“Words are still the principal instruments of control.” William S. Burroughs, The Electronic Revolution

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“Leadership is not a power structure; it's a flow structure.” Floating Quote

Edinburgh derives from the Celtic “Din Eidyn.” In the Middle Ages, this was the name of a fortified settlement of the Gododdin. The Gododdin were a Brittonic people who, from the 5th to the 7th century, were expansionist and warlike enough to maintain a territory of their own. They built a fort on Castle Rock. Their settlement area encompassed southeastern Scotland and northeastern England. The Gododdin spoke Brittonic, a Celtic language closely related to Welsh. Descendants of the cultural legacy of the Gododdin can still be found today, above all in Welsh literature. The Gododdin are famous for a lyrical epic composed around the year 600 — Y Gododdin. In it, the poet Aneirin describes how three hundred Gododdin warriors marched south from Din Eidyn to fight the Angles at Catraeth (probably modern-day Catterick in Yorkshire). They fought for three days — and were almost completely annihilated. Only one returned alive. After the defeat, the power of the Gododdin collapsed. They lost their lands to the Angles of Bernicia, who allied themselves with the Anglo-Saxon duchy of Deira. From this alliance emerged the Kingdom of Northumbria.

The Angles were migrants from what is now northern Germany and Denmark. Bernicia, their northern kingdom, stretched from northeastern England into southern Scotland, while Deira, the southern capital, roughly corresponded to present-day Yorkshire. Both realms merged into a great power shaped by continental values. The Celtic yielded to the Germanic until the legacy of the Gododdin dwindled into little more than a narrative reminiscence. For a locally patriotic historian like Fiona, Edinburgh embodies a mythical ancestral lineage: “The soil of my city is soaked with Celtic blood — with the blood of warriors who fought to the last man.”

From the 12th century onward, the castle on Castle Rock served as a royal residence. Mary Stuart (1542–1587) gave birth here in 1566 to James VI, the future King of Scotland and England. Over the centuries, Edinburgh Castle was besieged, captured, and expanded. Today, the castle is regarded as a national symbol and houses the National War Museum.

Winter Firewood Delivery

Fiona, Aiko, and Aslan were still conferring in an armory within Edinburgh Castle. Fiona’s fiery red hair was pinned up in a formidable knot, with unruly strands falling across her forehead. The genuine Scot was as freckled as someone from a commercial. Her rimless glasses suggested academic distinction with understated elegance. She wore a kilt-and-blazer combination. The dark green and blue-gray tartan pattern was a statement of local patriotism.

At that moment, Fiona was half amused and half annoyed by a horde of tourists loudly and wearily ticking off yet another item on their sightseeing checklist. Softly, she sang:

“Din Eidyn... Din Eidyn... Edinburh... Edinburgh...”

Her words were meant only for Aiko and Aslan.

“Din Eidyn, the fortress of the Gododdin. ‘Din’ means fortress, and ‘Eidyn’ refers to the region in Celtic. Those wretched Anglo-Saxons said ‘Burh.’ Din Eidyn became Edinburh, and later Edinburgh.”

Fiona was not about to be outdone.

“I was born in Edinburgh,” she said, “and I see no reason why I shouldn’t grow old here.”

“I understand you,” said Aiko. “But not everyone is fortunate enough to die in the bed where they were born after a fulfilled life.”

She sensed the erotic tension between Aslan and Fiona.

“I claim my little corner of the mantle of history — and I won’t let anyone take it away from me. Edinburgh is my city, and this armory with its swords, halberds, and suits of armor speaks to me like a beloved daughter. This afternoon I’m expecting my winter firewood delivery. If I’m going to show you anything else, we’ll have to leave now.”

Winter firewood delivery — what a beautiful phrase. It evoked in Aiko the image of a typical German Christmas scene with gingerbread and mulled wine. She imagined herself with cheeks reddened by the cold and a heart glowing with warmth, nestled in a crackling embrace. Blissfully, she leaned against her master. He felt his way forward while she studied every tactile nuance. In her thoughts she asked for more, but there were friends whose turbulence ignored Aiko’s longings.

Aslan had already emptied his mug, and Aiko offered him hers. He drank from her cup so beautifully. She liked the arabesques of his maneuvers. It excited her how effortlessly composed he remained throughout it all. Aiko always listened attentively when he spoke. She embraced everything he said. She wanted to show him that she understood him better than anyone else.

Their spiritual dialogue fulfilled cathartic functions. Aslan flourished in his role as a leader versed in the body, and Aiko was very happy to be his eager student. She flattered him to the best of her abilities.

Aiko watched how much Aslan enjoyed Fiona’s calculated outburst. He noticed the signals of an appetite for erotic excess and was not entirely opposed to them. Was a ménage à trois beginning to take shape?

Intercultural Small Talk

Fiona guided Aslan and Aiko past the streams of tourists along the Royal Mile. She felt obliged to offer the two foreigners something authentic and solid — not too fancy, not too touristy, but compatible with the standards of the locals, the “regulars.”

She chose The Royal Oak.

“Here you order at the bar,” Fiona explained.

Aslan took this as an invitation. He stepped forward, nodded to the bartender, and ordered in the dialect of his West Texas homeland. The Panhandle cowboy sound was a mild provocation.

“Three pints of Guinness, please.”

“Aye, comin’ right up.”

“Two for us women, and one for the man in our midst,” Fiona interjected.

It irritated her that Aslan had suddenly decided to play the Southerner. At Edinburgh Castle, his American accent had been more restrained and sounded more like an urban upper-class voice.

The bartender, lean, gray-haired, and granite-eyed, studied Aslan for a moment longer than necessary. He chose to ignore the guest’s swagger. He simply wanted him gone from in front of his nose as quickly as possible.

Fiona reached for the glasses while Aslan paid. Every table was occupied; the pub pulsed like a living organism. A squad of suspiciously cheerful drinkers seized the counter and pushed the three aside with thoughtless force. Fiona cursed quietly but allowed herself, with Aiko and Aslan in tow, to be displaced into the vestibule without resistance. Beside an antique umbrella stand, their little company found refuge.

The three stood so close together that they became aware of one another’s warmth.

Aslan said, “Cheers.”

Aiko said, “Kanpai.”

And Fiona said, “Slàinte Mhath! That’s how we say cheers here. It means good health.”

“What does your drinking word mean?” Fiona asked her rival.

“It means ‘empty cup,’” Aiko replied.

She took a large sip and defiantly wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. Neither Fiona nor Aslan should think that the situation overwhelmed her.

Fiona’s gaze shifted from Aslan to Aiko.

“All right, I’ll play with my cards on the table. I’m a true daughter of Edinburgh. Here I drink, here I fight, here I kiss.”

Aiko met the challenger’s gaze.

“You’re very direct, Fiona.”

“Directness is a privilege. Sovereign is he who decides on the state of exception.”

Fiona saw no need to add anything to the quotation. It was a quiet monstrosity. In a lecture hall, the sentence would certainly have provoked discontent.

Aslan countered in a shamanic tone:

“Challenges open pathways for growth.”

Fiona pressed closer to him. The attraction seemed to act of its own accord. At last she felt Aslan against her hip. She reached for Aiko, who appeared to fall naturally into step. In truth, she registered every detail. She was waiting for a sign from Aslan. She had long since become ready for anything.