World Without End by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online

frightening than the fight they had witnessed in the forest. If she thought about what might happen, and the possibility that her mother might die, she suffered a panicky fluttering sensation in her chest that made her want to scream.
    The middle bedroom was used in summer by the Italians, wool buyers from Florence and Prato who came to do business with Papa. Now it was empty. The puppies were in the back bedroom, which belonged to Caris and her sister, Alice. They were seven weeks old, ready to leave their mother, who was growing impatient with them. Gwenda gave a sigh of joy and immediately got down on the floor with them.
    Caris picked up the smallest of the litter, a lively female, always going off on her own to explore the world. 'This is the one I'm going to keep,' she said. 'She's called Scrap.' Holding the little dog soothed her, and helped her forget about the things that troubled her.
    The other four clambered all over Gwenda, sniffing her and chewing her dress. She picked up an ugly brown dog with a long muzzle and eyes set too close together. 'I like this one,' she said. The puppy curled up in her lap.
    Caris said: 'Would you like to keep him?'
    Tears came to Gwenda's eyes. 'Could I?'
    'We're allowed to give them away.'
    'Really?'
    'Papa doesn't want any more dogs. If you like him, you can have him.'
    'Oh, yes,' Gwenda said in a whisper. 'Yes, please.'
    'What will you name him?'
    'Something that reminds me of Hop. Perhaps I'll call him Skip.'
    'That's a good name.' Skip had already gone to sleep in Gwenda's lap, Caris saw.
    The two girls sat quietly with the dogs. Caris thought about the boys they had met, the little red-haired one with the golden brown eyes and his tall, handsome younger brother. What had made her take them into the forest? It was not the first time she had yielded to a stupid impulse. It tended to happen when someone in authority ordered her not to do something. Her aunt Petranilla was a great rule-maker. 'Don't feed that cat, we'll never get rid of it. No ball games in the house. Stay away from that boy, his family are peasants.' Rules that constrained her behavior seemed to drive Caris crazy.
    But she had never done something this foolish. She felt shaky when she thought of it. Two men had died. But what might have happened was worse. The four children might have been killed, too.
    She wondered what the fight had been about, and why the men-at-arms had been chasing the knight. Obviously it was not a simple robbery. They had spoken about a letter. But Merthin had said no more about that. Probably he had learned nothing further. It was just another of the mysteries of adult life.
    Caris had liked Merthin. His boring brother, Ralph, was just like every other boy in Kingsbridge, boastful and aggressive and stupid, but Merthin seemed different. He had intrigued her right from the start.
    Two new friends in one day, she thought, looking at Gwenda. The little girl was not pretty. She had dark brown eyes set close together above a beaky nose. She had picked a dog that looked a bit like her, Caris realized with amusement. Gwenda's clothes were old, and must have been worn by many children before her. Gwenda was calmer now. She no longer looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. She, too, had been soothed by the puppies.
    There was a familiar lopsided tread in the hall below, and a moment later a voice bellowed: 'Bring me a flagon of ale, for the love of the saints, I've got a thirst like a cart horse.'
    'It's my father,' Caris said. 'Come and meet him.' Seeing that Gwenda looked anxious, she added: 'Don't worry, he always shouts like that, but he's really nice.'
    The girls went downstairs with their puppies. 'What's happened to all my servants?' Papa roared. 'Have they run away to join the fairy folk?' He came stomping out of the kitchen, trailing his twisted right leg as always, carrying a big wooden cup slopping over with ale. 'Hello, my little buttercup,' he said to Caris in a softer