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Happy St Patrick's Day. Enjoy the one day of the year when the whole world is Irish.

Visionaries--Part One--Chapter Seven

Started by Evie, October 20, 2011, 01:23:36 PM

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Evie

   Chapter Seven

   Henslowe Hall, early evening
   February 23, 1136


   The three travelers were escorted into the Baron's presence by the hall steward.  The elderly Baron sat propped up by several pillows on a large canopied bed in a room recently enlarged by the partial destruction of one wall.  Beside their host sat a young woman who read to him quietly, although as the steward announced the visitors' presence, she stood and sank into a graceful curtsey.

   "Ah, there you are!  Good, good.  And how was your journey, my lords?  And a lady as well—dear me, I hadn't expected that!—Adela, my sweet, would you see to the lady's comfort?  Perhaps the Green Room."  The young woman graced Helena with a shy smile of greeting before putting the book back on the Baron's nightstand and leaving the room.  The baron gazed after her fondly before turning his attention back to his guests and continuing.  "Pray pardon me for not rising to meet you; the old limbs don't function as well as they used to."  He peered curiously at Helena.  "My dear lady, are you also Deryni like your traveling companions?"

   "Yes, my lord," she answered.  "I'm Sister Helena of the Servants of Saint Camber, a magistra at Saint Camber's Schola."

   "But not, I'll wager, from Gwynedd originally.  Is that a Llanneddan accent I detect upon your fair lips, faint though it is?"

   "It is, my lord."

   "Excellent, excellent!  My darling wife—my first Baroness, that is, God rest her soul—she was of Llannedd as well.  Glorious countryside, Llannedd."  The baron smiled.  "And surpassing fair women as well." His pale eyes strayed back to the bishop.  "And you, I recognize, though we've only met before in passing.  How was the journey, Bishop McLain?"

   Duncan, now that the old Baron finally paused for breath long enough to allow time for an answer, assured Baron Henslowe that the trip up from Rhemuth had been quite enjoyable.  The Baron nodded with satisfaction, turning to the younger priest next.  "And you must be Father John Nivard of the Royal Library, yes?"

   "I am, my lord."

   "And I expect you're eager to see your new collection?"  The old Baron smiled genially as he waved his hand towards the gap in the wall.  "It's in there.  Well, you're not to acquire my entire library, obviously—my son would hardly thank me if I gave it all away—but Adela can show you the relevant items once she returns...ah, there you are, my pet!"  He beamed as the young woman who had read to him earlier re-entered the room.  "I'm afraid I failed to introduce you properly earlier.  Fathers, Sister, may I present my second wife Adela."  His eyes twinkled up at his lady, who blushed slightly, her eyes cast demurely towards the ground.  "My personal Abishag, if you will."

   Duncan carefully masked his sympathy for the young baroness, whose blush grew at her aged husband's description of her.  He recognized the Biblical reference, of course; Abishag had been the young and lovely handmaiden of the aging and infirm King David, whose duty it had been to tend to the ancient King in his final illness and warm him with her body.  King David, at least, had either been too far gone to take full advantage of his beautiful bedwarmer, or perhaps too unwilling to add more rivals to his heir's claim to the throne than already existed.  The bishop doubted the same was true of Baron Henslowe.  Bedridden though the aged baron appeared to be, he seemed healthy enough in some ways.  "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Baroness Adela," Duncan murmured in acknowledgement, giving her a courtly bow.

   "The pleasure is mine, Father," she whispered shyly, glancing at her husband with an uncertain air before turning towards Helena.  "My lady, another chamber is being readied for your use. I...ah...that is...the letter stated there would be two clergymen and a Servant of Saint Camber arriving from Rhemuth, but I must have missed the part that said...um...that separate accommodations would be required.

   Father John turned crimson.  "I...hm.  I might have forgotten to mention that, come to think.  I certainly meant to do so.  To mention it, I mean.  I mean, her."

