Four weeks, all but a day, had passed. And the whole kingdom had taken on an air of great excitement, of happy expectation. Every town and village and hamlet was making ready for a holiday. For the subjects of the King, without waiting for any royal commands, had decided there should be national rejoicing at his marriage.
It looked, the older ones said, as though it would be an even greater celebration than when the young King was crowned. For then he had been little more than a lad. And a country never feels quite safe from revolution, with a boy on the throne and a strong ambitious nobility thirsty for power. Nor had the people then known what manner of ruler this youngster would turn out to be. But after nine years of the Reign of Peace had rolled by, and the young King had shown his true greatness and generous nature, word had now been spread through the land that he was about to marry. And there was hardly one, even among the lowliest and most poor, who did not greet the news almost as though it were of a happy wedding in his own family.
This gladness was made greater still when it was learned that the King was marrying the lady of his heart, for love, and not a great princess to increase the power and wealth of the realm. Barbara was only a countess, a member of the lesser nobility, and had not even been seen by many; but it was said that her beauty was the rarest the land had ever known and her gracious kindness no less. Such a marriage of romance pleased the people far more than a great alliance to a neighbouring kingdom—which, as often as not, meant nothing in the end but more wars and trouble. And they nodded their heads sagely as they made their villages gay for the festival, saying it was just like the young King to marry the girl he loved, the same as they would have done themselves.
But of course the fluttering excitement was highest of all at the castle itself. Here, as the great day came nearer, the happy bustle of preparation had grown and grown; till now, on the eve of the wedding, the great palace buzzed like a beehive under an August sun at noon.
Everyone, even the Queen Mother herself, had been untiringly busy. For, while some hundreds of extra servants had been hired to do the actual work, it was necessary that they should be watched and guided every minute; and this was the duty of the old and trained retainers, the officers of the Royal Household, and the members of the King’s own family. The Queen Mother devoted almost her whole attention to Barbara’s new wardrobe. Gowns, gowns and more gowns! By the score, dressmakers, tailors, shoemakers, jewellers and glovers were busy in her apartments at all hours. The well-beloved little old lady was determined that her son’s wife should be the best-dressed queen that ever mounted the throne.
Never had so many guests been invited to the castle: dukes, bishops, princes and even kings of foreign lands. A whole army of carpenters and workers had to be called in to put up new buildings in an unbelievably short time to provide quarters for all. And this, in order that everyone should have apartments worthy of his rank, with furniture and silken hangings and what not, required a lot of planning and overseeing.
The Chief of the Royal Cooks lost a lot of weight from his enormous figure getting in and storing away hundreds of wagon-loads of good things to eat. He, too, was determined that his department should do its best, and better, at the great festival.
Then there were the games and entertainments to be looked to. The Master of the Horse, helped by Luke (who now showed great skill in riding and tilting), arranged a two days’ programme of tournament and joust, in which the foreign knights could try their lances against the nobles of the King. In this Giles’s friend, the good Count Godfrey, also aided.
And Geoffrey (busy enough already, raising wedding roses for a queen) was given a new task in the royal service. This was to search the country for players, acrobats, jugglers and singers to entertain the King and his guests. The Gipsy, who knew the haunts of such troupes, soon gathered to the castle a whole host of show folk. These rehearsed merry plays and masques and dances on the green sward above the Lower Lake, now dotted with their tents.
Anne, also, was now at the Court, a grown-up girl and Second Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen Mother. It was about six weeks ago that she had first arrived. Giles was glad to see her and to get news of their parents and their native town. He also asked her about Agnes; and was deeply disappointed to find his sister had not seen the Applewoman, nor heard of her, since he had left nearly nine years ago. Often, when he yet had the shell, he had listened for her voice in it. But with no success. He felt a great wish, almost a need, to see and talk with her at this time. Now he wondered sadly if she could be dead.
Anne soon settled down into the grand life of the Royal Household. But she could never quite seem to get used to her brother’s important part in it. She twitted him with first hiding all the things he found for the King. This of course she only did, sister-like, to tease him. She had known well, even when they were both little, this great gift of his for finding which had now made him famous throughout the land. And the last few weeks she had seen him performing at his best.
For never before had Giles been kept so busy. With the palace packed and teeming from morn to night; with new servants and guests who didn’t know their way about; with princes who brought with them dozens of grooms and horses and coaches filled with wedding presents, the poor Finder didn’t know which way to turn. It was now persons as well as things he had to find. Often in the same hour he had not only to look for a lost piece of a guest’s baggage, but would have to go hunting a bishop or a prince who had gone astray. So great was the turmoil in the castle.
But Giles did not grumble at the extra work. He was indeed glad of it—to keep his mind from brooding on his own trouble. Ever since that day at the Lower Lake he had carefully kept out of the Countess’s way. He still could not trust himself to talk with her lest he speak of his love; and he was still desperately determined not to be untrue to the King, his friend.
He saw her but seldom, even at a distance, during those busy days of preparation. When he did, he noticed she seemed the least excited of all, still serious, still quiet. He supposed that it was merely that marriages interested her no more now than they had done when she was very young.
Not even to Luke had he ever spoken of the great longing in his heart, though the two talked of other matters freely enough. Nor had the esquire ever mentioned Barbara’s name again to his master since he had brought him the news of her betrothal. It was as if that understanding friend, who had guessed the way the Finder’s heart was yearning before he knew himself, felt that this was a matter for no more words.
But if Giles now saw very little of the Countess Barbara, he saw a great deal of the Princess Sophronia. In the last nine years that lady had not grown any younger—nor any better looking. The prince who was to have married her had changed his mind and gone elsewhere to seek another wealthy bride. So the flattering courtiers did not sing her praises any more. Shortly after that Sophronia’s hearing had grown worse; and she was now quite deaf.
At the announcement of the King’s betrothal she had appointed herself Mistress of Ceremonies, and took general charge of all the preparations for the wedding. She had to do something to keep her self-importance. And a great nuisance she was to everybody. She pushed her nose in everywhere, and kept changing this, or altering that, as soon as the others had completed some specially hard piece of work. And again, because she was the King’s aunt, no one dared complain. But, oh, the things they said behind her back!
Her greatest joy and treasure was still the Whispering Shell. This, after her promise to Giles, she never brought out or showed in public. But secretly in the privacy of her bedroom she spent long hours with it, holding it, waiting for it to grow warm. And it often did, about that time, wax boiling hot. Which made the King’s aunt very happy. For whenever anyone in the busy palace cried in despair, ‘Drat that ugly old fuss-box! I wish she’d mind her own business!’ a gleam of joy would light up the face of the deaf Princess. And she would whisper to herself:
‘Ah, there they go! Still talking of my beauty. Patience, Royal Sophronia! Another prince will come.’