by David Hewson
Romeo had to ask. ‘What happened to Filomena?’
‘They locked her in a nunnery in Murano. Couldn’t marry the girl any more, could they? Spoiled goods. A common lad had been there. Didn’t matter that most of the eligible gents who’d likely be her husband had mistresses all the way from the Rialto to the Arsenale. And weren’t above stopping off at the whorehouses in San Barnaba when they felt like it.’ He raised his cup of beer. ‘That’s when I first met Queen Mab, you see. Just when you think you’ve got somewhere. When you’ve fooled yourself life’s about to become one big bed of roses. Then that little fairy waits her moment, comes out like an earwig in a bowl of cherries and chuckles… more fool you.’
He raised his cup to them. ‘Cheers! Here’s to the plague. At least the pox is honest. Oh, I meant to ask, Romeo. Talking of flowers… what sort do you want?’
‘Flowers?’
‘For your coffin. You do know, don’t you? I thought that fat old boot had come to bring the news.’
Benvolio stepped in and told him: Tybalt had been going about town making threats. He’d left a letter for Romeo at the Montague palazzo, a formal demand for a duel.
‘I managed to retrieve it from that servant of yours, Balthazar, this morning. Before your parents saw it. He seems a good lad.’
‘He is,’ Romeo murmured.
‘Sorry to say it, old chap, but my money’s on Tybalt.’ Mercutio took another swig of beer. ‘God, I feel dreadful. This bloody hangover’s getting worse–’
‘Leave the ale alone then,’ Benvolio told him.
He grinned and raised the cup. ‘Beer’s the cause and beer’s the cure. You could rush off and get a fencing master to top you up with a few quick lessons. Maybe give you half a chance. But he’s a foul and dirty bugger I’m telling you. Doesn’t play by any rules from what I’ve seen.’
‘I’m not fighting him!’
Mercutio stared at him, speechless.
‘There are good reasons.’
‘You mean you’re fearful? If it’s that come out and say it. Don’t beat about the bush.’
‘There are good reasons! I can’t…’ He wanted out of here. Some peace. Time to think. ‘I can’t say more.’
Mercutio came up and prodded his chest. His breath stank of ale and meat. ‘You don’t need to. A man has challenged you to combat. Honour demands you meet him. Either that or crawl off into a corner somewhere and don’t bother me again. I’m not in the habit of hanging around with cowards.’
Benvolio intervened. He looked angry for once. ‘We were there, too. If Tybalt’s got a beef it’s as much with us as him.’
‘It’s Romeo he’s picked. You’ve got to face him. Or you might as well piss off out of Verona the moment they lift the locks on those damned gates. That’s it.’ He threw up his arms. ‘I’m done with this nonsense. Another ale I reckon and maybe a spot more grub…’
He lurched off towards the bar. Romeo closed his eyes.
‘Ignore him,’ Benvolio advised.
‘Mercutio? Or Tybalt?’
‘Both.’ Benvolio looked at the sky. ‘This will blow over. Just like the weather. It’s nothing. Go home. Keep out of sight. Escalus will deal with Tybalt if he keeps roaring round town looking for a fight like this.’
Good advice, Romeo thought, and shook his cousin’s hand.
He walked away from the piazza and the crowds, down to the arena. The quacks were out in force around the colonnades, selling the usual plague remedies to the gullible: holy relics, tin crucifixes touted as silver, bunches of herbs to hang around the neck on a piece of string. And potions in bottles, some like those he’d seen in Laurence’s cell that morning, a few in strange shapes supposed to pass a little magic to their contents.
He bought two bunches of rosemary and lavender, prettily tied together on a slender plait of straw. A dumb woman was making them, advertising her lack of a tongue. A sign next to her said this was not punishment for a crime but the work of a cruel and faithless husband. Romeo didn’t believe the herbs she sold would work for a moment. Or even her story. But she was poor and he had money. That was all he needed to know.
