‘He would have spurned you,’ said Fiallach sadly, ‘as he spurned me. When he was a youngster – around thirteen, I think – I sent him an invitation to come to Seven Willows and spend the summer with us. He wrote me an insulting reply. That insult alone shows his nature. He’ll get no second chance from me.’
‘That is curious,’ said Bran, ‘for Brother Solstice told me that Bane never could master reading and writing. It seems odd that he should have written to you.’
‘Well, he didn’t actually write it,’ said Fiallach. ‘Braefar wrote telling me what Bane had said. But it is the same. He said he had no wish to spend any time in my company, and did not regard me as family. Had he been a man then, and not some callow boy, I would have killed him for his impertinence.’
Bran shook his head. ‘It never ceases to surprise me how often Braefar’s name figures in misunderstandings, disagreements and quarrels.’
‘You think he lied to me? That is ridiculous! What would be the point?’
‘I cannot answer that,’ said Bran. ‘I have never understood it. There is a deep well of bitterness in him, and I think he takes pleasure in creating the same bitterness in others. It is like a game to him. I’ll tell you truly, Fiallach, I do not know what Bane might have said, and it could be that Braefar reported it truthfully. It is just that I have come to view my brother and his motives with great suspicion.’
‘I think you do him an injustice,’ said Fiallach. ‘He has always been most courteous to me. His only complaint has been that Connavar does not offer him work more suited to his talents. Braefar is a clever man, but he commands no regiments, and is restricted to running Three Streams and the border lands with the Norvii.’
‘I am glad that you like him,’ said Bran. ‘Let us leave it at that.’
Bane’s mood was sombre as he sat in the Sword Room beneath Circus Palantes. Telors was close by, gently honing the edge of the Rigante’s gladius. A towering figure moved into the doorway. For a moment Bane thought it was Rage, for the light of a powerful lantern was behind him. The man stepped inside and Bane saw it was Brakus, Gladiator One. He glanced up at the golden-haired man. Brakus moved past him to a locked cabinet on the far wall, took a key from the pocket of his leather jerkin and inserted it into the lock. Bane saw him remove two leather-covered flasks and a small scroll wrapped in ribbon. He was a big man, larger than Rage, but he moved with the same cat-like grace.
He made to leave, but Telors spoke up. ‘Ignoring old friends, are we now, Brak?’
The gladiator paused, then grinned. ‘By heavens, Telors, when did you grow that disgusting foliage? I remember when you were young and handsome.’
Telors chuckled and the two men shook hands. ‘I heard you and Vanni were training the Occian fighters. You’ve done a good job.’
‘It’s good to be back,’ said Telors. ‘I thought you’d be retired by now. You must have a mountain of gold already.’
Brakus shrugged. ‘I keep promising myself that each fight will be the last. But then some arrogant young fighter steps out of the shadows, telling me I’m old and how he’s going to kill me. Pride takes over then.’ He looked across at Bane. ‘You want to tell me how old and tired I look, boy?’ he asked.
‘You look strong and fit to me,’ said Bane.
Brakus nodded. ‘Indeed I am. Tell me, what made you want to take this bout? You’re famous enough without it, and Voltan will prove no easy meat.’
‘It is personal,’ put in Telors. ‘Voltan killed a friend of his – a woman.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, good luck to you, Bane. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Bane. ‘This is my last fight. Tomorrow I’m heading for home.’
Brakus smiled. ‘Then all my notes on you will be wasted.’ He walked to the doorway, then turned. ‘You have a habit of clenching your left fist before an attack. Voltan will spot that quickly.’