Visionaries--Part One--Chapter Six

[Evie]

   Chapter Six

   Royal Library Annex, Rhemuth Castle
   February 20, 1136

   Father John Nivard handed Sister Helena a small bound volume from the top of the small stack in front of him.  "This arrived along with the letter about the bequest of books that our new benefactor has requested we send someone out to evaluate and pick up from him.  What do you make of it?"

   Helena studied the binding of the book he set before her.  At first glance, it appeared to be an unremarkable enough volume, just a simply bound book clad in brown leather.  Upon touching it, however, she recoiled in shock.  Her eyes flitted back up to the librarian's face.

   "Jesú!  Who owned this?"  Bracing herself, she adjusted her psychic shielding to protect herself from the full force of the negative energy that resonated from the object and reached for it again.

   "Her given name was Ardith, I think.  It's only written in the book once, on the first page, and that page has some water damage.  Baron Henslowe—that's our benefactor—believes she may have been his grandfather's first baroness, though he says his family history is fairly silent about her.  There was apparently some sort of mystery about the lady's death or, rather, her disappearance."

   "Her disappearance?"  Helena flipped open the book's cover, suppressing a shiver as her brief contact with the volume sent a surge of its former owner's anxiety, albeit dampened by her shields, flooding through her.

   "Well...she was assumed to have died, but her body was never recovered.  Or so Baron Henslowe believes, at any rate, though he also says he's heard contradictory stories about her strange disappearance.  He says he knows little about that part of his family's history, aside from what his great-grandmother told him about the late baroness, her first daughter-in-law, and she was in her dotage at the time.  The rest of his family assumed her mind was wandering, and that she was just making up strange fancies, but Henslowe remembers differently.  He believes she was quite lucid."  John inclined his head towards the book again.  "So, I gather you've picked up some impressions from the journal already?  I've picked up a few myself, but you're far more sensitive in that area than I am."

   "It's a journal, then?  I take it you've read it already?"  Helena looked back up at the priest, reluctant to touch the volume until it became necessary.  "And where was this found?"

   "The baron is in the process of doing some renovations to his castle.  He knocked down a wall between his library and his former study, planning to create one larger chamber, and discovered there was a small space between the two, hidden in some sort of wall shrine.  The books had evidently been sealed in there for nearly a century, at Henslowe's best guess.  And yes, I've read it.  But I don't want to risk influencing your own impressions of it, so I'll wait until you've looked it over for yourself before I share what's in it."

   Helena braced herself for the psychic onslaught then touched the journal again, this time allowing her fingers to linger on page after page, although she allowed her eyes to drift shut as she did so, "reading" the volume's impressions rather than focusing on the written text within.  The appraisal didn't take long, but from Helena's perspective, it was quite long enough.  Once she'd reached the end of the journal, she drew her fingers back swiftly, her eyes flying open.  She took a long, shuddering inhalation and glanced up at Father Nivard.

   "That was unpleasant.  She was terrified, poor child!"

   He nodded.  "That she was.  Did you pick up on why?"

   Helena sorted through her impressions.  "She was afraid for her life.  She feared her husband would kill her if he knew her secret.  He hated Deryni."  She looked back up at him.  "You say she disappeared.  Do you think he killed her?"

   John shrugged.  "Hard to say.  Obviously, if he did, she didn't write about it."

   Helena gave a wan smile.  "No, I suppose that's not the sort of handy detail one finds in most journals.  'Help, my husband is killing me—urck!'"

   Nivard grinned briefly, though he quickly sobered as he remembered that they were discussing the fate of an actual young woman, not merely a hypothetical one.  "I received a second letter shortly after the first from the book's donor.  He renews his invitation to us to visit Henslowe Hall and collect the late Baroness Ardith's Deryni books and other items, but in this one he also asks if we might be willing to help him discover what might have happened to her those long years ago.  He says ever since he discovered this journal, he's been praying for the young woman's soul, but if he can only discover what happened to her body as well, he'd like to give it Christian burial in the family vault.  Apparently that's one of the mysterious contradictions to her story.  Henslowe says he's been variously told that either she deserted her husband, and that's why she's not buried with the rest of the family, or an alternate story alleges that she was buried in unconsecrated ground as a suicide."

