A bough from one of the sour cherry trees, heavy with tempting fruit, hung over the orchard wall, swaying gently in Verona's su
Note: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot side story, a brief peek at plot events alluded to but not seen in my long story Caro. Of course, I am completely incapable of estimating how long a story will actually turn out – Caro, which ended up being twenty-eight chapters long, was originally intended to be no more than seven or eight chapters. So this "one-shot" is actually four chapters. Go figure.
If you're familiar with Caro, this one is set during Chapter Eight of that story. It takes place over the course of almost twenty-four hours in a hot early May in Verona about four years before the events of Romeo and Juliet. Like Caro, it deals with child abuse. If you're uncomfortable reading about that, I won't be offended if you go and read something else.
So. Welcome to A Time For Us. Enjoy the story!
1. Virtue Itself Turns Vice
A bough from one of the sour cherry trees, heavy with tempting fruit, hung over the orchard wall, swaying gently in Verona's spring breeze. Valentine stood on the hot pavement of the courtyard and contemplated the cherry branch with all his might, trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. His head ached where it had hit the wall when his father had shoved him across the study earlier in the day, and he was growing dizzy. The cherries gleamed bright red in the sunlight, and Valentine thought longingly about how refreshingly sour they would taste in his dry mouth.
He knew that he was forbidden to touch the trees in the orchard, but he had not been allowed any food since supper the night before. He had not been able to eat much of that before his father had grown angry at his older brother Mercutio and driven both boys away from the table. Mercutio had escaped the house in the morning to go spend the day with his friends in the piazza, but Valentine had had lessons with his tutor. But the tutor had long since gone home, and Valentine was now a prisoner in the hot courtyard.
Although he knew it was naughty, and that he would be punished if he were caught, Valentine stretched his hand up towards the dangling cherries anyway. But at nine years old, he was not quite tall enough to reach the fruit. After a few tries, he gave up with a sigh. He wished that Mercutio would come home soon. Mercutio was fourteen and, though he was not quite as tall as his friends, was certainly tall enough to reach the cherries. Just looking at the glistening red shapes made Valentine's empty stomach pinch harder than ever. With an effort, he tore his gaze away from the cherries and made a courtly bow to no one in particular.
He managed seven more courtly bows before he grew too dizzy to do any more. His head ached, and sweat dribbled down the back of his neck. One corner of the courtyard looked as though it might provide some shade, so Valentine wobbled over to it and sank down in the dust. Eventually, he drifted off into a half-sleep filled with dreams of dancing cherries.
He was not certain how long he slept. After a while, he became aware that someone was gently shaking his arm and calling his name. With some effort, Valentine opened his eyes, and was overjoyed to see Mercutio crouching next to him.
"Valentine," Mercutio said softly, "awake, ragazzo. Why dost thou sleep in the courtyard, in the middle of the day?"
Valentine rubbed dust from his eyes and embraced Mercutio. "I grew dizzy and faint with the heat," he explained. "And I could not cease thinking of the cherries."
Mercutio patted Valentine's back, then pushed away enough so that he could see Valentine's face. He frowned a little and tilted Valentine's head this way and that. "What of the cherries?" he asked. Very gently, he ran a finger along the side of Valentine's face. "Does this pain thee?"
Valentine's wince was all the answer Mercutio needed. "Thou wilt have a colorful mark to show for this tomorrow," Mercutio said. "Did he do this to thee after I left the house this morning?"
Valentine nodded. "Ay. It was after my arithmetic lesson. Father had a visitor this morning, a lord from another city, I know not which. He called me into his study and bade me recite a poem for the entertainment of his guest. I chose the Petrarch that Signior Collini taught me for rhetoric two months past."
Mercutio smiled. "That was a wise choice. I have heard thee recite that poem, and thou dost speak it marvelously well."
Valentine blushed at the praise. "The foreign lord thought so as well, for he smiled at me when I finished speaking. But when he left, Father turned on me. He shoved me against the wall and said that I was an insolent pillicock who did not have the wisdom to bow properly before my elders when I pleased them. He said that I was not to have any dinner, and that I was to come out here to the courtyard and practice making a bow until I could do it correctly."
Mercutio's eyes narrowed, and the smile vanished from his face. "And hast thou been out here in the sun all day long with no food or drink?"
"Ay." Valentine struggled to his feet, clinging to Mercutio's arm until the resulting wave of dizziness had passed. "I have done as he bade me do," he offered. "I have practiced my bow. Wilt thou see?"
He pointed his toe and bowed to his brother, with all the flourishes. In spite of himself, Mercutio laughed.
"That is lovely," he said. "The dancing master at the palace could do no better."
A pleasant warmth thrilled in Valentine's heart, just as when the foreign lord had smiled at him for reciting Petrarch. "Mercutio," he said, "I have been a good boy, and I have practiced bowing. Wouldst thou pluck those sour cherries for me? My stomach cries out with hunger, but I cannot reach the fruit."
