#does a vaguely horse shaped dark manifestation count;

[vcsavi]

for better or worse, karna alter is a horse boy.

[the-iron-orchid]

BOOK II: THE HIGH PRIESTESS

Chapter 2: The Palace (~2380 words)

Warnings: mild innuendo

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I climb the steps that lead out of the market area, where I spy a fortune-teller’s booth nestled in a shaded corner, well out of the summer sun. It instantly brings me back to the days when Asra would go out and set up such a thing himself, before we set up the back room (once used for storage) instead. He was the one who dressed it all up with tasseled scarves and lengths of colorful fabric, carefully painting golden stars on the heavy curtain he acquired from only the Arcana know where.

A wave of sudden dizziness comes over me, my vision swimming. Something plays itself out inside my head, as if upon a stage of my mind’s eye.

Asra sits on his heels, the way I��ve seen him do so many times… but his hair is longer, his face just a fraction rounder. He looks up at me with a mischievous little curl of his lip. “Would you like a love reading? They’re very popular.”

My own voice is in my ears… but it is different. There is a slight but distinct Prakran accent, and the words are delivered in a teasing tone. “Oh? Do I seem like someone who needs a love reading?”

“You’ve got me there.” Asra grins before lowering his eyes in a way that is almost coquettish. “Did you enjoy the Masquerade? I did. Very much.” This last is delivered in a soft, husky tone that I have never heard from him before.

Or have I?

I hear myself give a low chuckle, and I see my own hand, decorated with henna and ringed in silver, as it reaches out to very gently lift his chin. He gives me a certain look from under his pale eyelashes, one that is unmistakable even to one of my nonexistent experience. (That I know of.) “Oh, yes. It was very diverting.”

What?

Blinking in the sunlight, reality returns around me, leaving me momentarily disoriented. What on earth was that? A vision? A dream? A fantasy? A memory? A sharp pain lances through my skull, and I hiss in my breath.

And then a sudden collision sends me stumbling forward. I barely manage to keep from losing my footing on the steps, and the stranger who has collided with me loses hold of the basket balanced on their hip, sending pomegranates rolling everywhere.

“Ohhhhh, great! Like I’m not already running behind…” comes their dismayed voice.

As I regain myself, shaking my head experimentally, I realize that the dizziness and the pain have gone, as suddenly as they came.

I crouch down to help them gather the scattered fruit, murmuring an apology for mooning about like that. The stranger assures me that it was their fault for not looking where they were going, too busy juggling their own errands.

I spot the final pomegranate directly in the path of a cart-horse, and with a thought I send my mage hand out to safely retrieve it. This seems to delight the red-headed stranger, their blue eyes sparkling. They thank me once more, apologizing again for bumping into me. At least the pomegranates have largely survived the ordeal intact.

The stranger extends a hand to me, and I take it. Their palm is rough and calloused against mine, the hand of one who works very hard with them.

“Probably shouldn’t do this, but…” A shiny pomegranate is offered to me. The fruits are splendid, large and ruby-red in color, the size of my two fists held together. This time of year, they must be imported or grown with the assistance of magic - definitely costly. When I accept, the stranger smiles warmly at me.

But just as they are about to take their leave, they seem to notice something - eyes first narrowing, then going wide as they peer at me more closely. “Wait, wait, wait! I know you!”

I can only blink at them, finding that I am at a disadvantage. Is this someone from my past, forgotten? Panic blossoms in my chest, but I try to let it slip aside, visualize it draining away. Such strong feelings can lead to my magic manifesting, or to the severe headaches that once plagued me regularly. Neither is desirable.

“You’re the magician! Jinana, right? Countess Nadia said we were expecting you.” Before I can wonder about this we, they continue. “It’s the hair, you see. Kind of gives you away. And, you know, the magic.” She grins. “You can call me Portia. I’m milady’s head servant at the Palace.”

My body relaxes, my heart slowing itself back down. The name of ‘Portia’ is vaguely familiar to me, possibly overheard via Marketplace gossip. (It is, after all, the one thing traded more than coin.) And of course, these fine pomegranates were no doubt grown especially for the Palace.

