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Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Twenty-Four

Started by Evie, April 20, 2012, 10:55:57 AM

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Evie

   Chapter Twenty-Four

   Rhemuth Castle
   November 15, 1136


   The Lady of Eddington was peeved.  Her original plan to seduce the handsome Corwyn guard into allowing her escape had come to naught.  When more subtle suggestions had appeared to go unnoticed, she'd resorted to a more blatant invitation, but to her surprise he seemed to find it more amusing than tempting.  Annoyed by his reaction, she'd tried to resort to more arcane means of persuasion, only to find his mind well-shielded.  Not that he was Deryni, but the Duke of Corwyn had evidently taken precautions against the King's prisoner tampering with the minds of her guards.  Any of them, whether Corwyn liegemen or Royal, as Ædwige soon discovered over the course of the next few hours.

   And to add insult to injury, the guard had proved less than discreet, and now the knowing glances and smirks exchanged by the rest of the guardsmen fueled her embarrassment.  One man had been so ungentlemanly as to suggest that the King might be merciful enough to send her to a nunnery instead of having her executed, if she was so eager to atone for her crimes as to offer herself up even before her sentencing.  Ædwige was hardly so sheltered as to think for a moment he was referring to an actual convent.  The nerve of the man!

   But it was a maiden whose face now appeared in the small window of her locked and warded chamber door, and not just any maiden's, but one who was all too familiar to Ædwige.  She spoke in a low voice to the guard, who looked hesitant to admit her at first, but at her display of cupped handfire he nodded and unlocked the door for her.  Ædwige's visitor entered, cool blue eyes sweeping the dimly lit room until she spotted its occupant.

   "What are you doing here?" Ædwige asked, scowling.

   "Bringing your supper, unless you don't want any," Cass replied.  "It makes little difference to me if you eat or not, but the King seems to think you ought to be kept alive long enough for him to decide if you should live or die.  I'd hate to see him disappointed, especially on his birthday."  Cass's gaze flitted towards the narrow window slit that let in what remained of the day's light.  She set the trencher on the window's stone ledge, then untied a leather flask from her belt and deposited that onto it as well.

   Ædwige glanced at the trencher, confused.  "Where's my food?  If it's the King's birthday, there's a feast being served in the Great Hall tonight, is there not?"

   Cass smiled.  "Oh, yes!  It smells wonderful, too.  I caught the scent of roasting meat in the air as I walked over here.  Which reminds me, I suppose I'd better be getting back.  Lady Briony is saving me a place at table, and I'd hate for her to think I shan't be back in time and offer it to someone else."

   "But...."  Ædwige fumed.  Was the girl being deliberately obtuse?  "Where's my supper?"

   Cass raised an ebony eyebrow at her as she tilted her head toward the window ledge.  "That's your supper.  It's perfectly good bread, that trencher.  If you don't want it, I'm sure the poor will be glad to see a freshly baked trencher in the alms basket tonight, even if it hasn't been soaked through with savory sauces."

   Ædwige barely resisted the urge to fling the leather flask at her insufferable visitor's head.  "When does the King plan to try me?" she asked instead.  "I hate it up here!  This chamber's far too small, the bed is hard, the blanket itches, and the Keep is full of leering men."

   "He's not going to call you into Court during his birthday festivities, I can assure you!" Cass retorted.  "So I'd say you're safe for at least one more day.  Though why you'd be in a hurry to be brought into Court, I have no idea.  I should think you'd be glad for any delay."  She looked around the small chamber.  "And at least you've got an upper room with a window to let in light and fresh air, and no damp or mold.  There is a dungeon in this Keep, don't forget, and should you desire a change of accommodation, I'm certain His Majesty would be quite happy to oblige you.  And you needn't fear the Royal Guard; they're too well disciplined to harm a prisoner, though they might find a bit of sport in teasing you.  That stunt you pulled against the Bishop's men-at-arms didn't exactly endear you to them, you know.  Then again, you've never been an especially endearing sort, have you?"

   Ædwige unstopped the flask, finding it full of water rather than wine.  This time she gave in to her urge to fling it towards Cass's head, but the maiden was already walking out the door.  The guard swiftly locked it again before it could occur to Ædwige to try to follow her.

