Chapter 3: Two Squires
"You, Cuthbert, are vary, vary, mean to poor Dahlia," Princess Lavinia said, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head.
"Dahlia," Prince Cuthbert retorted, "is just a silly toy."
"Now my sweets," Queen Gwendoline said walking in.
"Mother, Cuthbert is being mean," Lavinia said, pointing at her older brother.
Cuthbert blew a raspberry at her.
Outside, the two squire knights were having a heated duel.
"Take that you biscuit weevil," the red headed girl said, hitting her practice sword hard on her opponent's.
"Just wait, elephant ears," the other squire retorted. He flicked his sword. Jane tripped and found herself on the ground with Gunther's practice sword pointed at her neck.
"Yield," he said, smiling smugly.
"Maggots," Jane whispered through clenched teeth.
"You both fought admirably."
Jane and Gunther both turned swiftly. There the queen stood, smiling.
"I am proud of you both. You will make splendid knights."
Jane rose and curtsied. "Thank you, your majesty."
Queen Gwendoline smiled and left.
"Half of it is true anyway," Gunther remarked.
"Yah!" Jane lunged at him.
"Son."
Gunther and Jane both stopped again, at an unfortunate moment for poor Jane, who again found herself on the ground. Gunther quickly said,
"Yield!"
"Maggots," Jane said, a little louder this time.
"Son," the merchant approached them. "There are errands to be done. Come now." He turned and left.
"Walking off are we?" Jane asked.
"Jane," Gunther said, irritated. "I have to go."
Gunther stepped back and wiped his forehead. He looked at the empty cart and sighed with relief. He stepped back, brought his foot down on a stick and caught it as it flew up.
"Cart done," he said, disposing of the branch. "Now to Jane."
"Not yet boy," the Merchant said, coming out of his shop.
"I am done, sir," he looked pointedly at the empty cart.
"Not quite," Magnus said, looking absent. He bent a little and looked at his son. "I am going on an errand for a few days. The workers need to be paid. There are only two of them, you know that, and you know their wages." Magnus reached into his pocket and gave Gunther a key. "You are to pay them. There is a box in my office--"
"In your private office?" Gunther asked proudly and yet slightly disbelievingly.
"Yes," Magnus said slowly. "In my private office. You are to touch nothing boy. Just take the money from the metal box on the desk."
Gunther nodded, smiling. Magnus surveyed him doubtfully.
"I am putting all my confidence in you, boy. See to it that it is not misplaced."
"You can count on me, Father."
Gunther returned to the castle in high spirits. He whistled as he passed Jane, who was on sentry duty. He backed up and smiled at her.
"Well hello Jane. Fine day, is it not?"
"Looking smug, are we not, biscuit weevil?" Jane said. She raised an eyebrow.
Gunther resumed his whistling.
"Well?" Jane demanded. "What happened? Every day is not a 'fine day.' Not to you at least."
"Well if you must know," Gunther said proudly. "I have been given a very important duty." He started to walk away.
"What?" Jane asked. She took off towards the stables.
"And I have been very responsible, so I think that I am ready to be given an important task."
"Jane," Sir Theodore said, without turning around from Augustus, his horse. "I have not given Gunther any important task."
"You have not?" Jane asked. "I mean—" she began to fumble.
"But," Sir Theodore said, turning around. "I shall give you one."
Jane's face brightened.
"You shall go and finish your sentry duty, and then you will polish every sword and shield in our armory," Sir Theodore said, turning back to his horse. "The knightly parade is coming up and this is a very high honor."
Needless to say, Jane did not look exactly thrilled. She sighed.
"Right, Sir Theodore," and she turned and left.
Sir Theodore did not turn until she was gone. He watched the retreating figure become smaller and smaller and chuckled to himself.
Gunther strode down the village street and walked into his house. He looked around the sitting room. There was no one there. The adjacent dining parlor was also empty, as was the lounge, the back terrace, and the garden. Gunther stepped up the stairs quietly. He gave a cursory glance over the insides of the bedrooms through there open doors. A slow smile crept onto his face. His father was really and truly gone, and he, Gunther, was going to be in charge.
For a couple of day, but anyways.
Gunther went back downstairs and strolled over to the door of his father's private office. Gunther had always wanted to go in there, though he had never dared to try. His brain recognized what going into his father's private office meant just as much as it recognized would happen if he poked his hand into the fireplace.
