Lady Ilena by Patricia Malone Page B

“Let's go down,” I say. “The others are waiting.” A group of women has gathered near Aten's house. Kenna, her belly swollen in pregnancy, is among them.
    As we walk, Aten describes the group of warriors, most of them from somewhere in the North, Jon had said, and a few who spoke a language no one recognized. “They wentinto every house and field and forced all the men and boys to go with them.”
    “Except Eogan, who was hunting,” Fiona says.
    We reach the group at Aten's yard, and old friends surround me. Their greetings worry Machonna, who struggles against the ropes that hold him. Fiona helps me get him down, and I carry him into the house.
    By the time Aten has examined Machonna's wound and applied a fresh dressing, Fiona and Kenna have Rol and the packhorse settled into Aten's small barn. It is getting dark as Aten dips soup for us. After we've eaten, the four of us sit on the bedplaces and talk long into the night.
    “Tell me again,” I say. “What happened first? Did the watch give alarm? How many were there?”
    “I was here with Kenna,” Aten begins. “There wasn't a watch yet since it was too early for the usual slave raiders, but Kenna and I heard the noise. They took the cow and calf and the pigs out of your barn—then fired the place. It was a great awful burning.”
    “Cryner?” I ask. An old dog is of little matter when human lives are endangered, but I hope the hound did not suffer.
    “Gone,” Kenna says. “In the winter. Just didn't wake up one morning. Jon carried him up the slope and buried him there near your folks.”
    “And Legg?” I asked. “Did they take him?”
    “Eogan had him,” Kenna says. “Hunting, like always.”
    I remember Eogan, a tall boy about two years younger than I. He spent a lot of time watching Moren teach me sword fighting, and he liked nothing better than permission to groom the horses. “He rides him, then?” I ask.
    “Aye,” Aten says. “Eogan has been our best hunter all winter. Thank the gods he at least is left to us.”
    “But Legg is no good at the plow or the mill,” Kenna adds. “Tried him at both, Eogan did, but the horse wouldn't pull.”
    I picture the proud stallion harnessed like a donkey or an ox to the plow and shake my head. “It's not something he's trained for,” I say. “So they took the oxen, too?”
    “Aye,” Aten says. “We've nothing to pull the plow or turn the millstones now but ourselves.”
    “What did the men do?” I ask. “Did they try to fight back?”
    Aten shook her head. “Jon considered it, but the leader spoke to us.” She stops, overcome with sadness, and adds, “There were about forty in the group.”
    “They'd kill us all and burn our homes like they had yours unless our men went with them,” Fiona says.
    “Eogan saw the fire and hurried back to us,” Aten says, “but they were gone by the time he got here.”
    “We stopped him from going after them,” Fiona says. “It wouldn't have helped, and we'd have lost him and the horse besides.”
    “It's hard for Eogan to do all the men's work alone, andwe're behind in plowing and planting,” Aten says. “It's a bad time.” She smiles at me. “But it is good to have you here.”
    We sit in silence, watching the hearth fire burn lower and lower. Machonna whimpers in his sleep, and a cow lows quietly from the barn. I've missed these small houses with the animals close by and the peaceful nighttime talk of crops and hunting. But the vale is no refuge now.
    Kenna and Aten go outside to check the paddock gate for the night, and Fiona and I sit for a few more minutes by the remains of the fire.
    I say, “I'll help where I can tomorrow.”
    “Will you stay, then?” Fiona asks. She sounds hopeful, and I'm reluctant to disappoint her, but I must.
    “I cannot, Fiona. I'd planned to go directly on; I've business in the North.”
    “Perhaps you'll find word of our men.” She sounds disappointed but resigned; she was the only person in the village