Mercutio sighed. "Thou knowest well what Father will do to both of us if he discovers that we have stolen fruit from his orchard."
"But it is only a few cherries. Surely they will not be missed."
"They would be missed from that bough." Mercutio went and stood beneath it. "See how it hangs alone over the courtyard. There is nothing to disguise such a theft."
Valentine swallowed hard, but did not break down into shameful tears. "I am so hungry," he said, mortified at the whining tone that crept into his voice even as he spoke.
Mercutio regarded him for a moment, his face an agony of indecision. Finally, he set his jaw and reached up to the cherry branch. As Valentine had hoped, Mercutio was tall enough to grasp the fruit. But, to his disappointment, Mercutio did not pluck the cherries.
"I am sorry, ragazzo," he said. "Thou knowest that I would risk a beating to give thee the cherries that would sate thy hunger. But they are not yet ripe. Though they are beautiful to the eye, they are cold and hard to the touch. Thou couldst not eat them, for they would make thee sick."
At that news, Valentine's heart sank. He stumbled over to Mercutio and flung his arms around his brother, choking back tears of disappointment. Mercutio held him tightly and petted his hair, but said nothing. Eventually, Valentine managed to swallow his unhappiness, and Mercutio released him.
The two boys spent the waning hours of the afternoon playing together in the courtyard. Valentine practiced his bow several more times until it was perfect, and Mercutio showed him the steps to some of the dances he had learned at the palace. The best part was when Mercutio taught Valentine how to dance the scandalous volta. Valentine took the lady's part, and when Mercutio picked him up and spun him around in the air, Valentine shrieked with laughter.
"Gentlemen!" The deep voice of Domenico, the retainer assigned to guard Mercutio when he went out, startled the boys. They stopped dancing, and Mercutio set Valentine back on his feet. Domenico stood in the doorway, eyeing their play with a suspicious squint. "I was told that young master Valentine was to rehearse his deportment," Domenico said.
"He has done so," Mercutio answered, "and I will vouch for my brother."
He nudged Valentine's foot with his own, and gave him a subtle nod. After a moment, Valentine realized what he was meant to do. He stood very straight, and made a courtly bow towards Domenico. Domenico was silent for a moment, then inclined his head.
"That will suffice, I think," he said. "Valentine may come inside. It is nearly the hour for supper. Your noble father bids you attire yourselves properly and attend his table."
"Both of us?" Mercutio asked. "Valentine may come to the table as well?"
"That is what I said, is it not?" Domenico replied. He turned on his heel and went back inside. Mercutio and Valentine followed eagerly. The anticipation of supper gave Valentine a burst of new strength, and he hurried to the chamber he shared with Mercutio so that he could ready himself for the meal as quickly as possible.
A short time later, Mercutio and Valentine knocked at the door to the antechamber, where their father waited to inspect them. They had both changed into fresh clothing and washed their hands and faces. Just as their father bade them enter, Valentine's stomach rumbled, and his face grew warm. Mercutio took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the antechamber.
Their father, Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, sat in his special chair by the fire, immaculately turned out in a robe of green silk brocade trimmed at the edges with beaver fur, dark hose, and a brilliant white shirt. His iron-gray beard was neatly brushed, and his mustache was waxed into small points, in the French style. He was one of the wealthiest men in all of Verona, and he looked every bit the part. A slow smile spread over his face when he saw his sons.
"Ah, the heir to the House of Rinuccini and his brother," Giacomo said. "Approach, my sons, that I may look upon your faces."
Slowly, Mercutio and Valentine crossed the room to stand by their father. Giacomo kissed Mercutio on both cheeks, just as if Mercutio were a grown man and an honored guest, then took his hands to examine them. Valentine's eye was drawn to the marks on Mercutio's wrists. The sores had been raw in the morning, but now showed signs of healing. Giacomo did not seem to notice the marks, but turned Mercutio's hands over to determine if they were clean. Satisfied, he nodded, and turned his attention to Valentine.
"So," he said, in the same soft, pleasant voice that he had used earlier, "the young villain thinks himself fit to attend the table of a gentleman."
"Domenico did summon us both, Father," Mercutio said.
Giacomo did not take his eyes off of Valentine. "Ay, so he did. But mine is the final word in this house, and it is I who will determine if thy brother is fit to appear at my table." He stared expectantly at Valentine.
Valentine took a deep breath to steady himself, glanced once at Mercutio for support, then bowed deeply to his father, just as he had practiced during the long, hot afternoon in the courtyard. When he rose, he saw Mercutio smiling at him. Giacomo's face showed no expression. After a long moment, he inclined his head once.
