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him.
    Waltheof turned from examining a bay gelding and gazed round at the handsome young man who was leaning nonchalantly against the stable wall, arms folded. Ralf de Gael was a Breton lord whose father had settled in England during the Confessor's reign and acquired the earldom of Norfolk by peaceful means. Waltheof knew and liked Ralf; he was amiable, debonair and had an understanding of English ways missing in most Normans.
    Waltheof shook his head. 'It has a mean eye,' he said.
    Ralf unfolded his arms and came off the wall. 'My father was staller to King Edward,' he said. 'He could tell a good horse from bad just by glancing.'
    Waltheof shrugged and grinned. 'That does not mean to say that you have inherited his talent.'
    'Trust me, I have.' Returning the grin, Ralf sauntered to the bay. 'No grace,' he said. 'Whoever sits on this will resemble a sack of oats on a pack pony. The grey has by far the better breeding. Look at the way it carries itself.'
    'That may be so, but it still has a mean eye,' said Waltheof, thinking that Judith could ride a woodcutter's scrawny donkey and still look like a queen.
    Ralf clucked his tongue in disagreement. 'I am sorry to doubt your judgement, but I do.'
    The horse coper, who had been half listening to their banter, suddenly dropped to his knees, snatched off his cap and bowed his head. Waltheof and De Gael turned, saw King William approaching with his sons and Judith, and quickly did the same.
    'It seems that word has gone ahead,' William remarked, gesturing the young men to rise. His expression was good-humoured but sharp.
    'I saw the horses arriving, sue.' Waltheof reddened as he remembered that he had been returning from a brothel at the time. Judith stood with her cousins. She was dressed for riding in a gown of heavy green wool and carried a small whip in her hand. She looked so fetching that he could have devoured her whole.
    'And I saw Earl Waltheof studying the horses and joined him, sire,' said Ralf smoothly. 'We were discussing their merits.'
    'And do you have an opinion?'
    'A difference of. I say the grey, Waltheof says the bay.'
    'Reasons?'
    As always Waltheof was struck by William's blunt economy with words. Not a shred of time was wasted in getting to the point.
    'The grey's got breeding, the bay's a nag.'
    'The grey is perhaps the finest animal to look upon,' Waltheof acknowledged, 'but I believe that the bay has a better temper. And none of them are nags.'
    'Indeed not,' ventured the horse coper with a bow for Waltheof and a glare at De Gael.
    William stepped forward to examine the horses. His sons followed, learning at their father's side how to judge soundness and conformation. Judith joined them, listening intently to their conversation, absorbing everything although it was not directly addressed to her. She cast her eyes over the bay, but it was the grey that she clearly favoured. The coper trotted the beast up and down the yard to show off its loose, fluid action, the muscles rippling like water under silk and the mane flowing like a black waterfall on the crested neck. The bay had a longer stride, more of a lope, and it carried itself quietly, without the high pride of the other.
    Judith paused at Waltheof's side so close that his elbow almost grazed hers and he could see the individual strands of hair shining in the braids that hung below her veil.
    'I admire spirit, Lord Waltheof,' she said. 'I like to ride a horse that knows it is alive.'
    'Even if it bucks you off and cracks your skull against the stable wall?'
    She slanted him an amused, slightly scornful look. 'I am as accustomed to riding as any of my cousins.' She indicated the Duke's sons. 'The last time I was thrown I was a babe of three years old upon my first pony. You need not concern yourself for my welfare.'
    'It was fortunate that I did a few days since,' Waltheof said quietly.
    She lifted her chin. 'I was not in danger.'
    'Oh yes, you were,' Waltheof muttered and wrapped his hands around his belt