M is for My Country

     Those dogs.  Those filthy, mangy dogs.  They slaughtered all of them.  Men, women, children, burned and cut down.  My country.  Tears stream down my lucid face. 
     I left them.  The survivors of the sentry guard and militia were backed up to the door of my manor.  I watched them from my grand windows, Linus the sentry leader ran through by a bayonet as he shielded a young boy, Friar George’s brother Vernon shot in the arm and later innards, blood spurting from his pale lips.  Most of them I knew by name.
     My protectors, wife, and daughter made for the back door.  “I shan’t let ye perish, m’Lord,” declared Martin, the leader of my personal guard.  I was hauled away, but I didn’t resist.  I heard the cries of my people as I left them to die.
     We rushed to a small boat in the wharf.  Martin assisted my family into the boat before he and my five other guardsmen got to work at the ropes.  After the vessel was released from the docks they jumped in and went for the oars, wind too slight for the single sail.  I couldn’t see the last of my countrymen perish.  That didn’t matter.  The screaming was evidence enough.
     I surveyed what was left of the populace of my dear home.  My wife Mary, cheeks like spiced milk, gown of green satin.  My daughter Sophia, charcoal braids framing a round face, cheekbones high and regal.  Randulf, the oldest and most trusted of my guard.  Norman and Orson, brothers possessing incredible strength and loyalty.  Lenard, former sentry leader and strategist.  Hieni, a dark-skinned captive from the west, highly knowledgeable of flora and fauna.  Martin, man of amazing speed with the sabre, accuracy of the musket, and cultivation of the mind.  Perhaps the finest soldiers in all of Hannon, or former Hannon as it soon shall be.
     I snap back to attention as we exit the harbor.  The occasional sobs from Mary and Sophia have ceased, Sophia drifting to sleep in her mother’s arms and Mary peering blankly at the slight waves of the sea.  They are still in shock, I’m sure.  Sympathy isn’t Mary’s strong-suit, but she is far from cold-hearted.  I realize now that I sheltered Sophia too much.  She will never truly understand this event.  She may not live much longer anyway.  A new round of tears slides down my face.
     “Have you a plan, Lenard?” I ask.
     “Aye, m’Lord.  We’ll find a small island for the night and then continue to Jeri.  The Jerians have always looked kindly toward us, even if our requests for an alliance were dismissed,” he replied.
     “Splendid.  You may ease, men, the Yirmans won’t bother looking for small ships escaping.  They’re quite a superstitious nation, as far as the ocean is concerned.”
     My men half their oaring pace.  They will continue for as long as I request; Norman and Orson alone could row for hours.  The sun will set soon, however.  The first sight of land will be our heading.
     A few minutes later, I spot a speck in the distance.  “Steer right, men.  I see some land.  We shall rebuild our great country.”