#

   Rhemuth Castle
   November 17, 1136

   
   Ædwige held her father's letter up so she could read it more clearly in the light streaming in through her tiny window.  

   "...I cannot understand your actions, much less give His Majesty an answer for them or account for your motivations.  I have been both father and mother to you, have always tried to give you everything you've ever wanted, and did my best to see you never lacked for anything, and for what?  I gave you the best of men for a husband, one whom I knew would dote on you as I did, and yet you would not be content.  Yes, I knew you felt unready to be a wife yet, but I'd hoped in wedding you to Gilrae that you'd learn to be governed, and once he passed on to his heavenly reward, I believed you would be well enough provided for to make your own choice of husband in due time.  But oh, Ædwige, the one thing I could never give to you was patience.  Even if you were so unhappy as to long for your freedom, could you not have simply waited one more year or two for it?  And then to hear that you have compounded your rash act with further evils.... I cannot fathom what you have become.  You are not the sweet young maiden I once loved.

   "I do not know what possessed you to think that I might be able to extricate you from the consequences of your foul deeds.  Even if I could do so, I would not.  I am afraid there is nothing left for you now than to face the grave bravely that you have dug with your own hands, and ready your soul to meet its Maker.  Perhaps in doing so, you may redeem what little may be left of your honor.  I wash my hands of you, child.  I have no daughter anymore; whatever fate the King might decide for you, you are dead to me as of this moment.  May God have mercy upon your soul.  Father Lars includes you in his prayers daily."

   The lady's eyes hardened as she crumpled up the message and incinerated it.  Fine, let the overly-scrupulous bastard rot, then!  If Papa would be of no use, she'd find some other way to get out of the bind she was in, and then she'd move somewhere where the right sort of folk would appreciate her.  Bremagne, maybe.  It was said to be a warm and pleasant kingdom, and there was no disputing the fact that their gowns were far more fashionable.  Yes, perhaps it was time to consider a move to Bremagne.

   Allowing herself to be lulled by the fantasy of handsome Bremagni courtiers gathered around her, captivated by her charms and plying her with compliments in their sultry accents, she failed to notice the sound of footsteps approaching her chamber until a key turned in the warded lock and the door opened.

#

   "Lady Ædwige, your presence is requested and required by King Kelson, Sovereign of Gwynedd."  The young man standing before her stood stiffly formal, no trace of his former warmth towards her lingering in his eyes as he gazed at her.  They might as well have been strangers.  Nor did the young woman standing behind him look any more approachable, although her gray-blue eyes held a lingering sadness as she studied Ædwige.

   She dipped into a polite curtsey.  "Lord Sivney....Lady Briony...."  As she rose, she noticed a third person behind them both.  Her lips tightened slightly, although she dipped once again.  "And Your Grace."  She gave a brittle laugh as she met Morgan's gaze.  "Three Deryni to fetch one lone woman?  Isn't that overkill?"

   Alaric Morgan gave her a grim smile.  "I think not, my lady.  Don't forget I've seen your recent handiwork."  He bound the lady's wrists with a silken cord that was stronger than it appeared, muttering a quick spell above the knotwork securing it around her bound hands before glancing back up at her face.  "There, that ought to keep you well behaved along the way."

   The three escorted her down the stairs of the castle keep, Sivney and Briony to either side of her and Alaric following close behind, keeping a close watch on the prisoner's every movement.  The men-at-arms guarding the outer doors stepped back to let them out into the upper bailey.  Ædwige stopped short just outside the doorway, blinking at the unaccustomed brightness of the sunlight streaming down upon her.  Her Deryni escort waited a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust.

   The Great Hall loomed to one side of the courtyard they stood in, the Lesser Hall flanking the other side of it, next to the castle's outer wall, and across the cobbled expanse, beyond both Halls, was the northern wing of the Royal residence containing the Royal Chapel.  Lord Sivney began to steer Ædwige towards the front steps of the Great Hall, but she stopped suddenly, gazing up at him with a pleading look.  "Please, Sivney, can't I stop by the Chapel first?  I need to make my confession."  Tears welled up in her eyes.

   A corner of his lips quirked.  "I imagine you do, my lady, but surely that can wait until after your trial."