Portia informs me that this was a lucky meeting, as she knows the quickest way to get there. It’s well that she does, as even with her guidance it’s a long walk. Along the way, I open the pomegranate - with the use of my magic, it splits itself open in my hand like a flower, the sections falling neatly apart to be shared. This little trick utterly captivates Portia, who asks if I can teach her any of my magical tricks - if that’s even possible.

“It’s like anything else,” I tell her. “Some of us are born with natural talent… but almost anyone can perform some magic, with the right training.” Her eyes glimmer with mischievous glee.

“Ooh, then I’m going to have to make the time to learn!” she says. “Do you think I could learn to read the cards, too?”

“Divination does depend a little more on natural talent. But it’s not impossible.”

“Hmmm, maybe I’ll leave that one to the experts, then.” It doesn’t seem to put her out at all.

Portia is effervescently cheerful, and her company makes the trip go by much faster than it might have had I been alone. She is so easy to talk to, about everything from what it’s like to run a magic shop, to which sort of bugs indicate a healthy garden. By the time the Palace gates come into view, I feel like I’ve made a friend.

My legs, however, feel like they’re about to fall off - as I have said, I rarely leave the Center City area, and never farther than the Heart District, where Heron’s shop is. The elevation rises sharply from the Center City to where the Palace stands, overlooking it all. But Portia seems to have as much energy as ever; no doubt she makes this trek regularly. Her sturdy frame speaks of strength and health - next to her, I feel a bit like that seedling on my rooftop, struggling weakly in its mug of dirt under the sun.

Noticing that I am lagging behind, she pauses for a brief rest. We sit upon a low wall along the street, its bricks quite warm from the day’s sun. There is very little foot traffic up here, compared to the city below. Once in a while, a carriage rolls by on the smoothly-paved road.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Jinana,” Portia tells me, her demeanor becoming more serious. “Milady… well. Let’s just say that she could use some more... reliable help.” Her glance flicks toward the Palace with a seeming annoyance, then her face brightens once more with a smile. “Anyway, you seem like a good sort to me, you know? And my intuition is never wrong.” She winks at me.

I find that I don’t have much to say to that, but she looks at me expectantly.

“I, uh… well, I’m not sure how much use a fortune-teller and apprentice magician is in the scheme of things,” I laugh. “But… I’ll do my best. I promise.”

“Well, you know how Vesuvian politics are.” I do not, but I nod noncommittally. “Milady can always use more allies. Not everyone is keen on a Prakran princess being the ruler of Vesuvia.”

There’s an obvious care in her voice and face when she speaks of the Countess, and I wonder at it. But Portia rises, dusting off her backside, and I follow suit, our little rest break over.

The sun is just lowering in the sky as we finally approach the Palace’s tall gate of wrought iron. The Palace itself is a thing of many delicate spires, glittering and shining under the late golden sunlight like a mirage. The gate is guarded, of course, but Portia is my key. She introduces me to the guards - Ludovico and Bludmila. There is little to differentiate them in their armor. Even their faces are largely covered by their decorated helms - only the shape and color of their eyes, shadowed beneath, can be seen. But their posture is visibly relaxed with Portia, and they push the heavy gate open for us, allowing us to breeze through.

Beyond the gate there is a long bridge, rising at a steep angle over the palace’s moat. Pale, elongated shapes swirl in the dark water beneath, like the ghosts of serpents. I shiver slightly, despite the remaining warmth of the day.

“The late Count had those put there,” Portia says, mild disgust crossing her features as she notes the direction of my gaze. “Vampire eels. Kind of gross, but not a problem so long as you don’t fall in the water.”

“I’ll try not to.” I spare the eels one last glance before quickening my pace to catch up with Portia - she doesn’t want to keep the Countess waiting, and neither do I.

Questions rise in my hindbrain as we walk, stirring my latent anxieties now that I am here, and there is no turning back. Have I made the right decision in coming here? Could I have possibly done anything else? Will Asra know where to find me when he returns? (Of course he will.) What will happen to me if I cannot provide the help the Countess seeks? Her very word is law in this city, and being a magician will do me no good against it.

