As Mathilda stood and brushed off her knees she heard a quick beat of hooves from the northward. She looked up in alarm, a hand going to her sword hilt, but it was a single rider leading a pair of packhorses.
As he came closer she could see that it was a monk with his dark robe kirted up over practical looking deerskin pants and stout riding boots; a telltale chink and shift hinted at a short mail shirt beneath the coarse dark robe. A longsword and dagger hung from his belt, be side a steel crucifix and a rosary of maple-wood beads, and a bowcase and quiver rode at his saddlebow. One of the led horses had a four-foot shield strapped to its packsaddle.
The canvas cover was still on that, but she suspected she knew what it would show: a raven over a cross. And his face was vaguely familiar…
"Knight brother of the Order of the Shield of Saint Benedict," Odard said quietly, agreeing with her unspo ken thought. "Not the worst possible news. He won't be reporting to the Regent, or Cardinal-Archbishop Maxwell. But they're an independent-minded bunch."
Mathilda nodded. The Benedictine monastery at Mount Angel had come through the Change on its own and had been a rallying point for resistance to the Portland Protective Association and its then-schismatic Church. Mount Angel and the Protectorate both sent delegates to the Meeting at Corvallis these days, but there was still a lingering suspicion. And she knew that her mother resented the influence of the Order's mis sions and daughter houses in the interior and the far south.
"Wait a minute," she said as the man drew closer. "I recognize him. That's Father Ignatius-he's a priest as well as a brother-he was in Sutterdown when the Cut ters attacked. He's been at court in Portland lately, too, some sort of diplomatic mission from Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski."
The hood of his robe was thrown back to show bowl cut black hair and a tonsure. The face beneath was weathered like leather and had a scar along the right side of the square jaw, but it was only a few years older than hers, the eyes dark and watchful and slightly tilted, shaped a little like Odard's. He was of medium height, only a bit taller than she, but broad-shouldered. The hands on the reins were shapely but large, with thick corded wrists.
The warrior-cleric drew rein and signed the air. "Bless you, my children," he said. "Dominus vobiscum."
"And with your spirit, Father," they replied. The priest went on to the young chaperone: "Lady Catherine, it was thought that I would make a more suitable escort for Her Highness, since she plans to push on to the upper valley to see the scenery there, and may stay overnight at Castle Akers in Parkdale. The chatelaine there can see to her needs."
Duty warred with sudden hope on the young noble woman's round plump face. Mathilda gave her a smile and a nod, and she burst out happily: "Thank you, Your Highness, reverend Father!"
Mathilda fought down both relief and suspicion until the other young woman had heeled her placid gelding into a trot back towards the civilized comforts of the castle solar. Then she turned narrow-eyed inquiry to Ignatius.
"Who exactly did you mean when you said 'it was thought' you'd make a better escort, Father?"
The priest's brown eyes were calm. "I suggested it to the countess, my child," he said. "Without, I'm afraid, drawing attention to the fact that I did not say I would be returning from there. It allayed her worries about you, and you won't be missed until tomorrow evening at the earliest… You are planning to escape over the border and join Rudi Mackenzie on his journey to the east, aren't you?"
"Why, Father, why would you suspect any such thing?" she asked in turn, controlling a gasp of dismay.
Answer a question with a question when you don't want to answer, she thought, and then went on: "That would be a reckless thing to do!"
"Daughter, don't lie to me. For starters, you're rather bad at it."
He began to tick off points on his fingers. " Primus, you were with Rudi Mackenzie when the assassins attacked. Secundus, you were privy to his tale of the mysterious events on Nantucket-"
Her eyes went wide in shock. "How do you know about that?" she said.
He smiled grimly, showing teeth that were white but a little uneven.
"Holy Mother Church has many sources of information-and from well beyond this corner of the world. Tertius, you and Rudi Mackenzie and his half sisters and Baron Odard here have all dropped out of sight. .. heading east. The inference is obvious. I might add that as soon as your mother hears of your disappearance, she will know what you have done."
"I left a letter for her with someone I trusted," Mathilda said sullenly.
"Clever clerics give me heartburn." Odard chuckled. "They tend to push in where they're not wanted. Shall I rid you of this troublesome priest, Princess?"
He laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and raised a brow at her.
"Oh, stop posturing, Odard," Mathilda said impatiently. "I know you'll bash whomever I tell you to bash, but that's ridiculous here."
At least, I hope he's posturing. Priest murder is sacrilege! she thought. Aloud she went on: "And in case you hadn't noticed, he's got a sword too."
"I did," Odard said, with the same lazy smile. "A man who wears a sword should expect to have to use it, tonsure and robe or no."
"I am willing to use it," Ignatius said. "Against the enemies of peace, and of the Faith, whom we've been given dispensation to fight by the Holy Father. Do you wish to join one of those two categories, my lord Odard?"
"A knight brother knows how to use the sword too," Mathilda pointed out. "Let's hear what he has to say."
The priest turned his gaze to her. "Daughter, are you determined on this course? For as you said, it is reckless."
"You're not my confessor, Father!" she snapped.
Unexpectedly, Ignatius smiled. "For which, thanks be to God!"
Mathilda found herself chuckling for an instant, and abandoned the attempt to hold on to her anger.
"Then what are you questioning me for?" she asked. "Father," she added after a moment.
"My child, being who and what you are, your actions affect more than yourself. This is your responsibility; God gives us each a cross to carry, as heavy as we can bear-neither more nor less. My responsibility is to the head of my Order… and he has ordered me to investigate the matter of Ingolf Vogeler, and the assassins who pursued him here. The Order of the Shield has been watching the growth of this dangerous cult in Montana for some time now. What we know does not please us; and we must know more."
Mathilda arched her brows. "You don't intend to try to stop me?" she said bluntly.
Ignatius shrugged. "The Regent is not my ruler; Abbot-Bishop Dmwoski is. Furthermore you will be Lady Protector in only a few more years, and it is my judgment that your displeasure then if I, ah, fink you out would do more to endanger the interests of the Order than angering your mother now. Besides which, if we hurry we can probably cross the border well before any one finds out what's going on. When. .. if… we return, things will be very different."
Mathilda stood for a moment, and then threw up her hands with a laugh. "Let's go, then. It'll be a comfort to have the sacraments available on the way. Not including extreme unction, I hope!"
When Ignatius grinned, you suddenly remembered he was a young man himself. He slapped his sword hilt and replied, "Perhaps I can help us avoid that one."
Odard bowed slightly. "As the princess commands," he said. Then after a long considering look at the priest: "And perhaps it's just a good idea anyway, too."
They swung back into the saddle and headed south at a ground-covering pace, walk-trot-canter trot-walk; she and Odard had chosen their horses carefully. Not the big destriers that cost more than a knight's armor-those would be waiting for them in Bend, if all went well-but good sized long legged palfreys. The cleric's horses were fine stock as well, and not carrying too much weight; he was whipcord and sinew rather than bulk. Mount Angel had rich lands, including stud farms with a growing reputation.