by Caleb Carr
But it is in trying to interpret the name Heldo-Bah that we observe Gibbon at his most imaginative, and even whimsical: “It is my contention,” he wrote, “that we [of the British Isles] may claim this remarkable little fellow as one of our own: not only because of the filed teeth, a practice not unknown among such primitive tribes as the Picts, but because he only reached Broken as a child-slave, and thus could have come from almost anywhere, including Britain. The first component of his name is clearly a Germanic interpretation of our English Hero (in modern German Held, or Helden, in the plural), a name that also comes to us from the Greeks, by way of Rome; and the dismissive-sounding bah, along with exclamations very much like it, were then already in use among Britons, Saxons, and Frisians alike—making it reasonable to assume that the boy was taken from Britain by seafaring plunderers from the North (quite probably Frisians, with whom the people of Broken apparently both fought and traded), and that these warriors took his given name of Hero and made of it a term of derision. And when the boy became a man, he likely kept the name, either because he had never learnt its meaning, or out of no more complex a cause than spite. The first of these explanations is the more likely; but the second displays a taste for irony among the Bane that we shall encounter again.” Gibbon is repeating a popular legend about the Picts filing their teeth (an idea picked up on by Robert E. Howard in his “Conan” stories); he could not have known that, if anyone filed Heldo-Bah’s teeth, it was likely those same northern captors, for Vikings, it has recently been discovered, often “beautified” their teeth in this manner. —C.C.
Daurawah Gibbon writes, “The town of Daurawah, which served as a port for Broken traders, as well as for those foreign commercial vessels that brought goods to the kingdom, was certainly located on the Saale, the river referred to in the Manuscript as ‘the Meloderna’; and should one find it difficult to believe that so obvious a group of Bane as these three foragers could have entered such a town freely, one must remember the general air in and condition of Daurawah, at this time, which is clearly elaborated in a later chapter.”
“Hafften Falls” See note concerning waterfalls in the Cat’s Paw.
oozing As mentioned in the Introductory Note, the text contains many elements and words that have a vernacular quality that might make them sound relatively modern, to our ears, but that are quite appropriate to and consistent with the era—and “oozing” is an excellent example, being derived from a Dark Ages, Middle English term for “juicing.” Conversely, words with similar meanings that might seem more formal and therefore “older”—in this case, say, “seeping”—were only coming into use at just the time that the translator was at work on the Broken Manuscript in the late eighteenth century. This fits a pattern that will soon become well established, of many onomatopoeic words that sound familiar and contemporary to our modern ears actually having deeper roots than many other, seemingly more antique words; all of which reminds us that Old High German, one of the parent languages of the Broken dialect, was perhaps the first European tongue to inspire significant written works in the vernacular; whereas the notion that barbarian and early Middle Age tales are more naturally or authentically expressed in stuffy, florid language really originates with such late medieval “courtly” writers as Thomas Malory, and especially with such revisionist Victorian interpreters as Sir Walter Scott and Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The number of modern authors who have followed in Scott’s and Tennyson’s footsteps is too high to list here, although notable exceptions—Robert E. Howard, for instance—do exist. Of course, there are also modern writers who have gone in the opposite direction, and who have characters speaking not only in the vernacular of either the actual medieval or fantasy-medieval eras, but speaking in utterly and anachronistically modern vulgarities; but they are not the concern of this study. —C.C.
“the mang-bana” Gibbon writes, “The names of the various rituals of exile, mutilation, and execution cited in the text show the entirely cosmopolitan nature of life and language in Broken. Like some of the Bane curses, the phrase mang-bana contains elements of words that have both survived into modern German (we may translate this phrase, very roughly, as ‘the exile of the imperfect’) yet also display a distinctly Gothic influence—or so, at least, we may suppose, based on our limited understanding of that language, which shows us that these words contain elements quite common, not only to Gothic names, but to Gothic terms, as well. The remainder of the Broken dialect’s peculiar vocabulary was apparently made up of words imprinted with Eastern and far more obscure origins, many of which we shall doubtless never be able to trace or identify—considering the fact that entire dialects, and even languages, that were used in Barbarian Age Europe have disappeared entirely.”
“three weeks” Although there was some variation in the number of months in the calendars of the people of Broken and the Bane, they would all seem to be broken down, as indeed were almost all calendric systems, into seven days. —C.C.
“Tayo” The name of Keera’s husband is one of several intriguing examples of Bane names which have their roots firmly in more than one of the languages that first influenced the Broken dialect. In this case, the languages are Old High German and Gothic, and the meaning is almost certainly the same as our modern Theodor or Theodore, that is, “gift” or “gift of god”—or goddess, as in this case the reference was almost certainly to the Bane’s Moon deity. —C.C.
