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the way they should be and has trouble keeping men to work there for him because of it. He knows his business there, though, so he’ll never be let go. This time of year there’s only need for one or two other men there anyway. If you’re in luck, it’ll be one of them you meet up with, rather than him.”
    “They’re off away,” Rose said, watching out the door as Piers and Lewis, with Lewis in the lead now, disappeared down a narrow gap between two of the sheds.
    “That’s Mistress Penteney’s garden they’re headed for. No harm there,” Matthew said, making to follow after them, adding over his shoulder as he went, “If you don’t see us before, you’ll catch up to us in the hall at supper, no fear.”
    He disappeared the way they had gone and the rest of them set to the settling in. It went easily enough. With the cart brought into the barn but no need for the tent here or a fire for warmth or cooking, even though the barn’s bare dirt floor would have made that easy enough, their unloading was only some small wooden boxes of belongings, some canvas-covered cushions for sitting, and their bedding. For all their beds, Joliffe and Ellis brought a few armloads of hay so fresh it still smelled of sun and summer. While Rose spread their blankets over the long, thick heaps they had made—humming to herself while she did, sure sign that she was happy—Basset sat down on a cushion, looking tired but satisfied, his brow for once unfurrowed with worry, and Joliffe went to unharness Tisbe from the cart. Looking around, Ellis said, “I’d say this time we’ve fallen into it properly for a change.”

Chapter 3
    Joliffe did not mind walking Tisbe to the pasture. Besides the mare being good company, he never minded a chance to go off on his own and well the rest of the players knew it. Basset, Rose, and Piers were family to each other, being father, daughter, and grandson, and Ellis was as near family to them as he could be short of marriage and actual fatherhood. That maybe made the difference for Joliffe, but Joliffe suspected not. He did not remember a time in his life when he hadn’t sometimes simply liked to have himself to himself, and living as the players did—practically in each other’s shoes days and nights together—wore on him sometimes more than it ever seemed to wear on the others. No one would be surprised if he made no haste over going to the pasture or coming back, and he and Tisbe strolled together the whole way, past other people’s backgates and rearyards into the more open country of Oxford’s city burgage meadows, the lane lazy between summer-sprung hedges, with people Sunday-wandering in no more haste to anywhere than he and Tisbe were.
    Pacing along roads was mostly an everyday thing for Tisbe and him but this walk was, in its way nothing for the two of them because she was without the cart for once and for once he had no need to worry over where supper and the night’s stay would be.
    Master Penteney’s place with its green-painted gateposts along the lane was as easy to know as Matthew had said it would be. The yard beyond them was enclosed along one side by a long shed, a cattle byre, and at the far end a pigpen where, by the squealing, piglets were waiting to be someone’s pork-roast dinners. On the yard’s other side was a small timber-and-plaster house against a barn as large as where the players were staying. Everything, from house to pigpen, looked to be as well kept, clean, and prosperous as the Penteney place in town, and the man who came from the house as Joliffe passed through the gateway with Tisbe was well-kept, too. Dressed in a doublet and loose surcoat better than a plain servant would have worn, he stood on the doorstep and demanded, “What do you want here?”
    It was a fair enough question but could have been asked more courteously. Still leading Tisbe onward, Joliffe—having long since found that a firm stand on his dignity often threw people out of their