"You speak of the Duke of York?"
"I speak of the next king," he replied. "Therefore, do as I bid you, and be wise. Be surprised at nothing you may hear, even if he saith things that should not be heard by such a youth as you."
He had scarcely finished speaking when two men entered the room. The one was the Duke of York; I had seen him ride away in the king's coach by the side of the king when he left Dover. His appearance, as I thought, was changed. I thought then that he was, although of somewhat austere countenance, pleasant to look upon. That night he looked angry and cruel. His face was heavy, and, if I mistook not, besotted, but whether he had been partaking freely of wine I could not tell. His companion's face was hidden, and although I thought I detected something familiar in his gait, I knew not who he was.
"This is the youth?"
"It is, Your Grace."
The duke looked at me sternly and silently, as though he would read my heart, and although I dared to lift my eyes to his but once, I thought his eyes were bloodshot. Having seated himself, he bade me come near to him.
"Master Roland Rashcliffe?" he said.
"Yes, Your Grace," I replied.
"Tell me, boy, is your father an honest man?"
The question was asked abruptly, as though he would take me unawares.