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“Yes,” he agreed. “That is correct.”

“And how many paid attendants have you engaged?”

“One hundred and fifty,” he answered grandly.

“One hundred and fifty?” Aimee squeaked. “Then the attendants shall outnumber the guests some threefold! However shall we fit them all in the supper chamber?”

“Well, we shall squeeze them in somehow, I daresay,” her father shrugged. “We can leave fifty outside to dance and play for the crowds.”

“Crowds?” Aimee’s heart sank.

“I am the richest merchant in all Karadok,” he reminded her. “The wedding of my only daughters will not be some paltry affair!”

Aimee gulped and wondered how to break the news to Ursula that their wedding would now include a street show. Everything their father had said before had led them to believe the wedding feast would be a wholly modest affair, attended only by people she and her sister had known for years.

As such, she and Ursula had not ordered much by way of decoration for their father’s house. Lilies and roses had been ordered to be strewn among the rushes underfoot and matching wreaths to adorn the mantle and door. Now Aimee wondered if this was going to be enough by way of adornment when one hundred and fifty attendants were trampling all over the flowers and filling their father’s house to overflowing! Not to mention a baying crowd outside who would be expecting entertainment and spectacle to brighten their day.

Rather than focusing on the feast, which the sisters had imagined would be a quiet and intimate affair, they had concentrated their efforts instead on items to furnish their new homes. Aimee made her way slowly back her sister. She would have to tell Ursula, and once again, her sister would go into a quake.

Ursula hated being the center of attention. Aimee knew her sister was already dreading her role as bride, and this would make everything ten times worse. Perhaps heavy veiling might be a good suggestion? As usual, though, Ursula rose bravely to the challenge. She turned pale, it is true, but then she immediately fetched ink and a quill and started making lists.

“We will need favors for the crowd,” she said biting her thumbnail. “Treats to distribute and additional casks of ale.”

“It is too bad of Father not to have warned us,” Aimee grumbled as Ursula’s pen scratched over the parchment.

Her sister smiled wanly. “Father is a man and never thinks of such things.”

“These attendants will all need something to eat and drink throughout the day as well. Did Father think to neglect them all day?”

“Purses of pennies, too, to give out,” Ursula mused aloud. “It is too late to get commemorative tokens made up now.”

Privately, Aimee thought the crowd would prefer money in any case than some trumpery token that would be worthless hereafter. “What about decoration?” Aimee asked. “I do not think two floral wreaths will now be enough.”

“No indeed,” her sister agreed. “We will increase the order and have a quantity of garlands made up as well. I suppose we could order swathes of fabric to decorate the house.” Her eyes glazed over. “Maybe the attendants could all wear a ribbon sash?” she suggested with a hopeless shrug.

“Yes, very good,” Aimee enthused.

“Green?” Ursula suggested.

“The very thing,” Aimee agreed aloud, then privately she wished the colors could be blue and yellow which were the colors of Lord Kentigern’s shield. Still, it was a joint wedding celebration, and she could hardly expect to take over when Sir Renlow’s crest was, if memory served, a very faded red and muddy brown.

“We had better don our cloaks and set about putting in our orders now,” Ursula sighed. “The sooner we do so, the better the chance they can actually fulfill it.”

6

Konrad was surprised to find the bridal party already assembled at the porch on the south side of the chapel. He almost took a step back when he observed the number of people loitering there. Clearly, he and Ankatel had vastly differing ideas of what ‘a small gathering’ meant.

“There you are, milord!” the merchant cried heartily, coming forward to clasp his hand.

Konrad returned his welcome and turned to his sister who stood a tall imposing figure in her burgundy velvet gown. He wondered if she might not be too hot in her formal garb before long, for Caer Lyoness grew very warm in July. “This is my sister,” he said, introducing her. “Magnatrude, this is Gerold Ankatel whose daughter will be joining our family this morn.”

As his sister condescended to shake the amiable merchant’s hand, Konrad noticed the watery blue eyes of her attendant turned on him in reproach. “And our cousin Freda who acts as her chaperone,” he added belatedly.

Freda fluttered forward in a robe of faded green satin which had plainly seen better days. She was far from an impressive figure, tall like all Bartrees but with a wiry, awkward frame and a good quantity of frizzy light brown hair. She simpered girlishly as Ankatel bowed over her hand instead of shaking it, and Konrad tried to reckon how old Freda must be by now. She must be forty-five if she was a day! She and his older sister were much the same age, and Trude had fifteen years on him at least.

Both women wore their braided hair coiled about their ears and bundled into hairnets on either side of their heads. It was not a style you saw much in the south these days, but his kinswomen had worn their hair this way since they had achieved womanhood.

“Charmed!” Ankatel murmured as he straightened up. To Konrad’s surprise, he noticed his cousin blush. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister’s features sharpen and guessed she would be giving Freda a stern talking to later.