   "Jesú!  Either way, Father, it would be difficult to discover anything conclusive at this late date, much less find her remains.  I hope Baron Henslowe realizes we only do magics, not miracles!"

   John chuckled.  "He does.  Still, he's hoping we'll try."  He studied her a long moment.  "Would you feel up to it, though?  I've sent back a reply to the baron telling him that Bishop Duncan and I could make the journey to Henslowe Hall towards the latter part of next week.  Given your strengths, I think you'd have a better chance than most of picking up any emotional imprints that Baroness Ardith might have left behind at Henslowe Hall than either Duncan or I would be likely to, if you would be willing to join us, but since the evidence so far points to her not coming to a good end...."

   Helena pondered the situation.  "I could keep well shielded for most of the visit, only lowering my guard when I'm ready to cast for old resonances.  My shields are naturally tight anyway; given my sensitivities, they have to be for me to stay sane."  She grinned.  "Especially when working so closely around young people.  All the daily heartaches of youth!  Imagine me trying to work if I had to experience their collective traumas daily."  She grew thoughtful again as she pondered the trip.  "How far out from Rhemuth is Henslowe Hall?  Would we be able to make it there and back in one day?"

   "No, it's not quite that close, but it's only half a day's journey if we go by way of the river, and we'd have overnight accommodations at the Hall."

   A man and a woman suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, in the center of the floor pattern marking the Transfer Portal to the library annex.  John's eyes widened slightly, though since both of the new arrivals were quite familiar, Helena couldn't fathom why, nor could she divine the odd look that crossed Bishop Duncan's face a moment later.  The woman with him, Lady Sophie, seemed oblivious to the silent exchange.  She smiled at Helena and started to speak, but Duncan gently caught her by the elbow and steered her towards the connecting passage between the private annex and the main portion of the Library.

   "I'm pretty sure I last saw it in here," Duncan told Sophie as he deftly maneuvered her towards the curtained door.  "Let's see...where was it again?"  Their voices disappeared behind the curtain, and John heaved a quiet sigh of relief, reaching for a large book with new leather binding on the writing table before him and swiftly tucking it away out of sight.  Helena gave him an amused look, understanding starting to dawn.  She touched John's arm.  Birthday present?

   He gave her a sheepish smile.  Yes.  I haven't got around to wrapping it yet.  I meant to ask Duchess Meraude this morning if she has a scrap of linen she could spare, but I forgot.

   Helena smiled.  If she hasn't, I might.  I'll check tonight.  You and Bishop Duncan were planning on dropping by Tre-Arilan tomorrow after morning Mass, yes?

   The voices grew closer.  John answered with a quick nod as Duncan and Sophie returned to the Annex.  

   "John, have you seen The Travels of Father Hristopoulos?" Sophie asked.

   The younger priest flushed, looking uncomfortable.  "Um...yes.  I...ah...it needed rebinding.  It should be available again soon."

   Sophie looked surprised.  "Rebinding?"  She bit her lip, glancing up at Duncan uncertainly.  "I didn't damage it last time I borrowed it, did I?"

   John shook his head swiftly.  "No, no, nothing like that."  He shrugged.  "It's an old volume, you know.  They need repairs from time to time."

   Duncan's gaze flitted from John to Sophie, a sudden awareness sparking in them.  "Well, you know," he said, turning back to Sophie, "it shouldn't take too long to have it rebound, and in the meantime, you can probably find out what you need to know from one of the maps in Atlas Orientis Terras by Rappaccini.  I have a copy in my study."  He gently steered her back towards the Transfer Portal.  A moment later, both vanished.

