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hangings. Why, he's even replaced the rushlights with candles. And look at that gown you are wearing."
    "He would not dare to look so high as
Normandy
."
    "No? He is Count of Nantes and you are his heiress. And
Normandy
's son pants after you already."
    Just then they were spied by Roger and Henry. Both boys found their way through the crowd to Eleanor's side. Roger was freshly scrubbed and attired in a new tunic of fine-gauge blue wool. His blond hair was neatly combed and the faint mustache freshly shaved away.
    "Brother, you are as fine as any lord," she teased.
    "Aye"—he grinned back—"and I've acquired a new dagger." He fingered a jeweled scabbard that hung at his belt. "Prince Henry gave it to me."
    Walter gave her a knowing look as if to say, "See?" With a flourish, he bowed over her hand. "Sweet cousin, Your Grace, Roger—I see a promising wench over there."
    "Walter, you are betrothed!"
    "Aye," he agreed amiably."But Helene is at Gerberoi and I am here."
    He had scarce turned his back to leave when William's attendants appeared. Wearing rich robes and carrying staffs and censers, they parted the crowd before them with cries of "Make way! Make way, good people!" As a path cleared, another man wearing
Normandy
's livery called out, "Stand aside for William, by grace of God, King of England, and Duke
Normandy
!"
    The duke himself followed immediately, his thick, graying hair circled with golden leaves, his stocky body clad in a long robe of fine red silk girded at the waist with a gold chain. He clinked as he walked, for beneath his finery he wore mail shirt, boots, and spurs. Behind him, another servant carried his battle sword. In all of his years of fighting to hold his inheritance, William had learned to stay wary of an assassin's hand.
    He was met before he reached the high dais by Count Gilbert and Lady Mary. Both knelt in obeisance at his feet. Gilbert was lifted up and kissed ceremoniously on both cheeks, while Mary had to rely on a retainer to raise her. And if she thought to receive the signal honor of mounting the dais on William's arm, she was sorely disappointed. His gaze swept the assembled nobility until it settled on Eleanor.
    "Come sup with us, Demoiselle, and bring that son of mine with you. God's teeth, but I grow weak waiting for my food!" His voice was rough but incredibly he was smiling.
    Henry offered his elbow and led her forward while whispering, "Head high, Demoiselle—I'll not let you stumble."
    She was thankful that she was spared the close company of her mother and father, they being seated to the Duke's left while she and Prince Henry were place on his right. This meal at least she would be spared her mother's gibes.
    Trenchers were placed on the tables, with two people to each one except for the duke, who had his all to himself. Once the cooks began the traditional parade of food, the hall lapsed into near-silence as people fell to the task of dividing roast pig, mutton, game birds, meat pies, stewed onions and peas, honey pots, rice, dates, and cheeses. At the high table, there was a servant for each couple and William's own squire served him with great ceremony.
    Eleanor washed her hands carefully in a silver bowl, and dried them on a fine linen towel held for her by a servant. As dishes were passed, Prince Henry carefully placed some of each at both ends of the trencher, serving Eleanor first with the finest portions. Then he took a spoon and stirred honey into the wine cup they would share, explaining, "I find so much of this too sour to drink, so I save myself the first tasting anymore." He proffered the cup to her. "Try it."
    There was mischief in her dark eyes as she took it. "So I am to take the first sip, and if I make a hideous face, you will add more before you try it."
    "Mayhap—or mayhap I want to see if you like it."
    She sipped and nodded, "Ummm…it is better."
    To her embarrassment, her partner took the cup, examined it, and deliberately turned it to where her lips