“There is, at least, food with the king,” Gavin pointed out as they came to a fork in the passageway. Then he stopped and gave Dirick a wry smile. “Now that I have done my duty, I’ll bid you good eve and wish you luck on finding your pallet sometime before the dawn. I have been with Henry all the day myself—he is filled with the energetic humors all these last days and has kept me since dawn. And Madelyne awaits me.”

“Bid her well for me. I’ll speak with the king, then, God willing, find that pallet and sleep for two days. ’Tis that, or my knees will give out in his royal presence.” Dirick gave his friend a weak grin, then turned toward Henry’s chamber and strode rapidly down the chill, dark passage. The sooner he should learn of the king’s needs, the sooner Dirick could see to his own.

’Twas not as if his own requirements were great.

As the youngest son of Harold of Derkland, Dirick had neither lands nor an affinity for the Church—as his two elder brothers did, eldest and middle, respectively. Instead, he had made himself indispensable to the young King of England when he was merely the Count of Angevin and wooing his bride, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Henry had grown to trust and rely upon Dirick, and as he had naught to offer any woman but his company and his body, Dirick had enjoyed his time in Eleanor’s Court of Love whilst managing the variety of tasks Henry set before him.

’Twas just as well that he had not been seated in the hall, he reflected numbly, striding along the curving passageway. He was in no good mood to charm the ladies of Eleanor’s court, nor did he wish to offend any of them in his present state.

But to his dismay, when Dirick was shown into Henry’s private solar, his wife, Queen Eleanor attended him also.

“Your majesty.” He bowed first to Henry, pressing his forehead to the king’s outstretched hand, and then swiveled on his bent, aching knee to greet the queen. “My queen, I fear I offend you in my present state.”