Free YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) by Beryl Darby

visitor, but his attention appeared to be on Maria. The younger children would play together, although Andreas was often missing or would be seen sitting under a tree deep in thought.
    Annita was puzzled by her brother’s behaviour. He had always been quiet, but now he seemed to have withdrawn into himself. It crossed her mind that he might be missing their mother and decided to ask him.
    He smiled gently at her. ‘Of course I miss Mamma, but I’m not unhappy. I’ll see her again very soon. I just enjoy sitting quietly and thinking.’
    ‘You’re not ill?’ Annita asked anxiously.
    ‘Not a bit,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘I’m happier sitting here than I would be if I were chasing around. I wish these holidays could go on for ever.’
    Annita studied him. He certainly looked well and did not appear to be miserable. She decided he always behaved like this and it was only noticeable because of the energy of his cousins. It occurred to her that although she sat and worked at her embroidery most evenings, Andreas was nearly always out.
    ‘What do you think about?’
    ‘Many things,’ Andreas evaded the question.
    Annita realised her brother was going to tell her nothing. She shrugged and wandered away to find Yannis and Maria, finally running them to earth in the stable with Aga. She was lying in the straw, her breathing laboured and her eyes glazed.
    ‘Go and fetch Pappa,’ ordered Yannis.
    Annita fled back to the house, bursting into the living room. ‘Aga’s sick, maybe dying.’
    Yannis senior jumped to his feet and followed the girl back to the stable. Maria was sobbing, burying her face into the donkey’s soft neck. Yannis was talking softly to Aga, the twitching of her ears showing she was conscious. The farmer took one look and turned to Annita. ‘Go back to the house and ask Maria for my shot-gun.’
    ‘No, Pappa.’ Both Maria and Yannis looked up at him in horror.
    ‘It’s kinder to shoot her. She’s old and won’t recover. Her time’s come and I’d rather shoot her than see her suffer.’
    Yannis could feel hot tears pricking behind his eyelids. He loved Aga, he had ridden her to and from the fields since before he could walk and to him she was part of the family.
    Annita returned with the gun and handed it to her uncle. ‘I’ll hold her,’ she said calmly and pushed Maria gently out of the way.
    ‘There’s no need. Say goodbye to her, then all of you outside.’
    Annita put her arm around Maria and pulled Yannis by the sleeve. Once outside the stable Yannis buried his face in his hands, waiting for the shot. For what seemed like an age they stood and no sound came. Yannis came out from the stable.
    ‘She’s dead,’ he announced. ‘As I lifted the gun she died,’ he said simply.
    ‘I’m glad you didn’t shoot her, Pappa.’ Maria slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.
    ‘I’m glad too. Now, Annita, take the gun back in. We’ll have to dig a grave for her.’ Solemnly the children followed Yannis to the olive grove.
    ‘Where are you going to bury her?’ asked Annita.
    ‘By the wall. The soil won’t wash off her down here.’
    The three children helped Yannis dig. It was a long and arduous task and before the hole was deep enough it had become dark.
    ‘That’s enough,’ said Yannis, leaning on his spade. ‘We’ll finish it tomorrow.’
    ‘Why do we have to dig it so deep?’ asked Maria.
    ‘For a number of reasons,’ explained her father. ‘As the carcass rots it will smell if it’s near the surface. The smell would be most unpleasant to us when we worked here and also attract animals that would dig it up for food. Bits of her would then be left exposed to the sun and soon there would be a swarm of flies followed by maggots and in no time we should all be suffering from a disease.’
    ‘Is that how people become ill, really ill?’ asked Annita.
    ‘Sometimes, but there can be many causes of illness. Only a doctor can say what kind of illness you’re