"Acceptable," he said. Valentine let out a small sigh of relief. Giacomo strode towards the door to the dining hall, and Mercutio and Valentine followed at a respectful distance.
Giacomo's foreign guest appeared to have vanished, for supper was to be a simple family affair. Valentine's mouth watered when he saw the sideboard, laden with dishes of meatballs in red wine sauce, stuffed eggs, a mushroom tart, and a fresh risotto, fragrant with thyme and cheese, with asparagus tips and celery nestled in the rice. Even Mercutio, who did not like to eat, smiled as he took his place at the table. But Valentine could not tear his eyes away from that risotto, and his stomach pinched harder than ever as he thought about how good the creamy rice and crisp asparagus would taste.
Giacomo sat down, and signaled to the servants. One brought out a carafe of wine, and another began to serve the food. A third left the dining hall, presumably to fetch a forgotten item or a finishing touch from the kitchen. As usual, the servants filled Giacomo's dish and goblet first, bowed, and then moved to Mercutio, the older son. Mercutio looked at his food without much enthusiasm, but without disgust, either. Valentine turned toward the servants, and was horrified to see them step away from the table, leaving his own dish empty.
Mercutio frowned. "Father," he ventured, "you did say that Valentine could come to the table."
Giacomo nodded. "I did."
"Did you mean to have him attend but not eat?"
Giacomo's pleasant expression did not change. "Thy brother will be fed." He looked expectantly at the door. Valentine shrank down in his place and wished that he were invisible.
All of a sudden, the door to the dining hall opened, and a foul, rotting stench flooded the space. Mercutio choked, and Valentine turned horrified eyes to the door. The third servant had returned, bearing the pig bucket from the kitchen. Giacomo's smile broadened. "Thou didst disgrace thy father today, Valentine," he said. "Thou knowst well that I will not abide disobedience in my house. If thou canst not behave as becomes a nobleman, thou dost deserve nothing more than what the pigs eat."
He nodded to the servant, who dipped spoonfuls of limp, rotting greens, cabbage stalks, pan scrapings, and fatty gristle mixed with beer and sour wine into a bowl and set it before Valentine. The servant bowed, just as if he had set meatballs and risotto on the table, and withdrew from the dining hall, carrying the pig bucket with him. Valentine stared at the horrible, foul-smelling, slimy mess, too stunned to speak.
Giacomo nodded to the boys, picked up his spoon, and began to eat his risotto. Mercutio picked up his slice of mushroom tart, then glanced at Valentine's bowl and set the tart down again. He made a face at the smell of the pigswill, and then turned angry eyes on Giacomo.
"What do you mean to do to Valentine, Father?" Mercutio asked. "He has done all that you asked. He remained in the courtyard under the punishment of the sun for hours, and he has made you a bow that any dancing master would be proud to own. Why do you reward him with pigswill when he has done your bidding so faithfully?"
Giacomo snorted. "It is because of that goatish, puling fool of a child that I have lost a business chance today," he said, in a voice as cold as iron. "A renowned merchant traveled to Verona all the way from Venice itself in the hopes of finding a partnership in this city. I had arranged everything perfectly for his reception into this house, in the hopes that he would favor this house with his custom. That lumpen, tickle-brained mumble-news that thou dost name thy brother did give the gentleman such a sauce that he left my house and has gone to the home of Signior Capulet!"
Valentine's throat swelled, and he burst into tears. "No, Father!" he cried. "The fault was not mine! The foreign gentleman did smile at me, Father."
Giacomo turned on him. "How now, thou mewling wretch? The fault is not thine? Wouldst thou lay the blame at thy lord father's feet?"
"I am sorry that I did not bow!" Valentine gasped.
"Now art thou sorry! Now dost thou come to me begging food! I shall show thee what it is to be sorry!" And Giacomo picked up Valentine's bowl and flung the pigswill full in Valentine's face.
In an instant, there was silence. The slimy, sour rot dripped over Valentine's clothes and dribbled down his neck, filling his nostrils with its stench, leaving him too stunned even to cry out. Giacomo sat down and resumed eating as if nothing had happened. Mercutio glanced from his brother to his father, a look of horrified indignation on his face. At last, he found his tongue.
"The fault was not Valentine's, Father. The Venetian merchant was surely no fool. He saw you for what you are, and he chose to take his business elsewhere."
Giacomo did not look up from his risotto. "That slime-drenched creature offends my nose," he said coolly. "Remove it from the table, Mercutio, and take thyself with it."
Mercutio sighed, and rose from the table without a glance at his uneaten supper. With gentle hands, he helped Valentine to stand, and put his arm around Valentine's shoulder, ignoring the pigswill that dripped onto his clothes. "Come with me, ragazzo," he said. "I will help thee to wash that filth from thy hair."
Valentine sniffled a little, but allowed himself to be led from the dining hall, safe for the moment in Mercutio's hands.