The summer was chiefly occupied by pageants and feasts, for there were two royal marriages, that of the Princess Marjory of Scotland with Gilbert de Clare, and that of the Princess Isabel of England with the Emperor Frederic the Second of Germany. The latter ceremony did not take place in England, but the gorgeous preparations did: for Henry the Third, who delighted in spending money even more than in acquiring it, provided his sister with the most splendid trousseau ever known even for a royal bride. Her very cooking-vessels were all of silver, and her reins and bridles were worked in gold. She was married at Worms, in June: the wedding of the Princess Marjory took place on the first of August. Abraham and Belasez were faithful to their promises, and the beautiful scarf, wrought in scarlet and gold, was delivered into Marjory's hands in time to be worn at the wedding. The young people of the Castle were naturally interested in the stereotyped rough and silly gambols which were then the invariable concomitants of a marriage: and the stocking, skilfully flung by Marie, hit Margaret on the head, to the intense delight of the merry group around her. The equally amusing work of cutting up the bride-cake revealed Richard de Clare in possession of the ring, supposed to indicate approaching matrimony, Marie of the silver penny which denoted riches, and Doucebelle of the thimble which doomed her to celibacy. "There, now! 'Tis as plain to be seen as the church spire!" said Eva, clapping her hands. "Margaret is destined by fate to wed with my cousin Sir Richard." "Well, if `fate' mean my wish and intention, so she is," whispered the Countess to her sister the bride. "Doth thy Lord so purpose it?" asked Marjory. "Oh, hush!" responded the Countess, laughing. "He knows nothing about it, and I don't intend that he shall, just yet. Trust me to bring things about." "But suppose he should be angry?" "_Pure foy_! He is never angry with me. Oh, thou dost not understand, my dear Madge,--at present. Men always want managing. When thou hast been wed a year, thou wilt know more about it." "But can all women manage men?" asked Marjory in an amused tone. "_Ha, chetife_! No, indeed. And there are some men who can't be managed,--worse luck! But my Lord is not one of the latter, the holy saints be thanked." "And thou art one of the women who can manage men," answered Marjory, laughing. "I wonder at thee, Magot, and have done so many times,--thou hast such a strange power of winning folks to thy will."