"When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life."

- Antisthenes

No Fortress So Strong

“Get off me!” cried Tristan, wildly swinging his arms at Siegfried, who was sitting squarely on his chest.

Siegfried calmly leaned over and pinned both thin wrists to the ground.

“Not until you promise to stay out of my things.” He flicked his hair out of his eyes and grinned at his younger brother, who was red faced, sweating, and on the verge of tears. Siegfried was older and heavier than his brother, but Tristan often managed to escape by wriggling and twisting out of his grip. He was such a pest! Always following Siegfried around, going through his things, and making a general nuisance of himself. He couldn't wait to leave for University in September.

Tristan was now dangerously close to crying. Siegfried felt a pang of remorse, and stood up abruptly.

“Alright, get up. Look, I'll show you something.” He rummaged through his pockets, which were always filled with an assortment of “found” things; stones, bits of herbs, coins, useful bits of twine, and the odd sweet. He plucked a fragile little item from the pile.

“What is it?” asked Tristan eagerly, his eyes glowing in his thin face.

“It's a bone from a bird. Look, feel how light it is. That helps birds fly; their bones are almost hollow, nice and light.”

Tristan turned it over, then looked eagerly at the other items in Siegfried's hand.

“That's a lot of money!” he said, looking at the two shining coins.

Siegfried laughed. “Not so much, but one will buy some candy, and one a bouquet of flowers for Kate tonight.”

“Why do you buy flowers for girls? They already smell nice,” asked Tristan thoughtfully. Siegfried tousled his head.

“Because they like them. Someday you'll be doing the same.”

Tristan shook his head. “Not me. I don't really like girls. I'll have a dog; they're not half as silly, and they don't mind if I don't wash up or put fancy clothes on.”

Siegfried looked down at his brother with a superior air. “You're only nine. When you're as old as I am, you'll like being clean.” At seventeen, Siegfried was very conscious of his new position in the adult world; yet another reason he didn't want his little brother following him around all of the time. Tristan was always getting into trouble, breaking things and getting into trouble, and invariably turning to his big brother to bail him out. It drove Siegfried wild sometimes.

Tristan, on the other hand, adored his brother, despite the fact that he was often moody and irritable, and more than once had held Tristan's head in the horse trough, gotten him lost on the moors (or so he'd thought; Siegfried had been hiding and watching him all the time), or frightened him with ghost stories.

“Right. Now go and run along with your friends; I've things to do,” said Siegfried importantly. “And stay out of my room, or I'll really give you a thrashing next time!”

Tristan scuffed along the sidewalk in town alongside his best friend, Tommy. They hadn't a thing to do, and were weighing the merits of scrumping apples in the old orchard when they found themselves surrounded by some of the older boys from school.

“Well, if it isn't the Kneepants Brigade!” said a red haired boy with a smirk. Tristan looked up at him warily. They were only a few years older, but they seemed awfully large and threatening. He started to back up.

“Hey, hey, no need for that. We just wanted to invite you to be part of our gang, right boys?” said a scowling, black haired teenager, glancing around. They moved in a little closer. “All you need to do to join is....” he leaned in and began to mutter earnestly. Tristan nodded his head, somewhat reluctantly.

“Farnon! Hey Farnon!” shouted Stewie Brannon from across the street. Siegfried, startled out of his thoughts, paused, as his friend ran across the street to him. Stewie, a rather short, florid fellow, was already out of breath from running.

“Stewie, you're going to have a heart attack before you're twenty. Where's the fire?”

“Your brother... just got caught... nicking a candy bar... at Donovan's sweetshop,” Stewie panted. Siegfried looked at him in disbelief.

“He wouldn't do that.” Siegfried could feel the rage boiling up inside of him. His stupid little brother was going to spoil everything; he'd never live it down, having a member of the family accused of petty theft. He thought quickly.

“I'll take care of it, Stewie. Thanks for telling me.” He paused anxiously. “You didn't tell anyone else?”

Stewie clapped his friend on the shoulder. “No, and I won't, either. Never fear, my lips are sealed.”

“Good man,” called Siegfried, striding purposefully down the street and into the sweetshop. Tristan, his face as white as a sheet, was standing next to the counter, clutching a candy bar. Siegfried shot him a warning glance, then smoothly launched into the performance he'd worked on in the thirty seconds it had taken him to get to the store.

“Tris,” he said loudly, “how many times have I told you not to run ahead of me? You were to wait until I finished talking to Stewie.” He grabbed Tristan by the ear, although not as roughly as it appeared.

“You have to wait until Mother or I catch you up, because we have the money.” He hurriedly pulled one of the coins from his pocket.

“I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Donovan. You know, my brother isn't terribly bright.” He gave Tristan's ear a twist, and Tristan yelped. “You know how kids are.” He proffered the coin to the shopkeeper, who accepted it doubtfully. “Thank you so much for minding him, Mr. Donovan. It was awfully decent of you. I'll be sure and tell Mother how kind you were.”

Mr. Donovan, obviously muddled by Siegfried's breezy manner, was still examining the shilling piece in his hand as the two brothers exited in a hurry.

Siegfried rushed his brother around the corner and into an alley. “Idiot!” he hissed. “What did you think you were doing? A prank is a prank, but stealing? I ought to skin you alive.”

Tristan didn't say a word. He huddled against the wall, an abject bundle of misery, and his brother began to soften. It really wasn't like Tristan to do something like that; he certainly knew the ramifications.

Siegfried thought for a minute. “Were you afraid to ask me to buy something for you? Because I do, you know, when I can. I know I yell sometimes, but you know you can always ask me for anything, don't you?”

Tristan gulped and nodded. His brother stooped down so that he was at eye level.

“Tell me,” he said simply.

