his mind, the great estuary of the Tagus burst into view straight ahead.

Bagoas thought they'd be mooring in the Port of Lisbon for a meal and a rest. But a Portuguese man-o'-war came out to challenge them. Thereupon, to Bagoas's grave disappointment, Franz Bruckner suddenly ordered “Gybe!”

Meg was wondering who the incisive navigator was gibing at when the boom swung swiftly over the deck. Bagoas had to duck to avoid decapitation! Meanwhile, the Yvonne turned a full quarter circle and headed due west.

“Patowmeck is way straight ahead now,” clarified Bruckner. “If it becomes cloudy, I'll use my sextant when the weather clears to compare the angles to the Planet Venus and the Belt of Orion.”

“I hope we have enough provisions for the journey,” responded Duncan, scratching his head,

“That's your business, you fool, but I'll drink the last flagon of claret red.”

As the weeks rolled by, Duncan became ever more relieved by the calm weather and favourable breeze. While Franz Bruckner was constantly fiddling with his sextant, he mainly used it to record the path of the sun as the skies in the west began to turn pink with red streaks late in the evening. And not once were they becalmed for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Finally, Bagoas noticed a strange, bright blue bird sitting atop of the mast with an orange flower in its beak. Land must be ahead, he presumed.

Duncan was feeling thirsty and ravenously hungry by the time they sighted the low coastline of Nouveau Gaulle, and he felt attracted by the curiously wavering, light green trees and bushes. As the caravels steered closer, a long, sandy, white beach came into view. The captains of the caravels promptly ordered the boatswains to drop anchor, to give Franz a chance to ascertain their whereabouts.

When Franz stepped into the fo'c's'le to peruse one of the parchments that accompanied his map, a couple of dozen brightly-dressed natives, wearing coloured feather head-dresses, suddenly appeared on the shore, brandishing axes, swords, and spears.

The ships from France promptly slung their hooks and hurried out to sea. Thereupon, Captain Bagoas de Frêne was aghast to see several dark-haired fellows hauling a massive cannon onto the beach in all their pale-skinned glory.

The gun looks as if it was manufactured in Flanders, thought Bagoas, as several shots fell well short of the caravels, and it's of a type they make for the army of Castile. I wonder when the king of that den of vice last stuck his oar into Nouveau Gaulle? Maybe the gunners are Hispanic prisoners of war.

“This island has been visited from Europe more often than the Vatican has led us to believe,” fumed Duncan, blowing his top.

“Take me home to Marseilles!” shrieked Meg. “Though I'd prefer to grace the moors of Devonshire once again and its heavenly pastures to roam.”

Franz Bruckner emerged from the fo'c's'le flourishing an ancient parchment.

“The Beach of the Virgins is notoriously dangerous,” he explained, whilst pointing at a promontory a short distance to the north. “We must steer to the larboard past the Cape of the Sea-Devils since it marks the entrance to Patowmeck Bay. It is unwise to enter the Rappahannock River to the west because of the vicious small crocodiles. However, the next river we reach is itself called the Patowmeck, and the Patata Clan of the Sac once lived several miles up the Patowmeck at a place where it narrows into a wide stream.”

The waves became gentler when the caravels entered the formidably long bay. After they passed the estuary of the Rappahannock, Bagoas saw a cluster of stark-naked, white-skinned men with red hair performing a war-dance around a stake which was burning from the fire beneath.

Is that a cruel sort of Scythian orgy? wondered Bagoas, when the tall maiden tied to the stake inhaled a puff of smoke.

She could be Jeanne D'Arc! lamented Duncan, as the brave girl raised her head.

They look like well-hung Vikings to me, thought Meg, when they doused the flames with water. I wonder where they jumped out of?

When they tacked to the larboard and turned into the Patowmeck River, Duncan thought he was in Paradise; the air became more fragrant, the currents twisted and turned towards him in a manner quite different from the Ouse and the Rhône, and the birds and grasshoppers twittered strange noises in the vegetation along the banks. And what was that strange fish with a beak like a sword?

The river twisted and turned like the Seine, and Duncan wondered when Rouen would come into sight. However, Meg suddenly shrieked in dismay. The river ahead split into two, and from the tributary to the starboard there swooped a swarm of fierce birds with heads like chicken but resembling vultures.

“It's the River of the Buzzards!” howled Franz Bruckner, diving into the fo'c's'le for cover.

