The January of 1236 came, and with it the royal marriage. The ceremonial took place at Canterbury, and Earl Hubert was present, as his office required of him. The Countess excused herself on the ground of slight illness, which would make it very irksome for her to travel in winter. Her "intimate enemies" kindly suggested that she was actuated by pique, since a time had been when she might have been herself Queen of England. But they did not know Margaret of Scotland. Pique and spite were not in her. Her real motive was something wholly different. She was not naturally ambitious, nor did she consider the crown of England so highly superior to the gemmed coronal of a Scottish Princess; and she had never held King Henry in such personal regard as to feel any regret at his loss. Her true object in remaining at Bury was to "manage" the marriage of Margaret with Richard de Clare. It was to be a clandestine match, except as concerned a few favoured witnesses; and Earl Hubert was to be kept carefully in the dark till all was safely over. The wedding was to be one "_per verba de presenti_" then as sacred by the canon law as if it had been performed by a priest in full canonicals; and as a matter of absolute necessity, no witness was required at all. But the Countess thought it more satisfactory to have one or two who could be trusted not to chatter till the time came for revelation. She chose Doucebelle along with herself, as the one in whose silence she had most confidence. Thus, in that January, in the dead of the night, the four indicated assembled in the bed-chamber of the Countess, and the bride and bridegroom, joining hands, said simply-- "In the presence of God and of these persons, I, Richard, take thee, Margaret, to my wedded wife:" and, "In the same presence I, Margaret, take thee, Richard, to my wedded husband." And according to canon and statute law they were legally married, nor could anything short of a divorce part them again. "Now then, go to bed," said the Countess, addressing Doucebelle: "and beware, every soul of you, that not a word comes out till I tell you ye may speak." "Belasez, when wilt thou be wed?" inquired Margaret, the next morning. If the thoughts of the bride ran upon weddings, it was not much to be wondered. "Next summer," said Belasez, as coolly as if the question had been when she would finish her embroidery. There was no shadow of emotion of any kind to be seen. "Oh, art thou handfast?" replied Margaret, interested at once. "I was betrothed in my cradle," was the answer of the Jewish maiden. "To a Jew, of course?" "Of course! To Leo the son of Hamon of Norwich, my father's greatest friend." "Is he a nice young man?" "I never saw him." "Why, Belasez!" "The maidens of my people are strictly secluded. It is not so with Christians."