Chapter 2 – The Blood Fever

The Tinsha Monastery was high in the peaks of the Llangon Mountains, and even in the modern era the sand was still tinged green from the centuries of civil war that had ravaged the planet. The followers of Hakhir had traveled there to build a new sanctuary after hearing the words of Surak and withdrawing from the bloody conflict.

Before the Time of Awakening, their ancestors were the Kolinahru, a faction from Gol known for their psionic abilities. Their powers should shatter bones, melt brains, and crush organs with a mere thought. It is said that when they heard the words of Surak, and withdrew from the fighting, the warlords were deprived of their greatest weapons and peace was at last inevitable.

For hundreds of years, the Hakihr turned their powers inward. They rejected the simple aesthetic of their spiritual cousins in the cities and painted their skin with shi’ar flower[1], grew their hair long, and wore beads and braces etched with the words of their prophets. The study of blood types, fingerprints, and eye color evolved into a center for the study of Biometrics, and included an infirmary, an orphanage, and eventually shuttlecraft platforms.

The rocks grew worn and old with use, and the sheltered threshold became known as a place to leave unwanted children, so nobody was surprised when a little girl appeared on the stone steps one chilly morning. The rains were late that year, and it was a rare morning fresh with water. Hence the name that invoked the title of an ancient sea god.

The Mother Superior had adopted T’Nedara into the temple, like she had so many others, and like the others she was a foundling with an unknown ancestry. She proved to be a more than competent student, and it made her stand out in her early years. The Mother Superior had other charges, but she grew close to this one, and became her mother as well as her mentor.

The Temple kept the old ways, but she could feel they were starting to question its purpose. The Old Gods were a novelty on Vulcan now, diminished into quiet and harmless effigies by the legacy of Surak. The temple was evolving from its roots into a center of study in Biometrics. Perhaps their future was in science, as opposed to the spiritual, but the loss of the old rituals saddened her.

The Mother Superior had hope for T’Nedara as someone who could carry the temple’s future. Thanks to her residence as a monk, her status as an orphan without a family name or lineage, and her eventual graduation to a Priest, she was spared the tradition of Koon’ul.^[2]

Ironically, this led to another problem.

The Captain of the Guard, a male named Serik and the son of one of the Temple’s benefactors, decided he wanted a second wife and asked for T’Nedara. She wasn’t promised to anyone, and his mother’s donations had secured him his title as Captain, why should it not secure him another mate?

The Mother Superior didn’t like the idea, but she did not feel like she was in a position to argue nor speak for her ward. She would be a secondary consort as opposed to a principal wife, thus she could stay in the temple and retain her current position, but due to the marriage bond she would never be able to ascend to the position of Mother Superior.

What reason did she have to refuse that was not based on personal sentiment or reckless ambition?

T’Nedara’s usually calm and statuesque demeanor showed a visible tremble when Serik made his claim. Her favorite student understood these nuances and initially agreed as protocol demanded, as it was a logical union that would allow her to keep their wealthiest patron happy.

She didn’t exactly refuse, but was careful not to return in kind.

“Your proposal is logical and would honor the temple.” She declared. “But the ancient laws compel me to warn you, there may be a challenger.”

The Mother Superior suspected as much. She had seen T’Nedara and one of the new guards, standing close together in the shelter of the stone arches. They spoke to each other in hushed tones and even held hands[3] when they thought nobody was looking.

“Then the proposal is accepted,” the Mother Superior declared, facing Serik and his mother, “but T’Nedara has the right to call the Kal If Fe.”

She turned to her favored acolyte, and spoke as much as a mother as a spiritual leader. “The choice is yours. If he will stand, then let your Champion reveal himself.”

T’Nedara returned to her only hours later. Her cheeks were a warm, dark green, and she had news from the infirmary.

Pon Faar, they said, after examining one of the guards, a male named Selek.

He was at a point in life where he would have been familiar with techniques to control the Vulcan mating urge, but this time it had been triggered by an external force and had arrived earlier than expected.

Every seven years, the Vulcan male is compelled to return to where he was born and breed if possible. Although ancient Vulcans were slaves to their impulses, modern times have a variety of viable treatments should travel or mating not be an option, including meditative techniques and medication.

It happens to both sexes, but for Vulcan males, it can be a death sentence if not properly treated.

When the Mother Superior saw Selek, he was kneeling in a state of deep meditation. His fingers were laced in front of his face, and his breath coming in shallow, raspy whispers.

She spoke some quiet words over him. His hands fell to his knees, and she placed her fingers on the pressure points on his temples and jaw. Despite her strict Vulcan facade, she couldn’t hide how impressed she was by the pain coursing through him. He must have been highly disciplined to keep his silence.

