The Woodman: A Romance of the Times of Richard III

by G. P. R. James

Richard smiled, thinking of Sir Charles Weinants, but bowed his head in signal of the conference being ended; and the two noblemen withdrew together.

CHAPTER XX.

I know not whether the architecture of the middle ages--that peculiar architecture, I mean, which existed in different varieties in England, from a little before the commencement of the reign of the Conqueror, till the end of the reign of Henry VII.--can be said to have advanced or retrograded from the time of Edward III. to the time of Richard. Every one will judge according to his particular tastes of the merits of the style; but one thing is certain, that, although the houses of the lower orders had remained much the same, the domestic arrangement of the baronial residences had greatly improved. Notwithstanding that long period of contention, which succeeded the accession of Henry VI., notwithstanding constant wars and the frequent summons to the field, men seemed to have looked for comfort in the laying out of their dwellings; and the feudal castle, although still a castle, and well fitted for defence, contained in it many of the conveniences of a modern house. Perhaps it was, that the struggle of great parties had taken the place of private quarrels between the great barons themselves and struggles between mere individual conspirators and the crown. Thus great towns were attacked more frequently than fortified mansions; and, during this period, we meet with very few instances of a simple baronial fortress being subjected to siege.

However that might be, the chambers in a great nobleman's house, the halls, the lodging chambers, the ladies' bower, were now all more commodious, light, and airy, than at that former period of few, small, narrow and deep windows, when light and air were excluded, as well as the missiles of an enemy. Not only in monastery, convent, and college, but even in private dwellings, the large oriel was seen here and there, suffering the beams of day to pour freely into the hall, and casting the lines of its delicate tracery upon the floor; and, raised somewhat above the general level of the room, approached by two steps, and furnished with window seats, it afforded a pleasant and sun-shiny sitting-place to the elder and younger members of the family.

There was one of these oriel windows in the lesser hall, of Chidlow castle; and round the raised platform, within the sort of bay which it formed, ran a sort of bench or window seat of carved oak, covered with a loose cushion of crimson velvet. The lattice was open, and soft air and bright light streamed in. The winter had been remarkably long and severe. The snow had lain upon the ground till the end of March; and, even then, when one bright day had succeeded, and withdrawn the white covering of the earth, it was only to be followed by a week or ten days of sharp frost, which reigned in its full rigour during some of the events which we have narrated in the previous chapters. Now, however, winter had departed, and spring commenced with that sudden and rapid transition, which is often the case in more northern countries, and is sometimes seen even in England. The air, as I have said, was soft and genial; the blue skies were hardly chequered by a fleecy cloud; the birds were singing in the trees; the red buds were bursting with the long-checked sap; and snowdrop and violet seemed running races with the primrose and the anemone, to catch the first smile of their sweet mother spring. The little twining shrubs were already green with their young leaves; and the honeysuckle strove hard to cast a verdant mantle over the naked brown limbs of the tall trees which it had climbed. The scene from the lattice of the oriel window was one of those fair English landscapes on which the eye loves to rest; for the castle was situated upon a height, and below spread out a rich and beautiful country, waving in long lines of meadow and wood for fifteen or sixteen miles, till sloping uplands towered into high hills, which glowed with a peculiarly yellow light, never seen anywhere, that I know of, beyond the limits of this island. Gazing from that lattice, over that scene, sat two young and beautiful girls, with whom the reader is already acquainted. Very different, it is true, was their garb from that in which they were first presented to you whose eye rests upon this page; for the more simple garments of the convent had given place to the splendid costume of the court of that time; and the forms, which required no ornament, were half hidden in lace and embroidery. But there was still the beautiful face of Iola, with the bright beaming expression, which seemed to pour forth hope and joy in every look, but now somewhat shaded with a cloud of care; and there, the not less fair, though somewhat more thoughtful, countenance of her cousin Constance, with her deep feeling eyes poring over the far prospect, and seeming to search for something through the thin summer mist that softened all the features of the landscape.

They were both very silent, and evidently busied with their own thoughts. Some attendants passed across the hall, and others lingered, to arrange this or that article of furniture. Others entered to speak with them and the two girls, from time to time, turned an inquiring look at those who came and went, showing that they were in some sort strangers in the home of their fathers.

At length, the hall was cleared of all but themselves, and Constance said in a low voice, "I wish, dear cousin, that my aunt would come. We should not then feel so desolate. I think our good lord and uncle might have left us at the abbey till he was at home himself."

"He would not have made the place much more cheerful," answered Iola, with a faint smile; "for wisdom is a very melancholy thing, dear Constance; at least if it be always like his. I fear me, too, even my good merry aunt would not make this place feel anything but desolate to me, just at present. She might cheer and support me a little, it is true; but I have got terrible dreams of the future, Constance. I try not to think of them, but they will come."

She paused and bent down her eyes, in what seemed painful meditation; and Constance replied, in a gentle tone, saying: "Why, how is this, Iola? You used not to look upon the matter so seriously."

"Alack, it gets very bad as it comes near," answered Iola, with an uncheerful laugh. "It is something very like being sold for a slave, Constance. However, the poor slave cannot help himself, nor I either, so do not let us talk any more about it. I suppose I shall soon see my purchaser. I wonder what he is like. Do you recollect whether he is white or black?"