World Without End by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page A

voice. He sat on the big chair at the head of the table and took a long draft from the cup. 'That's better,' he said, wiping his straggly beard with his sleeve. He noticed Gwenda. 'A little daisy to go with my buttercup?' he said. 'What's your name?'
    'Gwenda, from Wigleigh, my lord,' she said, awestruck.
    'I gave her a puppy,' Caris explained.
    'That's a good idea!' Papa said. 'Puppies need affection, and no one can love a puppy the way a little girl does.'
    On the stool beside the table Caris saw a cloak of scarlet cloth. It had to be imported, for English dyers did not know how to achieve such a bright red. Following her eye, Papa said: 'It's for your mother. She's always wanted a coat of Italian red. I'm hoping it will encourage her to get well enough to wear it.'
    Caris touched it. The wool was soft and close-woven, as only the Italians could make it. 'It's beautiful,' she said.
    Aunt Petranilla entered from the street. She bore some resemblance to Papa, but was purse-mouthed where he was hearty. She was more like her other brother, Anthony, the prior of Kingsbridge: they were both tall, imposing figures, whereas Papa was short, barrel-chested, and lame.
    Caris disliked Petranilla. She was clever as well as mean, a deadly combination in an adult: Caris was never able to outwit her. Gwenda sensed Caris's dislike, and looked apprehensively at the newcomer. Only Papa was pleased to see her. 'Come in, sister,' he said. 'Where are all my servants?'
    'I can't think why you imagine I should know that, having just come from my own house at the other end of the street, but if I had to guess, Edmund, I should say that your cook is in the henhouse, hoping to find an egg to make you a pudding, and your maid is upstairs, helping your wife to a close stool, which she generally requires about midday. As for your apprentices, I hope they are both on guard duty at the warehouse by the riverside, making sure that no holiday revelers take it into their drunken heads to light a bonfire within a spark's fly of your wool store.'
    She often spoke like this, giving a little sermon in answer to a simple question. Her manner was supercilious, as always, but Papa did not mind, or pretended not to. 'My remarkable sister,' he said. 'You're the one who inherited our father's wisdom.'
    Petranilla turned to the girls. 'Our father was descended from Tom Builder, the stepfather and mentor of Jack Builder, architect of Kingsbridge Cathedral,' she said. 'Father vowed to give his firstborn to God but, unfortunately, his firstborn was a girl - me. He named me after Saint Petranilla - who was the daughter of Saint Peter, as I'm sure you know - and he prayed for a boy next time. But his first son was born deformed, and he did not want to give God a flawed gift, so he brought Edmund up to take over the wool business. Happily, his third child was our brother Anthony, a well behaved and God-fearing child, who entered the monastery as a boy and is now, we are all proud to say, the prior.'
    She would have become a priest, had she been a man, but as it was she had done the next best thing and brought up her son, Godwyn, to be a monk at the priory. Like Grandfather Wooler, she had given a child to God. Caris had always felt sorry for Godwyn, her older cousin, for having Petranilla as a mother.
    Petranilla noticed the red coat. 'Whose is this?' she said. 'It's the most expensive Italian cloth!'
    'I bought it for Rose,' said Papa.
    Petranilla stared at him for a moment. Caris could tell she thought he was a fool to buy such a coat for a woman who had not left the house for a year. But all she said was: 'You're very good to her,' which might have been a compliment or not.
    Father did not care. 'Go up and see her,' he urged. 'You'll cheer her up.'
    Caris doubted that, but Petranilla suffered no such misgivings, and she went up the stairs.
    Caris's sister, Alice, came in from the street. She was eleven, a year older than Caris. She stared at Gwenda and said: 'Who's