Page 5 of Fortress of Snow

Just when Berenger was certain the man was not so bad and actually had some good qualities, he would do something such as what he had done that morning.

They were sitting down to eat their morning meal, breaking their fast with some of the servants in the room next to the kitchen, when John suddenly stood up and threw his porridge.The wooden bowl hit the wall and broke in pieces, splattering mush on the wall and floor.

The women servants gasped or cried out, while Berenger’s hand instinctively went to his dagger handle in his belt. Ready to spring from the bench, he watched Sir John as he looked around the small room that was crowded with people, a tense expression on his face.

Finally, while everyone stared at him in dumbfounded silence, he spoke in a much louder voice than was necessary. “This porridge tastes like dog dung.” He glared at anyone who dared to look at him. His voice increased in volume with every word. “You can eat it if you want, but I’m not eating an animal’s excrement.”

He stalked toward the door, grabbing two handfuls of bread rolls as he went. “Having to survive off bread and water. A fine way to treat a knight.”

As he left, he slammed the door behind him.

The servants glanced around with wide eyes and went back to eating.

Truly, the porridge was nearly the same as every day. Sir John must have been angry about something else. Berenger never knew what kind of attitude he was going to wake up with. Sir John was unpredictable and volatile, but he had noticed it was always someone under him, someone with less power and authority, on whom John took out his ill temper.

Berenger ate most of his porridge, dumping the last bit in the slop bucket, then put his bowl on the table. He nodded to the cook’s helper, who was collecting the bowls. The young man looked surprised at even that small gesture of politenessand acknowledgment, and he nodded back. Berenger took some bread and smeared butter on it, then took a bite as he went on his way, ready to begin the day’s training exercises.

Perhaps Sir John was upset about his father’s death. Berenger couldn’t understand why he had not gone to the funeral.

Berenger had been standing nearby when the messenger came with the news that Sir John’s father had died suddenly of an illness. Berenger expressed his sorrow for Sir John’s loss. Then he explained that he understood because his own father had died only two years before.

Sir John had looked upset at first, even breathing hard and looking as if he would cry. But then his expression changed as a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“I suppose you got wronged, just as I did. We were sent away from home while our oldest brothers enjoyed an easy life and inherited everything. We have to slave and fight and work and hope that a war or a battle breaks out so we can distinguish ourselves enough to garner the king’s favor, or we will never have our own property or enough wealth to do anything with our lives. We will never be anything more than soldiers and guards without some great luck or good fortune.”

It was true, more or less, although Berenger believed he could distinguish himself regardless of whether war broke out.

“When do you need to leave so you can be present for the funeral?”

“I’m not going.”

“Where is your home?”

“Not far from Lode.”

“You can get there in one day if you ride hard.”

“Why should I? My father is the only reason to go home, and now he’s dead. There’s nothing else for me there. My half brother will be the lord of the manor now.”

“Don’t you have younger siblings?”

“A sister.”

“How old is she?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen or sixteen.”

“I’m sure she would like to see you, especially now.”

“Why don’t you go to the funeral?”

“He’s not my father.” Berenger felt his face growing warm, but he reminded himself that Sir John had just found out he lost his father. “Listen, Sir John, I know this is a hard time. You can take the rest of the day if you want. I can take care of whatever needs to be done.”

Sir John nodded and walked away.

Berenger might have excused him by saying he was one of those men who hated to show emotion, who held everything inside, but he knew that was not true from the way he behaved sometimes, like today when he threw his porridge bowl across the room.

John had returned to his duties the next morning, but Berenger wasn’t sure he wanted him training knights, with his volatile temper. And yet, with or without his help, it was time to begin the squires’ training for the day.