Before I know it, we’re at the Palace’s main entrance. Portia gives three strong knocks that seem to reverberate through my very bones. After a moment, some mechanism on the inside causes the doors to swing themselves wide in a ponderous arc. Within, I glimpse halls of polished marble and dark granite, unspeakably rich furnishings, and liveried servants going to and fro on their business.

There is definitely no turning back now.

A person in servant’s livery topped with a cap bearing a bright blue feather rushes up to us. They stop short when they notice me, sweeping into a deep bow (somehow the cap does not dislodge from their head). They then immediately rush on to Portia.

“Chamberlain,” she says with a nod, probably for my benefit, and asks how we are doing on time.

Her shoulders relax fractionally as the Chamberlain answers that we are just in time - the first course is about to be served, and the Countess has yet to come down. This is apparently slightly late for her, but working to our benefit.

Clearly relieved, Portia hands off her load to the chamberlain, adding that they should inform the kitchens that the Countess’s guest is here. The chamberlain vanishes into a wall panel, which slides invisibly shut behind them.

Portia must be favored, indeed, for the Palace chamberlain to defer to her so.

“That was close!” she confides. “I’ll take you straight to the dining room.”

“Dining room? I’m to dine with the Countess? Right now?” I did not expect this, and am certainly not dressed for it. Self-consciously, I tuck my escaping hair behind my ears.

Portia laughs. “Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!”

“That’s not it at all…” I answer, but she is already striding away down the hall, and I must hurry to keep up. Along the way, I surreptitiously freshen away the sweat and road dust with my magic. There isn’t much I can do for the plainness of my clothing. The only jewelry I wear is the copper ring on my right thumb (a spell focus), two simple necklaces (one gifted by Heron, the other by Asra), and now the little protection pouch, nestled under my top. Hardly suitable for dinner with the Countess… but it seems I must make do. I pull my shawl from inside my bag, and drape it over my shoulders. Perhaps it will help conceal some of the sins of my appearance.

Portia pushes open a double door of carved mahogany. The doors, exquisitely balanced, swing open easily and silently, despite their size and weight. Beyond, the long dining table is laden with platters of all manner of fine foods, and the smell alone causes my stomach to clench almost painfully with hunger. I’ve had so little today, and walked so much. But as Portia seats me in a fine chair with brocaded cushions, I see that the Countess has not yet arrived.

“How many people are supposed to be here?” I ask her. There is enough food for twenty or more on this table.

“Oh, it’s just you and the Countess! You’ll do fine,” she assures me. “I have to get back to work, but you’ll see me again!” She pats me on the shoulder reassuringly, then bustles away, back to her duties.

Instead of looking helplessly after Portia as she goes, I force myself to look around the room. More liveried servants are coming and going, bringing even more items to the table.

There is a large painting hanging prominently on the far wall, and the more I look at it, the stranger it gets. Several beast-headed figures are attending what seems to be a feast of small game, olives, bread, and wine. It is presided over by a man in noble finery, surrounded by rays of pure gold - but he has the head of a goat. Something about the nine figures feels familiar to me, but I can’t quite pin it down. It is so odd that I can only stare at it for a few moments… until a voice brings me out of my reverie.

“Ah, Jñāna. I’m so pleased that you’re here.”

The Countess has arrived.

[1tawnystranger]

(based mainly on David Mac Ritchie’s Ancient and Modern Britons Volume 1, ISBN 9781592322251)

In keeping with accuracy, Britain does not mean just England. I mean it as synonymous with British Isles (the collective name of the island containing England, Scotland & Wales – what used to be called Albion/ Prettania/ Brettania/ Alouíōn), Ireland (Northern & Republic – what used to be called Ierne/ Hibernia/ Iouernía), and the surrounding smaller islands.

When I first heard of this book I knew I wanted it. Now I’ve got it, it’s quickly becoming one of the most fascinating books on ‘race’ I’ve ever read. Mac Ritchie was a ‘white’ Scottish historian & folklorist, yet the information he delivers will probably be nothing short of miraculous to ‘black’ people interested in ‘black’ history.

Disclaimer: As informative as it is, it must be remembered it was written in the 1800s before knowledge of DNA was available to corroborate. It was also the time when scientific racism was at its peak. I just present this info as a potentially useful guideline and insight into the mindset of the past. If you want to see how true the claims are, please do your own research to independently verify. 