   The Baron studied them all, looking amused.  "Well, we've room to spare, so no worries on that account.  And it shall certainly be a welcome treat to have such a lovely houseguest.  The scenery so very rarely changes in this chamber, you understand, so indeed I'm quite grateful to have such an exquisite flower to gaze upon."  

   Our 'scenery' has a rather noteworthy mind as well, not just a pleasing face and form, Duncan found himself thinking, though again he kept his personal reaction well shielded.  He stole a glance at Helena.  The Sister acknowledged the man's compliment with a congenial smile, though her own shields were as hard as adamant.

   "Adela, my sweet, would you show our guests my grandfather's first wife's personal effects, please?"

   "Yes, my lord."

#

   The shy baroness led her husband's guest to the other end of the newly-united chamber.  As they passed through the gap in the wall between the Baron's bedchamber and his library, they noticed a smaller space in between both.  It was little more than a niche, just under a yard in width, and about as deep as the reach of Helena's arm.   At knee height there was a low stone platform covered with another slab of stone.  

   "What was this space?" Helena inquired of their guide.  "Was it a garderobe once?"  She glanced down at the platform again.  The stone slab on top of it was solid, though as she crouched to make a closer inspection of it, she saw a thin layer of wood between the top stone and the platform that might have originally been a wooden garderobe bench seat.

   The baron, overhearing the question, answered for his wife.  "Yes, when the castle was built in my grandfather's day, that was its intended purpose, though it has been sealed off for quite some years.  It's been walled up from both sides until recently, quite forgotten until my workmen began to tear down the wall and discovered the space was there."

   Father John looked around the small niche.  "And this is where Baroness Ardith's items were discovered?"

   "No, Father. Step into the chamber just beyond, and Adela will show you where those were found."

   All three visitors stepped through the rediscovered passageway, coming out in the castle's library.  Adela moved over a few feet to allow them all to emerge from the garderobe niche, then pointed out a portion of the wall that had not been torn down yet.  "The books were found inside here, my lords and lady."  She pointed towards a wall niche that, on first glance, appeared to be a private shrine.

   Duncan stepped forward to give the shrine a closer inspection.  A statuette of the Blessed Mother was placed within it, standing on what appeared at first glance to be an elaborately carved wooden shelf, although a more careful examination showed that it was actually more like a wooden coffer built into the nook, to which the statue was firmly affixed, not simply resting on the box.  He turned his attention back to their hostess.  "Is this a reliquary?"

   She shrugged.  "It may have been at one time; we really don't know.  I asked the workmen if they could remove it before tearing down the rest of the wall, as my lord didn't wish it to be damaged.  He plans to make room for it elsewhere.  There was a decorative framework around the shrine originally.  When they removed it to take out the Virgin Mother, they discovered the items hidden under her stand."  Crossing herself reverently, she reached out to lift the statuette.  The top of the coffer came off as she did so, revealing an empty space inside, lined with velvet.  Adela turned back to face the bishop.  "We don't know what originally lay within, but Baroness Ardith evidently used it to hide her Deryni items.  She must have known that no one would think to look for them in Blessed Mary's keeping.  My lord says he didn't even know the stand could open until the workmen told him what they'd found inside it."  She pointed to the area in front of the shrine.  "There used to be a prie-dieu here too, until the workmen moved it."  She pointed out the newly-moved piece of furniture occupying a place against the opposite wall.

   "And where are the items that you found?" Bishop Duncan asked.

   "Over here, my lord."  Lady Adela walked across the library to a strongbox, fumbling with the set of keys hanging from her belt until she found the correct one.  She opened the lock, lifting the lid to reveal the box's contents.  

   The three Deryni peered inside.  Duncan looked over at Helena.  She remained tightly shielded, her features and the set of her shoulders betraying some tension.  She took a step back with a glance at John.  John knelt before the strongbox, lifting out the items it contained and laying them carefully on a nearby bench.