   Ædwige allowed the tears to spill over.  "Oh please, Sivney!  I know you must hate me after...after all you've heard and believe of me...but...."  She lowered her voice slightly, although not quite enough to prevent her other two escorts from overhearing what she added next.  "Sivney, please!  After all the liberties you sweet-talked me into, I daren't face my death unshriven!"  A becoming blush tinted her cheeks.

   Briony gave Sivney an involuntary startled glance, then lowered her eyes demurely, struggling to regain her aplomb.  The young man's face flamed with mortification, and he risked a quick glance at the Duke, who raised an eyebrow by the merest fraction and answered in the nonplussed young lord's stead.

   "After murder and attempted murder, I should think a twinge of conscience over a dalliance would be the least of your worries, Lady Ædwige," Alaric said smoothly, "but I'm certain Kelson will allow you ample opportunity to repent of your sins after he's heard your case and pronounced sentence."

   "Perhaps...."  Sivney cleared his throat and started over.  "Maybe we should let her be shriven first."  He swallowed hard, looking self-conscious as he did his best to meet the Duke of Corwyn's questioning gaze.  "It wouldn't take very long, would it?   And Briony could go on ahead and let the Crown know the reason for our delay."

   The maiden's golden eyebrows arched as she speared Sivney with an incredulous look.  "And what shall I tell them, that the prisoner will be arriving later than expected because you've both had a sudden attack of conscience over your inability to keep your clothes on?"

   The young man looked stricken, his face going a deeper shade of crimson.  "Oh Jesú, you needn't tell them that!  I just thought...Surely Kelson wouldn't deny her the right to seek absolution?"

   Alaric's gray eyes studied them both before glancing at Ædwige, who stood before them, eyes still downcast, her features shadowed with fear.  He sighed.  "Damn it, Sivney, the next time you're in rut, do you think you can manage to avoid diddling with a felon!"  At his daughter's aghast look, he gave her an apologetic half-smile and added, "Sorry, poppet."  He shook his head.  "All right, then, I'll inform Kelson of the reason for the delay.  He wasn't planning on convening the Court just yet anyway; I just offered to collect the prisoner a bit early in case she decided to take the opportunity to create some unexpected mischief.  I suppose she can sit and stew just as well in the Chapel Royal as she could in some antechamber."  He caught the prisoner's eye with a knowing look.  "But make no mistake, Lady Ædwige, I'm not granting your request for the sake of your conscience, but for the sake of Lord Sivney's."  He gave the younger man a meaningful look.  "And you might start to give careful consideration to looking for a wife sooner rather than later, if you're finding it difficult to govern your passions."  He handed the loose end of the cord binding the prisoner's wrists into Sivney's keeping and left them, his long stride swiftly eating up the short distance between the Keep and the Great Hall.

#

   "It's you!"  Ædwige stopped iust inside the doorway of the Chapel Royal as she stared at the Castle's chaplain, her expression a study in consternation.  "What are you doing here?"

   Father Nivard, once he got over his momentary shock at seeing the Lady Ædwige appear unexpectedly before him, gave her a wry smile in acknowledgment both of what she was asking and what she'd left unspoken.  "I'm the Royal Chaplain, my Lady.  Surely you didn't think I spend all of my time in the Royal Library?"

   "No, but...."  She glanced at her Deryni escorts as if looking to them for answers to her plight.  

   Sivney, not knowing the reason for Ædwige's hesitation, simply gazed back at her questioningly, but Briony raised a golden eyebrow at her.  "Can't quite bring yourself to confess your sins to a priest you wrongfully accused of misconduct?"  At Ædwige's startled look, she added, "Oh yes, I eventually saw through that little tale you led me to believe, and so did everyone else who looked into the matter.  Or did you forget that you can't implicate someone in wrongdoing for very long if their innocence will stand up to direct Truth-Reading?  Or maybe you're reluctant not because you're unwilling to confess everything to him, but because you've already done that and you know he's not simply going to absolve you of your sins unless you're truly penitent?  Is that why you concocted that story about him, because Father Nivard is too conscientious a priest to just whitewash over your sordid acts and let you go on fooling the world into thinking you're harmless?"