Slowly, Gunther removed the key from his pocket and plunged it into the keyhole. He opened the door slowly, peered into the room, then entered.
The room had a strange dustiness to it; even the air seemed somewhat cloudy. The sunlight that entered from the two tall French windows on the right wall swirled and swished as it fell over the desk and chair on the right side of the room. Other than the right wall, every other wall was covered with bookshelves that stretched from the floor to the very high ceiling. Awed, Gunther walked quietly over the somewhat faded looking carpet towards the bookshelves. He examined the titles of the big leather bound books. Many had no titles at all, but the ones that did mostly had something to do with trade.
Gunther removed a thick book called One hundred and Five Signs That Show Prosperity. Curious, Gunther flipped the book open. His mouth opened slightly as he skimmed through it.
Physical Appearance: A well fed looking person is surely a rich and successful one. A big man has to be bigger than EVERYONE ELSE, in EVERY WAY.
Lavishness: Lavishness is an extremely good trait for a wealthy person.
Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick: It is very important not to speak too softly, though, and the stick should be as big as possible, metaphorically speaking. Everyone must bow to a powerful person, including employees, family members, and other associates.
Rank: Try to establish yourself with the ones everyone talks about.
Gunther frowned and looked at the name of the author. T. F. Roosewell with Sea Captain Gus, professionals in the area. Gunther stuffed the book back and began searching rather moodily for the metal money box. Really, people could write something useful once in a while, could they not?
An odd aroma floated out of the desk drawer when Gunther pried it open. The base of the drawer looked slightly dusty. There was a dried out flower sitting atop many papers and folders. It had once been pale blue and red and was unlike any other flower. Gunther recognized it immediately. It was a now rare native that could be found in the foliage near the coast, if one looked hard enough. Gunther wondered why his father had kept it. He knew that his father was allergic to them, they gave him a bad headache and a stuffy nose after a long while around them.
Gunther put the flower on the desk and perused through the other contents of the dusty drawer. He was about to close it again when something colorful caught his eye. He pulled a piece of canvas from the drawer and held it in front of him. His eyebrows rose up, a perplexed and thoughtful expression on his face.
It was a portrait of a woman, standing at a fence with the sea behind her. Gunther recognized the area as part of the land behind his house. The woman was wearing a pink dress. At the back of the portrait, a hand written message was neatly written.
Hulda, after our wedding day, the last of June, 807
The Blessing will depart in three days. I am myself engaged, while this portrait is being painted, in a lively conversation with Captain Ingwar, who insists for me to call him less formally. Captain Ingwar says that he feels it in his bones that today is a great day. I feel so myself.
Magnus Breech,
This portrait is a gift for me
Gunther squinted to read the last words. It seemed as if someone had tried to scratch them out. He turned the portrait over and again examined it. So this was his mother? She was not unlike the Queen in looks, so much so that she may have passed for the Queen's younger sister. She had a regal way of holding herself, but her facial expression and eyes were very gentle. Gunther had always imagined that his mother might look something like himself.
Somehow, looking at the portrait made Gunther feel a vague disappointment. He quickly scolded himself for it. As he stared at the woman in the picture he noticed that she seemed to have something on her face. Gunther's eyebrows rose in curiosity as he examined the lady's—his mother's—upper lip. It seemed slightly different in color as compared to the rest of the face, almost as if something had been scratched off. It occurred to Gunther that something had stuck to the portrait and his father, attempting to fix it, had scratched a little of the paint off.
A heavy knock from somewhere outside the office reminded Gunther what he was supposed to be doing. He found that the metal box was right there on a bookshelf and he went and got some coins out of it before going to answer the door. He walked towards the door of the office and was about to push it open when he remembered. His heart dropped like a rock into, it felt, somewhere in his stomach. He hurried around the office, clearing things off the desk and fixing the books on the shelves. The old desk drawer creaked rustily as he shoved it shut. During every second that passed as he worked, Gunther imagined his father bursting into the house and calling for him angrily.
"Gunther!"
Gunther dropped a one foot thick book in his toes. Was it just his imagination?
"Coming!" Gunther shouted. He grabbed the portrait and ran out. He turned his head sharply left and right and, finding a hiding place for the precious picture that he did not mean to hand over just now—as he had only seen his mother after about a hundred years, Gunther slipped it behind a framed picture and hung it back on the wall. Then, he dashed to the door.
