3. Infold Me From The Search Of Eyes
The royal palace of Verona was not prohibitively far away from the house of Rinuccini, but it was far enough to be a difficult and arduous walk for two injured and weakened boys. Mercutio staggered grimly forward, leaning half on walls and half on Valentine for support. Valentine did his best to support his brother, and prayed with all his might that Mercutio would not collapse in the street before they made it to the palace, for he was not big enough to carry Mercutio, and he did not know the way to the palace on his own. He nearly burst into tears when he realized that they would have to cross the piazza, but Mercutio forced a smile.
"Have courage, ragazzo," he said. "The palace is not far from the piazza. After we have crossed it, we will be nearly there."
The piazza was cold and empty. It was the place where boys gathered to play, and where markets were held. Valentine wished that there were a market so that he could beg Mercutio to buy him something to eat, but there was none. He set his jaw and walked forward, bearing up under Mercutio's slight weight. The crossing was alarming, for Valentine and Mercutio had no one but each other for support, but at last it was over. Mercutio allowed a few moments' rest in the arcade at the far end of the piazza.
"It is only a few more blocks," he murmured. "Then thou shalt be safe." With those words, he pushed himself away from the wall and moved forward.
Valentine nearly cried with relief when they passed beneath an archway and found themselves in an enclosed courtyard. The focal point of the courtyard was a grand flight of stone steps leading up to the wrought bronze doors of the palace. Several guards in short capes, metal breastplates and plumed helmets stood by the doors, and torches burned in great metal sconces. Mercutio and Valentine walked to the bottom of the steps and stopped. One of the guards descended to meet them. Valentine, habitually wary of strange adult men, tried to hide behind Mercutio. The guard surveyed the boys, a concerned, bewildered expression on his face.
"You are the sons of Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, are you not?" he asked. "Why have you come here, all alone, in the dead of night?"
Mercutio swallowed, but did not answer immediately. Valentine's imagination filled with images of slimy, rat-infested prison cells, and he had to choke back tears once more. The guard's expression immediately softened.
"Do not cry, child," he said. "Has something happened to thee? Or has some disaster befallen thy house?"
Mercutio found his voice at last. "We have fled our house," he told the guard. "There is a horror there worse than a thousand Satans. I beg you to rouse up the Prince and tell him that the sons of Rinuccini have come to beg him for asylum."
Valentine stared at Mercutio in grateful astonishment. He had not thought that Mercutio would go so far as to invoke so impressive a word against their father. Evidently, the guard had not thought so, either, for he blinked in surprise. Mercutio did not budge.
"I am fourteen years old," he said, "and that is old enough to speak on my own behalf in this matter. I would ask the Prince's asylum for my brother."
"I believe you," the guard said. He turned to his comrades at the top of the steps and indicated with a gesture that one of them should go inside the palace to alert those within. Then he turned back to the boys. "I am Bartolomeo Senzi," he told them. "I am only a simple man, but I can see that something dire has happened, or else you would not have come here, unguarded, in the night. Come. I will take you inside, and we will see what may be done in your case."
Bartolomeo held out his hand. Mercutio gave Valentine a nudge, and Valentine moved to follow Bartolomeo, but did not take his hand. Mercutio tried to mount the stairs after them, but fell back with a hiss of pain. Valentine paused and looked back at his brother. Mercutio had turned away to compose himself, and in the torchlight, Valentine saw that the seat of his hose was stained with blood. Bartolomeo turned around and gave Mercutio a critical glance.
"You have been hurt," he said.
"It pains me to walk," Mercutio admitted, through gritted teeth. Bartolomeo took a step towards Mercutio, and Mercutio flinched away from him. Bartolomeo glanced from Mercutio to Valentine, and gave a great sigh. Then he turned back to Mercutio.
"You have done well to bring your brother here under such conditions," he said. "It is as much as I would ask any of the soldiers under my command. Will you permit me to bear you from the field of battle with honor?"
Mercutio considered the offer for a long moment. Then, to Valentine's astonishment, he nodded. Mercutio, who normally despised being held, allowed Bartolomeo to pick him up and carry him up the steps and into the palace. Valentine followed, holding on to the hem of Bartolomeo's short cape. The door shut behind them, but Valentine could not decide whether the clang signaled their safety or their imprisonment.
