A whole chapter in The Betwitching of Anne Gunter is dedicated to contemporary law, which I found particularly fascinating because not only how much it resonates with how our legal institutions work now, but also how the two contrast in so many ways.  For instance, lawyers, a traditional element of trials, were “largely absent from criminal trials” (120) of the time.  Also very different from today are how trials back then often involved a “direct confrontation between the accuser and the accused” (121); and how often the judge – rather than act as a neutral arbiter as expected today – would actually interpose in the trial himself, his input being “as important in the trial of witchcraft as it was with any other offense” (122).

“”You may write this to the king,” Elizabeth startled the [French] ambassador by stating, ” that the duke of Alencon shall be my husband.”  She then turned to the duke and kissed him on the mouth, and drew a ring from her own hand to give him as a pledge.” (pg. 63)

This incident with the Duke of Alencon highlights the very real possibility that Elizabeth could have gone a different route in history and marry the last of her foreign suitors, breaking her vow to never marry in the process.  After all, pressure on her to marry at this point was especially significant by this time: by marring a French duke a possible alliance could have been secured with France, which could have put increasingly hostile Spain in check – to say nothing of coming dangerously close to menopause and therefore facing the real risk of not being able to produce an heir in time.  Elizabeth may also have felt genuine affection for Alencon, seeing him as a salve after Robert Dudley’s marriage.  One may only consider then how different history might have been if Elizabeth finally did decide to break her vow and marry Alencon, if it had not been for worries over Elizabeth’s advanced age as well as domestic agitation.

“When the burgesses were summoned, they replied that they were in the king’s protection, and on the question of their holdings… they refused to answer, as that would be contrary to the liberty of the town and their charters” (pg. 69)

We’ve discussed in class how the social orders of the day were fierce in their willingness to protect their respective rights, such as the clergy and (increasingly) the free citizens of the towns.  Often these would clash.  In fact, the context for this quote involves a dispute between the merchants of London and Abbot Samson’s convent over the question of tolling – each interest group using their own legal justification for their own cause.  The idea of asserting one’s rights and liberties (albeit in a different form during this time than much later) is a long-running theme in British history; and this quote also reflects the rise of townsmen (and in particular merchants), as indicated by their incorporation into the near-contemporary Magna Carta.

When Cormac reprimanded Fergus by pointing out his personal war against his own countrymen, Fergus yielded and asked “What then should I do?” (The Tain, 203).  This instance exemplifies the murky nature of Fergus.  He felt that his betrayal was justified by being tricked out of the kingship.  However, Fergus also hesitated several times in fighting his kin, and especially so with Cu Chulainn.  Therefore, did Fergus’ shifting loyalties between Ulster and Connacht reflect a character who was indecisive, or one who coldly calculated when to pick his fights?  What wider point can be made then about the Irish warrior aristocracy?