"I am coming!" he called, slightly squeakily in his nervousness. He yanked the door open, thinking—because it does often happen that at the peak of horror you think the happiest thoughts and add to yourself you wish—thinking that he may have just imagined someone actually calling his name.
The heavy door swung open and a person with red hair was standing there. Gunther had never, ever, ever, felt so happy to see his fellow knight-in-training.
"Hello Gunther…" Jane looked at him curiously.
"Hello," Gunther said, holding back a sigh of relief.
Jane raised an eyebrow. "You look breathless. Were you cleaning up your father's office?"
Gunther's eyes widened instantly in shock and he almost gasped, but Jane was still talking.
"Because you know, the hardest place in the world to clean is your father's office—" Jane paused and added thoughtfully. "At least if your father is a Chamberlain. I was helping my mother clean her quarters and I decided it would satisfy my interest and assist my mother if I cleaned the office."
By now Jane had entered the house and Gunther had numbly followed.
"There were papers everywhere! And I was not sure which ones were important and which ones were not so what was that really important thing you had to do?"
Gunther blinked.
"You know, you told me when I was standing sentry."
"Oh," Gunther edged over towards a portrait of a plump man dressed in furs standing in front of a ship. He shuffled his feet slightly. "It was merely an errand for my father."
"Oh…" Jane said, though her curiosity did not seem appeased.
Gunther was seriously afraid that she had been spying on him. He glanced for a fraction of a second at the portrait over his left shoulder.
Jane squinted at it. "What a horrid—I mean, um, er—well painted portrait."
"This?" Gunther asked, gesturing at the picture behind him.
Jane nodded. "Oh, by the way, I came here because Sir Ivan told me to get you. He said that you had an evening class."
Gunther remembered and nodded. "Thank you," he turned and started for the stairs. Jane stood right where she was. "Erm…"
Jane looked up.
Gunther decided to say nothing and went towards the stairs.
When Gunther came back down, armed with a bag full of heavy books, Jane was still in the entrance parlor. She was looking at the portrait of his father, her nose wrinkled slightly. She turned when he stepped off the last stair.
"You have a lot of nice paintings in here," Jane commented. She gestured vaguely behind her, "I like the portrait of the fruit bowl best." She reached forward and touched the white mast of the ship. Gunther jumped forward, crying 'no!'
Both squires stood as the frame slipped from its place and crashed onto the floor. Jane gasped.
"Look at what you have done!" Gunther said exasperatedly, dropping to his knees and frantically sorting broken frame pieces and canvas.
"I am so, so, sorry Gunther," Jane said, squatting down to help. She reached towards the pile of fragments.
"No," Gunther hissed. "You go back to the castle, I will meet you there."
Jane frowned. She looked down at the pile and saw something that caught her interest. "What is this?" she asked, pulling out another canvas from the pile, one painted with bright blues and greens and pinks. Gunther made to snatch it from her, but Jane unconsciously moved the portrait away as she examined it.
"Jane," Gunther groaned, desperate and annoyed. He turned quickly and glanced at the open door and then back to Jane. "Jane! Give it to me!"
Jane had turned the portrait over and read the message on the back. "Oh…" she said softly as Gunther snatched the canvas from her hands.
"Your mother is so beautiful," Jane said, sounding surprised.
"Of course she is," Gunther snapped, looking over the portrait to make sure that it was not ruined in any way. He rolled it up swiftly and stuck into an empty space in his bag. He rose and headed towards the door. He grabbed the door knob and swung the door as wide as it would go. "Out," he commanded, pointing stiffly out the door.
Jane jumped up and ran out the door.
Jane was in the practice yard, swiping energetically at her dummy. She was thinking happily about the portrait she had seen. She imagined the beautiful lady in the picture standing next to the merchant and snorted. Quite loudly.
"Care to share the joke?" a boy who, by his apparel, was obviously a clown of some sort, asked, walking into the field.
Jane opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and turned as a large, green-scaled dragon with eyes the fiery color of Jane's hair swooped down and landed on the wall behind her. Just as well, too, because Gunther had just stepped out of the knight's quarters, whistling softly to himself as he stuffed a book back into his bag. Sir Ivan, Gunther's mentor, came out behind him and headed the opposite way into the stables.
