Even the Chaplain, as he returned from his hastily said Mass, which few attended—only, indeed, the Lady of the Castle, Maude d'Oyley, and her handmaidens—received his "bonus" as a bribe to Heaven, and pocketed it without reflecting that it was the price of blood. He was the laziest individual in the castle. Few there confessed their sins, and fewer still troubled him in any other spiritual capacity. Still Brian kept him for the sake of "being in form," as moderns say, and had purposely sought out an accommodating conscience.
In the terrace, which looked over the glacis towards the Thames, of which the remains with one window in situ may still be seen, was the bower of Maude d'Oyley, wife of Brian Fitz-Count and sister of the Lord of Oxford Castle, as we have before observed. It was called otherwise "the solar chamber;" perhaps because it was best fitted with windows for the admission of the sunlight, the openings in the walls being generally rather loopholes than windows.
The passion for great reception-rooms was as strong in mediæval days as in our own, and the family apartments suffered for it,—being generally small and low,—while the banqueting-hall was lofty and spacious, and the Gothic windows, which looked into the inner quadrangle, were of ample proportions. But the "ladye's bower" on the second floor consisted of, first an ante-chamber, where a handmaiden always waited within hearing of the little silver hand-bell; then a bower or boudoir; then the bedroom proper. All these rooms were hung with rich tapestry, worked by the lady and her handmaidens. For in those days, when books were scarce, and few could read, the work of the needle and the loom was the sole alleviation of many a solitary hour.
The windows looked over the river, and were of horn, not very transparent, only translucent; the outer world could but be dimly discerned in daylight.
There was a hearth at one end of the bower, and "dog-irons" upon it for the reception of the logs, of which fires were chiefly composed, for there was as yet no coal in use.
There were two "curule" chairs, that is, chairs in the form of St. Andrew's Cross, with cushions between the upper limbs, and no backs; there were one or two very small round tables for the reception of trifles, and "leaf-tables" between the windows. No one ever sat on these "curule" chairs save those of exalted rank: three-legged stools were good enough for ladies in waiting, and the like.
The hangings, which concealed the bare walls, were very beautiful. On one set was represented Lazarus and Dives; Father Abraham appeared very much in the style of a mediæval noble, and on his knee, many sizes smaller, sat Lazarus. In uncomfortable proximity to their seats was a great yawning chasm, and smoke looking very substantial, as represented in wool-work, arose thence, while some batlike creatures, supposed to be fiends, sported here and there. On the other side lay Dives in the midst of rosy flames of crimson wool, and his tongue, which was stretched out for the drop of water, was of such a size, that one wondered how it ever could have found space in the mouth. But for all this, the lesson taught by the picture was not a bad one for the chambers of barons, if they would but heed it; it is to be feared it was little heeded just then in Wallingford Castle.
There was no carpet on the floor, only rushes, from the marshes. The Countess sat on her "curule" chair in front of the blazing fire. Three maidens upon three-legged stools around her were engaged on embroidery. They were all of high rank, entrusted to her guardianship, for she liked to surround herself with blooming youth. She was old,—her face was wrinkled, her eyes were dull,—but she had a sweet smile, and was quite an engaging old lady, although, of course, with the reserve which became, or was supposed to become, her high rank.
A timid knock at the door, and another maiden entered.
"Jeannette, thou art late this evening."