“Selek, you feel the pain of Pon Faar,” She said, with calm authority, “this is the Vulcan heart. This is the Vulcan soul. Prepare yourself.”

She removed her hand. Selek’s head fell. He descended into the Plak-tau, and would not speak again until the moment T’Nedara stepped forward and named him as her Champion.

The Mother Superior made both Serik and T’Urel aware of the situation and warned them accordingly.

“She will call the Kal If Fe,” The Mother Superior spoke to the Matron. “Your son already has a wife. He stands between the rage of Pon Faar and its chosen mate. I beg you, withdraw your claim on T’Nedara.”

Serik was arrogant, and he and his mother refused, assuming that Selek’s fighting skills were just for show.

When the challenge began, Selek was kneeling in the shadows by the jade stone, the tips of his fingers trembling. His hands were extended in front of his face, the fingers laced together as he chanted a mantra against the pain.

In this case, Serik was considered the fiancé and Selek his challenger. T’Nedara stepped forward at the appointed moment to call forth her champion, and Selek did not move until she stood before the gong and said his name.

There was a sparring ring in the temple used for training and teaching, and the Mother Superior quickly saw to it that it was prepared for a formal ceremony. It was the logical course of action, but she had her own personal reasons. If her dearest ward was to have her fate determined by the rite Kal If Fe, not a single banner or blade could be out of place.

A variety of weapons lined the sparring circle. Both chose the lirpa. If a fighter managed to dodge the fan-shaped blade at one end, they were in danger of being crushed by the bulbous sphere on the other.

Serik was not completely inept, but his fighting skills had not been tested. He had learned more about ceremony than actual fighting. He made some deadly hits, but was no match against Selek.

The challenger had a definite advantage. The influence of Pon Faar was a buffer against pain and injury, but it was more than biology that drove him.

T’Nedara stood as close to the fighting ring as protocol dared, and by the time it was over, her robes were spotted with the blood of both challengers. It was not until Serik lay dead that Selek finally collapsed. His wounds were not mortal, but serious enough to render him senseless.

In all her long years, the Mother Superior had never seen such a savage and decisive Kal If Fe. It gave her some hope that the old ways could survive, but it was a bittersweet joy. Her dearest ward was now a bride, and the future of the temple was uncertain.

Selek rose slowly from sleep like an air bubble rising through a layer of thickened blood. He sat up carefully. His whole body was sore. It felt like a herd of myrmidex^[4] had galloped over him.

A coolness touched his shoulder. He was not wearing a sleeping robe^[5], and the cold of the stone was sharp against his bare skin. T’Nedara was sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed, and she was pressing a pitcher of water against his arm. He nodded gratefully and took a deep drink. It was a relief to be himself again.

“Some of your cuts have opened,” She said. “Let’s go and fix them.”

It was very early morning and the Infirmary was quiet. Incense burned in the corners and the lights were dimmed. T’Nedara worked with her virtual needle, hot and sharp, and the light of a few small floating lanterns hovered over Selek’s back and shoulders.

“You’ll feel some pain again,” She touched the cut on his shoulder blade gently. “And you’ll be more sensitive for a few days. The pendulum has swung back.”

The madness of Pon Faar was similar to a rush of adrenaline in a human that would make them numb to pain or fear. Selek’s wounds weren’t too serious, but T’Nedara made a mental note that the condition could take its toll on the body and slow the healing process.

She drew herself upward, and the floating lights rose with her.

“Better,” she said and then exhaled deeply herself. She was also fatigued.

“We both require more sleep,” he murmured, and she nodded.

They quietly collected some clean sleeping robes and returned to their modest bower. Without a word, they removed the infirmary sheets that were smeared with Selek’s blood, and then fell back into the bed together.

It was a gentle, deep sleep that lasted well into the next morning, and would have been longer had they not been roused.

T’Urel barely even looked at her son’s remains. The Mother Superior’s words echoed in her ears as she contained her rage.

“He died well and will have a funeral with all the ancient rites. You should be proud.”

“I trust my last donation will be more than enough for a military funeral.”

“It will not,” the Mother Superior replied coldly, “and such formalities related to class are obsolete in Vulcan life. It’s illogical for you to assume your donation would pay for an expense unrelated to temple business.”

“It is perfectly logical to expect reparations…”

“From who?” The Mother Superior’s voice raised and hardened. “The mating rites are known to you. Money and social credit are not what makes the Vulcan blood burn. Should you ask T’Plana-Hath^[6] herself, or demand it of the ancient gods?”

There was a heavy silence that hung in the dry air of the Mother Superior’s quarters.

“Who is this Selek?” T’Urel spat out the name with contempt.

