But it was this very love for his own son which had made the old baron so unloving a stepfather to Wilfred, in whom he could only see the rival of his boy, and both mother and son were obstacles to be removed--the old sinner did not sin for himself, it must be confessed. Half an hour passed. Sir Eustace, the last who arrived that night, came in, and the baron, to the great relief of the cooks, descended to the hall. Still he was far too proud and jealous of his dignity to show his anxiety in voice or mien. He descended calmly to the banquet, the chaplain blessed the food, and the tired and hungry nobles fell to at the high table, while their retainers feasted below. It was a bright and dazzling scene: at the head of the hall sat the Baron and his chief guests upon a platform. Above it hung trophies of war or the chase--arms borne in many a conflict, swords, spears, arrows--to each of which some legend was attached; the antlers of the giant stag, the tusk of the wild boar, the head and bill of some long-necked heron. Below, at right angles to the high table, were three other tables, not fixtures, but composed of boards spread over trestles, and covered with coarse white cloths. At these sat the retainers, the men whose rank did not entitle them to sit at the high table, to the number of some three hundred--there was not an Englishman amongst them. All day long the cooks and their menials had groaned before the huge fires, where they roasted deer, sheep, oxen, swine, and the like, and now they bore the joints in procession around the tables, and the guests cut off--with the knives which hung at their girdles, and which, perchance, had been more than once stained by the blood of their foes--such portion of the meat as they fancied, transferred it to their trenchers, and ate it without the aid of forks; nevertheless there were napkins whereon to wipe their hands when they had done. The leaders sat at the high table--the leaders of each of the numerous bands which had scoured the forest; one, and only one, was absent, and he was, as our readers know, Etienne, son of Hugo. Naught was said until hunger and thirst were appeased--until basins were brought round with scented water, in which our lords washed their fingers, and after waving them gracefully in the air, dried them with the delicate napkins with which they were girded: and rich wines were poured into goblets of gold and silver; then Hugo asked, from his seat upon the dais: "What success has gladdened our arms today? Doubtless some of our knights have news for us." "I have seen no foe, save the wild boar and a stray wolf, although I have tramped the forest from the rising to the setting sun," said Sir Bernard. "Nor I," "nor I," said one after the other around the table.