Bagoas heaved a sigh of relief when the buzzards veered to their right and headed up the river to his ship's larboard. And while Bruckner was wondering what to suggest next, Meg saw the top of a tall stone plinth a short distance to the east of that picturesque river of yore,

Thereupon, the captains ordered the pilots to steer their caravels to the larboard. And, lo and behold! Patowmeck, the fabled city of the Patata and Hen clans of the Sac, loomed into sight to the starboard.

The city largely consisted of thousands of round, domed shelters made from animal hides and saplings, which the inhabitants called wigwams. The stone plinth that arose from the middle of the wondrous city, was fully two hundred feet high and decorated with carvings of the eight immortal Chinese gods. The population were hemmed in from the north by the less peaceable, less organised Nacotchtank, and the Sac felt safer travelling by canoe in that general direction rather than on foot.

The brave explorers moored the ships from France a safe distance from the shore and between two wooden jetties that had been kept in good repair. Orders were issued for all hands to remain aboard until the reactions of the natives could be observed and put to the test.

Several neatly dressed children with well-polished teeth emerged from their wigwams, wandered down to the riverside, and stared. A couple of them shouted and screeched, whereupon the adults streamed out of their dwellings, attired in well-laundered cotton gowns. They lined the banks smiling sweetly and with a touch of condescension.

Everybody went quiet when the handsome, thirty year old Chief Kekoko of the Patata strode through the wigwams in his fine silver tunic.

Who are these brigands? wondered the thoughtful chieftain. The Christians invariably try to pull the wool over our eyes, and they're always out to cause trouble and mayhem. But I'll try to draw them into our fold, and to teach them the peaceful nature of the Tao. What fools! They were taught the meaning of the Way in ancient Jerusalem, but have elaborated it with false platitudes long since. They called it Ariel's New Way rather than the Way of Tao.

After several minutes of earnest conversation with Chief Kekoko, the clamouring crowds began to beckon and wave, as if to encourage the explorers to disembark onto their turf.

I am such a wretched person, mused Duncan, and yet I have the temerity to intrude upon these wonderful people. I must be be careful to abide by their time-honoured customs and eternal wisdom.

While the plain green flags were being lowered from the main-masts, Duncan, Bagoas and Meg descended to the hold to choose suitable presents. Meg selected a delightful framed, miniature portrait of the beautiful twelfth century Queen of England, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Duncan preferred a small marble statuette that was thought to be a copy of Praxiteles' much larger Eros of Thespaie. But Bagoas contented himself with filling a basket with pots of Portuguese marmelada.

When the three adventurers emerged onto the middle deck of the Yvonne, the resplendent flag of the House of Valois was raised to the pinnacle of each of the two mainmasts. Bagoas and Meg were wearing flowing white robes, while Duncan was dressed in a smart, light blue costume and red hose, his chest adorned with the Saltire of Scotland.

Duncan and his two English lovers were rowed ashore in the skiff Montpellier by the dashing deckhand Xavier de Rougerie of Toulon, and they were greeted at one of the jetties by a bevy of pretty girls with posies of forget-me-nots. Meanwhile, Franz Bruchner, who'd set up his easel on the quarterdeck of the Yvonne, started to paint a picture for the Vatican.

When they set foot on terra firma, Meg presented an elderly woman wearing a necklace of pearls with her miniature of Queen Eleanor. The woman expressed considerable delight and gave Meg a tiny gold nugget (as a gift rather than a form of currency).

A tiny girl ran up and pointed at Duncan's leather face mask, and all the other children promptly recoiled in mock horror. At that, the chieftain walked up, removed Duncan's mask from his face, threw it into the Patowmeck river, and the kindly children fell to their knees flourishing their arms in admiration and praise.

“Patata?” enquired Duncan, when he addressed a tall medicine man with silver teeth.

“Hen,” replied the elegant Shaman, shaking his head.

But several children ran up, waving brownish-grey vegetables in their hands.

“Patatas” they shrieked, in glee, amidst peals of laughter.

Inspired by the jollity of the moment, Bagoas handed around the jars of marmelada from his basket. A tiny girl in a feather headdress dipped her finger into her marmaleda, licked it and squealed in delight. Her big sister cut her patata in two with her knife and spread the marmaleda thick on both halves. A boy made a greedy grab for one of the pieces, munched into it, and howled 'Yum!'. Thereupon, all the other children thronged around, hoping for a taste of this miraculous new paste from another world.