The Mother Superior did not know how to answer. Selek’s father was Koss, a known intellectual, scholar, and researcher known for a prosperous architectural career, who generally stayed out of politics.

His mother, however, had caused some controversy early in her career as a subcommander on a starship, but not a Vulcan one. She had spent a few years babysitting Terrans on behalf of the Vulcan High Command, and there was some talk about her son’s true bloodline.

There was no time for an answer. T’Urel had turned and stormed from the room, her face frozen in anger as she stomped to the Infirmary.

“Neddy,” T’Krella was a novice in the temple, but T’Nedara had schooled and trained her, and the two had grown close.

T’Krella barely had the courage to creep to the side of the bed. She wasn’t only afraid of the angry lady outside but of the male lying next to her mentor and friend. T’Krella had been present at the Kal If Fe, and the memory of his terrifying face, twisted with rage and smeared with blood, was etched in her mind.

She peeked over the edge, trying to ignore the hulking mass on the dark side of the bed, and said her friend’s name again with more urgency.

T’Nedara opened her eyes and stared curiously at the little hands and eyes peering at her from behind the thin curtain.

“T’Urel is outside,” she heard a voice hiss, and then a figure darted back to the shadows.

There were voices outside. One that was rather loud and angry.

T’Nedara slipped out of bed and opened the hood of her robe. She had barely lifted it over her head before stepping outside to face her would-be-mother-in-law’s wrath.

“Honored Matron,” she spoke calmly and bowed.

“You speak well, for a mere orphan who has insulted my family and robbed me of a son,” was the angry reply.

“Matron, the protocols have been followed.” T’Nedara might have been clothed in little more than a simple sleeping robe, plain white and embroidered with black runes, but her voice had the ring of ancient authority. “Your emotional outburst has no place…”

“I will determine my place,” T’Urel turned and opened her mouth again to speak, but was abruptly halted when a tall figure appeared in her way. In her blind rage, she almost ran into him.

Selek glared at her. His eyes were on fire but no emotion showed in his face.

“My condolences on the loss of your son, Matron.” He bowed his head. “He fought well. We will honor him.”

T’Urel’s nostrils flared, and she pursed her lips together. There had been all kinds of phrases running through her head, a million sharp and biting quips, but she forgot all of them now.

“Congratulations,” she spat out the word like a curse and stomped off.

Selek wrote to his mother later that morning. He carefully reviewed the brief contents of the letter before closing it and affixing her name and title.

Dearest Ko’mekh^[7];

I hope you are well. If you’ve already heard about the duel, then I apologize for not sending word first. I meant no disrespect and everything happened very quickly.

My mate is named T’Nedara, and she is a priest and monk of the temple. Her field is Biometrics and she is highly skilled.

I understand your work keeps you busy, but I would be honored by your visit. I would find comfort to introduce you to my mate.

Selek

Sub Commander T’Pol

Vulcan High Command

1 A plant similar to the henna of earth.

2 Arranged marriage in childhood. Vulcans are generally seven years old when betrothed to a future mate.

3 This is more like kissing than just “holding hands.” The fingers and hands are erogenous zones for Vulcans, so this is a gesture for lovers alone. It’s not something done with friends or acquaintances.

^[4] A six-legged herd animal native to Vulcan.

^[5] Vulcans have a variety of sleeping robes and gowns that often take the place of blankets, sheets, or other bed linens that humans would use.

^[6] An ancient historical figure known as the Matron of Vulcan Philosophy.

^[7] The Vulcan term for mother

The Refugee Crisis

Posted by Kristy Ambrose

The Illiad told the story of Troy’s destruction. The Odyssey brought the Greeks home. The Aenid followed the Trojan survivors west.

But what happened then?

A Two Scene Play

About 1000 BC, in what is now central Italy, formerly the Etruscan Federation. Every year, the leaders of the 12 biggest and most prominent cities meet to discuss reginal issues. Most of the time these meetings are discreet, civilized, and orderly. Today, however, the council is facing a crisis that will shake the foundations of their comfortable little empire.

Cast of characters;

The cities of the Federation: Arezzo, Kisra, Clevsi, Orvieto, Perugia, Cortona, Populonia, Vieo, Tarquinia, Vatalu, Volterra, and Volci

Aeneus, The Last Prince of Troy

Setting: The interior of a lavish but practical council room, featuring a long table with 12 chairs. One of the chairs is empty. The other eleven council members are talking about the latest news and wondering where the missing member – Vieo – could be. There’s a general murmur of chatter in the room as the scene begins.

Scene 1

ORVIETO: So, where is he? The sooner we get started the sooner we can leave. I have grapes that need pressing.