   Ædwige turned pale as she stared at her former friend, then crimson.  "You think you're so righteous, Briony Morgan, but you're cut from the same cloth as your father!   You may think you'd never kill a man, but when your father gives you to some aged, spindly-legged codger with clammy hands who can't keep his gnarled paws off you, you'll do whatever it takes to free yourself from him too, see if you don't!"

   Briony's eyes filled with tears, although she raised her chin defiantly.  "I will not!  I...I might kill a man if I had to...if my life depended on it...but I'd not commit murder like you did!"  She tossed her head, blinking away the annoying moisture in her eyes. "And anyway, my Papa wouldn't do that to me.  He loves me!"

   Ædwige smiled in cold triumph.  "Does he now?  That's funny; my own Papa loved me also, but he still gave me to Sir Gilrae.  You see, Briony, it's a man's world, and they only love us as long as we're pretty, docile little poppets.  But once we grow up, we're nothing but pawns.  Even you, Briony, for all that you're a Duke's daughter."  Ædwige gave a cool laugh.  "Mayhap especially you, being a Duke's daughter.  I hope he's perfectly hideous, whoever Morgan or the King ends up saddling you with.  Though you'll console yourself with knowing it's all for the good of Corwyn and the Kingdom that some man you loathe is stuffing you every night in hopes of breeding more man-cubs, won't you, because that's how you've been bred?  Well, not me.  I'm made of stronger stuff, and I'll make my own way in life."

   Sivney's lips tightened as he put a protective arm around Briony's shoulders.  "Yes, we see how well that's gone for you so far, Ædwige.  But I thought you came here for a reason?  If you've changed your mind, let's be off; we don't want to keep the King waiting any longer than absolutely necessary."

   "You might not."  Ædwige smiled grimly at her former lover.  "I'm in no hurry to go through his sham of a trial and hear his slanted 'justice' handed down from on high.  I already know what he's going to decide; why in the world would I want to hurry forth to hear that?  Though you're right, I did come here for a specific purpose."  Turning back to Father Nivard, she added, "Father, I have a confession I need to make."

   He inclined his head gravely.  "Of course, my daughter."  Sweeping his hand towards the relative privacy of a wall alcove, he added, "After you?"

   Ædwige laughed.  "Oh, not to you, Father!  No, I'll make my confession to the King's Coroner.  I believe that's the custom, isn't it, when making a formal claim to the right of Sanctuary?"

#

   Alaric had seen that thunderous look before on a previous king's face.   How very much like Brion his son looked at this moment, and a furious Brion at that.

   "She's done what?!" Kelson roared as his brother-in-law brought him the unwelcome news of Ædwige's unexpected maneuver.  

   Lord Sivney flinched slightly but met his half-sister's husband's gaze steadily as he repeated himself.  "She's sought sanctuary in the Chapel Royal.  Father Nivard confirmed she's got the right to do so.  Not that he seemed all that happy about it."

   No, Alaric rather imagined not!  He glanced at his cousin.  Duncan sat nearby, staring up at the messenger with eyebrows raised in startled speculation.

   Kelson drew his composure back together like a tattered cloak and glanced at the Auxiliary Bishop.  "It's my chapel; I don't suppose I can simply drag the chit out of there and force her to face trial anyway?" he asked, his tone of voice indicating some vestige of his usual good humor had returned, however small it might yet be at that moment.

   Duncan shook his head slowly, letting out a gusty sigh.  "I wouldn't recommend it, Sire.  It would put the Archbishops in the uncomfortable position of having to stand united against you, because she does have the right to claim sanctuary from the Church, however little we may wish to grant that right to her."

   "Then again, it just depends on whether you think handing down a formal sentence of execution on the damn-fool wench in spite of her claim is worth doing a bit of penance over, or if you'd rather just give her the rope to hang herself with," Alaric muttered.  "The penance for dragging her out of a chapel—even the Chapel Royal—is a bit lower than if you were to haul her kicking and screaming out of the cathedral, I'd imagine, but it might be more worthwhile to simply let her have her way in this.  My apologies, my Prince; I should have foreseen she might try a stunt like this."  Glancing at his cousin again, he added, "And don't give me that look, Duncan; you'll note that I didn't advise Kelson to drag her recalcitrant little arse out of the chapel, tempting as that thought might be."

