From his chair of state which had been set on the stage in the tiltyard at Whitehall, the King lazily watched the champions as they tilted against each other. James was forty-one and did not himself tilt; he preferred the chase; but his young friends were eager to display their superiority over each other in this harmless way. So let them, mused James. He watched them—such handsome young men, all eager to show their old dad and gossip, James the King, how much better they were than their fellows.
“Fill the goblet, laddie,” he said, glancing at the tall young man who stood behind his chair waiting to perform this service.
Prince Henry rode out of the Palace of Whitehall and turned eastward. He was soberly dressed and took with him only one attendant, for he was eager not to be recognized. His visits to the Tower were becoming more and more frequent and he did not want them to be commented on lest his father should forbid them. Had James done so, Henry would still have found some means of visiting his friend; he could be stubborn when he believed himself to be in the right, but he was not one to court trouble.
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