The Legend of Broken (110 page)

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“‘… plum brandy … 
Slivevetz
 …’”
Gibbon takes this claim at its face value, either because he is unconcerned with the history of particular forms of alcohol or because he has no reason to dispute the claim. In more recent times, however, it’s been postulated that brandy (or “brandy wine”), the distilled form of wine, was not invented until after the turn of the first millennium, despite references to it in various Dark Age histories and heroic tales (which, as has already been discussed, were often the same thing). This discrepancy may be accounted for by the possibility that brandy was being made long before its recipe was written down and formalized by the monks and other vintners of the French province of Cognac; or it may be one of many proofs that minor as well as major inventions were little noted until they appeared in one of the “great” European states, among which the kingdoms of the Balkan region—the original home of plum brandy—were certainly not ranked, at this time as during our own era. Interestingly, however, Heldo-Bah gives a name for the drink,
slivevetz,
that, once we account for the vowel shift of Old High German, is very close to one of the many Balkan variations on the name of the libation,
slivovitz,
derived from
sliva,
the Slavic word for “plum”; and anyone who has encountered that drink today (particularly in the immensely potent forms that its not-for-export variations take) can attest to the continued and rather shattering power of what has formally become the national drink of Serbia. —C.C.

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napthes
More on this subject will follow; for now, it is safe to say that
napthes
was an archaic German (perhaps Broken) dialectal term for
naphtha,
which, particularly in its early days, could take the form of anything from mineral spirits to low-grade gasoline; and that Caliphestros’s future statements about it may well contribute to unraveling one of the great riddles, not only of Broken’s history, but of military history, more generally. —C.C.

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“‘Ther is moore broke in Brokynne, thanne ever was knouen so.’”
Gibbon’s lack of any explanation for the appearance of what is the solitary sentence written in Middle English in the entire Manuscript may be a demonstration of the level of scholarship during his era; we simply don’t know. Fortunately, the meaning of the phrase is quite clear. —C.C.

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“‘… evil vapor or bad air …’”
Gibbon did not bother refuting or moderating such references, of which there are several in the Manuscript, because he couldn’t—the science of infectious disease in his time did not yet allow him to. —C.C.

III: Stone

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Radelfer
One can’t say with any real certainty (and, perhaps because of that, Gibbon makes no attempt at all), but this name appears to arrive from another ancient popular Germanic name denoting at once “counselor” and “wolf”—an entirely appropriate connotation, given the role this Radelfer played in the Baster-kin family, and especially in the life of Rendulic Baster-kin. Indeed, it is entirely possible that he changed his name, or that it was changed for him, when he was chosen from the ranks of the Talons to watch over the scion of the Merchant Lord’s family. —C.C.

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megrem
The youthful Rendulic’s condition can be readily identified as “migraine”:
megrem
is evidently some sort of precursor to Middle English’s
megrim,
the word used to identify what had been, since ancient times, a well-known and extensively described condition. Gibbon’s failure to take note of this passage may have grown out of his considering its explanation obvious, although it seems more likely that his silence was caused by his aversion to discussing chronic ailments—a habit that grew out of his self-consciousness concerning his own incurable condition,
hydrocele testis,
a swelling of one or the other testicle that, in an age when the fashion was tight-fitting trousers, was not only painful and serious but the source of enormous embarrassment for him. —C.C.

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“… a healthy manhood …”
Before anyone thinks all this some kind of witchcraft or fanciful explanation, we should note, as Gibbon was in no position to do, that for hundreds of years, traditional healers had been successfully treating the terrible symptoms of migraine with a combination of strong opiates, willow barks, and “nutleaf,” a translation, in this case, of the German
Mutterkraut,
the term for the flowering, daisy-like plant we call “feverfew”:
Tanacetum parthenium,
or, variously,
Chrysanthemum parthenium,
an anti-inflammatory still in wide use by homeopaths, and of interest to Western doctors for its possible efficacy in inhibiting cancer cell growth. —C.C.

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Healer Raban
This is apparently an ancient Germanic name denoting “raven”—not the most propitious association for a healer, but not an uncommon sort of appellation, either: it was often popular to give healers of the time, who were seen primarily as ghoulish tormentors whose successful remedies were dependant on unseen forces far beyond their own control or ken, names and macabre accoutrements that matched their miserable systems of knowledge and rates of success. Healers whose work actually could approach systemization and higher rates of success, at the same time, were treated even with even more distrust; for their every advance inevitably called into question some central tenet of one of the new monotheistic faiths (as the cases of Gisa, Isadora, and most of all Caliphestros demonstrate). —C.C.

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Klauqvest
As was often the case with some of the more arcane or titillating, yet academically inexplicable, aspects of the Manuscript, Gibbon touched on this name only obliquely: he seems to have been convinced that further explorations into the Gothic tongue would one day show that
Klauqvest
was a name given by the man’s parents to reflect their reaction, not only to the disease from which he suffered all his life, which seems to have been leprosy—and, probably, something even more devastating, for he clearly lacks the immunity to superficial pain that marked so many lepers—but also an apparent deformity of the hands, almost certainly in evidence since birth and not at all uncommon within the annals of medicine. The fusion of the skin and muscle, and sometimes even the bone, of the fingers, so that the hands resemble the claws of crustaceans—a disease known as
ectrodactylism
—was documented long before discovery of this Manuscript, and before Grady Franklin Stiles (1937–1992) became the popular freak show performer “Lobster Boy.” And, since
klau
can be easily identified, in many German dialects, as meaning “claw,” we can be sure of the meaning of the first syllable, while the second,
qvist,
is easily conjectured—or so, apparently, said Gibbon’s translator: “To those who have labored to understand Gothic,” Gibbon wrote, “it is the root of a term denoting ‘destruction,’ the inserted ‘v’ being a misread ‘u,’ which would nearly always have been paired, as it still is paired, with ‘q’ in Germanic-Anglo-Saxon languages, giving us a name implying some sort of ‘destruction’ or ‘death’ by ‘claw’—ultimately an ironic, to say nothing of cruel, name to have given this unfortunate fellow.” —C.C.