When Chief Kekoko returned in all his finery, Duncan presented him with his marble statuette of Eros, the Greek god of attraction and desire. The chieftain gave the Scot a crafty wink, together with a solid gold mask of his noble grandfather. To cap that, the chieftain gave the sturdy oarsman Xavier de Rougerie an exquisite silver and jade bracelet. Xavier was besides himself in joy. Little did he realise who would be beside him later.

Thereupon, all of the Sac waved their hands, Patata and Hen in divine unison together, and welcomed the crews of the caravels onto dry land, where they partied into the night and way through the early hours.

During that convivial evening, Duncan, Meg, and Bagoas, ambled arm-in-arm, to the market square, where they admired bizarre decorations on the tall Plinth of Nüwa, the Chinese goddess who created mankind and repaired the pillar of heaven. They were wondering how the plinth arrived there, when they were approached by two curiously dressed natives both of mixed race, with coloured feathers in their hair.

The man was about forty years old, swarthy and dark-haired. He was wearing a green and red chequered tunic with yellow hose down to his knees. The woman was much younger, with a chubby, round face. She was wearing a purple banbi robe with sleeves down to her wrists.

The man peered at the Saltire on Duncan's chest. When the curious man spoke, it was in a mixture of the Scots tongue and ancient Gaelic (which I, the White Witch of the Esk Burn, as always, dutifully translate):

“Hail, fellow Scotsman! I am Mack Fearchair and this is my squaw Ming Mei. We're members of the Hen clan of the mighty Sac.”

“Greetings, Mack,” Duncan replied, with due courtesy and without batting an eyelid. “I am Duncan Cotter from East-Lothian. What brings you to these parts?”

“My grandpa Fearghas came here in 1390 from the Port of Leith as one of a group of rebels trying to avoid capture and execution by the bad new king. Fearghas’s ship, the Balliol of Balloch sailed up the Rappahannock only to be brutally attacked by Nacotchtank warriors and set upon by alligators. Fearghas and three other survivors managed to swim across the Patowmeck and find sanctuary in this welcoming city.”

“And they sired broods of children with lots of happy descendants who've spoken in the Scots dialect ever since,” added Bagoas, with a courteous smile.

“How astute you are for an Englishman!”

“But why is there a Chinese plinth in this market place?” asked Duncan, peering upwards.

“The Patata say that it was already here when they arrived many centuries ago,” replied Mack, with a grin, “but they've never ever worshipped a Chinese God or Goddess since,”

“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed Meg, performing the Sign of the Cross.

Mack gave Ming Mei a quiet nudge. “But the Chinese do send their Taoist Apostles here once in a while, and that has affected our way of thinking in this peaceful city, as well as, in small part, our ancestry.”

Bagoas smiled at that, and gave Ming Mei a saucy wink.

“Do the Hen tend to the hens?” he somewhat discourteously inquired.

“Something like that, you impertinent rascal,” replied Mack. “But our hens are much larger than your hens. They're more like pheasants with coats of many colours.”

“In that case you should call them pheasants.”

“What a tease you are! Some tribes call them turks since they were first brought to this island by a Turk from Mongolia.”

“I'll remember that when I'm roasting my turk for supper,” joked Bagoas, with a gleam in his eye.

“On that tender note,” said Mack, with a humorous smile, “I would like to welcome you, Duncan Cotter to this city, according to an ancient Christian custom the even more tender consequences of which you cannot graciously decline. Please honour me by taking my squaw to your bed for this single night in your ship, but treat her in a manner divine.”

He thinks it's accepted Scottish practice to acknowledge the rights of seniors, deliberated Duncan, though only the English knights demand favours like that. And Ming Mei is a mite pretty. I'll recite a hundred 'Hail Mary's' afterwards.

“That is a kindly offer that I cannot politely refuse,” he replied, proffering the pleasant Hen woman his hand, and a kiss.

Thereupon, Duncan spent the night on his wide berth in the stern of the Yvonne, in fond embrace with Ming Mei and Meg, but Bagoas woke up in the morning glowing in delight.

“Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated,” said Ming Mei, when she rose from her slumbers.

All of that was after the handsome deckhand Xavier de Rougerie was carried off, flexing his biceps, to a wigwam in the mystical woods. The medicine man of the Patata offered the bold lad a cup of pear juice, and treated him with great respect while teaching him a few traditional tricks. But when the Shaman discovered that Xavier was circumcised, he produced a pipe of peace and engaged the youth in intelligent conversation.

