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did it matter? Her “Eastern dress” was a creation of her grandfather’s memories and drawings, pieces of traded cloth, and her own devising. Over these last months, she had discovered that the more startling her costumes, the fewer questions she had to fend off. Men were too busy ogling and women too envious.
    It worked well. It was all working supremely well. Instead of breaking their backs, weeding in the wheat fields and strips of beans, her fellow villagers of the former Warren Hemlet were at ease in the great tent. Walter had some new eyeglasses—the gift of a grateful knight to the Lady of Lilies—which meant that he could carve wood again. Maria, who was with child, could rest on the couch and not fear the reeve’s lash. All could enjoy the daily bounty of food and gifts that was given to her by her lordly admirers.
    If they knew who you were, you would all be killed , chided Gregory in her mind. Trying to escape him, Edith lengthened her stride.
    â€œYour servants loll in corners this day?” the exasperating and altogether-too-sharp Sir Jade now asked as he effortlessly matched her pace. “I wonder at their allowing you to wander alone. A joust is no place for an unguarded damsel.” He nodded to the bystanders. Every man gathered by the processional path was watching her, ogling, staring. One or two were drooling.
    She had seen it before and would have waved her hand had he not been gripping it. “I have my knights.”
    â€œYou consider all knights yours?”
    â€œThose who sport my favor. Look about, Sir Jade.”
    â€œAlas! I can see nothing but green.”
    She laughed, tickled by the image, and his dark eyes gleamed in response. For an instant he was again her knight of the stream, but then he returned to the attack.
    â€œSir Dew here tells me you predict the outcomes of challenges.”
    â€œSir Dew of the Moon,” protested Sir Tancred, attempting to shoo away a huckster who had broken through the ranks of onlookers to join them, copying her walk and “veiling” his grubby face with his grubbier hands. This was a constant irritant in processions and one she silently endured.
    â€œSir Jade,” however, was having none of it. He glared at the fellow, raising a threatening fist, and the pie-man stepped sharply back into the ragged line of spectators. “What do you see for me?” he demanded then.
    â€œMany prizes.” It was a safe enough answer.
    â€œAnd if I fight against your knights?”
    She saw Sir Tancred’s eyes widen and spotted the mottled blush rising past his beard. Something was afoot here between these two.
    â€œBut you will not do so. Sir Jade does not strive against the knights of Lady Jade.”
    â€œWell spoken, my lady.”
    He patronized her, but since he had not disagreed she took it as a promise of intent and breathed a little more easily.
    They had reached the circle of caravans and wagons, passing through a wicker hurdle gate to the jousting field. Here the ladies were being led off to the stand that was even now being loaded with cushions, while maids waited close by with drinks and cups, lest their “betters” should be thirsty. The steady mumble of chatter sharpened as damsels wished their knights Godspeed and valor. Heralds and the more nimble ladies hurried about the huge field to issue challenges and bestow more favors.
    The men and women were also unmasking, casting aside their costumes. Edith watched more maids scooping up the discarded masks and cloaks, thrown casually onto the grass, and felt a rage at their thoughtless obedience. In these times of pestilence, why should the old order matter? Why should the ladies and lords not work?
    They do the labor of governance , said Gregory in her mind.
    â€œThey should try cutting the standing wheat, instead,” she muttered in the old Hemlet dialect that, with a few added clicks and groans, passed for her own Chinese