Lady Rohana, in the long briefing session that had preceded her departure, had been sympathetic about that, too.
“I traveled once, in disguise, with a band of Free Amazons,” she/ said, “and I had to cut my hair; I can still remember the shock I felt. I remember that I cried, and how they laughed at me. It was worse for me, probably, than for you: you are accountable to no one, but I knew how angry my husband would be when he knew.”
Magda had asked, “And was he angry?” and Rohana smiled, a reminiscent smile. “Terribly. It was already done, so there was nothing he could do about it; but I felt his anger for almost a year, till it had grown to what he called a respectable length.”
Magda heard the sleet beginning to abate and crawled out of her sleeping bag. Shivering in the fire-less hut, she dressed quickly in the clothing Lady Rohana had provided: loose trousers, a long-sleeved and high-necked under tunic of embroidered linen, a fur-lined over tunic and riding-cloak. She had even measured Magda’s foot and sent a servant to buy boots in the marketplace. Magda laced the high boots and led her animals outside, feeding them from the stacked fodder in the nearby shed and slipping the prescribed amount of coins into the padlocked box there. She led them one by one to the watering trough, breaking the ice there with the small hammer on her saddle. While they munched and drank, she went inside, quickly made a small fire and boiled some water, stirring it into the precooked, powdered mixture of grains and nuts that made a kind of instant porridge. Mixed with a few shreds of dried fruit, it was edible when you were used to it.
The ransom was safely hidden in her saddlebags, converted into the copper bars that were the standard Darkovan currency. In Terran exchange it was no more than a couple of months’ salary for a good agent; they probably wouldn’t even bother to take it out of Peter’s “hazard” pay.
Why am I doing this? Peter’s a grown man, able to take his own risks. I’m not his guardian. I’m not even his wife anymore. I don’t love him that much, not anymore, not now. So why? But she had no answer, and it nagged at the back of her mind as she set off down the trail. She stopped at the indicator post near the travel-shelter, locating the next three shelters along this trail. One was at a reasonable distance for a large caravan with heavily laden pack animals; a second was located at a good day’s ride for a party traveling at an easy pace but without much gear; the third was about at the limit of a long day’s hard ride for a solitary traveler. Maybe I can sleep there tonight . . .. She turned from the post and started along the trail, feeling a faint unease she could not identify; then it came to her.
I’m out of character, reading the travel-post. Most
Darkovan women can’t read—–Literacy even among men on Darkover was by no means universal, though most men could spell out a placard or scrawl their own names; among women it was extremely rare, and her small Darkovan playmates at Caer Donn had been astonished and slightly shocked-and a little envious- when they discovered that Margali could read, that her own father had taught her. Out of character. Damn it, this whole trip is out of character.
Magda clucked to her horse, and started along the trail. Rohana had warned her: “I traveled with the Free Amazons, but not as one of them; I do not deceive myself that I know all of their ways and customs. If I were you, I would avoid any meeting with real Amazon groups; but most of the folk in the hills where you will travel know nothing at all about them. So no one will question your disguise, if you are careful.”
And in seven days she had not been challenged, though once she had had to share the travel shelter with two men, traders from the far hills. By law and custom, these shelters, put up centuries ago, and kept inspected and stocked even in wartime by the border patrols, were sacred places of neutrality, and must be shared by all comers; anything else would have condemned other travelers to die of cold and exposure. By law, even blood feuds were suspended in the shelters, as Magda had heard was the custom during forest fires. The men had glanced briefly at Magda’s short hair and Amazon clothing, spoken a few formally courteous words, and ignored her entirely after that.