The Prince led a strict life and showed reserved manners—here were the subjects of numerous pasquinades on his Grace’s part; William’s regular church-goings and firm adherence to the theology of Geneva furnished matter for many profane jests that were not long in coming to the young man’s ears. And once his Grace, edged on by the King, and backed by many of the ribald lords, had tried to humiliate the austere youth of nineteen by intoxicating him with strong waters disguised as a cordial for his cough.
The Prince had discovered the trick soon enough to baulk them of their amusement, but not before the mixture had made him miserably ill.
Coldness had blunted the point of the jest, and for once made Buckingham feel foolish; but the Prince, under his passive exterior, was bitterly outraged on his most sensitive points—his religion and his ill-health.
Therefore he was silent at the name of Buckingham, and a faint colour tinged his pallor.
“The envoys bring with them Henry St. Jermyn and Sir Edward Seymour,” continued Sir Gabriel Sylvius.
“I did not know M. St. Jermyn was a politician,” said William sarcastically.
“Sir, he, like my lord Buckingham, has found a new amusement—that is all.”
The Prince made a little movement as if he roused himself.
“I think my uncle has sent me a pretty parcel of knaves,” he remarked calmly. “But it would be difficult to discover an honest man at Whitehall.”