After this he walked down to the stretch of river that adjoined San Francesco al Corso and found shade beneath a scrappy elder bush, not far from the cemetery. He could see the modest monastery portico from where he sat, a lone friar tending the flowers there. The Adige was quiet, no barges, no cormorant fishermen now, just squabbling ducks and the occasional rise of a trout. Perhaps the soldiers of Escalus placed orders upon the water too. A brave man might enter Verona – or escape it – by swimming across the river. But it was broad and swift-moving, with weirs that had taken lives in the past. Like this, the city was a castle under an invisible siege, barred to everyone without. A prison for those within. There was no way he and Juliet could escape their furious parents by this or any other route. Once wed they would have to face them and take the consequences.
A different bell from another campanile tolled somewhere, higher in tone than that of the Torre dei Lamberti.
One hour, the minutes trudging past. All around him time moved the way it wanted, in the steady flow of the river, the scorching sun edging across the brilliant sky. He saw now that the patch of countryside opposite was the grove of plane trees where, the morning before, he’d wandered in misery, thinking only of Rosaline. In a single day his life had changed, from false love to true, from the dreamily disconsolate state of youth to the awkward, half-knowing condition of adulthood. Before, he’d been dejected over stupid, selfish cares. Now he was worried – frightened if he were honest – for another, one more dear to him than any he’d ever known.
Which was better? Which worse? It seemed an idle question. Time had made it so. Queen Mab, who’d so brutally robbed Mercutio of his happiness, had decided that. In her fairy grasp lay joy and passion, but death and misery, too.
As for Tybalt… He decided he’d think nothing of him at all. This was a time for love and reconciliation, not violence on Verona’s streets.
He pulled out the two straw necklaces with their bunches of herbs. It was ridiculous to believe a few dried leaves would save a single soul. They were an act of charity, an offering for an auspicious future, the kind men made to the old gods once upon a time.
A prayer, he thought. Friar Laurence would have one. Something quiet and beautiful and appropriate. Perhaps there was a poem, too. But Romeo could think of neither. So he walked to the river bank and launched both plague necklaces into the bright air, watching the busy water take them, rolling and turning till they vanished downstream.
* * *
Juliet waited until the house was quiet then tiptoed down the stairs, Nurse trying hard to do the same three steps behind. By the side door they crept out into the yard only to walk straight into her mother talking to one of the stable hands.
Her dress was the same as that morning. Just a simple felt hat and a bible in her hands were new.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To confession. I fear I’ve caused you all pain.’
Bianca Capulet sighed and shook her head. ‘That’s very thoughtful, love. But really… this isn’t a problem for priests. A friendly word with your father–’
‘That will come. I promise. And soon.’
Her mother’s eyes fell on the large woman standing in the shadows. ‘Two of you for confession then?’
‘Been a long time, my lady. Big old chest I’ve got here and there’s plenty it wants rid of.’
Everything hung in the balance. One word, a simple ‘No’ and then what? Could she stride out anyway in defiance? And what hope would there be of reconciliation after that?’
‘Go on then,’ her mother said, with a nod towards the gate. ‘It’s time for laughter in this house not angry voices.’
Juliet grinned and thanked her. Then they walked south to the ruined Roman gate of the Porta Leoni, a relic from another age, now attached to the blind brick side of a recent house like a mask set upon a dead f
ace.
‘I was getting a bit worried there,’ Nurse said, as they marched along.
‘God is with us,’ Juliet replied happily.
‘I truly hope so, little one. Do you love this Romeo?’
‘Of course! What a question.’
‘Hardly know him, do you? But I guess he’ll get you out of the clutches of Count Paris.’
This was too close. ‘I don’t know what you mean. We’ve lots in common.’
‘He seems a nice lad. Good looking. This whole escapade’s a mad thing. Mind, what’s the point of life if it’s boring? That man above didn’t put us on this earth to twiddle our thumbs. He needs something to gawp and laugh at, too. Did I ever tell you about my uncle Felix and his goats?’
Juliet smiled, said nothing, crossed the street and walked into the drab and ill-lit alley that bore the lion’s name. They’d hardly taken ten steps when, in the gloom, they bumped straight into three youths dressed in black, sneers on their pinched faces, legs out, shoulders too, making sure they blocked the way.
