“I’ve seen fire ravage homes and forests,” Bertrand said. “If the Pope told me it was alive, I would believe him entirely without question.”

These were things that Marc had never seen personally. However he had seen a field swallowed up by flame. When he stopped to consider what had been said, Marc agreed, there was something to fire that mimicked life. If it was classified as such was a matter left to the clergy and men of knowledge.

“I agree—” Marc said. 

“No matter,” Bertrand said. “I have something to show you downstream. Get your jacket, sunlight will not bless us for much longer.”

“It’s not that hard,” Bertrand said. “You need to keep the embers burning red, and for that it needs to breathe.”

“Breathe?” Marc asked, curious.

Bertrand shrugged, because he did not have the words to explain himself. After several moments of appearing caught up in his thoughts, Bertran cracked a smile. 

“Something my father would say,” Bertand replied. “Never occurred to me to ask him why.”

That temporarily soothed Marc’s ego, and that had only been possible because his mentor had the humility to admit their limits.

It took the better part of an hour in front of the fire for their clothes to dry. Marc suspected he would catch hell from the Countess for smelling like wood smoke, but it was better than the algae-rich water from that stream.

Both remained quiet throughout, Marc did so because he was nursing a bruised ego. The pain from his skinned fists served to remind him that he had a lot to learn about controlling his emotions.

Bertrand on the other hand appeared content to stare into the fire, stoking it expertly to keep the flames burning high. Marc paid attention to every move the man made, as though trying to deduce the reasons for those actions.

When Bertrand noticed his student looking intently at what he was doing, he broke the silence.

Those words had a powerful effect on Marc. The boy was emotional and lacked patience, but he recognised the authority of that command. He stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders dropped and his arms hung loosely, all the while he was panting hard like a horse driven hard.

That lasted for all of a minute, as Marc’s mind consolidated everything, he turned around slowly with tears streaking through his eyes and collapsed into Bertrand’s arms.

“I hate that man,” Marc managed to say though sobs muffled by Bertrand’s shoulder.

“I know,” Bertrand said in a near whisper.

“If only you knew,” Bertand said in that same calm voice. 

As Marc continued to take the war to his instructors, the latter manoeuvred out the way at the last possible second. With a tree behind him, Marc first made contact with the trunk of an ancient tree. 

The sound of the impact was muted, flesh against wood did not carry as well as a gauntlet would. Still the pain did not dissuade the boy, blinded by the maelstrom of emotions within, he continued to pummelled the trunk until there were visible traces of crimson.

“ENOUGH,” Bertrand ordered.

“I HATE YOU!” Marc screeched, his voice cracking from the strain.

“You don’t mean—” Bertrand said. 

“YOU LIED TO ME,” Marc countered, his face red and distorted from all the range.

“I followed orders,” Bertrand replied calmly. 

Marc was too young to understand the discipline of a soldier and the solemn vow they took to follow orders. There was no way for this boy to comprehend how breaking their word took more courage than a general with an army at their back. 

“YOU TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT,” Marc yelled.

“If only you knew,” Bertand said in that same calm voice.

Anger boiled over like broth left on the flame for too long. Marc clenched his jaw to the point of his teeth straining while veins bulged from his neck. Without thought of consequence he turned in a snap and came out swinging.

Bertrand backed away with ease. He  anticipated this was not the likely outcome by giving him a glimpse of the truth. 

Marc connected with thin air, found his target and moved in for another shot. Every time he did so, Bertrand would back away and dodge, choosing to let the boy burn himself out rather than confront.

“I HATE YOU!” Marc screeched, his voice cracking from the strain.

The facial features on Bertrand’s face remained the same. He had seen battle, experienced first-hand the carnage that went with running a man through with a blade or blowing a hole through their chest with a musket. A boy who needed to be reminded of his manners held no sway.

“I think we would have both been surprised if I’d managed,” Bertrand replied. “Your mother—”

This was the third time this man brought up his mother, a woman he detested nearly as much as his father. There had been whispers in the hall, so faint that he nearly dismissed them as imagined. Still, he could not bring himself to broach the subject directly.

“My mother can barely stand to be in my presence,” Marc replied. “The only one who has been there for me has been Jeanne.”

“That’s why you need to pay your respects before she passes,” Bertrand said. “She may have been sworn to secrecy, but I was not!”

And just like that, his world view realigned. That explained the deplorable behaviour of both his parents and gave new meaning to those whispers. He had been left out of an inside joke for the bulk of his life!

“She did raise a fool after all,” Bertrand said after catching his breath. 

The man’s eyes had teared up from the laughter. Meanwhile Marc managed to stand, but the rocks beneath his feet were slippery and fell once more. He could not remember the last time he bathed, and doubted the algae-ridden waters of this stream counted.

Bertrand came to the edge, hand outstretched. Marc kept a straight face, took his hand with his right and followed through using his left. After that it was a case of letting gravity play its part, and watched as Bertrand learned first hand that he too could not be walking on water.

“Well played!” Bertrand said.

“I had to put your theory to the test,” Marc replied.

He dropped the reins, backed up five paces and ran towards the stream. Upon reaching the edge he jumped, soaring over the water until both his feet landed on the opposing shore. 

Filled with pride he turned around to gloat, but the dirt crumbled under his weight and gave way. He found himself falling backwards into the water. It was fortunate that he had been right, while he momentarily found himself submerged, the water was shallow enough that all he needed to do was sit up.

All he could hear was Bertrand laughing, he would have been tempted to join in until he realised that his horse was nowhere to be found. I must have spooked it with my splash.

“She did raise a fool after all,” Bertrand said after catching his breath.