   Helena raised both eyebrows at John Nivard.  "You're giving Sophie Father Hristopoulos's Travels for her birthday?"

   He turned scarlet.  "Well, not the original, of course; that belongs to King Kelson.   But I've made a copy for her."  

   The magistra gaped at him, dumbfounded.  "All of it?  Or just an excerpt?"

   The priest shrugged, not meeting her gaze.  "All of it."  His voice came out in a rush.  "She's been fascinated by it ever since Kelson added the book to his collection.  I've lost count of the number of times she's dropped by to have another look at it, so I figured I might as well make her a copy she can peruse at her leisure."  He finally looked up, giving Helena a wistful smile.  "It's for her game, you see.  That game she and her brother Stefan enjoy, I mean.  Father Hristopoulos's travel accounts help to inspire her with new ideas, not to mention the maps...."  His voice trailed off as Helena's eyes widened slightly.

   "You've copied the entire book, including the illustrations and maps?"

   John dropped his eyes again.  "Well...I did my best, anyway."

   Helena studied her friend.   "Jesú, John, that must have taken months!"

   He gave a wan smile, his gaze still fixed on the table before him.  "It did," he said simply.

   She felt a surge of compassion for him, followed closely by a twinge of concern.  "I hope Sir Seisyll won't object," she told him.  "It's...I'm sure Sophie would be delighted with the copy, but that's an awful lot of effort for a birthday present meant to go to another man's wife."

   The sea green eyes closed briefly.  John sighed.

   "I know.  But it was something she really wants, and I couldn't think of anything else more...."  He waved a hand helplessly.  "More truly Sophie.  I couldn't just buy her some trinket."  John looked back up at Helena.  "Is Seisyll going to kill me?"

   She shrugged.  "I don't really know Sir Seisyll well enough to know how he'll react.  Hopefully not; I've grown quite used to you as Royal Librarian.  It might be best if you simply let them assume you've managed to turn up another copy, rather than copying it all yourself.   Seisyll's likely to read a lot more into your efforts than into the fortuitous appearance of a spare copy just in time for Sophie's birthday, unlikely as such a coincidence might seem if he gives the matter a bit more thought.  At least, as books go, anyway, it's not a particularly rare one, so that helps.  I nearly bought a copy for myself in Joux several years back, although that book turned out to be just a selection of excerpts."  Helena squeezed his shoulder in a rare display of physical affection.  "And at least a book is somewhat more discreet than a full-sized Torenthi carpet."  She chuckled at his look of bewilderment.  "Ask Father Duncan what he nearly bought for Sophie's birthday!"

#

   February 23
   The Royal Quay, King's Landing, Rhemuth
   
   The bishop stood at the quay, one hand shading his eyes from the rising sun as he watched Father John's and Sister Helena's approach from the City.  The water craft they would be using for their journey upriver was not quite so sumptuously appointed as the Royal Barge reserved for the King's use, nor was it as crude as the more common punts, ferries and barges that carried passengers and cargo upriver from Rhemuth or westward across the Eirian to the lands on the other side of the river.  Archbishop Cardiel, after hearing of his Auxiliary Bishop's need to venture upriver on a brief journey on the Schola's behalf, had graciously lent Duncan the use of the episcopal barge and its watermen, a luxury that Duncan had not expected but which he'd gladly accepted on his traveling companions' behalf.

   The younger priest paused when he'd reached the other end of the quay to speak with the bargemaster, doubtless about their destination.  Sister Helena continued towards Duncan, glancing nervously at the river water flowing around the barge as she pulled a dark blue cloak more tightly around herself.  "I wasn't sure whether I should wear my Servants robe for this trip or clothing less likely to look out of place in a baron's hall," she told him, "but I decided if there's any risk at all of an accidental dunking, I'd prefer something lighter than our winter-weight wool robes to swim in."

   Duncan chuckled.  "I doubt there's any risk of that, but can you actually swim?"