To my regular readers this won’t be news, but the main premise is that ‘white’ people were not the first Brits. There were several distinct stocks of melaninated people here, tens of thousands of years before. Makes sense considering ‘whites’ have existed for no more than 8,500 years yet Europe has been inhabited for about 40,000 years. In short, while they were probably a homogenous tribe at first, today’s ‘white’ people are an extremely heterogenous group with ancestry from pretty far-flung parts of the world. Even pre-Columbian America. All their physical variations are almost exclusively a result of being so… well, mixed-race.

The very first inhabitants of the west Asian (“European”) mainland had skull shapes either identical to or approaching those of Australian Aborigines (known back then as “Australioids”, which also included Tasmanian Aborigines, hill-tribe Indians and ancient Egyptians [wtf?]), Bantu Africans (“Negroids”) and Negritos so it’d be weird if their skin colour wouldn’t have been identical.

“Negroid” face (albino)

“Negroid” face (normal)

“Negroid” skull

  “Australoid” face (albino)

“Australoid” face (normal)

“Australoid” skull

(unless they were all albino?…)

Further evidence of this may be gleaned from so-called Venus figurines, statuettes of prehistoric European women. Though it’s not known if they represented real women, fantasy women or goddesses, the fact is they more closely resemble Khoisanid women of southern Africa like Saartjie Baartman than the average 21st century west Asian.

Then there’s the men, who according to new research were definitely ‘black’ but blue eyes were common among them. Which may link to other research that says blue eyes came about 10,000 years ago near the Black Sea.

To be sure, there are NO pure descendants of those original Europeans left.

Mac Ritchie goes into some detail on the particular melaninated groups that existed, aboriginal and newcomers:

Picts (formerly known by the 2 omni-tribal confederacies’ names of Caledonii & Mæatæ) – original

Scots (ancient not modern) – original? Though there’s a legend that they descend from a Kemetic princess called Scotia

Moors (aka. Mors, Morrows & Morays) – newcomers/ original (depending on definition; more below)

Saracens – see Moors

Silures/ Euskarians, whom Tacitus likened with Spaniards (pp. 156-7, 186-7) – original?

Gypsies (aka. “Egyptians” – incorrectly, Gipsies & Romanis) – newcomers

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Danes (ancient not modern) – newcomers

Huns – newcomers

Phoenicians* – newcomers

Chaldees/ Jews – newcomers (though Davie seems to doubt their presence)

An unspecified copper-coloured race – newcomers?

Native Americans (at least Pocahontas) – newcomers

* BUT Phoenicians’ racial status was debated. It depends on the meaning of red. Red was a common synonym for ‘white’ even thousands of years ago, and at the time of this book’s writing was sometimes still used as such. This isn’t ludicrous; technically pink (not to be confused with magenta) is light red. The confusion comes from whether they mean that definition, or red as synonymous with Professor Huxley’s chocolate brown, (which was near enough the same as Italian archaeologist Gennarelli’s red) or Davie’s aforementioned copper-coloured. Talk about confusion! 

As well as several unspecified mythical/ legendary/ folkloric people (pp. 150-1), likely to have been inspired by memories of actual living ‘black’ people, since Mr. Campbell (one of Mac Ritchie’s references) asserts that Breton & Gaelic tales are full of ‘black’-skinned club-wielding giants. Though Mac Ritchie doesn’t mention it, I’ve also read that south Asians were in London at least since the 1200s-1400s.

Read this for more info on what they and Africans thought of London back then. You might be surprised…

As for ‘whites’ their ancestry is speculated about at length. 1,800 years prior to Skene’s book Celtic Scotland, which would be around 2,000 years before present, there were 2 distinct races of Brits:

Fair ones who resembled Belgic Gauls and were physically identical to what the Romans called Germanii/ Germans (red hair, wild blue eyes, large bodies) – dubbed the “formidable title” Xanthochroi, literally yellow-skins,

And dark ones who resembled the Aquitani of southwest France & Iberians of Spain & Portugal* (dark wavy hair, short stature, definitively darker than the former) – dubbed Melanochroi, literally black-skins.

* their ultimate origins are debated, but they were definitely regarded as non-‘white’ even centuries before Moors invaded. 