   There was a string of clear amber-colored prayer beads that Duncan recognized at once to be shiral, although nothing else about it betrayed any sort of magical associations.  Beside that lay a tiny Book of Hours which, again, revealed nothing overt about its origins at first glance, though as Father John began to study the pages within, the book fell open to a prayer to Saint Camber and an illumination depicting a likeness of the formerly banned saint.  "Jesú!" he whispered, closing the book reverently and setting it back down.  A saint's medallion proved to have Saint Camber's image stamped upon it, the medal looking quite similar to the one Duncan himself owned, though the newly discovered one was made of gold and looked less worn.  There was another book, slightly larger in height and width than the first, although thinner, and this proved to contain notes about various charms and simple spells written in a curious shorthand, though easy enough to decipher for adepts in the magical arts familiar with the workings in question.  It appeared to be the baroness's personal grimoire.  A third book proved to be a psalter, with Saint Camber listed both in the calendar of saint's days and in the Litany of Saints.  The final item on the bench was a carefully folded piece of fabric.  John unfolded this to discover it was a tiny christening gown.  He glanced up at Baroness Adela.  "Did your husband's grandfather and his first wife have any children?"

   The young woman shook her head.  "Not that I've ever heard of.  I know my lord husband is descended from his grandfather's second wife.  They may have had a son who didn't survive long enough to inherit, or perhaps just a daughter; my lord might know."

   The priest frowned slightly, looking thoughtful as he refolded the small garment.  He glanced up at Helena.  "Would you like to read the items?"

   She would not, yet that was why she had come.  Still, she hesitated.  She had hoped for a little more privacy before lowering her shields to open herself up to whatever psychic resonances might still linger on the late baroness's personal effects, and while they had moved out of the old baron's line of sight, his young wife's eyes lingered on her curiously.  Helena knew from his letters that the baron had no moral qualms about the exercise of Deryni powers—indeed, he probably would have destroyed these discoveries rather than turning them over to the Royal Library if he had!—but she didn't know how his baroness was minded on the matter, and she didn't wish to give her hostess offense.  Still, surely the lady had been apprised of the other purpose for their arrival, aside from bringing the small collection back to Rhemuth.

   Helena lowered her shields slightly.  Before she'd even touched the first item, a wave of terror and despair swept over her.  She couldn't, not here, not in this room.  There was something about this room....

   She slammed her shields shut again.  "I can't, John."  She took a deep shuddering breath.   "There's too much charged emotion for me in this room; it's lingered even after all these years.  It would be best if I could read the objects elsewhere."

#

   Duncan and John pondered the small collection later as they rested in their guest chamber.   The lady of the house had carefully wrapped each item and placed them in a small box suitable for conveying them back to Rhemuth, and then they'd been allowed to retire and recover from their travels before the evening meal, their hostess ushering them to the chamber reserved for their use before continuing down the corridor to bring Helena to the other room that had been made ready for her.  Now the two men shared their impressions of their visit to the baron's expanded library suite.

   "Helena's right, some sort of trauma happened in that room," Duncan said.  "Something felt wrong about it to me too, although under the circumstances I couldn't focus in on it enough to figure out what it was.  Did you sense it?"

   John nodded.  "Not at first...well, there was a slight sense of disquiet, but I'd put that down to seeing the old man's wife at first.  Jesú, she's barely out of childhood!   Do you think she's even seen her fifteenth year yet? "   He grimaced.  "But as we were stepping through the passage into the old library, I could definitely feel something then."

   An unwelcome thought sprang to Duncan's mind.  "I hope they haven't given Sister Helena the late baroness's bedchamber or anything like that."

   The mention of their traveling companion reminded John of his earlier embarrassment.  "If they have, maybe we can switch rooms or something.  I am sorry, Duncan; I could have sworn I'd mentioned in my letter that one of our traveling companions was a woman, but it might well have slipped my mind.  I don't tend to think of Helena as...well...I mean, of course I know she's a woman, that's obvious, but ...well, she's more like one of us, isn't she?"

   Duncan pretended a particular interest in one of the items in the box, ducking his head to hide his amusement.  "She is one of us, but all the same, I'm glad we're not reduced to having to flip a coin to see who gets the trundle tonight and who has to double up and share the bed.  That could get a mite awkward, don't you think?"