‘Well, if it isn’t my dearest cousin,’ Tybalt hissed and put a gloved hand straight to Juliet’s throat. ‘How goes it in the palazzo of the Capulets? I am barred from there, it seems. Your father no longer favours his dead brother’s son.’
‘Get your hands off my lady, you little villain!’ Nurse yelled as the other two held her back.
Juliet knew that pair. Foul-mouthed, troublesome thugs from the tenebrous grim arcades called Sottoriva behind Sant’Anastasia. Petruchio and Lorenzo.
She looked Tybalt boldly in the face. ‘You will leave us both alone. You and your cronies. Or, by God, my father’s wrath will be upon you even further.’
‘You’ve a pretty look about you. Soft skin too. The rest isn’t bad. I know…’ He grinned, coming closer. ‘I spy on you when you bathe. There’s nothing I haven’t seen.’
‘When… my… father hears…’
‘Then I’ll say you made it up. You’re a born liar, cousin. Everyone knows.’ Tybalt laughed and let his grip grow loose around her neck. ‘Besides… the old fool’s kicked me out anyway. What else can he do?’ The hand came back, suddenly tighter, pushing her so hard against the dank brick wall her breath caught. ‘You stuck-up little bitch. He’s only in this foul mood because you won’t marry that bastard Paris and open wide your legs–’
She slapped him then, hard and fast across the cheek. His hand left her throat, went to his belt. A dagger sat there, and something else, small and thin, like a giant, gleaming pin, a stiletto half-hidden beside the long rapier that lay against his thigh.
Juliet laughed at the sight. ‘Three blades you require, then. You must be truly lacking in other quarters.’
The weapons stayed where they were. His face came up, teeth bared, eyes white. ‘I just need one to take a life. Especially a little thing like yours.’
‘Tybalt,’ Nurse yelled. ‘Get you and your mates out of here before I scream the houses down and bring all the guards Escalus has about your stupid ears.’
She didn’t wait but began to bawl. The loudest scream Juliet had ever heard.
‘Murder, murder! Assistance, citizens, for there be villains out to kill us. Fetch Escalus and his men. Murder. Murder…’
Windows opened down the alley, curious faces peered round the sunny corner at the end. Petruchio took fright first. Between the woman’s cries he said, ‘Escalus promised he’d hang anyone who broke the peace. I’m not getting strung up for this old bag and a scraggy girl we haven’t got our hands on.’
With that he took swiftly to his heels.
Around the corner bright shapes came, the sun gleaming on their armour. Soldiers. Lorenzo went next, scampering in the opposite direction. Tybalt stayed, looked Juliet in the eye.
‘I’m taking someone’s life before this day’s out. Come what may. I’ll do your father a favour and put one of his vile enemies in the grave. The way I should’ve done last night if he’d had the sense to let me. Then I’ll be back in his good books, you watch. And when I’m in the house again perhaps you and me should have another little private talk. While you bathe, lady…’
His hand rose swiftly, found her breast, tweaked the nipple hard between thumb and forefinger. She would have cried with pain but refused to give him comfort.
‘Yer bloody louts!’ a soldier cried, dashing towards them. ‘What game is this?’
‘A deadly one,’ Tybalt whispered then, catlike, slid away into the shadows.
Late as ever the guards arrived, breathless and panting in their heavy armour. The day seemed hotter, closer, the air stale and full of threat.
‘Villains the lot of them,’ Nurse said, adding a few choice peasant words, too. ‘Nice of you to turn up though, gentlemen. Eventually. You lot ever caught anything except a bloody cold?’
Juliet got her breath back, thinking quickly. This was no time for petty complaints or arguments with soldiers.
‘You know them little snakes?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Not me,’ Nurse said.
Juliet shook her head. ‘I wish I did, sir. Then I’d give you their names. But sadly…’
He didn’t look too disappointed. ‘Pretty girls like you shouldn’t walk down narrow and shady lanes like this, love. This city’s up for trouble at the moment. What with this boiling hot weather and all the rest. Stay out where folk can see you.’ He nodded at Nurse. ‘Even with your pet dragon in tow these streets aren’t safe right now.’
The big woman grinned and made a mock salute. Even so, the soldiers saw them to the open road at the foot of the lane, and then to the footpath by the river bank.
