Up, and to the office, where all are achatter about the King's health. His chirurgeon did clear the way for him to piss better by running a rod up his flute, but then did find the beginnings of a cancer. We are not privy to the nature of this latest ailment to befall him. I must say I have sympathy with him, having suffered from stones in the kidneys for many years. Mayhap it is a grievous swelling of his cods.
It is understood that his youngest son, Hal, is making his way from the Americas to console with him. He may bring some tinctures and potions prepared by his wife. The Court is looking for a volunteer to try these before offering them to the King, as they fear her motives may not be pure.
In Ireland the Taigs and the Ultachs have made some kind of peace and are preparing return to running that Godforsaken province once more. Sir George is taking bets how long that will last before the next slight takes place.
Thence, home to Elizabeth who had had her warm baps ready for me on the kitchen table.