   Helena shrugged lightly.  "I could as a small child.  As to whether I can remember how  after all these years, I'd rather not test the theory, especially in wintry waters.  Despite this cloak, I'm beginning to second-guess my decision not to wear wool."  She favored him with a wry grin, looking back over her shoulder at Father Nivard, who had finished his conversation with the bargemaster and was now heading towards them.  "Though at least it's a fine day for travel, if one must travel in winter."

   It was at that.  The sun shone down on them with the promise of a fair day ahead, warm for the season despite the mid-morning hour.  'Warm' was, of course, quite a relative term to apply to any day in a Gwyneddan February, but at least it wasn't snowing, sleeting, or drizzling, and the clouds had dispersed enough to allow the pale winter light to beam down on the party assembled on the quay.

   "What's that yellow thing in the sky?" John Nivard joked as he reached the other two travelers.  

   "I think it's called the sun," Duncan quipped back, "though since I've not seen it in so long, I could well be mistaken."

   "It can't be the sun, Father; if you expect us to believe that, next you'll have us thinking the sky is meant to be blue instead of Saint Camber gray."  Helena smiled up at the bishop.

   "Well, you can thank Archbishop Cardiel for the weather.  When I told him we were planning this trip, he told me he'd pray for a safe journey and clear skies."  Duncan glanced upwards with a whimsical smile.  "I think next time I have a need, I'm going straight to Thomas to have him intercede for me.  Clearly he's got better connections in Heaven than I've got."  He stepped onto the barge, nodding an acknowledgement to the watermen who stood at attention to welcome Rhemuth's Auxiliary Bishop onto the bishopric's vessel, and offered a hand to Sister Helena to assist her across the small gap between quay and water craft.  

   John followed close behind.  "Maybe you just need to atone for your misspent youth with your cousin Alaric for your own prayers to be that effective," he teased.  "I'm sure I could find you a hair shirt, or perhaps some sackcloth and ashes."

   Duncan snorted in amusement.  "My youth wasn't that misspent!"

#

   Helena gazed around the small cabin at the barge's stern, appreciative of its comforts.  While travel during Gwynedd's more wintry months had its attendant discomforts, the episcopal barge had been set up to minimize as many of those as was possible.  The passengers found themselves ushered into an inviting shelter adorned with gleaming white paint and elaborately carved and gilded ornamentation.  The cabin's large windows were most likely left open to the elements during the milder months to showcase the views on either side of the river and to allow in any cool air that might help to alleviate the summer heat, though for now they were tightly shuttered and hung with scarlet velvet curtains which helped to block out the river breezes.  Inside, a raised brazier had been filled with coals to supply some heat to the enclosed space so that the travelers could stay warm.  A bucket of water and a bucket of sand sat in one corner, since any fire kept on a wooden vessel, no matter how carefully it might be watched, was a potential hazard.  A hamper stowed under a table next to the entrance turned out to contain the simple travel fare of bread, cheeses, preserved fruits, and wine that had been delivered on board from the Schola's refectory earlier that morning, and a small cabinet next to it contained treen—mainly wooden goblets and trenchers, but one tiny lidded box held a small supply of salt.

   As for seating, at the rear of the cabin was a cushioned platform which Helena suspected doubled as a window seat in fine weather or, when necessary, Archbishop Cardiel's bed, though doubtless he normally spent a more comfortable night at some monastic guesthouse or in some great lord's guest chamber on most long journeys.  Currently, as the windows were tightly closed, an assortment of soft cushions leaned against their wooden shutters, providing a more comfortable surface against which to recline, and a fur-lined blanket was neatly folded at one end of the padded bench.  There were also two fauldstools with a table between them, a chest against the port side wall which might also double as a low table or seating, and a bracket from which hung a lamp.  Father Duncan lit this as Helena watched, carefully igniting the oiled wick with a subtle wave of his hand.  He noticed her watching and grinned.

