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detail.
    "Probability puts the frequency of travellers on the Oxford- Bath road as one every 1.6 hours, and it indicates a 92 per cent chance of her story of an assault being believed due to the frequency of such assaults. A wayfarer in Oxfordshire had a 42.5 per cent chance of being robbed in winter, 58.6 per cent in summer. That's an average, of course. The chances were greatly increased in parts of Otmoor and the Wychwood and on the smaller roads."
    Dunworthy wondered how on earth Probability had arrived at those figures. The Doomsday Book didn't list thieves, with the possible exception of the king's censustakers, who sometimes took more than the census, and the cutthroats of the time surely hadn't kept records of whom they had robbed and murdered, the locations marked neatly on a map. Proofs of deaths away from home had been entirely de facto : the person had failed to come back. And how many bodies had lain in the woods, undiscovered and unmarked by anyone?
    "I assure you we have taken every precaution possible to protect Kivrin," Gilchrist said.
    "Like parameter checks?" Dunworthy said. "And unmanneds and symmetry tests?"
    Mary came back. "Here we are, Mr. Latimer," she said, putting a glass of brandy down in front of him. She hooked Latimer's wet umbrella over the back of the settle and sat down beside him.
    "I was just assuring Mr. Dunworthy that every aspect of this drop was exhaustively researched," Gilchrist said. He picked up the plastic figurine of a wise man carrying a gilt box. "The brass-bound casket in her equipage is an exact reproduction of a jewel casket in the Ashmolean." He set the wise man down. "Even her name was painstakingly researched. Isabel is the woman's name listed most frequently in the Assize Rolls and the Regista Regum for 1295 through 1320.
    "It is actually a corrupted form of Elizabeth," Latimer said, as if it were one of his lectures. "Its widespread use in England from the twelfth century is thought to trace its origin to Isavel of Angoulкme, wife of King John."
    "Kivrin told me she'd been given an actual identity, that Isabel de Beauvrier was one of the daughters of a Yorkshire nobleman," Dunworthy said.
    "She was," Gilchrist said. "Gilbert de Beauvrier had four daughters in the appropriate age range, but their Christian names were not listed in the rolls. That was a common practice. Women were frequently listed only by surname and relationship, even in parish registers and on tombstones."
    Mary put a restraining hand on Dunworthy's arm. "Why did you choose Yorkshire?" she asked quickly. "Won't that put her a long way from home?"
    She's seven hundred years from home, Dunworthy thought, in a century that didn't value women enough to even list their names when they died.
    "Ms. Engle was the one who suggested that," Gilchrist said. "She felt having the estate so distant would ensure that no attempt would be made to contact the family."
    Or to cart her back to them, miles from the drop. Kivrin had suggested it. She had probably suggested the whole thing, searching through exchequer rolls and church registers for a family with a daughter the right age and no court connections, a family far enough up into the East Riding that the snow and the impassable roads would make it impossible for a messenger to ride and tell the family a missing daughter had been found.
    "Mediaeval has given the same careful attention to every detail of this drop," Gilchrist said, "even to the pretext for her journey, her brother's illness. We were careful to ascertain that there had been an outbreak of influenza in that section of Gloucestershire in 1319, even though illness was abundant during the Middle Ages, and he could just as easily have contracted cholera or blood poisoning."
    "James," Mary said warningly.
    "Ms. Engle's costume was hand-sewn. The blue cloth for her dress was hand-dyed with woad using a mediaeval recipe. And Ms. Montoya has exhaustively researched the village of Skendgate where Kivrin will