Epic Historial Collection by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page A

came to a devil’s peak on her forehead. Tom felt a pang of desire. Then she raised her glance to look at him, and he gave a start: she had intense, deep-set eyes of an unusual honey-gold color that gave her whole face a magical look, and he felt sure that she knew what he had been thinking.
    He looked away from her to cover his embarrassment, and he caught Agnes’s eye. She was looking resentful. She said: “Where’s the pig?”
    â€œThere were two more outlaws,” Tom said.
    Alfred said: “We beat them, but the one with the pig got away.”
    Agnes looked grim, but said nothing more.
    The strange woman said: “We could move the girl into the shade, if we’re gentle.” She stood up, and Tom realized that she was quite small, at least a foot shorter than he. He bent down and picked Martha up carefully. Her childish body was almost weightless in his arms. He carried her a few yards along the road and put her down on a patch of grass in the shadow of an old oak. She was still quite limp.
    Alfred was picking up the tools that had been scattered on the road during the fracas. The strange woman’s boy was watching, his eyes wide and his mouth open, not speaking. He was about three years younger than Alfred, and a peculiar-looking child, Tom observed, with none of his mother’s sensual beauty. He had very pale skin, orange-red hair, and blue eyes that bulged slightly. He had the alertly stupid look of a dullard, Tom thought; the kind of child that either dies young or grows up to be the village idiot. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable under his stare.
    As Tom watched, the child snatched the saw from Alfred’s hand, without saying anything, and examined it as if it were something amazing. Alfred, offended by the discourtesy, snatched it back, and the child let it go with indifference. The mother said: “Jack! Behave yourself.” She seemed embarrassed.
    Tom looked at her. The boy did not resemble her at all. “Are you his mother?” Tom asked.
    â€œYes. My name is Ellen.”
    â€œWhere’s your husband?”
    â€œDead.”
    Tom was surprised. “You’re traveling alone?” he said incredulously. The forest was dangerous enough for a man such as he: a woman alone could hardly hope to survive.
    â€œWe’re not traveling,” said Ellen. “We live in the forest.”
    Tom was shocked. “You mean you’re—” He stopped, not wanting to offend her.
    â€œOutlaws,” she said. “Yes. Did you think that all outlaws were like Faramond Openmouth, who stole your pig?”
    â€œYes,” said Tom, although what he wanted to say was I never thought an outlaw might be a beautiful woman . Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked: “What was your crime?”
    â€œI cursed a priest,” she said, and looked away.
    It did not sound like much of a crime to Tom, but perhaps the priest had been very powerful, or very touchy; or perhaps Ellen just did not want to tell the truth.
    He looked at Martha. A moment later she opened her eyes. She was confused and a little frightened. Agnes knelt beside her. “You’re safe,” she said. “Everything’s all right.”
    Martha said upright and vomited. Agnes hugged her until the spasms passed. Tom was impressed: Ellen’s prediction had come true. She had also said that Martha would be all right, and presumably that was reliable too. Relief washed over him, and he was a little surprised at the strength of his own emotion. I couldn’t bear to lose my little girl, he thought; and he had to fight back tears. He caught a look of sympathy from Ellen, and once again he felt that her pale gold eyes could see into his heart.
    He broke off an oak twig, stripped its leaves, and used them to wipe Martha’s face. She still looked pale.
    â€œShe needs to rest,” said Ellen. “Let her lie down for as long as it takes a man to walk three