Britain has always been interested in its kings’ bodies. Each age has had its own particular obsession. For Shakespeare, it was the king’s head—the mortal brow beneath the hollow crown—that fascinated. After the Restoration it was the king’s hand—Charles II was believed to be able to heal diseases by touch alone. Now national attention has turned to the state of Charles III’s health.

According to a statement from Buckingham Palace on February 5th, “a separate issue of concern was noted” while the king was being treated for an enlarged prostate. Subsequent tests “identified a form of cancer”. Quite which form has not been announced; a little royal distance remains. But when future historians come to chronicle the change from a “magical” monarchy, able to heal by touch alone, to the more humdrum mortal kind, this moment may feature: few things seem more mortal or less magical than a prostate.

In the past monarchies have been less willing to admit to frailty, as have their physicians. When George VI had his entire left lung removed in 1951 because of lung cancer, the public (and indeed the king himself) were told that this was due to “structural abnormalities”. When his grandfather, the high-living Edward VII, collapsed in Biarritz, it was at once entirely unsurprising—Edward smoked, drank and ate so abundantly that he couldn’t do up the bottom buttons on his waistcoat—and, at first, entirely unspoken about. An attempt to treat the king was made, including through the application of his favourite mistress. But even she failed to revive him.

The monarch’s mortality feels all the more salient when they come to the throne late. Elizabeth II ascended to the throne at the age of 25; when the congregation at her coronation in 1953 sang “Long to reign over us” they could feel confident that she, with the pinchably plump flesh of youth, would do just that. In contrast, at his coronation last year Charles—the longest-serving heir-apparent—was already 74.

A monarch is not a country incarnate but they are not far off. If Elizabeth II—dutiful, stable and influential—embodied one era, it feels uncomfortably as though Charles III—also dutiful, but ageing and now battling ill health—might represent another. Then again, as Shakespeare makes clear, a king is also just a man. The crown might be bejewelled; the royal crest might sit on the press releases. But the king beneath is mortal, and increasingly open about it. ■