Meanwhile the gunwale girl from Monaco was taken to the chieftain's wigwam in mock bondage. Chief Kekoko smiled when she dropped to her knees, whereupon she gritted her teeth and demanded a jolie bien tease.

During the months that followed, Duncan was to discover than the Patata and Hen were loveable people in a class of their own, who catered to the needs of every single person in the community and of strangers who appeared from elsewhere. They fed and protected the sick, the crippled and the blind, and built extraordinarily comfortable wigwams for the elderly. Where possible, they helped people in a manner which would help them to fend for themselves and to make some contribution, however small, to the community, such as the design of a brooch, or the invention of a better way to milk the cows or of a new ball game for the children to play.

While the Patata and Hen traded in goods with outsiders, Duncan was pleased that they did not understand the notion of money.

Their manner of trading is much less harmful than the exploitative financial system that Count René advocates in Provence, thought Duncan. And Bernard Bernoulli's new notion of 'capital' is most unfortunate. If we keep needing to increase our capital at a steady rate then we could drive all the Celtic peasants in Devon across the Tamar for the sake of breeding more cattle! Or maybe King Athelstan already did that? I can't rightly remember.

The citizens of Patowmeck gathered their crops and hunted for wild prey in the vast pastures and forests between the River of the Buzzards and the long bay where they fished. They also hunted on the misshapen Sea-Devil peninsula across the bay, as far as the City of Atlas, a thriving seaport which was populated by the Ocean clan of the Sac.

Come November it became mighty cold as the snow came down and the rivers froze into ice. Bagoas was scared that his ears, nose, and other extremities would drop off. But the Sac gave the Europeans plenty of furs and let them sleep by the fires in their wigwams. And it was such fun to take out the bows and arrows and go hunting for reindeer, bears and wild boar in the woods.

Xavier de Rougerie was feeling frosty and cold when he went to be scolded by Duncan in the copse by the icicled brook. He was a dark-haired, clean-shaven fellow of medium height, with thighs like an elk.

“How dare you pull that stuff with the medicine man,” raged Duncan, “and play like that with the squaws! I'll make you climb the masts, scrub the decks, and empty the cess buckets overboard.”

“I'm already scrubbing the decks and climbing the masts,” raved Xavier, with a token flinch, “and I'll pour the buckets of crap over the quarter deck to smooth your pretty feet when they emerge from the quagmire of your shit.”

Duncan fluttered his eyelashes a touch too provocatively at the energetic lad, and blurted. “At least scrubbing puts you in your place, pretty boy.”

Xavier recoiled in distaste. “You think I'm a piece of cheap,” he howled, “but I'll become an important man of business when I'm older, like my grandfather of Toulon before me.”

“I'm sorry,” apologised Duncan. “I have obviously undervalued your true talents.”

“More fool you,” chuckled Xavier. “Now away with you to your spidery web.”

Mack MacFear, elder of the Hen, was watching that tender scene from behind a bristly bush.

He kept his thoughts, and his envy, to himself, for the moment at least.

In April, the weather became much warmer, but Chief Kekoko was appalled when Princess Wingrona of the Beaver clan of the Sac crawled into the city with three half-frozen female followers. The right arm of one of the poor girls had been gnawed off as far as the elbow.

The chieftain realised that the princess had travelled an extremely long distance through the snow and ice. The Beaver clan lived way west, past the Great Lake Misbigami. Kekoko remembered from his childhood that their village was nestled close to the sacred mounds of their ancestors between the tiny lakes Monona and Mendota (the mystical Lakes of the Sunrise and Sunset) which formed the shape of a butterfly; a more beautiful spot he couldn't think of.

The princess scarcely shed a tear when she broke the news that most of her clan had been wiped out during a ferocious attack by the Aztalan, a tribe of cannibals who lived in nomadic camps way to the north of the sacred lakes. She explained that Copperviper, the crazy Chief of the Aztalan had requested her hand in marriage, but she'd treated the offer suspiciously because the barbaric tribe were thought to have spewed out of a volcano and had, moreover, been driven out of their walled city by terrified neighbours many decades previously.

When the princess persistently begged to decline, the Aztalan burnt her village and devoured all the Sac within it. That was with the exception of the princess and her three hand maidens who'd endeavoured to escape on swift horses (the brave steeds having recently perished in the collapsing ice on a lonely river).