   Duncan's lips quirked.  "So noted.  And I'll admit to being far from immune to that temptation myself.  It's a hell of a position for poor John to find himself in, though, after what she's put him through."

   Kelson drummed restless fingers on the arm of his chair.  "What does she thinks she stands to gain with this ploy?  Aside from forty days of postponing the inevitable, I mean?  Surely she doesn't think I mean to simply let her go afterward?"

   Duncan nodded.  "If she forfeits all her worldly goods to the Crown and abjures the realm, you'd be bound to release her by law and tradition, so long as she meets all of the requisite conditions.  Although I doubt the lass has thought her situation through—either that, or she lacks a thorough understanding of the laws and conditions pertaining to claims of sanctuary—or else she'd know she stands little hope of success with her plan despite that, especially if the coroner she makes her confession to is in the least bit unsympathetic.  A swift execution at a skilled swordsman's hand would be far more humane than any number of fates that might befall her if she insists on pursuing this course.  The conditions which must be met for the sanctuary laws to apply also make it unlikely that the supplicant will completely escape justice, although of course that would be exactly what she's hoping for."

   "Yes, won't that be a nasty shock for her?  And in the meantime she's to be housed and fed at my expense for the next forty days, unless she makes her confession and decides to test the winds of Fortune sooner?"  Kelson gave his companions a grim smile.  "All right, then, I'd planned to offer her a quick and merciful death despite the severity of her crimes, but if she's so determined to run headlong from folly to folly, far be it from me to stop her."

#

   "You cannot be serious!"  Briony paced the aisle of the small chapel in agitation.  "Ædwige, claiming sanctuary isn't going to help your case at all!"

   "Oh?  I fail to see how doing so could possibly hurt it!" Ædwige declared, a smug look marring her otherwise lovely features.

   The Queen's lady-in-waiting threw up her hands.  "Father Nivard, tell her!"

   The priest nodded, gazing earnestly at the young woman before him.  "I don't think you understand all that's involved in sanctuary law."

   "I think I understand it well enough," Ædwige bluffed.  "I know I get to escape trial and execution.  I might have to confess everything I did to a coroner, but in any case everyone already knows all that or I'd not be here in this predicament, now would I?  And then I'd be free to leave."

   "And go where, my lady?" John asked gently.

   "Bremagne, or...well, someplace besides here, I suppose!  Does it really matter?"

   He gave her a sad smile.  "It might.  How do you plan to afford such a trip, if all of your worldly possessions become forfeit to the Crown?"

   "Become...."  Ædwige stared at him for a long moment, then tossed her head, looking mulish.  "Well, I'm sure there are ways around that!  Papa...."  Her voice trailed off as she realized she couldn't call upon his help either."

   "No, Ædwige, he couldn't help, even if he were willing.  If you claim right of sanctuary, all your worldly goods become forfeit to the Crown, including any coin or goods your father might wish to supply you with while you are in the Crown's keeping.   And if you remain here the full forty days you're entitled to by law, then offering you any aid at all after the fortieth day would be a hanging offense for a layman.  Even a priest couldn't offer you any sort of assistance after that, even to give you so much as a cup of water or a scrap of bread, for fear of banishment.  You'd be a confessed felon, sworn to leave the realm of Gwynedd at the earliest opportunity.  Sworn to go directly to whichever port the King's Coroner directs you to depart from, and to seek passage elsewhere within the course of a single tide.  And if you don't manage to find a ship's captain willing to convey you—which might be a much harder task than you realize if you have no coin on you or valuable goods to barter with—then you must wade daily into the sea up to your knees to show your willingness to cross over until such passage might be found."

   "Well...up to my knees wouldn't be so bad...." Ædwige said, her voice faltering only a little.

   John leaned forward slightly, pressing the point.  "My lady, you would be considered a wolf's head, exiled from the City and bound to make your way from here on the most direct highway to whichever port of exile the Coroner directs you to, whether it be one nearby such as Desse or one all the way across the Kingdom, like Lady Briony's Coroth.  You would be bare-headed and dressed in sackcloth, carrying a wooden cross which you must make by your own hand, bound by law to proclaim your crimes to all passers-by along your route, and not permitted to stop in any place longer than one night.  Should you fail in this, people are justly entitled to treat you as the wolf and behead you without fear of penalty.  And if you should ever set foot in Gwynedd again, you will be an outlaw and your head forfeit to any man who can lift a sword."