   "The first time I tried using my powers to light an oil lamp, I set fire to the entire thing.  Fortunately my mother found me at it and was able to put the blaze out before anything else caught."

   She laughed.  "How old were you?"

   "Six, I think.  I'd seen her do it and thought I knew how."  Duncan gave her a wry grin.  "I was mistaken."

   "I imagine you must have been quite a handful."  Her eyes sparkled with amusement in the firelight.

   "Let's just say I can see quite a bit of myself in Duncan Michael, for all that he looks more like Dhugal."

   "Oh, I'm sure the Duke must have been quite a hellion as a young lad as well," Helena assured Dhugal's father.

   Father John laughed.  "'As well,' Sister?  Did you mean to imply our Auxiliary Bishop was a hellion as a child also?"

   Helena took her seat on the cabin's rear bench.  "Oh, I'm sure he must have been."  She grinned unrepentantly up at Duncan.  "Like father, like son, right?  Just look at those eyes and tell me you don't see mischief brewing in them!"

   John pretended to give Duncan's face a careful inspection, causing the older priest to burst out laughing.  "Hm.  I think you're right, Sister Helena.  Maybe I should find him that hairshirt when we get back."

   Duncan shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward as if appealing for divine support.  "I should have known better than to agree to go anywhere with the two of you."

#

   Duncan looked up from the merelles game he was playing with John to see Sister Helena stealing another peek out the rear window at the landscape behind their barge.  They had been traveling for a few hours, and it was now midday, warm enough in the enclosed cabin with the combined sunlight overhead and the heat from the brazier and oil lamp  that they'd all removed their cloaks and Helena had risked unshuttering one of her windows for occasional glimpses of the scenery they passed along the way.  

   "Have you ever travelled this far upriver from Rhemuth, Sister?" he asked her.  He knew she'd been downriver, of course.  Her childhood home had been just outside of Pwyllheli, on Llannedd's coast west of where the Eirian emptied into the Atalantic Ocean, and she'd made the journey back to her father's home once since her arrival in Rhemuth, taking a month's furlough to visit family and old friends before returning to the Schola.

   Helena carefully re-latched the wooden shutter and drew the velvet curtain back over it before turning to answer him.  "No, I've never ventured farther north in Gwynedd than the Rhemuth city gates, actually.  Does the Eirian eventually reach your son's lands if you follow it far enough north?"

   "The Eirian doesn't, but one of the northern rivers that feeds into it springs from somewhere in the Culdi Highlands, which is just a little south of Transha.  We're actually not on the Eirian anymore.  We left it some time back."

   "Yes, I noticed we're going westward now."

   Father John took advantage of the bishop's momentary distraction to move one of his game pieces to an empty spot on the board, lining it up with two of his other pieces to form a mill.  He reached over and removed one of Duncan's pieces from the board.  "Hm.  That leaves you with only two, which means you lose this round.  Sorry, Duncan."  His cheerful tone belied his apology.

   Duncan glanced back down at the board between them.  "Yes, I can hear the sorrow in your voice."  He glanced back at Helena.  "Would you like a chance to trounce John?"

   "Oh, I'd hate to take the shine off his victory so soon," she joked.

   John peered into the chest containing the items the Archbishop had stowed on board for whiling away the hours on long journeys.  "There might be a few games in here that are suitable for three people.  Let's see...do you play any jeux de cartes?" he asked, pulling out a small stack of thin, hand-painted wooden rectangles.  "As Nas?  Tarocchi?  Karnoeffel?  Gleek?"

   Helena shook her head.  "I've seen playing cards at the Court of Joux, but I never learned any of the rules for the various games."

   Duncan reached down inside the chest, pulling out a brightly painted board.  "This one might be easier to teach her, John."  He placed the board on the table, reaching back into the chest to pull out a drawstring pouch.

   Helena laughed as she recognized the board.  "Gluckshaus?  Is Archbishop Cardiel a betting man?"