It is implied that the Xanthochroi are the original pure ‘white’ people but exactly who they were, where they came from or how they self-identified remains unclear. What is clear is that modern ‘whites’ who think they’re pure descendants of British Islanders are deluding themselves (pp. 123-5). They are descendants of Flemings from north & west Belgium and Normans (mixed French & Scandinavian), who are synonymous with Huxley’s Xanthochroi & the Romans’ Germanii, who mixed with other newcomer & aboriginal groups. Hence why Mac Ritchie distinguishes between ancient and modern populations so much.

Just in case anyone was confused about where Scandinavia is.

In chapter 2 he claims Scythians are likely to be the ancestors of ‘white’ Britons, though he admits the word is vague and already falling into disuse. This is possible, as in ancient times Scythians were seen by the Greeks as the ‘whitest’ people on the planet. They are defined thus by “Lord” Strangford, Mac Ritchie’s authority:

“Some of the Scythian peoples may have been Anarian, Allophylic, Mongolian; some were demonstrably Aryan, and not only that, but Iranian as well, as is best shown in a memoir read before the Berlin Academy this last year.”

However others have said:

“Ethnographers are not unanimous in respect to the ethnic position of the Scythians. Bockh, Niebuhr and many others set them down as Tatars. But Humboldt, Grimm, Donaldson and others maintain … their ethnic affinity with the Aryans. Rawlinson, in his essay, ‘On The Ethnic Affinities of the Nation of Western Asia’ … distinctly ranges the Scythians among Tatar nations. He even maintains that a Tatar element is manifest in the oldest records of the Armenians, Cappadocians, Susianians and Chaldæans of Babylon. … F. Müller is of the opinion that some of the Scyths were Ural-Altaic and others Aryan…”

He further goes on the authority of Lempriere that Scythians consisted of several disunited nomadic tribes who hated money, lived off milk (VERY interesting in the light of this) & wore cattle skins, ate human flesh & drank their enemies’ blood, and used travellers’ skulls as vessels to carry sacrifices to their gods. They also managed to take over Asia Minor (Turkey) for 28 years beginning in 624BC, and even extended their conquests in Europe, Egypt &, with the “kindred” Sarmatians, Rome. The Sarmatians were likewise given to war, lewdness, painting their bodies in wartime, and drinking mixed horse milk & blood, and were known to the Romans & Greeks under various tribe names – Huns, Vandals, Goths, Alans, etc. During those days they conquered all of north Europe & much of Asia. One of Davie’s authorities, Mr. Howorth, identifies them also with Ugrians who hunted, fought with bows & arrows, and scarred their faces (which Mac Ritchie seems to think is the same as tattooing?!?).

On p. 30 it’s stated the word ogre ultimately comes from Ugri/ Ugrians. Also called Huns (e.g. Attila, p.35), they were a tribe whose descendants live predominantly in Hungary (which also came from the word) but also in north Siberia, some of whom were a solidly yellow-brown complexion (p.37), some “almost black” (p.35), and strongly resembling either the “Australioid” or “Mongoloid” aborigines of southeast Asia & the Malay Archipelago. To him these represent two strongly divergent races, especially in regards to the shape of their skulls, but this is explained as due to being mixed themselves. Throughout chapter 2 he states that Ugrians were counted among the Scythians by other historians, and this is explicable by the fact that Scythians were heterogenous and their ethnic “status” is unknown.

Can’t explain the green skin though

In east Europe & Asia, black & white were used to describe a nation’s or tribe’s status relative to another’s, black (kara in Tatar) being subservient & white (ak in Tatar) being dominant. While this doesn’t refer to skin colour anymore it did originally, due to ancient battles waged between the groups (explained further below). And you can guess which side won.

Many melaninated Europeans were still alive up to about 200 years before Mac Ritchie. Since the book was originally published in 1884, that means there were still brown-skinned native Europeans walking around in the late 1600s! And while none were purely ‘black’ anymore, they were visibly distinct from ‘whites’ and many were “as dark as mulattoes”! No wonder Founding Father of the USA Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) didn’t regard most Europeans as ‘white’!

You get it now, right?

