Wiester, the King's chamberlain, had let us into the apartments. "Will that be all, sir?" he asked, bending and hunching over as well as his ample frame would allow.

"Yes. That's all for now. Go."

The Doctor sat on the side of the King's bed and kneaded his shoulders and back with her strong, capable fingers. She had me hold a small jar of rich-smelling unguent which she dipped her fingers into every now and again, spreading the ointment across the King's broad, hairy back and working it into his pale gold skin with her fingers and palms.

As I sat there, with the Doctor's medicine bag open at my side, I noticed that the jar of brown gel which she had used to treat the wretch in the hidden chamber was still lying opened on one of the bag's ingeniously fashioned internal shelves. I went to stick my own finger into the jar. The Doctor saw what I was doing and quickly took hold of my hand and pulled it away from the jar and said quietly, "I wouldn't, Oelph, if I were you. Just put the top back on carefully."

"What's that, Vosill?" the King asked.

"Nothing, sir," the Doctor said, replacing her hands on the King's back and leaning forward on to him.

"Ouch," the King said.

"Mostly muscular tension," the Doctor said softly, flicking her head so that her hair, which had partly fallen across her face, was sent spilling back over her shoulder.

"My father never had to suffer so," the King said morosely into his gold-threaded pillow, his voice made deeper by the thickness and weight of fabric and feathers.

The Doctor smiled quickly at me. "What, sir," she said. "You mean he never had to suffer my clumsy ministrations?"

"No," the King said, groaning. "You know what I mean, Vosill. This back. He never had to suffer this back. Or my leg cramps, or my headaches, or my constipation, or any of these aches and pains." He was silent a moment as the Doctor pushed and pressed at his skin. "Father never had to suffer anything. He never-"