World Without End by Ken Follett

men who had been killed in the forest, and she suffered a moment of sheer terror. Then she realized they were different men wearing the same uniform, yellow on one side and green on the other. The younger of the two carried a familiar-looking bundle of rags.
    The older spoke directly to Pa. 'You're Joby from Wigleigh, aren't you?'
    Gwenda instantly felt frightened again. There was a tone of serious menace in the man's voice. He was not posturing, just determined, but he gave her the impression he would do anything to get his way.
    'No,' Pa replied, lying automatically. 'You've got the wrong man.'
    They ignored that. The second man put the bundle on the table and spread it out. It consisted of two yellow-and-green tunics wrapped around two swords and two daggers. He looked at Pa and said: 'Where did these come from?'
    'I've never seen them before, I swear by the Cross.'
    He was stupid to deny it, Gwenda thought fearfully: they would get the truth out of him, just as he had got the truth out of her.
    The older man-at-arms said: 'Davey, the landlord of the White Horse, says he bought these from Joby Wigleigh.' His voice hardened with threat, and the handful of other customers in the room all got up from their seats and quickly slipped out of the inn, leaving only Gwenda's family.
    'Joby left here a while ago,' Pa said desperately.
    The man nodded. 'With his wife, two children, and a baby.'
    'Yes.'
    The man moved with sudden speed. He grabbed Pa's tunic in a strong hand and pushed him up against the wall. Ma screamed, and the baby began to cry. Gwenda saw that the man's right hand bore a padded glove covered with chain mail. He drew back his arm and punched Pa in the stomach.
    Ma shouted: 'Help! Murder!' Philemon began to cry.
    Pa's face turned white with pain, and he went limp, but the man held him up against the wall, preventing him from falling, and punched him again, this time in the face. Blood spurted from Pa's nose and mouth.
    Gwenda wanted to scream, and her mouth was open wide, but no noise would come from her throat. She thought her father was all-powerful - even though he often slyly pretended to be weak, or craven, in order to get sympathy, or turn aside anger - and it terrified her to see him so helpless.
    The innkeeper appeared in the doorway that led to the back of the house. He was a big man in his thirties. A plump little girl peeped from behind him. 'What's this?' he said in a voice of authority.
    The man-at-arms did not look at him. 'You keep out of it,' he said, and he punched Pa in the stomach again.
    Pa vomited blood.
    'Stop that,' said the innkeeper.
    The man-at-arms said: 'Who do you think you are?'
    'I'm Paul Bell, and this is my house.'
    'Well, then, Paul Bell, you mind your own business, if you know what's good for you.'
    'I suppose you think you can do what you like, wearing that uniform.' There was contempt in Paul's voice.
    'That's about right.'
    'Whose livery is it, anyway?'
    'The queen's.'
    Paul spoke over his shoulder. 'Bessie, run and fetch John Constable. If a man is going to be murdered in my tavern, I want the constable to witness it.' The little girl disappeared.
    'There'll be no killing here,' the man-at-arms said. 'Joby has changed his mind. He's decided to lead me to the place where he robbed two dead men - haven't you, Joby?'
    Pa could not speak, but he nodded. The man let him go, and he fell to his knees, coughing and retching.
    The man looked at the rest of the family. 'And the child that witnessed the fight...?'
    Gwenda screamed: 'No!'
    He nodded in satisfaction. 'The rat-faced girl, obviously.'
    Gwenda ran to her mother. Ma said: 'Mary, Mother of God, save my child.'
    The man grabbed Gwenda's arm and roughly pulled her away from her mother. She cried out. He said harshly: 'Shut your noise, or you'll get the same as your miserable father.'
    Gwenda clamped her jaws together to stop herself screaming.
    'Get up, Joby.' The man dragged Pa to his feet. 'Pull yourself together, you're going