   John's cheeks reddened, though his grin indicated he knew full well he was being teased, despite the bishop's mildly censuring tone.  "I would hope the solution to that would be obvious without needing to flip a coin.  Helena would get the bed, you'd get the trundle, and I'd be relegated to the corner to stay awake all night chaperoning both of you as my penance for being such an idiot."

   "Sounds reasonable to me."

#

   Helena freshened up at the basin provided for her use, taking her time as she focused on regaining her composure.  The threatening feelings she'd felt earlier had mostly dissipated, though every once in a while, if she lowered her shields enough, she could still pick up some of the dark resonance that lingered within the castle walls.  Within this portion of the castle, at least; she could hardly speak for the rest of the grounds, as she'd not had a chance to explore them yet.  No, the worst of it so far had seemed to be concentrated in that one area.  She would have to go back there, of course, to learn what she'd come here to discover, but not just yet.  Not until she was better prepared.

   The late Baroness Ardith was not the only baroness Helena felt a surge of pity for.  She thought back on the shy young bride who had conveyed her to this chamber.  Baroness Adela had mustered up the courage to ask Helena if she enjoyed the convent life.  Sister Helena had explained to her that the Servants of Saint Camber were not a traditional cloistered order, and that she was not a nun, but that she had had a brief taste of convent life once, and had enjoyed some aspects of it, though not all.  Lady Adela's eyes had filled with tears at that point as she'd confided that she had been allowed to attend a convent school in her girlhood, and had harbored hopes of being allowed to take holy vows, but that her parents had had other plans for her and had offered her in marriage to Baron Henslowe instead.  Her abbess had been sympathetic at first, but upon learning that Adela's father would not dower her if she refused to comply with his wishes on the matter, she had called Adela into her office and told her that while it was regrettable that the girl was to be wed against her personal preferences, the convent would not be able to keep her indefinitely if she could not supply a dowry for her maintenance.  She should take solace in the knowledge that holy matrimony was a sacrament, and that there were other ways a maiden might be called upon to serve God and kingdom besides the vow of celibacy.  Perhaps it was God's will that she marry after all, and once she was widowed—as seemed inevitable at some point, given the disparity between her tender years and her bridegroom's—she would be welcome to return to the convent at that time, with even more of a dowry to offer up for God's Kingdom.

   Helena privately thought that God probably had less objectionable ways for young Lady Adela to serve His purposes and help finance His work than a coerced marriage to a randy old goat of nearly fourscore years, but she said nothing, merely shaking her head and giving the younger woman a sympathetic smile.

   Her ablutions done, Helena turned her attention to the convex mirror on the wall, admiring its wooden frame, which was decorated with miniature paintings of the twelve Stations of the Cross.  She unpinned her veil and wimple, re-pinning her braided hair in its customary coil to make it more secure, as it had loosened in the hours since she'd pinned it up that morning.  She re-donned both head-coverings afterwards, deftly pinning them back into place with fingers well accustomed from long years of practice to setting the veil pins in their proper places, her mind elsewhere, gaze unfocused and staring sightlessly beyond her image in the mirror.  Another figure stared back at her and Helena started, nearly dropping the last veil pin.  She peered intently at the mirror once more, but the shadowy figure had vanished.

   She took a deep breath, allowing herself to slip into a light trance as she continued to focus on the mirror, using it as she would a scrying crystal.  After a few moments, she saw it again.  Saw her.  A woman's face gazed back at her, eyes large with fear.

   Helena saw the woman's lips form soundless words.  Help me, she said.  The magistra recognized the gown style of a bygone era on the mysterious woman's form, but such insight was hardly required for Helena to guess what lady had appeared in her vision.

   I'll do my best, Baroness Ardith
, she whispered.  

   The image rippled and was gone.  Helena crossed herself and retreated to a nearby corner to pray.

