‘I’m sorry, Wing,’ he said. ‘You are my brother and I love you dearly. But Banouin knows much of the world. And I am eager to learn.’
‘What is there that he can teach?’ answered Braefar, sourly. ‘We learn how to farm, how to ride, how to shoot, how to fight. We learn the great songs of the Rigante. What more will we need?’
Conn finished the last of his bread, then licked the honey from his fingers. ‘Do you know what a soldier is?’ he asked.
‘A soldier? No.’
‘It is a man who fights all year round.’
‘Such a man is an idiot,’ said Braefar. ‘Who works his farm while he fights? Who gathers his crops, or feeds his animals?’
‘He has no farm. He is paid in gold to fight wars. And because he has no farm he does not have to return home in late summer to gather his crops. Banouin’s people have armies of soldiers.’
Braefar laughed. ‘They must be very bored in winter, when all their enemies have gone home.’
Conn shook his head. ‘Their enemies have no homes. For the soldiers follow them, and kill them and take over their lands.’
‘That is stupid,’ said Braefar. ‘What can you do with land that is far away from yours?’
‘Banouin says you force the surviving people to pay tributes to the conqueror. Gold, or corn, or timber, or cattle.’
‘It still makes no sense,’ insisted Braefar. ‘You can only eat so much bread. And cattle need wide grazing lands. If someone offered Father a thousand more cattle he would refuse. There would not be enough grass for them.’
Conn chuckled. ‘It is complicated, and I do not fully understand it myself. But these armies of soldiers march into a land and conquer it. The plunder they take is sent back to the cities of stone where their rulers live. With this plunder they create more armies of soldiers, and conquer more lands. There they build more cities, with great stone roads joining them.’
‘Stone roads? You are making fun of me.’
‘No,’ said Conn. ‘Banouin says there is now a stone road in the land across the water that stretches for a hundred miles. And there are stone bridges built across rivers.’
‘I don’t believe any of it,’ scoffed Braefar. ‘Who would be crazy enough to build a stone road? And why?’
‘So that wagons and armies can move faster.’
‘I think he has fooled you, Conn,’ said Braefar, rising. ‘Now let’s get back to work.’
‘How is your hand?’
‘It hurts, but it will hurt less when we have finished.’
Conn moved across to his brother and threw his arm around Braefar’s slender shoulder. ‘You are my brother and my best friend, Wing. And I will never let anything come between us.’
Braefar forced a smile. Banouin had left for his yearly trip south, and only now did Conn return to him. A cloud drifted across the sun and the clearing was bathed in shadow. Braefar eased away from Conn’s embrace and returned to the saw. As they worked he found his melancholy hard to shift. The last few years had been painful for him, as he watched his father grow more bitter, his mother more distant. Now Conn had become attached to the Foreigner, and Braefar felt bereft of friends. Especially after winning the Solstice Race. Govannan and his friends were not speaking to him.
The brothers laboured for another two hours, then Braefar’s strength gave out. His arms felt as if they had been beaten with wooden sticks, and the joints of his shoulders burned. None of the other youngsters had stopped working and Braefar had struggled on long after he should have. The saw moved ever more slowly. Finally he let go and stood shamefaced. Conn wiped sweat from his brow and clambered over the thick trunk.
‘Sit down. I will massage your muscles.’
‘I feel a fool,’ whispered Braefar.
‘Nonsense. Most of the boys your size are gathering kindling. You have done a man’s work, and you have done it well.’ Conn’s hands settled on his shoulders. Braefar tensed, but the touch was gentle, as was the slow kneading which followed.