Page 15 of Peregrine's Call
“Put the robe on,” he ordered suddenly.
The robe was voluminous, obscuring Robin’s figure. She pulled the hood over her head and then tugged it to cover nearly all of her face. When she bent her head, she could barely see more than a few steps ahead of her…but she would be hidden from all eyes.
“Will this work?” she asked Octavian. She tied the simple rope belt loosely around her waist.
“Keep your hands folded in your sleeves,” he advised. “And keep the hood up. But yes, as a disguise it should work much better than a boy’s outfit. People will see nothing more than a devout traveler, and that should allow us considerable freedom.”
“There is a famous holy well dedicated to Saint Winifred in Treffynnon, in Wales. If we say I’m headed there, folk will believe us. It’s a well-known place for pilgrims.” She pulled the hood away from her face, irritated at the limited vision.
“Pilgrims…” he echoed. A moment later, he put something into her outstretched hands—a collection of small pilgrim medals, souvenirs gathered by people who’d traveled to each holy place as a symbol of their often long, difficult journey. “Pin these to the front of the robe. Then you’ll truly look like a pilgrim.”
Robin peered at the medals. One was a stamped brass sun with waving rays. One was silver in the shape of a crucifix. One was a brightly painted fish carved from bone. Her mouth fell open. “Octavian! I can’t wear your medals! Did you go to all these places?”
“I grew up in the Levant,” he pointed out, “so many of those places took no more than a week to reach. As pilgrimages, none were terribly harsh. Don’t lose the quatrefoil cross, though, please. I got that in Jerusalem, at the Holy Sepulchre.”
“Oh,” she said, awed. There was something unreal about holding an object that she knew had come from the city of Jerusalem itself. “I promise I’ll take care of it. All of them!”
“Good. Now pin them on, and no one will question your status.”
“But what if someone asks me about the Holy Land? I don’t know what to say.”
“You’ll say nothing,” Tav warned her. “You, Brother Robin, are under a vow of complete silence, and I’ll speak for both of us.”
“But—”
“Not even one word,” he interrupted. “That violates your oath.” He smiled at her. “It’s the only way, Robin. You couldn’t maintain the disguise if you had to talk.”
“But I may need to tell you something!”
“Then you can signal me,” he said. “And when we’re out of earshot of others, you can speak.”
“Are you certain this is necessary? Or do you just want to shut me up?”
“Why would you think that?” Octavian asked, too innocently. “You wanted to come along. Your silence is the price. Or you can turn around and ride back to Cleobury.”
“You know I won’t do that.”
“Then promise me you’ll doexactlywhat I say, when I say it.” His expression grew serious. “No arguments, no protests, no going off on your own. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she ground out.
“Promise what?” he prompted.
“Ugh! I promise to follow your orders, and obey you in all things,” she said. “Is that good enough?”
“It is,” he said, satisfied. “Now pay attention.”
He made a gesture with his right hand, drawing two fingers across his mouth and then pulling his hand down in front of his chest. “Mimic that.”
She did so, and again until Tav nodded in approval.
“That gesture communicates that you’re under a vow of silence. Make that to any priest or monk and they’ll know. Most others will guess, or I’ll tell them.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, just before remembering that Tav had grown up in a monastery after he’d been orphaned. He learned many aspects of the religious life, even those that didn’t apply to a young boy taken in as a student.
“Never mind. Any other signs I should know?” she asked.
“Let’s keep things simple for now. The last thing the world needs is a little Robin running around in the perfect disguise of a monk.”