   Rhemuth's auxiliary bishop grinned.  "If he is, he certainly hasn't confessed it to me."  He emptied out the contents of the pouch on the board, revealing a pair of dice and a handful of river-polished pebbles.  "I suspect these are meant to be used as tokens in lieu of coin."

   "Oh, well that takes all the fun out.  I was looking forward to winning your warhorse."

   "You have a use for his warhorse?  Is the King starting up an Amazonian cavalry unit?" John teased.

   "You never know.  We women can be quite formidable."  Helena flashed them a smile.

   Duncan chuckled.  "Yes, we'll just line up all the Court beauties with Sister Helena as their general and march them across the field of battle to smite the enemy with their devastating smiles.   My warhorse would be redundant."  He divided up the tokens between them, then placed one in the central square of the board which had an elaborate picture of a wedding couple on it and the number seven.  "My warhorse, then, though it's an odd choice of wedding gift.  How are you two planning on raising the stakes?"

   John grinned.  "My summer home on the Emerald Coast."  He placed a token on the board next to Duncan's.  

   Helena tilted her head at him curiously.  "You have a summer home on the Emerald Coast?"

   The priest laughed.  "No, of course not."

   Helena grinned.  "Ah."  She placed her token on the board beside the other two.  "In that case, I'll wager Pwyllheli."

   "The entire city?  King Colman might object."

   She shrugged.  "I doubt it, since I don't intend to lose, so he's unlikely to ever know.  I think I'd rather like to have a new horse and a fancy, if quite imaginary, summer home."  She eyed the board.  "So.  Remind me how to play this game again."

   "Well, if you don't want to end up waging a one-woman war against the King of Llannedd, start praying that you'll roll a twelve before John or I do...."   
         

#

   By the time they reached their destination, Helena had lost and recaptured Pwyllheli and been appointed the Bishop of Dhassa, Duncan had added a R'kassi mare to his stables and was pondering what possible—and preferably fully legitimate--function three dancing girls from Nur Hallaj could provide at the Schola, and John had inexplicably become the Queen of Torenth and the proud owner of a carrack full of trade goods.  As the barge came to a stop at the berth along the river's shore at Henslowe Hall, the bargemaster peeked into the cabin, looking a bit bemused at the shouts of laughter that greeted him.

   "My lords and lady, we have arrived."

   Bishop Duncan stood, re-donning his episcopal dignity like a cloak.  "Thank you.  Has word been sent up to Baron Henslowe yet of our arrival?"  

   "Yes, my lord bishop, one of the watermen has gone forth to announce you."  

   Father John deftly scooped up the dice and tokens and returned them to their pouch while Sister Helena returned the game board to its storage chest.  Shrugging into their cloaks and gloves, they ventured forth to meet their host.


Chapter Seven:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=765.0

[AnnieUK]

LOL!  Love the gambling at the end.  I have a character in my head offering to find a good use for the Nur Hallaji dancing girls, if Duncan can't employ them...

[Evie]

Oh?  Well, tell Jonathan he's all heart.  Aside from that rather central portion of his anatomy he's currently thinking with, of course.... 

[Rahere]

Ah, as far as the horse is concerned, Prince Azim was teaching advanced Deryni military tactics, there's nothing more distracting to an enemy commander than to have a warhorse unload several hundred feet over his head...

[Evie]

Hm.  For some reason that idea of a warhorse "unloading" several hundred feet over the enemy's head reminds me of an old poem my grandmother taught me....

"Birdie, birdie in the sky,
Why did you do that in my eye?
I'm not mad,
And I'm not sad,
And I'm not gonna cry,
But I'm sure glad that cows don't fly!"

Yeah, I grew up with refined literary tastes....   

[Jerusha]

A very pleasant interlude.  I wonder if Sophie realizes how well she is regarded by Father Nivard and Bishop Duncan.

And now we must find out what happened to Baroness Ardith..........