Modern Brits, and Europeans in general, are descendants of the colossal admixture. It’s just more obvious in the melanochroi, similar to modern South America. Apparently even a tinge of colour in the skin shows mixture; the original pure ‘whites’ were so pale they were almost translucent! And I’ve heard the translucent-skin thing before. As a child I read a hadiyth where Muhammad described the huwr (virgins of paradise) as so radiantly ‘white’ you can almost see their bone marrow through their flesh – like that was supposed to be attractive! And according to other works highlighting the ‘blackness’ of the original Arabs, Turks used to be so pale they were sometimes called silver and likened to the moon.

Lemme finish getting through the major blood vessels and I’ll be beautiful as a huwr too! Allahu akbar!

Other features that give away ancient ‘black’ ancestry in modern ‘white’ people:

Curly hair (regardless of colour)

Black hair (regardless of texture)

Freckles

Certain facial structures & bodily features

Lips, & probably lower jaw too

Do I even have to say it?

Davie asserts that any one of these features alone means the possessor is not 100% ‘white’, no matter how “pure” all the other features are. Those non-‘white’ features may show up with no known pattern, even if you trace someone’s ancestry 100 generations back and not come up with a single ‘black’ or brown person among them. However, judging from Onyeka’s Blackamoores: Africans in Tudor England, that may be because skin colour wasn’t usually deemed important enough to point out in people’s genealogy. Not to mention that Africans even then often changed their names to European-language names for whatever reason.

Certain modern clans & families can also be traced back to ‘black’ clans. Obviously over the course of time people intermarry and adopt new names whose meanings don’t apply to them, but that’s over time. Originally people’s names were taken as literal descriptions, e.g. Macintyre = son of a carpenter, MacDonald = son of Donald, etc.

Though colour terms can refer to people’s hair (as some modern ‘white’ history buffs are adamant to assert) this wasn’t normal. If the speaker meant to describe someone’s hair they would normally describe them as red-HAIRED, black-HAIRED, yellow-HAIRED, etc. Without such adjuncts, colour descriptions were understood to refer to skin as it’s the most obvious distinction. (p.57-8)

(p.59-61) There are still many place names in the British Isles (Scotland/ Ireland) that are nowadays taken to refer to natural features of the places themselves or of local fauna. However, it makes most sense to think they refer to the aboriginal people who lived there, e.g. Falkirk (speckled church, i.e. church of speckled people).

Here’s a non-exhaustive list of terms that related to ‘black’/ brown people or their descendants in ancient British history:

Grim (origin of Graeme/ Graham!)

Dubh, like in Dublin

Dun/ donn (synonymous with tawny)

Breac/ bhreac (pronounced vreck, postulated as the origin of freckle as it means spotted)

Niger (original Latin)

Swarthy/ swart/ schwarz

Graafel (lit: grey-skin, in reference to a quadroon – p. 120) – so it has caught on!!!

Gorm/ woad-stained (lit: blue or green, Gaelic), because aboriginal ‘blacks’ of the British Isles very often painted (or tattooed?) themselves such

Moor and all its variants – Mauri, Morienses (referred to at least some Indians!), Moravienses, etc.

Murrey, variant of Moor but signifying copper-coloured/ dark red

Kara/ Ciar (Tatar or Ugrian language)

While ‘white’ terms include:

Ban

Finn/ fionn (origin of Fiona)

Sar/ sarni/ sorni/ sairan (purportedly origin of Sir, p.32)

Ak (Tatar or Ugrian language)