The guard who had been sent inside to rouse the Prince met them in the corridor and showed them to a receiving chamber. Mercutio, who had rested quietly in Bartolomeo's arms, began to struggle, and Bartolomeo set him on his feet. In the torchlight that filled the room, Valentine could see just how pale his brother was. He hoped that Mercutio would not faint and leave him alone with all of the strangers. Desperate for some comfort, he slipped his hand into Mercutio's and was rewarded with a squeeze and a little smile.
"Do not fear, Valentine," Mercutio said. "I shall explain everything, and Uncle will not grudge thee safety."
"What of thee?" Valentine asked. "I would not be parted from thee."
"I do not know. I will do my best."
Mercutio had no time to say any more, for the door to the receiving chamber opened. But instead of Prince Escalus, their cousin Paris entered, flanked by two pages. Paris was still wearing his nightgown and robe, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took one look at his cousins, and flew to their side.
"You look dreadful," he said. "What has happened? Lorenzo woke me from a sound sleep and said that I was needed down here immediately."
Before Mercutio could reply, a harsh sob escaped Valentine's lips. He was horribly ashamed, and could not stop a second sob, but succeeded in choking back a third. Paris did not seem to mind, however, and put his hand on Valentine's shoulder. Valentine did not like being touched by adults, but he liked his cousin Paris, and anyway, Paris was only nineteen years old, and that was not really an adult. Valentine wrapped his arms around Paris, and Paris returned the embrace.
"Oh, Valentine, little cousin," Paris said. "What has happened to make thee so distressed?"
It was hard for Valentine to speak, because he feared that he might start crying if he opened his mouth. "Father," he gasped. "And – and I am hungry, and Mercutio . . . and, and . . ." It was too late. Valentine began to cry in earnest.
Paris asked him no further questions, but drew him away to a bench at the side of the receiving chamber. They sat down together, and Paris let Valentine cry against his shoulder. Through his tears, Valentine saw Mercutio standing with Bartolomeo at his side, a worried look on his face.
Valentine was dimly aware when the Prince entered the receiving chamber and sat down at his desk. Escalus was fully dressed, but Valentine could not tell whether he was angry or not. He spoke to Mercutio in a stern voice, and Mercutio answered him calmly. The Prince allowed Mercutio to speak for what seemed like a very long time. Valentine had managed to stop crying, but he was exhausted, and found it difficult to follow the conversation. He leaned against Paris and blinked to keep himself from falling asleep.
He heard his name and roused slightly. Mercutio was talking to the Prince about him. After a few moments, Valentine realized that Mercutio was telling the Prince about how their father had tried to feed Valentine pigswill and had thrown it in his face. The Prince glanced at Valentine, and there was a glint of anger in his eyes. Valentine shrank down against Paris. He did not want the Prince to know what a naughty boy he had been, and part of him wished that Mercutio had not spoken of that incident. He buried his face in Paris's shoulder and tried to shut out the world around him.
"He has done what to thee?" The Prince's outraged shout startled Valentine back into awareness. The Prince rose to his feet and strode around the desk to stand before Mercutio. In one swift motion, he seized Mercutio by the shoulders and turned him around. Two spots of bright red flamed in Mercutio's hollow cheeks, and he shivered at the Prince's touch. The Prince stared at the seat of Mercutio's hose for a long moment, and when he looked up, his face was terrible to behold. He turned to Bartolomeo.
"Rouse up the Watch, soldier, and bring my sister's husband to me. Roust him from his bed if you must, but bring him before me."
"Ay, my lord." Bartolomeo saluted and marched out of the receiving chamber. Mercutio's shivering grew stronger, and his knees buckled. The Prince beckoned to the pages. One of them scooped Mercutio up, and Mercutio was shivering so hard that he did not even try to fight. His head lolled against the page's shoulder, and Valentine tried to swallow the knot of worry that formed at the back of his throat. The Prince ordered the second page to summon the royal physician, then came to stand before Paris and Valentine.
"Take this one to the third chamber in the family wing," he told Paris.
"Ay, my lord." Paris stood up, and Valentine stood with him. He followed Paris out of the receiving chamber and through the great doors that led to the private wing of the palace. Ordinarily, Valentine would have been excited, as he had never been allowed past those doors before, but he was tired, and his stomach hurt, and he was worried about Mercutio.
"I am hungry," he murmured, unable to say anything else coherently.
"Then we must find thee something to eat," Paris said. "It will not be much, for supper is done, but perhaps there is a little bread in the kitchen that thou couldst eat." He stopped a maid and spoke briefly to her. She hurried off, and Paris nudged Valentine. "Come, up these stairs, and we will find thee a warm bed for the rest of the night."