#

   Duncan noticed that Helena had changed out of the simple linen gown she'd worn for their journey into the even simpler Servant robes she habitually wore at the Schola before rejoining him and John for their foray into the Baron's Great Hall.  He thought he understood her reason for the change; her Camberian gray robes would serve as a visible reminder to their host of her purpose in being here, which was not to provide him with glimpses of glorious Llanneddan scenery.  Still, he rather missed the lavender-blue bliaut she'd worn earlier in the day.   He could hardly blame the old baron for being charmed.

   The three guests found themselves seated at the head table at a place of honor next to Lord Bertram, the baron's heir, who acted in his father's stead as lord of the hall now that the aged baron found it difficult to leave his bed.  His lady wife sat on his other side, a quiet woman called Elsabet who greeted them respectfully but who remained mostly silent afterwards, stealing curious glances at their end of the table from time to time. Beside her sat their two children—the eldest, a pimply-faced surly lad in early manhood, perhaps sixteen, and the youngest a truculent looking girl child of perhaps nine years.  At the very end sat Baroness Adela, mostly ignored by her step-son and stepdaughter-in-law, although Duncan found the occasional leers the youngest Henslowe male sent her way disturbing.  In theory, she ought to have held the greater place of honor due to her higher rank, but with the baron her husband absent from the hall, his son didn't seem to see any need to follow protocol, and Adela was hardly the sort to assert her right to higher precedence, even at her own table.  

   If the baronial household was lax in their treatment of their own mistress, however, it more than made up for that in the welcome accorded to the visiting bishop and his Schola staff.  Duncan stole a look at John, who looked slightly ill at ease with all the curious attention their end of the table was receiving.  Helena, on the other hand, appeared to be comfortably settling into her meal, although as their eyes met, she shared a silent wave of tolerant amusement in his direction.

   We need to talk, she Mind-Spoke to him.  An image filled his mind of the vision she'd seen in her guest chamber mirror earlier.  He nearly choked on a morsel of food in surprise, took a quick swallow of wine to wash it down as he sent a questioning look Helena's way.

   Baroness Ardith?


   Presumably.

   Duncan pondered the apparition, wondering if, in fact, Helena had been assigned to the late baroness's former chambers.  There seemed to be one way to find out for sure.  He turned his attention back to their host for the evening, engaging him in polite conversation about the history of the Castle.

#

   So, my chamber wasn't Baroness Ardith's, then?  The three Deryni engaged in silent Mind-Spoken conversation while taking a leisurely post-supper stroll around the Baron's gallery on their way back up to their respective rooms, feigning a polite interest in the family portraits adoring the gallery's walls.

   Apparently not, Duncan answered Helena.  Our chambers are in a part of the Castle that Lord Bertram believes was a later addition, added during the latter half of his great-grandfather's life, a few decades after Baroness Ardith's death.  Or her disappearance, as the case may be.  Lord Bertram is of the opinion that his great-grandfather's first wife simply ran away from home.

   Helena gave the two priests a skeptical look.  Right.  Because a gently-born woman running off to live on her own stands such a good chance of making an honest livelihood.  Does he think she passed herself off as a man so she could be apprenticed in a trade?  Or does he think she ended up seeking sanctuary at a convent?  And no one took note of a gently-born woman turning up on a convent's doorstep unannounced and presumably undowered?

   John shrugged.  Unlikely, but I suppose it's vaguely possible, if they were sympathetic.  

   Perhaps they'd be sympathetic enough towards a wife afraid of an abusive husband to hide her, if that had simply been the case.  But towards a Deryni runaway, three generations ago?

   Would they have known she was Deryni, though? Duncan noted.  Not that I believe she ran off to a convent either, but if she had, I don't imagine she'd have volunteered that information.  

   A sudden look of realization crossed John's face.  She wouldn't have.  Her family was burned at the stake for being Deryni.  She mentions that in her journal, towards the end of it.  That's why she was so frightened; up until then, she had managed to keep her Deryni bloodline concealed from her new husband, but after her family was betrayed and publicly executed, her secret was out.

   Helena's mouth went dry. Were her entries dated?  How much time passed between that entry and Baroness Ardith's disappearance?