“Sentek” The founding king of Broken must indeed have served as a Roman auxiliary warrior, as Gibbon postulates, because the system of military organization he devised so closely resembles the basics of the late Roman imperial order (with numbers of men in each unit adjusted drastically downward, obviously, given the much smaller size of the kingdom of Broken): The rank of sentek is roughly equivalent to the Roman legatus, or legion commander, while yantek corresponds to praetor (although, having no true provinces, and with the Merchants’ Council serving the function of consuls, the rank becomes simply “supreme commander” in Broken); a linnet, meanwhile, seems no different than a tribune, while a pallin is a simple legionary. A khotor is, fairly obviously, the equivalent of a legion, though taking its name from the smaller Roman unit of a cohort, and made up, in Broken, of ten fausten (sing. fauste, or “fist,” neither term to be confused with modern German’s faust or fauste, the singular and plural words for “fist.” Why the Broken dialect sometimes retained the somewhat longer versions of words may be no more cryptic than the fact that Old English did the same with words we have shortened: the very name “Broken,” for example, was rendered, in Old English, “Brokynne,” as we shall see). There also appears to have been a rank slightly beneath the linnet: lenzinnet, “first lance,” a rank that anticipated the future, equating to a grade that would exist among certain formations of modern cavalry. But more importantly, here, the rank is grounded firmly in Roman tradition, being a less formal version of that empire’s pilus prior, “first spear” (or, in the case of lenzinnet, “first lance”). The final proof of this theory of a Roman model for the Broken military is the apparently interchangeable nature, in the text (or so the translator apparently thought), of the words khotor and “legion.” —C.C.
Sixt Arnem This is a wholly German name, the components of which have been passed down intact into modern times, further supporting Gibbon’s contention of the tale’s cultural and historical plausibility. The spelling is very often changed to Arnim, although it is unclear whether this is a mistake or a mere result of translation and dialect adjustment/confusion (in Old High German, Arnim would certainly have become Arnem, in keeping with the shift by which all vowels in unstressed syllables became the short “e”); and, although the family’s original associations were, not surprisingly, military, by the mid-nineteenth century we find what are by now the von Arnems and von Arnims (von denoting “of” or “from,” and used to indicate an honorific aristocratic connection to a family home or a location of some great achievement, in the same sense that the British aristocracy uses “of”) branch
ing out into the humanities. The reason for this broadening of interests among the Prussian military caste (and most wise officers in smaller German states followed the Prussian example) is that, during the second half of the nineteenth century, it came under the increasing philosophical as well as doctrinal influence of Helmuth von Moltke, creator of the modern general staff system, military right arm of Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, architect of the wars that would fulfill Bismarck’s dream of uniting the German empire, and, finally, a firm believer that officers, especially junior officers, should train themselves as he had: nearly as much in the humanities as in purely military studies. (Women shared in the German liberal humanist movement, and the von Arnems and von Arnims were no exception: by the early twentieth century we find the wife of one of them, an Englishwoman, becoming an established enough writer that one of her books, The Enchanted April, was sufficiently well received to become the basis of two film adaptations, one in the 1930s and another, nominated for several Oscars, in 1992.)
There were generals of consequence who bore the name von Arnim (still often spelled Arnem) in the Franco-Prussian, First World, and Second World Wars; the youngest of them played an important role in Rommel’s Afrika Corps, while the eldest even bore the Christian name Sixt. However, the meaning of the name itself is obscure, as there appear to be no provinces, towns, mountains, or battles of consequence (the usual determining factors for the von honor) in modern Germany that bear the name, whatever spelling one uses—and this raises the interesting question of whether the von was intended, in this case, not to imply the usual geographical connection, but instead as a link to a distant ancestor, Sixt Arnem. —C.C.
unadorned steel plate helmet Remarkable as it may seem, little to nothing is known definitively about what “Dark Age warriors” employed for helmets and armor; and, while we know a little more about their weapons, it is only a little, forcing us to rely on the descriptions of these items in texts such as the Broken Manuscript—which, thankfully, is (as we shall see), unusually rich in its descriptions of these items, the crafting of which forms a very central part of the tale. We can divine, for instance, that this particular reference is to the basic helmet design of the early Middle Ages, which was developed among the Germanic tribes, called the Spangenhelm, spangen referring to the clasps of the metal framework of the helmet, to which varying numbers of steel plates were either welded or riveted. It became the basis for the similar Norman helmets (also unadorned, for the most part), as well as for the helmets of many other non-Germanic tribes, during this period, although just how many we cannot, of course, say; but we can add that the number of plates often depended, not only on the shape of the helmet’s dome, but on how many metal “flaps” (movable parts that were tied during battle, and swung free at other times, alternately giving protection and allowing access to the neck, ears, cheeks, nose, etc.) were incorporated into the particular design. —C.C.
khotor See note on the military organization of the Broken army, above. —C.C.