"What of the bread?" Valentine asked, too tired and hungry to care about his manners.
"The servants will bring it to thee in thy bedchamber," Paris said. "I know it is not proper to eat in a bedchamber, but this is an extraordinary occasion, and Uncle will not mind it."
If Paris said it, then it was probably true. Valentine followed him up the stairs and into a guest suite, furnished simply, but with everything one might need. He and Paris sat down at a little table, and Paris scrubbed his hands over his face.
"Did thy father really do everything that Mercutio accused him of doing?" he asked.
Valentine scowled. "Mercutio is no liar. He tells stories, but he does not lie."
"Of course. I did not mean to doubt his words. But neither did I suspect that thy father could commit such evil. It is a new thought for me."
That mollified Valentine, but only a little. "My father is a clever man, and he does things where no one will see. I think he made Mercutio swear to keep his secrets, but I was little then, and I am not certain that I remember correctly. I hope no one will call Mercutio an oath-breaker now that he has told."
"Nay, of course they will not." Paris tried to smile at Valentine. "There are some oaths that should always be kept, but such oaths as Mercutio was made to swear are not among them."
"Good." Valentine let out a little sigh of relief. Before he could say any more, the door opened, and two servants entered. One carried a folded nightgown and put it on the bed, and the other bore a tray, a bottle, and two cups, which he set down on the table. On the tray was a plate with a few slices of white bread drizzled with olive oil on it. Paris took the bottle and poured wine into the two cups. Then he nodded to the servant, who poured water into one cup of wine and stirred it. Paris put that cup in front of Valentine.
"There is food and drink," he said. "After thou hast eaten, thou mayst go to bed, for I am sure that thou art exhausted."
Even as he spoke, Valentine let out an enormous yawn. The servant smiled indulgently at him, and Valentine did not feel so bad about his lack of manners. He picked up the bread, and the first bite tasted so good that he almost cried again. The bread was sweet, light, and fresh, and the olive oil was rich and flavorful on his tongue. Paris watched him eat, smiling and sipping his own wine.
"How long has it been since thou didst last have a meal?" he asked.
Valentine paused and gave that question some thought. "It was noon, the day before yesterday," he said at last. Father would not let us eat supper with him, and then he did not allow me to have dinner the next day, and he threw pigswill at me at supper." Paris's smile vanished, and he shook his head sadly.
After Valentine had eaten all his bread and drunk his diluted wine, he was so sleepy that he could barely keep his eyes open. Paris summoned the servants to remove the dishes, and a valet helped Valentine undress and put on the nightgown, which was far too big for him. Then he boosted Valentine into the large bed and pulled the covers over him. Just as the servants and Paris were about to leave, Valentine sat up. "Wait!" he called.
Paris took a candle and motioned for the servants to wait just outside the door, then came to sit down on the bed next to Valentine. "What is it, little cousin?"
"I am afraid."
"What dost thou fear?"
Valentine had many worries, but he could only think of words for three of them. "What has become of Mercutio?"
"Uncle has put him in a bed just as lovely as this one, and has summoned a physician to look after him. He was wounded, I think, and I believe that he is falling ill from it."
This was less than comforting, but at least Mercutio was still in the palace. That thought reminded Valentine of his second worry. "How long will we stay here? Will Uncle grant us what Mercutio asked for? As . . . Asy . . . I cannot remember the word."
Paris smiled. "Asylum. And if the look on Uncle's face was any indication of his feelings on the matter, I would wager that thou and Mercutio will remain here permanently. Asylum should be the least of thy cares now. Dost thou think that thou canst sleep a little?"
Valentine lay down, but there was one more worry in his heart. "I am afraid to sleep alone without Mercutio to take care of me," he admitted, in a very small voice. "I do not want anyone coming in to hurt me in the night."
Paris's jaw hardened, and for a moment, Valentine feared that he had made his cousin angry. Without a word, Paris rose and went to speak to the servants, then returned to the bed.
"I have spoken with Lorenzo," he told Valentine. "He is my valet, the one who helped to put thee to bed. He will keep watch outside the door tonight, and he will let none enter who do not love thee. I swear to thee that thou art safe here. None shall harm thee."
Paris looked so serious as he spoke that Valentine could not help but believe him. He wanted to say more, but he was too sleepy, so he nodded. Paris seemed to understand everything he meant to say, though, for he smiled, pulled the covers up to Valentine's chin, and left quietly, bringing the candle with him. Utterly worn out, Valentine dropped off to sleep.
