Free The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett Page B

the man hesitated. Then the thief turned on his heel and ran—straight into Agnes.
    He was not traveling fast enough to knock her over—and she was a woman who took a lot of knocking over—and the two of them staggered from side to side for a moment in a clumsy dance. Then he realized she was deliberately obstructing him, and he pushed her aside. She stuck out her leg as he went past her. Her foot got between his knees and both of them fell down.
    Tom’s heart was in his mouth as he raced to her side. The thief was getting up with one knee on her back. Tom grabbed his collar and yanked him off her. He hauled him to the side of the road before he could regain his balance, then threw him into the ditch.
    Agnes stood up. Martha ran to her. Tom said rapidly: “All right?”
    “Yes,” Agnes answered.
    The two peasants had stopped and turned around, and they were staring at the scene, wondering what was going on. The thief was on his knees in the ditch. “He’s an outlaw,” Agnes called out to them, to discourage them from interfering. “He stole our pig.” The peasants made no reply, but waited to see what would happen next.
    Tom spoke to the thief again. “Give me my money and I’ll let you go.”
    The man came up out of the ditch with a knife in his hand, fast as a rat, and went for Tom’s throat. Agnes screamed. Tom dodged. The knife flashed across his face and he felt a burning pain along his jaw.
    He stepped back and swung his hammer as the knife flashed again. The thief jumped back, and both knife and hammer swished through the damp evening air without connecting.
    For an instant the two men stood still, facing one another, breathing hard. Tom’s cheek hurt. He realized they were evenly matched, for although Tom was bigger, the thief had a knife, which was a deadlier weapon than a mason’s hammer. He felt the cold grasp of fear as he realized he might be about to die. He suddenly felt he could not breathe.
    From the corner of his eye he saw a sudden movement. The thief saw it too, and darted a glance at Agnes, then ducked his head as a stone came flying at him from her hand.
    Tom reacted with the speed of a man in fear of his life, and swung his hammer at the thief’s bent head.
    It connected just as the man was looking up again. The iron hammer struck his forehead at the hairline. It was a hasty blow, and did not have all of Tom’s considerable strength behind it. The thief staggered but did not fall.
    Tom hit him again.
    This blow was harder. He had time to lift the hammer above his head and aim it, as the dazed thief tried to focus his eyes. Tom thought of Martha as he swung the hammer down. It struck with all his force, and the thief fell to the ground like a dropped doll.
    Tom was wound up too tightly to feel any relief. He knelt beside the thief, searching him. “Where’s his purse? Where’s his purse, damnation!” The limp body was difficult to move. Finally Tom laid him flat on his back and opened his cloak. There was a big leather purse hanging from his belt. Tom undid its clasp. Inside was a soft wool bag with a drawstring. Tom pulled it out. It was light. “Empty!” Tom said. “He must have another.”
    He pulled the cloak from under the man and carefully felt it all over. There were no concealed pockets, no hard parts. He pulled off the boots. There was nothing inside them. He drew his eating knife from his belt and slit the soles: nothing.
    Impatiently, he slipped his knife inside the neck of the thief’s woolen tunic and ripped it to the hem. There was no hidden money belt.
    The thief lay in the middle of the mud road, naked but for his stockings. The two peasants were staring at Tom as if he were mad. Furiously, Tom said to Agnes: “He hasn’t any money!”
    “He must have lost it all at dice,” she said bitterly.
    “I hope he burns in the fires of hell,” Tom said.
    Agnes knelt down and felt the thief’s chest. “That’s where he is now,” she said. “You’ve killed