Torganian Gibbon writes, “Surely this word ‘Torganian’ is little more than a dialectal cousin of Thuringian, being as the only modern forest which closely resembles ‘Davon Wood’ in scale, impassability, and proximity to Broken (or Brocken) is that which today gives the fabled region of Thuringia its name: a wilderness which, in the period under consideration, was likely far more vast than is the already enormous woodland that we encounter in the area today. ‘Torganian’ also suggests an interesting etymology in Middle (and likely Old High) German, some melding of the concepts of ‘gateway’ and ‘pass’ or ‘passageway’: geographic features that would have been much prized, in such a landscape. The Thuringian people are thought to have been displaced by Frankish tribes in the sixth century, but whether they or anyone else ever inhabited the deepest Thuringian Forest is unclear. We do know that, at the height of Broken’s power, the dislocation of the Thuringians by the Franks had occurred south of the Erz Mountains (‘the Tombs’), from whence the ‘Torganian raiders’ seem to have originated. Thus, even if the raiders herein described as attacking Broken by way of passes through the Tombs were Franks, it is logical and perhaps even probable that so isolated a society as Broken’s would have been unaware of the shift in populations, and would have assumed that the new invaders were simply the latest generation of their ancient enemy. Whatever the case, we can only marvel at how stalwart this Arnem must indeed have been, if he could rally his men to fend off such renownedly ruthless and capable warriors as the Thuringians and the Franks for an entire winter amid high mountain snows!”
Herwald Korsar A particularly interesting name, korsar still being a German word for “corsair” or “pirate,” but Herwald being an archaic name, its meaning apparently lost to time along with its use. Following the common system for determining the origin of such appellations, especially in the early and high Middle Ages, we are forced to conclude that Herwald Korsar came from a family of river- or seafaring adventurers—but whether they acted on behalf of the kingdom of Broken, or were among the enemies who agreed to join the kingdom at the time of its unification under Oxmontrot, is a question that must remain, for the moment, unanswered. —C.C.
Korsar’s dead wife, Amalberta Gibbon writes, “The appearance of the name Amalberta is significant in helping us determine the various influences of surrounding societies on that of Broken. Amal, which appears with respectable frequency in early Germanic writings, is believed by some scholars to connote a representative of the eastern [Ostro-] Gothic royal family known as the Amelungen; whereas berta, of course, is simply another variation on the group of modern names centered on Bertha that imply ‘radiance,’ or ‘golden.’ Together, these components raise the rather interesting possibility that this wife of the supreme commander of the army of Broken—a woman who is acknowledged to be ‘foreign-born’—may in fact have been a Gothic princess of some importance.”
“some dog-bitten lunatic” This last word, when used by the soldiers and citizens of Broken, naturally has an especially pejorative connotation, its root almost certainly having been, in the Broken dialect as in English, luna, or “moon,” both based on the Latin lunaticus, or “moonstruck,” reflecting the ancient notion—which Kafrans would have highlighted, given the Bane tribe’s (as well as their own ancient) worship of that heavenly body—that the moon’s powers included the ability to cause mental illness. —C.C.
Home to the God-King Gibbon writes, “One cannot help but pay special attention to this idea of the ‘God-Kings’ of Broken, particularly given the location of the kingdom and the historical era during which it achieved its zenith of power: Germanic tribes of the Barbarian Age were well known for electing their leaders, whether they called them ‘kings’ or ‘barons.’ Such leaders, obviously, were not yet what we know as ‘divine right’ kings, nor was their power hereditary. Once again, then, the people of Broken anticipated European institutions and styles of rank by generations, if not centuries—no small accomplishment!”
Oxmontrot Of the many interesting silences that punctuate Gibbon’s comments on the Manuscript, none is more eloquent than his apparent refusal or inability to even attempt to determine the origin of this name. The most obvious and literal explanation, if we make allowances for the influence of Gothic and Old High German on the Broken dialect—which, as we have already seen and will see many more times, often reverted to what Gibbon called “phonetic approximations”—is that Oxmontrot meant simply “man as strong as three oxen,” or perhaps “man as fast as three oxen,” although this last seems less likely, as oxen have never been renowned for their speed, but rather for their plodding pace and power. But if we allow other possible meanings of the name’s components to enter the question, we find that the first two syllables in Oxmontrot may originate with either the Gothic Audawakrs and its German counterpart, Odovocar, both of which mean “wealthy and vigilant”; or with the Old German equivalent of Old English’s Oswald, “the rule of God”; or, finally, with Oskar, the still-used German equivalent
of Oscar, translated either as “deer lover” or “godly spear.” The determining factor would seem to be what meaning we ascribe to the third syllable. It may be descriptive, based in early German phrasings and spellings of rostrot, or “russet, auburn.” One immediately thinks of the crusader and Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich I, also called Friedrich Barbarossa, or “Redbeard,” although the likelihood of any inspirational connection vanishes when we consider that Friedrich did not rule until the twelfth century; still, Adolf Hitler thought enough of Friedrich’s zealous attempts to rid the world of the “racially inferior” Muslims to code-name his invasion of Russia “Operation Barbarossa”—and when one considers Oxmontrot’s policies in Broken, one cannot help but wonder if Friedrich’s name was not meant to recall, in some way, the founding king of Broken, and whether there is, therefore, a link between all three names. Or, the final syllable may relate to the more literal trott, a jogging pace. Lastly, trot may simply reach back to the early development of not only German, but to the Germanic languages of Saxon and Old English, as well, and translate as the number and quantity “three.” Why this should be significant, however, is obscure: much like the ruler himself. —C.C.