PERUGIA: You can fuss over your grapes later. Vieo is the closest to the coast, and he sent a messenger about the boats coming into sight. I sent a note back that he was to get a reasonable estimate of how many there are.

VOLTERRA: We could almost see them from the mountaintop. Word from the north says 30 boats, but…

The council door swings open, and Vieo stumbles in, obviously agitated and rushed.

CORTONA: Ho, our coastal friend arrives! What news from….

VIEO: (interrupts, obviously upset) They lied to us! I knew it, those bloody Carthaginians! They said what, 20 boats, maybe? There are more than 60 boats parked next to the swamp below my city!

The other cities make frightened or angry gestures while the chatter in the room intensifies. Only the two central figures, Perugia and Tarquina, remain calm, speaking quietly together. The chatter goes on while Vieo takes his seat. The other figures next to him at the table offer him comfort and a cup of wine.

ORVIETO: Drink up friend, it’s my latest vintage. Calm yourself, poor fellow!

VIEO: (hand trembling, puts the cup on the table) There were some big ships, enough for an army…and they say the prince himself is with them!

VOLTERRA: Dear gods, no wonder Dido sent them off! If Carthage can’t handle them…

AREZZO: The Trojan army, at our doorstep!

KISRA: We’ll be crushed!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA have been sitting quietly, observing the scene. When panic sets in, TARQUINIA calmly rises. Her voice echoes throughout the council chamber.

TARQUINIA: That’s enough! Vieo, sip your wine, and you two (nods at his seatmates), pipe down! As if we don’t have our own fearsome army? Future generations can rave about checkerboard patterns and sweet white wine, but is that’s what built the Federation?

KISRA: But…the Trojans….

PERUGIA: (interrupts her) …have been crushed by the Greeks. You mean those Trojans? Whatever they have in our harbor is no more than a ragtag group of pathetic survivors.

TARQUINIA: Those that fled, and have been running west, wide eyed and scared, like a lost herd of deer ever since.

VOLTERRA: The prince, though! What if he sends a delegation? An official letter or…

PERUGIA: (produces a rolled parchment) Like this?[1]

The scroll has a red ribbon and a golden seal that bears the crest of Troy. A collective gasp fills the room. The chatter dies down as TARQUINIA motions for silence. PERUGIA rises to her feet.

PERUGIA: The Prince has requested asylum for the survivors. Including a space to build permanent homes and settlements.

A murmur goes through the room. Voices are raised once again.

CLEVSI: It is as we feared!

VOLCI: A Prince of Troy, building a new city!

CORTONA: How long is it until they march north?

VALATU: Another empire, here on our shores!

VOLTERRA: May Tinia rain fire on their ships!

AREZZO: (yelling) My people will die before that eastern filth touches our streets!

KISRA: (cries loudly, clutches her beaded necklace) They’ll take our daughters, steal our children!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA stay silent for a few moments and calmy let the anger in the room rise to a crescendo. When the murmur rises to a roar, they nod to each other, and TARQUINIA interrupts again.

TARQUINIA: Fellow cities, please, please!

PERUGIA: We understood you would have this response. We have already drafted a response we think everyone will accept.

A hush falls over the room as PERUGIA produces another parchment, obviously a rough copy, and reads it out loud.

PERUGIA: We are grateful and honored to have the Prince of Troy alight on our humble shores. We are happy to accommodate your request for succour in our friendly Federation. (an angry murmur ripples through the air, PERUGIA raises her voice to speak over it) All we ask in compensation for this accommodation is whatever is left from your family’s hoard, and you and your people may have the lowlands below the cliffs of Vieo (PERUGIA takes a moment to nod in the city’s direction) which marks the southern border of the Etruscan Federation. (a deadly hush suddenly falls over the table). May you prosper and live in peace in your new home.

There is now total silence in the chamber. Anyone standing slowly returns to their seat.

CORTONA: Sweet merciful olives. He’s giving them the swamp.

VIEO: By Una’s tits, (he’s staring at PERUGIA) you are a heartless bitch.

PERUGIA: Well, YOU were the one crying about all those boats. Now you get a nice view to watch their progress.

VIEO: Progress? Are you crazy? They’ll die down there. Fever, no fresh water, nothing but bracken…

AREZZO: Nothing grows in that swamp. Are they going to live on anchovies?

VIEO: That’s the point (speaking with a sudden, resigned calm, as he stares into the now empty wine glass).

TARQUINIA: Either they wither and stay weak and under our control, or they die. Either way, we’ll have the last of the Trojan riches, with no war or opposition.

TARQUINIA returns to her seat. PERUGIA remains standing.

PERUGIA: (waves the parchment in the air) Well, that’s our draft. What say you?