   John shrugged. Hard to say.  She dated some of them, but only sporadically.  Towards the end, the entries were very short and appear to have been written in a hurry.  Those are mostly undated.  My guess is...maybe a month between that entry and the last one?  The priest pondered the question.  She had a dated entry a few weeks before her family's execution in which she mentions suspecting she might be pregnant.  When she got word of their deaths, she was afraid she would miscarry, but she didn't.  In the entry after that, it's clear she's not told her husband about the baby yet; she was afraid of how he would react to finding out he had fathered a Deryni child. She was afraid for his safety—her unborn child's, that is—as well as for her own.

   Duncan glanced sharply at John. Her child would have been the baron's heir, then, if he was a male child.  His brow furrowed in thought.  How soon might a human father have suspected his wife was with child? He glanced at Helena.  How early do the first signs begin to show?

   She gave them both a rueful smile.  You're asking the wrong woman, I'm afraid.  I suppose if she'd had morning sickness, he would have figured things out fairly soon, but if not...well, I'm told there are other early signs that a woman is bearing, but Sister Therese might be a better person to ask about those.  Or any woman who has actually borne a child, I suppose, assuming she'd be willing to answer a question so personal.  I imagine a lot would also depend on how observant her husband was, not to mention how regularly they...well, that is....  She blushed.

   He'd need to have had regular opportunities to observe any such signs and changes, yes, Duncan observed, his cheeks also beginning to warm slightly.  He turned away, studying the portrait before him.  Something else occurred to him.  There isn't a portrait of Baroness Ardith here, is there?

   John's eyes took a sweeping glance around the gallery. I don't think so.  Helena?

   Helena looked around, searching for the face from her recent vision. No, she's not here.  Not if the vision I saw tonight had a true likeness.

   They reached the end of the corridor.  A manservant awaited them at the gallery entrance to escort the two priests up to their chamber.  To Helena's surprise, Lady Elsabet stood waiting for her as well.

   "Good night, Sister Helena," Duncan said quietly.  To their host's daughter-in-law, he added, "Might we be permitted a tour of the castle grounds tomorrow morning after breakfast?"  He smiled winningly.  "What we've seen of Henslowe Hall so far looks quite lovely."

   The lady looked startled, then guardedly pleased.  "Thank you!  I would imagine that would be all right, my lord bishop."  She blushed slightly.  "I mean, I suppose that is why Baron Henslowe called you here, after all, so I can't imagine it wouldn't be permitted...."  Lady Elsabet gave an uneasy laugh.  "If you ask the Baron tomorrow, I'm certain he'll make the necessary arrangements.  Or if he is indisposed, perhaps my lord husband will arrange for a guided tour.  Yes, that would probably be best."  She ducked her head, giving him a quick curtsey and starting to turn away.

   "Oh, we really don't wish to be any trouble," Duncan assured her.  "We'd be glad to see ourselves around the grounds.  If the weather continues fair tomorrow, perhaps we can take a stroll through the bailey and the castle gardens at least?"

   The heir's lady bit her lower lip.  "Oh.  Well."  She pondered.  "I don't suppose there'd be any harm in that," she said slowly after a moment.  "Though it would be best to ask my lord husband for an escort, I suppose.  I could ask for you, if you like."

   John schooled his expression not to betray his surprise and growing unease at the lady's hesitancy.  It was a simple enough request, he thought; why would she feel the need to request permission of her lord or the baron to grant it, especially given the fact that their reasons for coming to Henslowe Hall were hardly secret, at least not from the baronial family?  Did she feel she lacked sufficient authority to grant even such a minor request, or was it that she felt a need to hide something?  And if the latter, then what?

   The lady curtseyed again, this time escorting Helena away to her separate bedchamber.  John raised an eyebrow at Duncan, who returned the look with a speculative smile.  They both turned to follow the manservant to their room.
   

Chapter Eight:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=769.0
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

AnnieUK

The plot thickens :) 

Baron Henslowe is A. Creep. 

And LOL at John chaperoning from the corner!

Jerusha

Thank you for going with the earlier "new Monday".  I am so intrigued by this.....there are so many possiblities...........

