‘What are you doing?’
‘I am painting a mixture of cow dung and clay onto the wax.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can gradually build up a shell around the wax. When it is thick enough I shall fire it. Then the wax will melt away and I will have a mould into which I can pour bronze or silver.’
‘I see. It must take a long time.’
‘I have the time.’
Connavar stood silently for a moment. ‘I am going to the waterfall,’ he said. ‘To swim.’
‘Good. I hope you enjoy yourself.’
‘Would you like to come?’
Riamfada forced a bright smile. ‘That would be pleasant. You go ahead. I will finish this then run along and join you.’
‘You cannot run,’ said Connavar, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘But why should you not swim? It is only a matter of floating and moving your arms. And I am strong. I could carry you to the falls.’
‘Why? Why would you do this for me?’
‘Why should I not?’ countered Connavar.
‘You do not know me. We are not friends.’
‘That is true, but how does one get to know anyone, save by talking to them? Come with me. Learn to swim.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It is very beautiful there – the sunshine sparkling on the water, the silver-backed fish, the willows. Are you afraid?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Riamfada.
‘What of?’
‘I am afraid that I will enjoy it. That I will be happy there.’
‘Afraid of being happy?’ said Connavar, surprised.
‘Go away. Leave me alone,’ said Riamfada.
But Connavar did not leave. He stood silently for a moment. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You think I might tire of your company and never carry you there again.’
Now it was Riamfada who was surprised. ‘That is very perceptive.’
Gariapha, who had been listening in the background, came forward. ‘You should say yes, my son. He is right. It is very beautiful there.’
Riamfada said nothing, and returned to his painting. Gariapha moved to his son’s side, putting his hand on the youth’s shoulder. ‘Listen to me, lad. I was already getting old when you were born. I never had the strength to carry you into the hills. Though I wish I had tried. Go with him. For me.’
The anguished boy stared at Connavar. ‘How old are you?’ he asked, suddenly.
‘Almost sixteen,’ answered Connavar.
‘Then why now? Where have you been these last sixteen years? Did you not know I was here?’
‘I knew. But – to be honest – I never really thought about you. I am sorry for that. Then last week I went to the falls with my brother, Braefar. We were talking and he mentioned you. He said it was a great pity that you could not walk, and wondered if you might be able to swim. I have been thinking about it for the last few days. It might be worth trying.’
‘If your brother thought of it, then why is he not here?’
Connavar grinned. ‘My brother is the thinker in the family. Lots of good ideas. Easier ways to clean the house, or catch rabbits or gentle horses. However, his ideas are always for other people to implement. He’s usually too busy thinking up new ideas. Now, do you want to come?’
‘Yes,’ said Riamfada. ‘I do. But there are . . . things you need to know. Firstly I have no control over my bowels or bladder. I wear cloth padding, but it leaks sometimes.’ He knew he was blushing as he spoke, but better, he thought, to say it now than to have the shame after.
‘Do not concern yourself,’ said Connavar. ‘I promise you it does not concern me. Now I have food and drink in my sack, and I am strong as an ox. We should go now. The sun is high and hot, the water cool.’
He had not lied when he said he was strong as an ox. He carried Riamfada on his shoulders for two miles before cresting the last hill before the falls. Then, on a stretch of flat ground, he began to run. It was exhilarating for the young metal crafter to be moving at speed for the first time in his life; to be high, taller than the tallest man.