Princess Wingrona was scared that Chief Copperviper might have compulsively followed her, and she didn't know which way to run. Chief Kekoko gladly welcomed the brave Sac women into his city, but felt most concerned as to how he should react should the princess's worst fears be realised.

And realised the fears were a week or so later, when a muscular lad burst into the chieftain's wigwam and told him that some wild men were encamped a couple of miles away on the bank of the River of the Buzzards, and that they were roasting an angry Nacotchtank warrior on their fire while cutting him to shreds with their long, razor-edged knives.

Chief Kekoko contemplated the intricacies of the ancient philosophies of the Patata, and sighed. After much further thought, he asked Duncan Le Cottier to take him to the Aztalan camp on one of his caravels, bearing the pipes of peace.

Duncan was agreeable to the Chief's unexpected request, but asked Captain Bagoas de Frêne to conceal a cannon in the prow of the L'Esprit d'Aventure, to bring loaded crossbows, pikes, and swords up from the hold, and to put them under a tarpaulin on the middle deck in case of dire necessity.

Duncan stood with Chief Kekoko and Mack Fearchair on the quarterdeck while Bagoas strutted on the forecastle, as the L'Esprit d'Aventure set off on that fateful trip through the surviving floes of ice. When they sailed into the River of the Buzzards there wasn't a bird in sight. However, when they ventured a mile further, Bagoas saw a plume of smoke rising from a meadow to the larboard.

When they drew closer, Duncan was appalled to see several Aztalan devouring human arms, legs, and offal, and an unfortunate squaw secured in the dreaded upturned iron claws of Aztalan antiquity.

Thereupon, an ugly warrior in a black head-dress ran forwards and hurled a spear at the caravel. It clattered onto the quarterdeck, lodging itself in the planks between Mack Fearchair's legs.

Mack simply stood there, and prayed.

But that was enough for Captain Bagoas de Frêne.

“Fire!” he cried, and the cannon hidden in the prow below him dutifully obliged.

Chief Copperviper of the Aztalan was blown to smithereens where he stood. His head flew through the air and landed in a bush of thorns.

“Crossbows!” howled Bagaos; his archers released their bolts, and a dozen wild warriors fell stiffly to the ground before they could e'er raise a sword.

That wasn't sufficient for the platoon of troopers on the caravel. They leapt onto the bank, chased after the remaining Aztalan, and cut their throats from ear to ear. Xavier de Rougerie bravely followed them and saved the timid squaw from the upturned Aztalan claws.

While Duncan was mopping his brow, Chief Kekoko collapsed in a fret. His pipe of peace was broken by his fall, and it lay in several pieces on the quarterdeck.

When they returned to the city, with the head of Chief Copperviper stupidly impaled on a pike in the prow, Duncan sensed a feeling of relief, but not of celebration. It dawned on him that the inhabitants might resent violence of any kind even if it was in their own defence. He indeed experienced an uncomfortable tension between himself and Chief Kekoko that evening over supper,

A couple of days later, Mack Fearchair visited Duncan on the Yvonne.

“I'm sorry,” said Mack, “but the Council of Elders has decided that it's time for you all to leave. I'm sure that you have by now realised that we cannot tolerate violence of any kind, whatever the excuse. We will, nevertheless, fill the hold of L'Esprit d'Aventure with gold ornaments in exchange for the artwork you brought for us. And we will provision the Yvonne with a clutch of turk hens, a single crowing cock of their species, and several crate-loads of patatas.”

“At least the crowing cock will entertain us during our long voyage home,” Duncan dryly replied, while feeling most upset with himself, and with Mack.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” added Fearchair. “We'll throw in a couple of medicine bundles too. Your disgraceful deckhand Xavier learnt about various herbal remedies while he was spinning his stuff with our Shaman, and I understand that you learnt a few bits and pieces yourself while the wicked youth was embarrassing himself with the squaws.”

While Duncan was pleased to be returning with so much loot, he was sad to have been asked so sharply to leave a city that was so much at peace.

“Chief Kekoko doesn't understand why you call our island Nouveau Gaulle,” said the split-brained Mack, when the caravels were ready to raise anchor. “Indeed, he finds it to be quite patronising. When a Visigoth explorer discovered us many centuries ago, he named it Amairick.”

The all-knowing Asherah breaks into tears whenever she remembers what happened to the peace-loving Patata and Hen of Patowmeck when the English settlers came from across the sea and sent them on a painful Odyssey to the windswept plains of the East.

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                                                      CHAPTER 17