Every city raises a hand in agreement, except for VIEO, who puts the empty glass on the table and gives it a forlorn stare. PERUGIA smiles and slowly returns to her seat. The lights dim and the scene ends.

Scene 2

A year has passed, and the day of the annual meetings has arrived. PERUGIA and TARQUINIA are the only ones sitting in the chamber. They’re sitting in front of a large basket filled with gold coins and other spoils. Other members start to filter in, and cordial nods and greetings are exchanged as the council chamber fills up. Once again, however, VIEO is late, and his chair remains vacant).

CORTONA: (gestures towards the empty seat) The one person I wanted to see.

VOLTERRA: Right? What is it this time?

KISRA: Perhaps the drama in the swamp is keeping him busy.

A light wave of laughter ripples through the chamber. PERUGIA and TARQUINIA laugh a bit louder than the others. But then VIEO appears from stage left, wearing rich robes, some impressive jewellery, and carrying a fancy carafe. Everyone changes their tune to greet him.

PERUGIA: Oh, there he is! (smile fades and regards his clothes with a raised eyebrow). What news from the coast?

VIEO: (obviously in high spirits, ignores PERUGIA at first) Hello everyone! Well met, my friends, well met indeed. (walks over to Orvieto first) Orvieto, lover of wine and song, hand me your cup. This is the best vintage you’ll ever taste. Don’t scowl at me that way! Come now, tip your glass!

ORVIETO: A bold claim! The best? Better than the golden fruit of my sunny hillside?

ORVIETO sniffs the glass, takes a sip, his facial expression changes completely as he takes a deep drink. The other cities gasp in a mix of appreciation and apprehension. A vintage better than the wine of Orvieto!

ORVIETO: (offers his glass again) What on Una’s green earth? Where…

VIEO: I have a new friend, and they could even teach you something about wine. And other things! And here he is! Friends, may I present…

A figure in rich, flowing robes sweeps into the room. He’s a tall, handsome gentleman with a glowing smile, obviously high-borne and wealthy. A surprised gasp fills the room. Several cities jump out of their seats to shake his hand and complement him.

VIEO: Aeneus, the Prince of Troy!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA look at each other in surprise, then look back at Aeneus. The prince seems to understand the tension and clears his throat, as if to make an announcement. The chamber falls silent.

AENEUS: Kind, compassionate leaders of the Etruscan Federation, it is indeed I. Prince Aeneus, the last surviving member of a once great royal house. I thought of sending a letter, like last year, or maybe even a formal delegation. But my friend here, (nods towards Orvieto) insisted that I visit personally as his guest.

TARQUINIA: (one of the few cities that isn’t swooning, rises and bows gracefully) We are honored by your presence, Lord Aeneus. How have you and your people been keeping for the last year?

TARQUINIA is painfully cordial and acts completely oblivious to the fact that she sent the refugees to die in a swamp. Aeneus, however, remains totally unfazed as he explains.

He produces his own decanter and starts to fill every glass on the table. VIEO is refilling ORVIETO’s glass and his neighbours are leaning forward, pushing their own glasses forward to get a taste.

AENEUS: Well, we did have some challenges! But such a rich land! How generous of you to give it so cheaply!

PERUGIA: (slowly blinks and leans forward) A rich land, you said?

AENEUS: Oh, absolutely! Once we built some aqueducts for drainage and irrigation, we started to see some impressive results. We made too much wine, so I thought I would bring some. Have you tried it?

PERUGIA: (blinks a few more times, getting slightly flustered) Not yet…(holds glass aloft, AENEUS pours a generous amount in, smiles and winks at her). Oh…that’s lovely, thank you.

VIEO: The aqueducts, my lord! The sweet water! (takes a gulp of wine). Tell them about the houses of bathing!

CORTONA: The houses of what? What was that?

VIEO: The water supply is so generous, all from what used to be a swamp! The crops are fine and strong, the animals are fat and happy…

CORTONA and RAVENNA: The bathing house!?

AENEUS: A simple and essential civic addition, my friends. A place for everyone to refresh, stay clean, and maybe have a bite to eat. A social time, something for leisure.

TARQUINIA: Ah, indeed, you would presume to teach the Etruscans of leisure?

Everyone laughs politely, including Aeneus.

AENEUS: Of course, you must come and see them yourselves! Don’t be alarmed, the swamp has been almost completely drained but my engineers are still working on more stubborn parts. Draining water is a different idea than moving it in, certainly! But we managed. The land is rich if it’s managed properly.

VIEO: There’s a city too, and a port! (VIEO walks over to AENEUS, swaying a little) What are you calling it again?

