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Endeline shifted in the saddle. “I have come to choose a substitution for your annual tribute.”
    “Aye,” Corba answered, bowing her head respectfully. “What do you have in mind, my lady? I weave very well, and I could make you a nice cloak.”
    “I would like to see your children.”
    Corba blinked rapidly, but stepped back into the cottage. Endeline studied the sky, where a squawking flock of crows flew overhead. Troublesome birds. She ought to have Gawain kill them all.
    Presently a boy stepped out of the house, then another, until five dark-haired children stood blinking in the sunshine. Endeline gazed at them hungrily.
    The youngest boy was but a baby, a chubby bundle of delight. The next was dark-skinned. Two were of the same size and manner, both shyly studying the trappings of her horse, and the tallest stood defiantly, a challenge in his eyes.
    Endeline bit her lower lip. Perceval would choose the tallest boy, no doubt, but she knew the choice was not simple. The child who would live with her noble children must possess a brave heart, adaptability, and charm. Most of all, he should reflect well upon her and Perceval.
    Gawain interrupted her thoughts. “Are these all the children?” he called to Corba. “I heard there were six.”
    “There is a girl,” Corba replied, her voice uneven. “She is with her father in the fields of the lord.”
    Endeline lifted her reins. “I must see her, too,” she said, relieved that her decision could be postponed.
    “I will lead you there,” Gawain offered, and Endeline pulled her horse’s head to follow Gawain to the fields.
    Several villeins were plowing in the wide wheat field, but only one plowman was accompanied by a young girl. Endeline watched the pair from the edge of the field, carefully noting the child’s slender form, height, and agility. “She moves well,” she said, watching Afton leap from ridge to furrow as she goaded the ox. “She could be a beautiful dancer.”
    “She would do well with you as her teacher,” Gawain answered, displaying the tact that had earned him the distinction of being Perceval’s most trusted knight. “But no child of a plowman will dance as well as a nobleman’s daughter.”
    “How old would you say she is?” Endeline mused. “She’s about Lienor’s age, is she not? And the blonde hair will be more seemly in my household,” she added, thinking of the row of black-haired boys at Corba’s house. “She would almost be able to pass for Perceval’s child.”
    “No child of a plowman--” began Gawain, but Endeline silenced him with a stern look.
    “Go tell the plowman I’ve chosen his daughter,” Endeline said, turning her horse’s head toward the castle road. “The girl should be brought when the rents are collected next month.”
    ***
     
    Wido’s steps were heavy as he led the ox home. Afton scampered ahead of him, happily splashing her slim legs and tunic in the rutted road’s muddy puddles. How could such a child find a home in Lord Perceval’s castle? Why had Endeline not chosen one of his sons? He had five sons, fine sons, but only one daughter!
    Wido was not a man of learning or sophistication, but he had the good sense to prize the few rare treasures life had sent his way. Corba was one treasure, more beautiful and gentle than the rough village girls he had known as a young man. He had been honored and humbled when she consented to become his wife. And Afton was like her mother, all golden hair and sensitive spirit.
    The ox snorted behind him, anxious to be back in the community pen, and Wido considered what his neighbors would say. “You are fortunate to lose her,” the men would agree, “for what is a girl child but an obligation to pay a dowry?” Sons were strong and valuable, and Wido was particularly blessed with sons.
    But there was something about the sprite that had been born to him first. Endeline had recognized it; even Bodo, wretch that he was, had desired it. Wido could not define