‘No. I was thinking about my life among the Rigante,’ said Banouin, which was at least partly true.
‘What about it?’
‘It was not happy,’ said Banouin lamely. ‘It is hard to be hated for something you can do nothing about. I am not responsible for the blood which flows in my veins. Why could they not just accept me as Vorna’s son?’
Bane shrugged. ‘Aye, life was difficult for you, right enough.’
‘I never did anything to harm any of them,’ continued Banouin, anger creeping into his voice. ‘And they hated me. You, on the other hand, constantly got into fights and rows, and they liked you. Or they would have had you let them. There’s no sense to it.’
Bane turned towards him, and looked as if he was about to speak. Then he changed his mind and rode on a little ahead, the grey picking his way carefully through the mud. It was an abrupt end to the conversation, and Banouin thought back over his last statement, to see if he had unwittingly said anything offensive. Puzzled, he urged the chestnut forward. As he came alongside his friend he glanced at Bane’s face. There was no anger there, but no good humour either. ‘What? What did I say?’ asked Banouin.
‘For a man who wants to be a scholar,’ said Bane, ‘you see things too simply.’
‘Would you care to elaborate?’
‘For what purpose?’ asked Bane. ‘You are leaving the Rigante. The past is gone.’
‘I would still like to know.’
Bane glanced at the roiling clouds above. The rain would soon start again. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, which made the horses react nervously. Bane stroked the long neck of the grey and whispered soothing words to it. Then he looked at Banouin. ‘There’s an example for you,’ he said. ‘The horses were spooked. What did you do?’
‘What do you mean?’
Bane hauled on the reins, and angled in close. Banouin’s chestnut was still skittish and he calmed it. ‘You complain about this horse all the time,’ said Bane. ‘It bucks. It doesn’t like you. Yet when it is frightened you don’t pet it or speak to it. To you it is just a beast of burden to carry you to the sea. You sit upon it, but you do not ride it. You have made no attempt to communicate with the horse, to become its friend.’
‘What have horses to do with what we were talking about?’
Bane shook his head. ‘You really don’t see, do you? You have complained all your life about people disliking you. Yet when have you done anything for anyone else? Last year when Nian’s barn caught fire, and everyone rushed there to try to save it, where were you? You stayed home. As we walked back through Three Streams, covered in soot and ash, you came walking by, clean and bright. You might just as well have been carrying a sign that said, “I care nothing for any of you, or your troubles.” One day you will realize that you are what you are because you chose to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.’
‘That is not fair! A man with half an eye could see that Nian’s barn was beyond saving. It was a waste of effort.’
‘That waste of effort brought people closer together. It showed that people cared for one another, and were willing to take risks for one another. When his barn was destroyed Nian could at least sit back and know he had true friends who would stand beside him. And two days later those same people got together again to raise a new barn. Was that a waste of effort? And you were missing on that day, too.’
The clouds opened, and rain lashed down over them. Bane pulled his hood into place and drew his leather cloak around his shoulders. Banouin was furious, but any words he could have summoned would have been whipped away by the storm. Bane’s comments ate away at him as they rode. All his life he had been taunted and beaten by the Rigante. Why then should he care about their barns or their lives?