"Hey Jane, what do you say we go for a quick ride?" the dragon asked in English, standing on its back legs and sliding a clawed hand forward.
"Not just now, Dragon," Jane said, smiling, and turned back. "Hello Gunther, how was your class?"
"Fine," Gunther replied. He stopped rummaging inside his bag suddenly. "Oh no!" He cried, looking up. "I forgot to pay the workers."
Jane raised her eyebrows as Gunther got down on his knees and placed his bag in front of him against the wall. He searched it frantically for a few moments then jumped to his feet. He turned and took off towards the castle entrance.
"I shall be right back!" he said turning his head. He spotted his bag. "Jane, could you kindly place my bag in the knightly quarters?"
"Of course!" Jane called back, cupping her hands around her mouth.
Gunther nodded and called, "Thanks!" before disappearing.
Jane walked over towards the bag and picked it up. She stood for a few seconds, then she squatted down and placed the bag back on the ground.
"Jane," the jester said from behind her. "I believe Gunther asked you to put the bag in the knightly quarters, not right back where it already was."
"I know Jester…" Jane said, opening the flap. "I just…"
Jester had appeared at her shoulder now. He opened his mouth slightly. "Erm, Jane, is it not against the knight's code of conduct to pry into the belongings of fellow knights?"
"Mm-hmm," Jane mumbled, finding the canvas and pulling it up an inch.
"Jane!" Jester said in alarm.
Jane turned and looked over her shoulder, left and right. Dragon had stretched out on top of the wall and was snoring. There was no one else in sight.
"You want to see something?" Jane whispered.
"As a matter of fact, I do not," Jester said, a hand covering his eyes.
Jane pulled out the canvas and unrolled it. She smiled. "It is Gunther's mother."
Jester's hand fell off his eyes, but to his credit, he quickly replaced it.
"Gunther just found it, I think. I am so glad that now everyone will know how she looked like."
"Gunther said you could show it to everyone?" Jester asked, frowning, hand still in place.
"Not me," Jane said. "But he brought it with him. I wonder if he has shown Sir Ivan and Sir Theodore yet."
Jester swiveled around as someone walked up behind them. It was Queen Gwendoline.
"Good evening, Jester, Jane," she said softly.
Jane turned.
The Queen raised her eyebrows slightly and bowed her head a little.
"Oh," Jane said, realizing how awkward she would be looking, squatting in front of a wall. She stood up and turned around. "We were just looking at this portrait—"
"'We' would not be the correct pronoun—" Jester said, taking a small step backward.
"—this portrait of Gunther's mother."
The Queen raised her head and looked questioningly at Jane.
Jane stretched the roll of canvas open and showed it to the Queen, beaming. The Queen looked at the portrait and turned around.
Jane lowered her hands and tilted her head slightly. Past the queen, she could see someone walking towards her.
"Good evening, your honor," Gunther said, coming to a halt a few feet away from them.
The queen shuffled slightly. "Good evening, to you as well, honorable Squire Gunther."
Gunther smiled somewhat proudly.
"What is that?" the Queen asked curiously.
Gunther looked up.
"There is something stuck on your hand…" the Queen said, bending very slightly and turning his hand palm up. Jester and Jane were peeking from behind her. A dried and pressed old flower had slipped into Gunther sleeve. Only the top of it was poking out, resting on his palm.
"How did that get there?" Gunther exclaimed in surprise.
The Queen pulled it out and examined it. "How indeed? These are said to be very rare, sadly, they are extremely beautiful."
"You may have it if you please, your majesty," Gunther said quickly. The queen shook her head and gave it back to him. Jane stepped forward, the canvas hanging from her hands. Gunther's eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself.
The queen looked down at Jane, then at Gunther. She smiled sadly. "I must see that the children are in bed," she said, bowed her head, and left.
Jane smiled.
"Jane what on earth were you thinking. Do you have a brain?" Gunther burst out angrily.
Jane's smile vanished. Jester shook his head.
Gunther grabbed the painting.
"Careful!" Jane cried accidentally.
Gunther's face was red. He stormed past her and flung the hastily rolled canvas into his bag. He slipped the bag over his shoulder and turned to the other two, having calmed down a little.
