But neither was it often that a simple country nobleman of these hinterlands of the Confederation was granted the opportunity to accompany so high and important a personage, nor to do so in proximity to such expensive splendor. But, all other considerations aside, his escort was no less than ‘his bounden duty, for the personage now riding a fine-bred, richly caparisoned gelding at his side had been his guest for three days and was both Kindred and blood kin. And, for all his fifty-three years, Bahrt was still virile and appreciative of his companion’s beauty. Not that that beauty was readily apparent this morning, for the costly gowns which had had the ladies of Skahtpolis fairly squirming with envy were all packed away in the trunks strapped into the boot of the ponderous coach and in the two wagons which followed it. She rode in Horseclans garb of the ancient cut —baggy trousers tucked into soft, felt boots, wide dagger belt mounting a silver-hilted dirk, tight-sleeved pullover shirt which for all its bagginess still could not conceal the proud upthrust of her mature breasts, drooping velvet cap; the only outre touch was a thick veil to protect bet nose and mouth from the choking dust “Duke Bahrt…”