AENEUS: Ah, yes, our little new Old City! We’ll think of another name soon enough. But does everyone have a full glass? Come now, take your seats, and accept some friendly gifts as symbols of our gratitude! How many of you have tried garum?

An entourage of Trojans comes in carrying baskets, chests, and litters overflowing with riches. Trade goods from all over the Mediterranean are stacked high on each, like silk, spices and ceramics. There’s also plenty of local goods, like olive oil, fruit, and fish. The crowd of Trojans and Etruscans mix happily and freely, talking about the exotic wares. TARQUINIA and AENEUS move to the front of the crowd and stand together, before the audience.

TARQUINIA: (has a silk scarf on and some long, beaded necklaces) I must say…this visit is a pleasant surprise.

AEUNEUS: Perhaps you did expect a visit eventually, but not of this nature. I do hope we can have a closer relationship in the future. Maybe I can name our new city after our mutual descendants, eh?

AENUES extends his hand and TARQUINIA enthusiastically clasps it.

TARQUINIA: Absolutely! (pauses briefly) Would you like to marry my daughter?[2]

FIN

[1] Etruscans are known for their love of geometric patterns.

[2] According to Virgil’s Aeneid, Prince Aeneus is the direct ancestor of Romulus and Remus.

Character Analysis : Bigwig

Posted by Kristy Ambrose

Anyone who knows me in private life or has read any of my gamer fanfiction already knows how much I love the novel “Watership Down.”

The most adaptation from Netflix caught my eye waaay back in 2017, and it has since fallen down the memory hole.

I was unimpressed. I could live with the poor computer graphics if the characters I love weren’t so maligned in this interpretation. Hazel is defined by his problems with females, which is silly for a rabbit. It’s one of the few advantages to being a rabbit. Ask Donnie Darko, from one my favorite movies, partly because it references this book.

Bigwig, the great and gallant hero who fought off the fearsome Woundwort, is portrayed as, to put it bluntly, a fucking asshole.

There’s this crucial scene in the Netflix adaptation when Hazel and Bigwig first meet. Bigwig actually threatens him. This isn’t something Bigwig would do, this is something Toadflax would do. That’s why Hazel and Fiver have their encounter with Toadflax first, to emphasize that Bigwig, unlike other Owsla officers, has some redeeming qualities.

In the novel, Bigwig has a mocking tone, but it’s friendly and totally non-threatening.

I’m not sure how or exactly when the trend to make jerks into the heroes got started, but pandering to the worst human beings for popularity and money is a tale as old as time.

I’m reminded of other leading men in the media like Christian Grey, people like Varian Wrynn from World of Warcraft, and the new incarnation of the Beast from the recent live-action remake of “Beauty and the Beast.”

These are not good people. They are abusive jerks. The original characters had redeeming qualities and acted on them. Varian Wrynn is an interesting case, and I think a more sinister one. That deserves its own WoW essay about how they got away with all the cultural appropriation and laundering a villain into a hero because he happens to be a white guy.

That might be the topic of my next essay. The point of this one is that Thlayli-rah is a hero.

The Evolution of a Hero :

Bigwig from “Watership Down.”

By Kristy Ambrose

It might be a children’s story, an adventure book, or a chilling vision of a dystopian society. Richard Adams seems to have combined them all in “Watership Down.” The characters that we meet in the course of our journey across the English countryside are familiar literary figures. Many groups of adventurers have among them an archetype who starts as a rebel but evolves into a hero.

In “Watership Down,” this role is filled by the irrepressible Bigwig, a typical fighting man, or rabbit in this case.

The character’s introduction is important. It takes place during a crucial moment at the beginning of the novel.

The readers learn that the name Bigwig has two connotations. His fellow rabbits mean it literally to describe him using the distinctive tuft of hair on his head. The first translation from the Lapine word Thlayli is actually given as “Furhead.” (Adams, 6) This is an interesting call-back to insults like “hairbrained.” This term denotes a character of lesser intelligence, and we soon find out that although Bigwig is compulsive and rebellious, he isn’t stupid.

This might be why Adams adopts the name Bigwig as a translation instead. This is a slang term from English that means a person in charge. Other terms like “Boss” or “Big Cheese” might be used in this case, and neither has anything to do with intelligence.

Classical References

Bigwig is similar to other characters that are written in the same mold. The rabbits follow the same journey as many other human heroes from both ancient and modern times. The long journey of The Odyssey has been retold many times, and the destruction of the Sandleford Warren echoes the ruins of Troy in The Iliad.

Shakespeare’s Kent meets King Lear much like Bigwig meets Woundwort, as a mercenary in disguise.

