Privy Seal by Ford Madox Ford — Read

In the kitchen the spits had ceased turning, the dishes had been borne upstairs to the envoy from Cleves, the scullions were wiping knives, the maids were rubbing pieces of bread in the dripping pans and licking their fingers after the succulent morsels. The magister stood, a long crimson blot in the window-way; the hostess was setting flagons carefully into the great armoury.

"Madam wife," the magister said to her at last, when she came near, "ye see how weighty it is that I bide here."