A lot is mentioned of what happened to those original pure ‘black’ clans. In short, they used to live side by side with the ‘whites’ and “dark whites” until the Roman invasion beginning in 43 AD. Over the centuries they all lost power & influence to the ‘whites’, especially with the spread of Christianity. An example of this is the 4th century Czernii Ugri (‘black’ Ugri/ Huns) of chapter 2 who were conquered by the ‘white’ Ugri/ Huns and many of whom fled to the British Isles. Many intermixed with the growing ‘white’ populace, and the few die-hard rebels & dissenters were relegated to the outskirts of society. Many of them, trying and failing to hold onto their historic power & status, descended into petty crime. Certain areas of London became renowned for Gypsy presence. Others died off – naturally & otherwise. Many others took up different trades, especially in the entertainment biz, in such numbers that certain professions were associated with ‘black’/ brown people themselves, like clown, juggler, jongleur, minstrel, mountebank, tinker, prygge/ prig, sorcerer, acrobat, etc (p. 359). The so-called melanochroi, or “dark whites”, had been making a much larger presence since the time of the Danish Conquest in the early 1000s AD and were much more distinct from “fair whites” than today. According to Davie-boy not a single sector of British society escaped this racial amalgamation; neither rich nor poor, educated nor uneducated, business owner or unemployed, pure ‘black’ nor pure ‘white’ – the majority of living British people (and back in his time) have melanochroi blood, to the point that the then-common phrase “English people like ourselves” bears no meaning. No-one alive remembers what “true” English people or culture are because melanochroi were effectively a new race that didn’t fully identify culturally with either of their ancestral sides. Even Christianity “or what passes for Christianity” (p. 358) has been diluted with so much heathen/ pagan influence that it can’t be relied on to identify anything or anyone. Much of what many mistook for quintessentially English mores, rural fairs for example, were originally from gypsies. The Morris dance likewise originated from Moors*, and it looked absolutely nothing like its much tamer modern form. Even the word “boo” was an aboriginal Irish war-cry. From the 1400s-1600s gypsies were famed for roaming the isles north & south, as well as London theatres, in bands of a few hundred and were ‘black’ as Moors but had since been reduced to small families, were “merely tawny” and almost completely abandoned their ancestral ways.

* Very interestingly, Sir Walter Scott (from whom this claim came) meant native British Moors, aka. Picts. He fully denied the Moorish invasion from north Africa in the early 700s, or at any point in European history! 

On a slight tangent, it is my personal belief that modern stories of drows (dark elves) are semi-mythical recollections/ re-tellings of those pure ‘black’ Europeans.

Warning for anyone who wants to read the book: Mac Ritchie is NOT sympathetic to ‘blacks’ at all, he is not a “‘white’ ally”. He makes it explicitly clear in damn near every chapter that he considers melaninated people to be inferior. Just because he admits ‘black’ people were his ultimate ancestors doesn’t mean he has to like them – or us.

Examples:

The Australioid first people of Britain were “of the very lowest type of humanity” (p.8)

An African people discovered by Major Serpa Pinto, a race of ‘white’ Khoisanids who were “hideous beyond belief, like caricatured Mongolians, and evidently lower even than the Fuegians of South America in the scale of humanity” (p.18) and were “abject and hideous” (p.20)

The Australioids’ skulls “still bear witness to their depravity” (p.19)

The xanthochroi are “exquisitely handsome” (p.20)

The Barbarian Prisoner, an example of what xanthochroi were thought to look like, bore “noble, manly features” and his face was “charged with dignity and force”. Such a face may have “rightly” been seen by his contemporaries as that of an aristocrat or of the ruling class (p.39)

Yet fails to explain why he was a prisoner. 

Heraldic representations of Moors are “ugly” (p.55)

The Black Morrow of Galloway legend, assuming he actually existed, was of unimpressive appearance and “it is easy to see why they [other members of his race] were remorselessly hunted down” (p.55)

400-500 years before, the kings of Ireland accepted English rule. But they were completely “savage and uncivilized”, not just because they went naked and rode horses barebacked “like the wildest Indians [native Americans]”, but also because they hated wearing clothes, and their savagery was comparable to “a conquered Zulu King, or a Maori chief” failing to adopt English customs (p.74) – however at this point he wonders whether more clothes really do make a man more civilised, and accepts that his contemporary definition of “savage” and “civilized” are entirely subjective

A group of people called the wild Mac Ra’s from 1715, although having miscegenated for over a century before, still displayed some native Scot features. Some were “as black and wild in their appearance as any American savages whatever” (p.81)

And yes, it was no secret that at least some pre-Columbian Americans were ‘black’.

I will go into more detail on this fascinating work in Part 2.

Pure ‘white’ race – did it ever exist? Part 1 (based mainly on David Mac Ritchie's Ancient and Modern Britons Volume 1, ISBN 9781592322251) In keeping with accuracy, Britain does not mean just England.