Joseph Campbell himself compared Bigwig to Han Solo of Star Wars, arguing that both are pragmatic and materialistic, but essentially compassionate. (Campbell and Moyers, 129) The essential difference between the two is that Bigwig has more agency. He volunteers his skills and energy to the adventure with more enthusiasm at a much earlier time in the story, even if it means he bullies his way in as the easiest path to leadership.

The picture of Bigwig as a hero isn’t a happy accident. Richard Adams was inspired by Joseph Campbell’s work on the hero’s journey. (Bridgman, 108) By the time the rabbits assault Efrafa in the second part of Watership Down, Bigwig has learned to defer to Hazel based on brains instead of brawn. A mission like this would have been impossible for him to complete earlier in the novel, as he would have relied on sheer force.

Although strong and loyal, this heavyset rabbit does not volunteer his trust lightly. Despite his strength and prowess, his natural instinct to do the right thing for himself and those around him keeps him from becoming an elitist like the Thearah or a tyrant like Woundwort.

Adams describes Bigwig, or Thlayli in the rabbit language, as having a “warm and impulsive nature” that is defined by compassion and sympathy. (Adams, 189) It’s because of these core traits that he can evolve. He starts as little more than a practical and selfish buck, but by the time the story concludes, he’s an essential and renowned member of the community.

Bigwig rejects authority generally and acts impulsively when left on his own. This indicates that he isn’t afraid to act against the Thearah, but it also means Hazel will have to work that much harder to earn his respect. The leader of the lost band of rabbits sizes up Bigwig early in the journey.

Hazel realized wearily that Bigwig was probably going to be troublesome. He was certainly no coward, but he was likely to remain steady only as long as he could see his way clear and be sure of what to do. To him, perplexity was worse than danger; and when he was perplexed he usually grew angry. (Adams, 18)

Hazel compliments Bigwig’s character instead of clashing against it. Although he is dismissive of Hazel initially when he asks for an audience with the Thearah, Bigwig does remember his name and deduces that Hazel should speak to the Chief. He is not overbearing, nor is he rude, unlike the rough and angry Toadflax.

The Lapine Shakespeare

Bigwig is the Shakespearean idea of the model knight. He quotes Kent from King Lear when first speaking to General Woundwort, “I can run and fight and spoil a story telling it.” (Ibid, 186) This is a slight variation of the original quote from the play, “I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it…” (Shakespeare, 1. 4. 564-565)

A mix of warrior, rebel, and sometimes the joker, Bigwig’s rebellious and compulsive nature is both beneficial and detrimental to the group as a whole.

Until the appearance of Bluebell, it is Thlayli who acts as the comic relief. We laugh at him when he “growls appreciatively” at a reference to El-hrairah’s sexual prowess, (Adams, 16). Like a proper Shakespearean hero he always seems to have a few creative insults to hurl. “Moonstruck field mouse” (Adams, 66) and “U embleer hrair” (Prince of Stench) (Ibid., 267) are only two stellar examples.

Bigwig’s attitude changes towards leadership from the beginning of the novel to the end. Initially, Bigwig values size and strength more than intellect, but he eventually comes to love and respect the much physically weaker Hazel.

This touches on one of the novel’s themes, that intellect is more powerful than strength. It culminates in a dramatic victory when Hazel crafts the ultimate trick to foil the strongest rabbit they’ve ever encountered. Bigwig’s role in this final battle is essential, and by the time it happens, he is ready to admit that strength is not the last true authority.

When Bigwig gets into trouble, it’s often because he ignores Hazel or Fiver’s advice. This attitude almost costs him his life in the Warren of the Snares, where he learns the peril of ignoring both the hard way.

Bigwig, a character that symbolizes physical strength, is the only rabbit from the Sandleford to get snared at Cowslip’s warren.

A snare is a device set and fastened by brains, not brawn, and it is the intellectual power of Blackberry and Fiver that frees him. Once again, this stresses the theme that might does not always make right, and intellect is more important than strength. As Bigwig himself confesses to Fiver later. “You’ve bitten through a bigger peg than the one I’m dragging.” (Adams, 70)

This is the first time that Bigwig defers to a physically weaker rabbit. Up until now, he did what he wanted regardless of what Fiver or Hazel thought was best. They were more like equals in the chain of command. After experiencing this vulnerability, Bigwig asks Fiver, one of the smallest and weakest rabbits in the group, to give them an order.

Several other rabbits will out-think him throughout the novel, and he supports their efforts.

Bigwig is set up in direct contrast to three other rabbits in positions of authority. The Thearah, the Chief Rabbit of the Sandleford Warren, Holly, who is of a higher rank in the Sandleford Owsla and more authoritarian, and Woundwort, a paranoid and sadistic tyrant.