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“… bearing a towel …”
The latter is yet another word that may strike the modern audience as being anachronistic and contemporary, but which, it is worth noting, not only is in fact quite old, but has roots in the two languages that Gibbon and his translator of the Manuscript were both convinced made up the principal influences on the Broken dialect: Old High German (the antecedent word being
dwahilla
) and Gothic (
thwahl
). —C.C.

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Loreleh
This is a variation on the ancient Germanic name
Lorelei,
the alteration in its final syllable accounted for by the vowel shift of Old High German. It connotes a “luring rock,” and is the Germanic variation of the Sirens’ Song, referring to a beautiful female spirit or spirits who sang from a rocky point in the Rhine, luring ships and sailors to wreckage and death. —C.C.

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“‘… is clubfooted …’”
Most will be familiar with this condition, which is now quite correctable through surgery, but was once the incurable source of enormous humiliation, even for the great and admired, from the Roman emperor Claudius to Lord Byron. The Latin name for the condition—
talipes equinovarus
—is still the medically technical term, strangely, for it means “horse foot,” or “foot (and ankle) like a horse,” as it causes the ankle to be drawn upward like a horse’s foot, while the rest of the foot is bent inward, sometimes in an unsightly enough manner that it could be cause for severe mockery and even persecution in ancient and medieval societies. —C.C.

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Chen-lun
As stated earlier, we can do little more than speculate as to any Hunnish names across which we run, explaining why Gibbon ignores the name. But if we do engage briefly in such speculation, we find that
Chen-lun
suggests some sort of Chinese influence, turning us back to the ancient theory of the relationship between the Huns and their supposed ancestors, the Xiongnu (against whom, primarily, the Chinese built their Great Wall). If we were forced to translate it into a modern Chinese dialect, for example, we would find a general meaning along the lines of “morning flower” (or “bright orchid,” more particularly); whereas, if required to translate the name into one of the principal modern Western descendants of Hunnish (or Hunnic)—for instance, Hungarian—we draw an almost complete blank. And, since “Morning Flower” and “Bright Orchid” are both suitable names for a princess drawn or descended from an important family, it seems safe to go with such a translation, for the purposes of understanding not only this particular mystery of the Manuscript, but also for the question of why Chen-lun seems to have features that are neither particularly Hunnish nor Chinese. In fact, we may well glean more from certain details of the “handmaiden’s” appearance, as explained in the text, than we do from her mistress’s name. —C.C.

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“… properly brewed wild hops …”
There is much speculation that hops, having pseudo-narcotic properties, as explained earlier, were used first for medicinal purposes, and only later for beer; this would doubtless have given their original purpose a “proper” connotation, and aided in the understanding of the behavior of young people who imbibed great quantities of beer made with hops. —C.C.

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Ju
The name of Chen-lun’s “handmaiden” (actually, one gets the feeling, her bodyguard) is another that appears—not surprisingly, by now—without note from Gibbon, and faces the same translational problems as that of Nuen and Chen-lun. Indeed we can learn more about this woman from the weapon she carries than from the name itself; for the only definite result we can find for the name
Ju
is a Chinese girl’s name connoting “chrysanthemum”: not a particularly apt term for this woman. On the other hand, it is true that combat knives of the type carried horizontally, as here, were specific to the “Black” or Western Huns who invaded northern Europe (in contrast to the Hephthalite or Eastern Huns, who relied more often on a single sword as they moved into areas to the south, regions we know as Turkey, Iran, and Hungary, among others). The appearance and names of both Chen-lun and Ju, therefore, are perhaps less important than this lone dagger —C.C.

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“… Lady Baster-kin’s shadow …”
Here, Gibbon writes, “In more than one ancient culture, we find reference to the closest of servants, especially a woman’s, referred to as a ‘shadow,’ a term that evidently included some sort of protective role, and could be either a man or woman, though most often, of course, the latter.” This may or may not have something to do with our own familiar modern term—usually, now, a verb—to “shadow” someone, which originally was used in a protective, as well as a detective, sense. —C.C.

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Adelwülf
Gibbon writes, “It is perhaps surprising, given how much they were feared—particularly in those northern European regions where the scarcity of food in winter has always made them a particular threat—that wolves have always figured prominently in the mythologies and nomenclatures of tribal-based nationalities.
Adelwülf,
for example, is plainly the Broken dialectic form of a name, common to all such areas, which translates as ‘noble wolf.’” What Gibbon could not have known was a stigma would eventually be attached to the modern form of this name, due, obviously, to a quite modern man who was enormously preoccupied with likening the troops and sailors of his fatherland to wolves, in the most sinister sense:
Adolf
Hitler. —C.C.