The servants kept their eyes down. Henry picked up his knife and began to eat. He cut and chewed because his body insisted on remaining alive despite his lack of interest in assisting it.
Stephen stood nearby, watching carefully. "Anything else, Your Majesty?" he requested.
"Make yourself useful and bring me more wine," Henry snapped.
"Of course, my lord." Stephen bowed quickly and hurried out.
Once outside, Stephen exhaled. He quickly went to retrieve a crate of wine, though the sight of it made his stomach tighten. At this rate, they would run out of wine before the month's end. Not that Whitehall lacked wine. Whitehall had enough wine to drown half the court. But Henry was drinking like a man trying to silence something inside him, and Stephen had served long enough to know wine never silenced anything.
He lifted the crate with some difficulty. "Wonderful," he muttered. "If the king does not kill himself with wine, I shall die carrying it."
