“Come.”
Fulk followed him, and they passed down the stairway and back to the King’s chamber. Cavendish was waiting outside the door. He stared at Fulk with the air of a watch-dog half loath to let a stranger into his master’s room. But one clear look at Fulk’s face made him stand back with a growl of astonishment.
“S’death!”
Knollys smiled grimly.
“It was what I said, Cavendish, when I first set eyes on our man. Come in with us, for you are the councillor we need. You have seen the King in the flesh, naked and dressed, day in day out.”
They went in and barred the door on the inside.
“Now for the play. Out with the clothes, Cavendish. Sit you down, Fulk Ferrers, well in the light here. Have a good look at him, Cavendish. Hum! What about a razor?”
Cavendish scanned Fulk’s face, feeling his chin, and looking him in the eyes as though challenging his courage.
“A little cropping of the hair and a scrape with a razor. Too much on the upper lip, too, for a lad of fifteen. Let’s hear your voice, brother.”
Fulk smiled at him.