[Evie]

The affection between Duncan and Sophie is quite mutual.  Ever since her father's death in Maidens of Mayhem, he has grown to be a substitute father figure for her over the years and a surrogate "grandfather" for her children, who have no living grandparents.  Her earlier hero worship of him has pretty much died out by this point (not the respect and admiration, just the infatuation), though it's possible she still has enough of that star-struck seventeen-year-old left in her to get butterflies in the pit of her stomach on the rare occasions when that handsome King Kelson pauses to have a word or two with her when their paths happen to cross....   

Now as for John...no, Sophie has no clue how he truly feels.  To her mind, he's always been that really nice and sweet "boy next door" sort (never mind that he's now in his mid-thirties and she's gone from being a shy maiden hiding out in the Royal Library to a scholarly matron teaching at the Schola) who is more like a brother to her than anything, only less impulsive than Stefan.   

And yes, I'm sure our travelers' visit to Henslowe Hall will be...interesting. 

[Shiral]

Tee hee! I love "Queen John of Torenth." Imagine Kelson's reaction if they tell him of Father Nivard's promotion. 

"What? I thought you three were just going on a little visit to Baron Henslowe! You didn't  go anywhere NEAR Torenth!"

Melissa

[Alkari]

Any sensible enemy would flee at once at the sight of Helena and the various Rhemuth court ladies as a band of Amazons.   That is of course, if they hadn't already bolted when Duncan Michael and all the other children were turned loose as advance guards ...

"Maybe you just need to atone for your misspent youth with your cousin Alaric for your own prayers to be that effective," he teased.  "I'm sure I could find you a hair shirt, or perhaps some sackcloth and ashes."

   Duncan snorted in amusement.  "My youth wasn't that misspent!" 

No?  Pull the other leg, Duncan   

"What's that yellow thing in the sky?" John Nivard joked as he reached the other two travelers. 

   "I think it's called the sun," Duncan quipped back, "though since I've not seen it in so long, I could well be mistaken."

   "It can't be the sun, Father; if you expect us to believe that, next you'll have us thinking the sky is meant to be blue instead of Saint Camber gray."

Hmmm - and you have Helena NOT wearing her woollen robes?  I think you are being over-optimistic, as Gwynedd in February would probably require several layers of wool, even on a 'fine' day!!

[Evie]

Ah, but it's a nice, positively balmy (for February in Gwynedd) 10 C / 50F day, and once she's in that nice heated cabin, it will be a lot easier to take off one heavy cloak than to shed several layers of woolen gowns, especially with two men looking on (or more likely, trying not to).  They may be priests, but they're not dead.    Besides which, she'd be wearing two full length layers of linen, not to mention a veil and a wimple, and that holds in heat quite well.  Especially the wimple.  I've worn one on occasion and while they're nice and cozy in cooler weather, I can't work out how women ever tolerated the things during the summer months!

[Rahere]

I posted some links to future festivities back on Ch 2, but what led to it was a few thoughts on those three ladies of diaphanous vesture - and their alchemical counterparts in Brussels. Those cookie stamps were a decided invocation of something more Deryni on the bread front, taking the idea of the Eucharist (central to the alchemical) onto a more general scale. Anyone with Russian ancestors to expand on the symbology?

[Alkari]

... what led to it was a few thoughts on those three ladies of diaphanous vesture - and their alchemical counterparts in Brussels.

Ah Rahere - you must truly be a devoted academic if you only have such esoteric thoughts about ladies of diaphonous vesture   

[Rahere]

That's what they keep the cymbals for...now you know why they were always guarded by eunuchs.

[derynifanatic64]

A story within a story.  I wonder if there is any similarity between the disappearance of Ardith and the disappearance of Lewys ap Norfal.  Wait!  Did someone say DANCING GIRLS??!!  A very interesting game they were playing.

[Evie]

Cymbals were always guarded by eunuchs?  I never knew that! 

* Evie does her Stealth Blonde impression