He was a not-bad-natured, though coarse-looking fellow of about some forty years; of rather more than middle height, and a girth and breadth of shoulder which bespoke not lack of bodily strength. A shock of yellow hair, mixed liberally with grey, stood out from beneath his cap of steel, like a wisp of straw.
After placing the articles that he had brought, upon the floor, he cast but one glance at me, and then turned on his heel and left me. Presently he returned with my supper, which he placed upon the table much in the same manner as one would arrange the meal of swine.
"There, sir," said he, "thou hast nothing to complain of. That supper is fit for a King. And it's better than one King had whilst he lived in this very room."
"What! did the young King Edward occupy this room?"
"As for whether he occupied it or not, now that I know not; but he was kept in this same room until he went out feet first."
"Horrible!" I gasped.
"Horrible? Lord, sir! methinks that thou shouldst feel honoured by the thought of being let sleep in the same room where a royal King did sleep. I know that I would," he added, with a grim smile.
"And dost thou know who killed him?" I asked.
"Nay, nay, I said not nothing of his being killed," he replied, with a grin and a wise twist of his head, accompanied by the uplifting of the one of his shoulders until it touched his ear.
"Well then, of what distemper did he die?"