Tristan told him.

The town boys had gotten up an impromptu rugby match in an abandoned lot. Siegfried saw Stewie, puffing and sweating, and ran up to him.

“Let me play for a couple of minutes,” he said brusquely. Stewie was more than happy to take a breather, and stood watching. Siegfried strode out on the lot and assumed his position. A black haired boy had the ball, and Siegfried tore across the field, head tucked, and smashed into him at full speed, lifting him off the ground with his shoulder. The boy hit the ground with a sickening thud, and lay there, blinking up at the sky. Siegfried shrugged and walked away. On the next play, he hit the boy again, this time from behind. The boy rolled over, blood streaming from his nose.

Siegfried bent over him. “You might want to stay away from my brother,” he said. He motioned Stewie to take his place and sauntered off the field, hands in his pockets, whistling.

It took him longer than he expected to get ready for the evening. He smoothed his hair down in the mirror, straightened his tie, and sighed. He'd planned everything so carefully; he'd arrive at Kate's door with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a box of candy in the other, and escort her to the dance at the local school. Only the dance had been canceled because part of the roof had come down in the old building, and he'd had to spend half his money getting Tristan out of trouble. That left the box of chocolates. He sighed again. Kate was one of the prettiest girls around, and he'd wanted to ask her out for a long time. Now he felt a bit silly, with all his plans gone awry, but it was too late to call things off now. The ribbon on the candy box was askew, and he retied it, then made his way downstairs. Tristan was sitting in the kitchen, picking at his dinner and eying the Dundee cake on the counter.

“No, you don't,” said Siegfried. He moved it away, then cut himself a slice and polished it off in a few bites.

Tristan giggled. “Kate won't kiss you if you've cake all over your mouth.”

Siegfried flushed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What would you know?” he said gruffly.

Kate opened the door before he could knock. “Siegfried! How nice you look.” She was a slim, pretty girl, with soft green eyes and golden hair. He felt his heart lurch into his throat, as it always did, when she looked at him.

“And you are as beautiful as a fawn in the morning light.” That sounded ridiculous, and he kicked himself. What was the use of memorizing poetry in class, if he couldn't recall it at times like this? He resolved to scribble a few lines down and tuck them in his pocket next time. He proferred the box of candy.

“Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he could smell the soap on her skin. There was an awkward pause.

“I'm sorry the dance was canceled. Maybe you'd like me to come back some other time.” Siegfried was frantically searching for things to say. He'd always prided himself on his ease with girls, but then he'd never really cared for any of them the way he did for Kate.

“It's alright. Perhaps we could go for a walk; it's a lovely evening.” She took his arm, and they walked down the street, glancing in shop windows and making small talk. They took a side road, and soon they were out of town and in the countryside. It was dusk; the air was cool, and the sounds of lowing cattle came to them across the fields. Siegfried stooped every now and again, plucking wildflowers, and naming the various plants and trees they passed. They stopped to sit on one of the many rock walls that snaked across the countryside, turning the fields into a patchwork of greens and golds.

Kate untied the ribbon on the candy box and lifted the lid. Siegfried was horrified to see that there were two pieces missing. He made a choking sound.

“I'll strangle him! By God, I'll wring his scrawny little neck with my bare hands!” He buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Kate stroked the back of his head. “It's alright, Siegfried, really.”

Siegfried pulled away. “You don't understand. I had a wonderful evening planned for us. Dancing, flowers, and look! Just look! A half-eaten box of chocolates, a handful of weeds, and a walk down a farm lane. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me after this. It must seem ridiculous.” He pulled back his arm to hurl away the flowers he'd picked, but Kate put her hand on his shoulder.

“Siegfried, stop. Give them to me.” She took them from him, untied the ribbon in her hair, and tied the flower stems together. “Look, they're lovely; and I enjoy being with you, really. I love to hear you talk about the flowers, and the wildlife, and the stars.” She smiled. “ I adore your little brother. And I adore you.” She leaned over and brushed her lips against his. “This is the most romantic evening I've ever spent.” They sat, silently, listening to the whir of summer insects, the rustling of the grass, and the sound of their own heartbeats in their ears.

It was late when Siegfried got home, and he crept silently up the stairs, pausing at his brother's door. Instead of the deep, easy breathing of someone fast asleep, he heard shallow, rapid breaths. He crossed the room and leaned over the bed, studying his brother's face. Tristan had his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Siegfried sat on the edge of the bed.

“I know you're not sleeping. I also know that you've been in my room; and, I know that you swiped some candy from Kate's box. You do know that little boys who keep doing that sort of thing grow up and go to jail.” Normally, Siegfried would be furious, but he was still basking in the glow of the evening's romantic interlude. Besides, he could never manage to stay mad at his brother for long. He would never admit it, but Tristan tugged at his heartstrings.

Tristan's opened his eyes warily. “Are you very angry?” he whispered.

“No. But I will be if you don't start behaving. I'm going away to school very soon, and you'll have to be the man of the house while I'm gone. It won't do for you to be getting into trouble and driving Mum crazy.”

“Yes, you're going to be a viternarian.”

“Veterinarian,” Siegfried automatically corrected him.

“I want to drive one of those big buses,” said Tristan sleepily.

Siegfried snorted. “That's nonsense. I'll have my own practice by the time you're ready to graduate. Then you can be a vet too, and we'll be in practice together.” He pulled the blanket up under his brother's chin, and stood up to go.

“I can't wait till I'm grown up,” whispered Tristan.

“Neither can I. Want to know why?” responded Siegfried.

“Why?” came the faint inquiry.

Siegfried smiled wryly in the darkness. “Because, Tristan, when you're grown up, you will finally cease to annoy me.” He softly closed the door.