Is it next "new Monday" yet?   ;D
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Evie

LOL!  If by that you mean can you have the next chapter as well so you can see where the story is going next, sorry, for that you'll need to wait another week.  Or maybe a week and a day, if I go back to my regular schedule again....   ;D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Alkari

#4
Quote from: Jerusha on October 20, 2011, 03:22:39 PM
Is it next "new Monday" yet?  

LOL - had the same reaction and checked the date when I saw this chapter posted.  

Nicely mysterious and creepy.  Shades of delicious gothic horror stories ...

*Wonders if randy old goat will drastically over-exert himself soon.*

derynifanatic64

We will never forget the events of 9-11!!  USA!! USA!!

Alkari

Quote from: derynifanatic64 on October 20, 2011, 06:42:40 PM
Who you gonna call?  GHOSTBUSTERS!!  

AACK!   Now I have some very disturbing visions of the Duncan/ John / Helena trio, not to mention what they might find at Henslowe Hall ...    *Alkari shakes head and decides that perhaps she should go back to her sort/file/shred tidying-up tasks*

Shiral

Quote from: Alkari on October 20, 2011, 08:08:17 PM
Quote from: derynifanatic64 on October 20, 2011, 06:42:40 PM
Who you gonna call?  GHOSTBUSTERS!!  

AACK!   Now I have some very disturbing visions of the Duncan/ John / Helena trio, not to mention what they might find at Henslowe Hall ...    *Alkari shakes head and decides that perhaps she should go back to her sort/file/shred tidying-up tasks*

I just hope it won't mean somebody's about to get slimed. =o) Or that Medieval Gwynedd's about to get a visit from a great big marshmallow.

Poor Baroness Ardith....
And her poor family :'(

Melissa

You can have a sound mind in a healthy body--Or you can be a nanonovelist!

Evie

You people are sicker than I am.  And I mean that in the nicest possible way.  ;D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Rahere

#9
A psaltery? Plucked, I presume, as the bowed ones were a 20th century invention, for all that they sound well with hurdy-gurdies.
Perhaps you mean a psalter ::)

In connection with the mirror, are you following the real-world Arnolfini debate? My as yet unpublished contribution is the likelihood that the painter was a cosmologer.

Evie

Did I type 'psaltery'?  *looks at text*  Why yes, yes I did!  Thanks for the catch.  I did mean 'psalter,' but my typing fingers just got carried away, and I didn't catch it in the edits.  I'll go back and correct that.
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Rahere

A pleasure

That Arnolfini question is worth checking, see also Francis Bacon

Alkari

#12
Quotethe real-world Arnolfini debate
You mean, Rahere, the debate about artistic symbolism and whether that dreadfully dark and dreary Van Eyck painting is a wedding portrait or something else?  If it is a wedding portrait, the couple certainly don't look exactly thrilled - or even vaguely pleased - about the arrangement.  I've seen more enthusiasm in depictions of corpses in medieval and Renaissance paintings!   MY only question is whether FW Murnau and Max Schreck subconsciously used the man as their model for Count Orlock, as the figure always reminds me of Nosferatu wearing a large fur hat rather than a supposedly prosperous merchant.  :D  




Rahere

#13
I was more tightly focused on that mirror - it shouldn't be possible at that period, and we're talking similar design here, at least - it might seed ideas to be developed.
Don't go the is-she-or-isn't-she route, it leads nowhere, but the mirror's an open question still.

I take your point about the man, but you must also consider that as Italians in Northern Burgundy they were (to them) frozen solid, in a perpetual downpour, and without central heating - my boss in Brussels was Italian and if he wasn't working with two montagnards (Savoyarde and of Scots ancestry) he'd have had the heating at 25 or higher.

The importance of the painting isn't whether it's dynamic or not, it's that the artist is breaking away from the iconographic. One step at a time...

Alkari

LOL @ freezing cold and perpetual rain in northern Burgundy.   I'd be with your boss, though I wouldn't have the central heating quite that hot - a pleasant 19-20C would be fine!