   "But that would happen anyway, wouldn't it, if I turn myself over to the King's Justice?"  Ædwige tossed her head.  "Which means there's little harm in me trying my chance at it; certainly more hope in that than not trying!  Besides, isn't the Coroner also supposed to warn people off from hurting me?"

   "Yes, but it's not like he's going to follow you the entire way out of Rhemuth!" Briony exclaimed.  "Ædwige, be reasonable!  The moment you're out of sight of the City gates, you could be prey to anyone out there.  Some of Sir Gilrae's relatives, perhaps—they'd have good reason to want you dead, wouldn't they?  Or the common folk; they're not too keen on convicted murderers wandering about the countryside!  And there are bands of brigands who travel along the highways looking for easy prey; what do you think your chances would be if you fell into their hands?"

   Ædwige smiled.  "Have you forgotten I'm Deryni?"

   Briony gaped at her.  "No, but that hardly makes you invincible, nor does it make you immortal!"

   "Maybe not, but maybe it makes me better equipped than you lily-livered lot who refuse to take advantage of our full powers!"  Ædwige shrugged.  "I've made my decision and you can't stop me.  Live or die, I'll do it on my own terms."

   "Dear Jesú...."  Briony swallowed down tears.  "I can't bring myself to wish you dead, but I can't bring myself to wish you success either.  Even if you do make it to Bremagne or some other Kingdom, how will you be able to survive, much less live with yourself after?"

   Ædwige snorted.  "Sweet little innocent, and you nearly a woman grown!"  She patted the maiden's hand condescendingly.  "I'll be just fine."
      

Chapter Twenty-Five:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=868.0
"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

LOL at Alaric. "recalcitrant little arse" indeed. Speaks his mind, does the Duke of Corwyn!

And AEdwige is getting as good as Jon at leaping from frying pans to fires.

Shiral

Me thinks there's time for a good Deryni Lady cat-fight, yet.  Perhaps Aedwige will have to face the Queen AND Richenda at once.  :D Or  perhaps Rothana....

Alaric, did you REALLY have to pick Sivney as part of Aedwige's escort?  Brendan would have been a better choice!

Bremagne  wouldn't be all that thrilled to host Aedwige, either, I'm thinking.... Not for long, anyway!

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

Jerusha

Given that Aedwide is with child, wouldn't Kelson delay execution until after the child is born? Or, could they get around the sanctuary plee due to harm to the child after the 40 days run out?

On the other hand, Aedwige bareheaded in sackcloth is an appealing notion.

Alaric needs to have a very long talk with Sivney (and give him a good shake!)
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Alkari


Alaric must be getting softhearted in his old age, allowing her to confess before her trial.   Still, I suspect that the little darling is about to get her final come-uppance once the forty days ends.  Barefoot, pregnant and on the road with no money and no-one at all permitted to help her is not going to be easy.

Hmm, what port will be selected?  Coroth?  or perhaps Stavenham or Ballymar?  :D

Elkhound

The term of sanctuary will be tolled until the child is born.  I see her transported to the Convent of the Rainbow, there to be kept until the child is born.  (The Rainbow Sisters have enough Deryni among them to keep her under control.)  The child will be given forthwith to a wet-nurse, who will care for it until she/he can be given to Gilrae's family. She will then be sent forth under the conditions described.

Alkari

#6
Somehow, I doubt that Aedwige is going to get that luxury.   She could have "pleaded her belly" in any trial to delay execution if there was a guilty verdict, but sanctuary had very clearly defined rights and procedures.   These did not include sending a pregnant woman fugitive to a nice convent until the birth occurred.   Same as if a fugitive was wounded or ill - if he/she hadn't recovered by the end of the 40 days, then tough luck.  They had to leave: if they failed to do so, they could be dragged out.