"Jane, you might have wanted to ask before showing it to Jester," he said, apparently quite calmly and patiently, to his credit. He started walking away. "Please do ask," he said in a rather strained voice, "before showing—it—to anyone else."
"Erm," Jane fiddled. "I did show it to someone else…to the Queen…" Jane looked up, feeling very ashamed. She had no earthly idea why Gunther would not want to show the portrait to anyone.
Gunther did not what to say to that. He supposed, of course, that there was no way his father could find out from the Queen that he had taken the portrait. He turned and kept going.
"It is all right," he said briskly as he left.
Jane watched him until he disappeared. She hung her head.
"What got into me? The code of conduct clearly says…" Jester was nodding in agreement. Jane sighed and bowed her head. "I am glad he did not mind too much, but if Sir Theodore had seen…" Jane shook her head and walked away to her tower.
Queen Gwendoline was rather subdued that night at dinner.
"And never again was heard
That beautiful and precious Golden Bird," Jester pulled a string on his lute as he ended his sad ballad.
Queen Gwendoline sniffed and dabbed a handkerchief at the corner of her eyes.
Jester stood up as the room filled with applause, and turned to the king. "Would your majesties like to hear another ballad?" The king nodded enthusiastically, but the Queen whispered softly:
"Thank you, but that would be all."
Jester leapt off the stage and left. The king looked slightly disappointed.
After ruminating for a long time after dinner, Queen Gwendoline came to a decision.
Jane was sitting on her bed in her tower, polishing her sword and humming 'Gather All Ye Knights.' She put the sword away and got up, stretching her arms. There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Jane said to the door, dropping her arms. The door opened and the Queen walked in. Jane looked quite surprised, then very delighted.
"It is a pleasure to see you, your majesty. But if you wanted to meet me, you could have called for me. Please, have a—a seat," Jane looked around the extremely messy state of her room. There were clothes and books and stuffed animals all over the bed and floor. The mantle was all cluttered and her sword was placed less than carefully atop the chest that stood at the foot of her bed. Jane started to quickly remove things off her bed and throwing them under it. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to sit in Jane's room other than her bed, or the very hard wooden chair that went with her desk.
The Queen quietly stopped her. "It is alright, Jane, I merely wish to speak to you upon a small matter."
"No your majesty, it is quite alright," Jane's arms flew like strange tree branches.
"Jane, I insist."
Hearing her firm tone, Jane stopped and turned.
"Jane," the Queen said sadly. "About the portrait you showed me…"
"It was Gunther's, your majesty," Jane said, bowing her head.
"Yes…"
"It is a shame that we never got to meet her," Jane said, thoughtfully. "She seemed to be a very kind and gentle person."
"Kind and…familiar?" the Queen asked, cautiously. She had not at all expected that Jane might not have recognized her in the picture.
"Not really, she looks nothing like Gunther." Jane turned and smiled at the Queen. Her smile vanished. The Queen bowed her head.
"Yes Jane. The lady in the portrait stands before you. I thought you would have realized that when you first saw the portrait."
"Well then that is perfectly amazing!" Jane exclaimed. The Queen looked up and stared at her. "Gunther will get to meet his mother! Fancy that…but then, he has already met his mother." Jane chuckled. She stopped all of a sudden. A little too suddenly, and stumbled back against the bed, toppled over and fell on her pillows.
Queen Gwendoline stepped forward with concern.
"That means you were married to the merchant," Jane said, heaving herself back up. "How many surprises can the world hold?"
The queen bit her lip.
"So what happened?" Jane asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.
"I greatly disfavored Magnus's ways," the Queen said quietly. "I could not stand to live in a house bought with unfair money, eat food bought with unfair money, and wear clothes bought with unfair money." Jane looked very sympathetic.
"Your majesty, I—I am very sorry for you," she stood up and walked towards the queen.
"I would have loved to take Gunther back home with me," Queen Gwendoline said, looking sadly at Jane. "But Magnus said no. I suppose that he was trying to stop me from going. But stay I could not, and I left," she sighed and looked out the window. "I did miss him quite a lot. I still do. It is true that I do see him often, but it is not the same…"
"There is only one thing to do, your majesty," Jane said decidedly, standing up straight and looking straight into the queen's eyes. "And that is to tell Gunther."
(My profile picture shows the portrait and Gunther's imagined version of his mother)
