To the left of the great throne on its dais, the places for the great ladies of the realm have been set out facing south, where their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers sit facing them. Each chair is of firm oak, no expense having been spared for these noblewomen. There is a palpable thrum of excitement in the air as anticipation builds for the ceremony to come.

All noblewomen of rank (Countesses, Duchesses, and Baronesses) have places reserved for them here. Conversation is permitted (expected, really) prior to the ceremony.

The first of four women of note sits in the very front row. Her dark hair is cut short and is hidden beneath the expensive silk headcovering she is wearing, surmounted by a circlet that she quickly doffs and stores beneath her seat. Rather than bowing her head in prayer in preparation for the ceremony, she glances about the room in obvious agitation, stopping only when Queen Eleanor appears in the royal box. She raises her hand at the little girl Eleanor lifts up to see the abbey, and the girl waves down with a big smile and a cry of "Maman!!", only to be settled back down in Eleanor's lap.

Below, the girl's mother keeps her eyes fixed on the royal box. It seems to have grabbed her complete attention.

Three seats to Duchess Constance's right, nearer the nave, a tall, powerfully built woman is seated, her long brown hair bound up in a complicated sort of bun. Her rough face, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and prodigious height make this woman truly stand out from the crowd, to say nothing of her almost regal bearing. Where Duchess Constance is all tension, Hawise of Aumale is a woman in serene control of her body and her agenda, and it shows.

Just entering the abbey, a tiny woman of advancing years strides purposefully down the aisle, through the quire of black-robed monks, to genuflect and sit down next to Hawise of Aumale. The Countess of Surrey is a slight woman with a round, warm face, but for all their difference in height and physical power, she seems to get along splendidly with the amazonian Hawise, the two chatting quietly, adding to the growing rush of whispers echoing through the cavernous church.

Some distance toward the rear, a woman that oozes angst sits alone, a halo of empty seats ensuring that she has all the room to fume a woman could want. Her arms are crossed and her head bent, though whether in prayer or slowly charging the batteries of her rage is rather hard to tell.

The procession of church and state reaches at last the final constituency of the realm. Standing before the noble ladies, the Archbishop intones the formula by which the knot of fealty will be tied. "I here present to you King Richard, your undoubted king, wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service. Are you willing to do the same?"

"God Save King Richard!" comes the brassy shout of Gundreda de Beaumont.

"God save King Richard." Isabella of Gloucester says, significantly more demurely.

"God Save King Richard!" comes Hawise of Aumale's deep alto.

"God Save King Richard!" It's delayed a moment, as Llywelyn is uncertain is it's the proper moment for him, but he adds his voice to the chorus.