As the church itself or the local people had the burden of feeding someone who claimed sanctuary, sometimes people 'escaped' simply because local villagers didn't want the expense of feeding and keeping the fugitive for 40 days.  Aedwige has chosen a nice royal chapel, but I reckon she won't be getting much more than stale bread and water while she considers her options  :D

Elkhound

#7
Quote from: Alkari on April 21, 2012, 03:33:22 AM
Somehow, I doubt that Aedwige is going to get that luxury.   She could have "pleaded her belly" in any trial to delay execution if there was a guilty verdict, but sanctuary had very clearly defined rights and procedures.   These did not include sending a pregnant woman fugitive to a nice convent until the birth occurred.  

How often did the question of a pregnant fugitive come up?  Wouldn't insisting on strict application of the terms of sanctuary mean punshing the child for the crimes of his/her mother, which is manifestly unjust?  

Charge her keep until the child is born to the Eddington Estate; at this point Aedwige can be considered a live incubator for the heir.

Alkari

She had the option of pleading her belly after a trial, which would have saved the child (assuming it survived thebirth) and decided to take the route of sanctuary.   She can't have it both ways, and the rights of sanctuary are clearly defined.   The community as a whole might be rather peeved if she was allowed to somehow extend those rights just becaused she was pregnant.     

QuoteWouldn't insisting on strict application of the terms of sanctuary mean punshing the child for the crimes of his/her mother, which is manifestly unjust? 
Well, in a society that apparently believes that the innocent widow of a traitor will in turn betray her next husband (see Richenda), I doubt that this is much of a concern. 

derynifanatic64

Maybe turn her over to Teymuraz (though he might commit suicide after a few days).  Which might be a good thing.
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Elkhound

Quote from: Alkari on April 21, 2012, 05:29:32 PM
Well, in a society that apparently believes that the innocent widow of a traitor will in turn betray her next husband (see Richenda), I doubt that this is much of a concern. 

How many people outside of the King's innermost circle knew for sure that Richenda was innocent?  If you only knew what most of the populace--or even most of the aristocracy--would have known (not given our intimate view as readers), their suspecting Richenda's motives was perfectly reasonable.  At best she would have looked like a social-climber--from minor gentry to a countess, and thence to a dutchess--while at worst. . . .

Evie

Not quite minor gentry.  Richenda's father was only a baron, IIRC, but her mother Michendra was a princess of Andelon.  That's the connection through which she has royal blood ties with Rothana.  (And Prince Azim as well, I think, though without access to my Codex I forget how exactly.) So while fhe average commoner might not know or care about all that, you can bet that any noble highborn enough to care about the "Stud Book" would know or at least could easily find out that she's marrying more or less equally despite her father's lower rank. 
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Alkari

#12
I wasn't concerned with any issue of parity in rank - my point was in answer to the 'visiting the sins of the mother on an unborn child' aspect.   I noted that for many in Gwynedd / Corwyn, there seemed to be an implicit assumption that just because a husband was a traitor, his widow would also be one, whether or not she had any opportunity or even motive to be involved.   That's visiting the sins of the husband on the wife, whether or not she had been involved in his treachery, shared his views, came from a family with similar loyalties, etc.     


Elkhound

Quote from: Evie on April 21, 2012, 09:33:05 PM
Not quite minor gentry.  Richenda's father was only a baron, IIRC, but her mother Michendra was a princess of Andelon.  That's the connection through which she has royal blood ties with Rothana.  (And Prince Azim as well, I think, though without access to my Codex I forget how exactly.) So while fhe average commoner might not know or care about all that, you can bet that any noble highborn enough to care about the "Stud Book" would know or at least could easily find out that she's marrying more or less equally despite her father's lower rank. 

I thought that in Gwynned rank was passed only in the male line and a woman lost her birthrank when she married.

In any case, the point stands---for anyone who didn't know Richenda and know all the facts to which we, as readers, are privy, being suspicious of her motives, at least at first, would be quite reasonable.

Elkhound

Quote from: Alkari on April 22, 2012, 04:06:42 AMThat's visiting the sins of the husband on the wife, whether or not she had been involved in his treachery, shared his views, came from a family with similar loyalties, etc.

But nobody was calling for her or Brendan's summary execution simply for having been in the family of a traitor, which is what is happening here with A.'s child.