‘That Tybalt’s an evil little sod,’ Nurse said when they left. ‘Are you all right, love?’
‘I couldn’t be better.’
There he was, just a hundred yards ahead, waving his cap. She raised her arms. Romeo ran along the river bank, grinning, shouting. Then reached her, breathless. Trying to find the words.
‘I always thought my little girl would have the biggest, fanciest wedding,’ Nurse said, watching the two of them. ‘Portraits by a famous painter. Presents. Lots of people. All the best food and drink from everywhere.’
‘Don’t want it,’ Juliet whispered. Romeo took the hint and kissed her. ‘Any of it.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve everything we need. More than that.’
By the banks of the Adige they embraced. Hand-in-hand, the large old woman waddling behind singing a risqué wedding song from Garda, Juliet and her Romeo walked into the monastery of San Francesco al Corso and headed for Friar Laurence’s shady cell.
* * *
They asked Nurse to stay outside.
‘This is for us alone,’ Juliet said. ‘In case something… goes wrong. Best you weren’t a witness.’
‘I’m not frightened!’
‘I know. But all the same…’
‘I wish you two lovers all the best. You know that.’
Juliet hugged her. Then they went into the dark cell. It was cool and welcoming, like a cave almost, a true sanctuary from the world beyond. There was a bible on the table along with a contract for the two of them written in Laurence’s careful, cultured hand.
He bade them sit and poured three cups of water fresh from the monastery spring. It was so cold it tasted of winter: a time of ice and snow when Verona cosseted itself in warm wool and waited for the flowers to bloom again. Then Laurence sat back in his chair and gazed at them.
Romeo shrugged and said, ’You told me you’d have questions.’
‘I do.’
‘Then what?’
‘Just the obvious. You’re asking for the blessing of the Church. Of God himself. Yet where’s the proof of love?’
‘The proof of love!’ Juliet cried. ‘Where’s the proof of God then? I mean really–’
‘Laurence,’ Romeo interrupted quickly. ‘We’re certain in our own minds. What do you want?’
‘Tell me why you love one another.’
Juliet sighe
d again. ‘Why? There’s a why to this?’
‘I have to ask…’
‘We…’ Romeo was struggling. ‘We understand.’
Juliet linked her arm through Romeo’s. ‘Very well. Why? He makes me laugh. He makes me feel I have a friend at last. And when I tease him–’
‘Which happens quite a lot actually,’ he interjected.
She grinned. ‘He doesn’t get cross at all.’
‘Because I deserve it mostly. And it’s said with such sweet humour.’
‘All the same…’ Laurence said. ‘No witnesses. No loving parents. Even if I do as you ask any lawyer could unravel the thing in an hour. You understand what I mean?’
‘No,’ Romeo admitted.
Juliet squeezed his arm. ‘He means it’s not a proper wedding. If our parents take against us–’
Laurence nodded. ‘They could dismiss it. As easily as they might tear up any contract written in haste.’
‘Then,’ said Romeo, ‘we’ll convince them. And marry again, the way they want, with all that pomp and finery. In Sant’Anastasia. Saint Peter’s itself, if they like.’
‘And if they hate us,’ Juliet added, ‘we’ll take ourselves from their presence and live as best we can.’
‘As paupers? You’re the offspring of rich merchants. Do you have any idea what that means?’
Romeo held her hand. ‘If we’re together we’re never poor.’
‘Never,’ she agreed. ‘Can you not see, Friar?’
‘I see… two young people who are deeply fond of one another. But marriage is for life…’
‘For life is how we want it,’ Romeo insisted.
‘No other way,’ she said. ‘Here we are. Risking the anger, the rejection of both our families. Knowing that tonight we may be embraced by them or back in this quiet and generous place begging for charity. Is that not enough?’
‘Perhaps,’ Laurence said in his gentle cleric’s voice. ‘I’ve married many couples in my time. Sudden passions may seem sweet at first. One thing I’ve learned. The love that lasts is the love that’s slow and moderate. It’s the gentle touch of a close and tender bond. The fire and fury of quick passion burn like a forest blaze caught in the fierce wind. A quiet consolation on the other hand–’
