This is the
15th episode in my
investigation of the discordant life of Sir Thomas Malory, author of Le Morte d’Arthur. Episode 1 can be found here.
By the end
of the 13th century only the rape of virgins was punished by death;
for others it was blinding and castration, carried out, at least in one
instance according to Christina Hardyment, by the victim herself. Sir Thomas Malory was accused of two
incidents of rape suddenly, and for the first time, in August 1451. The incidents supposedly occurred twelve
months and fifteen months before, involving the same woman, Joan Smyth, wife of
Hugh Smyth. This post addresses the legal
context for those accusations.
The word “rape” originally referred to two kinds of seizure: one preceding sexual violation and the other preceding abduction. The words “ravish” and “ravishment” were also used for any abduction. Thus a child might be ravished by her or his parents without sexual connotation. A common kind of abduction was of a married woman and such charges often included the theft of a husband’s goods.
Traditionally,
in the case of sexual assault, a hue and cry was raised as soon as the incident
was revealed or discovered, the wronged woman would show evidence: torn clothing or injuries. The perpetrator was arrested and the victim
would personally “appeal” him in the county court or before the King’s
Justices, who might be presiding over a traveling court, or in
Westminster. Married women, lawful
concubines, prostitutes, widows, i.e. anyone presumed to have sexual experience,
were precluded from personal appeal.
Such a case had to be indicted by a “jury of presentment,” 12 local men
who agreed to the truth of the charge. Perhaps
this was intended to prevent casual or
malicious accusations.
Not
unexpectedly, since punishment was severe, both appeals and indictments were
highly detailed, both in the physical description of the event and the
consequent damage or injuries.
In 1275 a
new statute, now generally referred to as “Westminster I” was passed, possibly
reflecting the influence of the unified canon law “Decretum Gratiani,” (which,
for the first time, differentiated between abduction and forced sexual
intercourse.) “Ravishment” was defined
as the abduction of a woman by force.
After 40 days, the crime could no longer be appealed by the victim, it
had to be indicted by the crown. Also,
it now became a “trespass” punishable by two years’ imprisonment and a fine.
In 1285 a
second statute, “Westminster II” amended the law further. If a woman was abducted with property, but
without her consent, the crime was a felony, even if she consented afterwards. The penalty, (only on prosecution of an
indictment, not an appeal) was death or castration.
According to
Henry Ansgar Kelly, the renowned scholar of medieval law who surveyed the cases
to place Malory’s case in context (“Statutes of Rapes and Alleged Ravishers of
Wives: a Context for the Charges against
Thomas Malory, Knight,” Viator,
volume 28, 1997, pages 361-419), the law was used for many applications beyond
straightforward sexual assault. For
example, it was used by families to force unwilling parties into marriage, by
girls attempting to force parents to accept an undesirable marriage through a
fait accompli, and by discarded mistresses to force compensation.
In 1382,
during the reign of Richard II, a third law was passed. It’s primary sponsor, Sir Thomas West, was legislating
in order to create legal redress for himself:
his own daughter was abducted and married by her preferred suitor
instead of the man he’d selected to advance the family’s social position. Under this new law,
-
- “ravishers and ravished” were “disabled from
dower, jointure, inheritance” after the death of their barons or ancestors.”
-
- “barons of such women, if they are married, or
their fathers or next of blood if they have no barons living, shall have suit
to prosecute.”
-
- No defendant shall be admitted for wager of
battle; truth must be tried at inquest.
The most novel
aspects, both of which were pertinent to Malory’s case in particular, were that
the family of the victim could now personally appeal the crime, not just the
victim herself, and the defendant was precluded from trial by wager of battle. The Commons almost immediately recognized the
dangers, describing the law as “too rough and redde” and petitioned for repeal
one year later. It was denied, but the
law was almost never applied: there is
only one recorded occurrence, in 1409, before Malory’s case.
Two perverse
themes emerge in the three cases I’ve looked at most carefully, including the
1409 case, Nanteglo versus Vide, Hotoft
versus Alexander et al in 1278, and
Witchingham versus Langstrother in 1451.
Women with wealth or good expectations were abducted and held in order
to extort money or force them into marriage.
Further, abductors in such cases
would prosecute rescuers or an original betrothed for rape ironically using the
law to accomplish what it was originally intended to discourage and punish.
What about
Malory’s case?
The details
in the indictment and Hugh Smyth’s appeal make it clear that this was not a
case of a member of the gentry abusing someone of lesser rank. Both the amount of the alleged theft and
subsequent research shows the Smyths to have had substantial means.
Kelly
strongly suspects legal chicanery was used to entrap Malory, “it is possible,
even probable, that carnal knowledge was specified in the indictment because
Smith and his lawyers (and Buckingham and the other colluding justices)
believed that sexual violation was necessary for the offense to be classified
as a felony.” This is consistent with
the strategies John Paston discusses in
the context of the Witchingham/Langstrother case.
The lack of
mention of physical evidence in the indictment is most telling as is the
absence of any testimony from the victim.
Further, the indictment explicitly did not say, as indictments for
sexual assault often did, that Malory violated Joan bodily (corporaliter
violavit) or forced her against her will (afforciavit contra voluntatem). Indeed, Hardyment argues that the language
of the indictment implies that the “rape” was actually a rescue, though I am
less sure. Nevertheless, Kelly clearly establishes
that “the statutory language used by the alleged husband amounted to an
admission that his wife had consented to the abduction.”
Indeed, as
Shannon McSheffrey and Julia Pope discuss (“Ravishment, Legal Narratives and
Chivalric Culture in Fifteenth Century England,” Journal of British Studies 48, October 2009, pages 818-836) legal
narratives were often shaped according to statutory definition. Incidents were embellished or even created
for that need; “truth (was) crafted as
much as discovered,” quoting Malcolm Gaskill.
The absence of many of those elements in the Malory indictment is what
is most revealing. Interestingly,
McSheffrey and Pope go further, positing
that the legal narratives were highly informed by chivalric literature and
romance.
To my mind, one
of the saddest aspects of the legal history surrounding rape in the late 14th
and early 15th centuries is how so much of the legislation is
intended to control women’s behavior and bodies through property rights, and as
de facto property, which is perhaps partly a consequence of the socially
dynamic, politically uncertain and dangerous times.
It’s
particularly interesting how the laws were leveraged to construct necessity, the
force of which enabled women and men to escape social, economic or familial
strictures to be with their preferred mate.
As is apparent, I am particularly indebted to
Christina Hardyment’s illuminating and comprehensive examination of all the
issues surrounding the accusations of rape against Malory: legal, cultural and literary, as well as the
work of Henry Ansgar Kelly to which she refers.
Episode 16 can be found here.
Episode 16 can be found here.
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