Two of these are introduced in the initial chapters, while the final and most intimidating is saved for last. As a leader, Hazel could be compared to these characters in a separate essay, in particular, the brutal and iron-fisted General Woundwort.

Woundwort never understands how a rabbit as strong as Bigwig can defer to a weaker one for any reason. Thus, we have Woundwort’s fatal flaw, and this blind spot is his undoing. He is badly shaken when Bigwig confesses that he is not the Chief Rabbit of his warren.

Thlayli’s reply, when it came, was low and gasping, but perfectly clear.

“My Chief Rabbit has told me to defend this run, and until he says otherwise, I shall stay here.”

“His Chief Rabbit?” said Vervain, staring.

It had never occurred to Woundwort or any of his officers that Thlayli was not the Chief Rabbit of his warren. Yet what he said carried immediate conviction. He was speaking the truth. And if he was not the Chief Rabbit, then somewhere close by, there must be another, stronger rabbit who was. A stronger rabbit than Thlayli. Where was he? And what was he doing at this moment? (Adams, 269)

In this crucial moment, Bigwig permanently declares that he defers to the power of the intellect. He’s no longer the sassy rabbit who sneered at Hazel or called Fiver names, the careless rabbit who questioned crossing the river in Chapter 8, or disregarded Fiver’s advice in Chapter 17.

Woundwort, on the other hand, always assumed that he was the Chief Rabbit because of his size. The only conclusion he can draw with his myopic view is that there is another rabbit nearby, even bigger and stronger than Bigwig. Woundwort is a Shakespearean villain to match a Shakespearean hero.

Bigwig, The Hero

When news arrives of the incoming Efrafan assault, many rabbits argue that they should run away. Hazel is adamantly against this and cites two main reasons: Clover and Hyzenthlay.

Clover is currently nursing a litter of kittens, only hours old, and can’t move from her burrow. Hyzenthlay does not have any kittens yet, but she is “heavy with young.” (Adams, 245) Even if they run, he argues, Hyzenthlay and other does sharing her condition won’t make it very far. In the final scenes, the duty of protecting the new, fledgling warren falls to Bigwig.

This doesn’t just mean the greater macrocosm of the community. In a detail that gets overlooked, as Adams never explicitly states it, Bigwig and his companions have their own families to protect at this point. The next generation and their home, Watership Down, must be protected. (Adams, 245-246).

Any number of does could also be carrying kittens at this time, but it is interesting that Hazel points out Hyzenthlay, a rabbit close to Bigwig, to drive his point home. It’s never explicitly stated, but it’s fairly obvious that Bigwig is the bunny daddy, making the stakes higher for him.

Protecting the new home they forged symbolizes the culmination of the effort made during the hero’s journey. The defeat of Woundwort and the survival of the next generation represent the emergence from the Underworld. The symbolism of the underground in the daily life of rabbits is used by Adams numerous times throughout the novel. Despite the dangerous path, the quest must not be abandoned.

Like the classic hero, Bigwig does not emerge from his battle with Woundwort unscathed. He gets the best of his opponent, but he is “scarred from head to foot” (Adams, 267) emotionally as well as physically. The reader might recall the price that Blackavar had to pay when he was mutilated for trying to leave Efrara, or how El-ahrairah lost his ears and tail to the Black Rabbit.

As the story comes to a close, we learn that Bigwig is the Captain of the Watership Owsla, and happily trains young bucks who have never seen cats about how to fight cats. There is some echo here of how the children of peacetime can’t understand war, and how the younger generation might take their safety for granted.

At the same time, the innocence of the young bucks, who love him dearly, is touching. This is Bigwig’s gift to them from the Underworld, an existence of peace and idealism.

Not every hero can enjoy a happy ending. Rabbits have a different idea of the value of life than humans do, another important theme in the novel, and Bigwig understands that he is now more than he ever asked to be. The gallant captain lives happily ever after, so to speak, as a scarred veteran in a world of children who know nothing of war.

Works Cited

Adams, Richard E. Watership Down. Rex Collings, 1972.

“Archetypes.” Hillsborough Community College Home, http://www.hccfl.edu/media/724354/archetypesforliteraryanalysis.pdf.

Bridgman, Joan. “Richard Adams at Eighty”. The Contemporary Review (The Contemporary Review Company Limited) 2000.

Campbell, Joseph, and Bill D. Moyers. The Power of Myth, Harmony, 1988.

Shakespeare, William. “King Lear: Entire Play.” The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, shakespeare.mit.edu/lear/full.html.

Snider, Clifton. “Brief Outline of Jungian Psychology with some Archetypal Images, Themes, and Symbols.” California State University, Long Beach, web.csulb.edu/~csnider/jungian.outline.html.