4. Night's Candles Are Burnt Out

When Valentine finally woke, the sun was shining brightly through the window. He was alone in the large bed into which Paris and Lorenzo had tucked him. In his father's house, Domenico would have woken both Valentine and Mercutio at sunrise, but at the palace, it seemed that one was allowed to sleep a little later in the morning. Since it seemed that nobody had immediate need of him, Valentine took advantage of the opportunity to curl up beneath the covers and contemplate his new situation.

He did not recall everything that had happened last night, and he did not quite understand everything that he did remember, but he guessed that he and Mercutio would not be going home to face their father's wrath for some time. That suited Valentine perfectly, although he did hope that Paris would come with them when they went home, even for a few hours, to explain to Giacomo why they had left and convince him not to punish them. The thought of punishment inspired him to add a wish that they would be allowed to stay through dinner, so that he might have a full meal before going home to face his father.

Then Valentine decided that this was important enough to make into a prayer rather than just a wish. He slid out of bed, got down on his knees and crossed himself. "Dear Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint Valentine," he said, "I pray that my brother Mercutio and I might be allowed to remain in the house of our uncle for a little while, or at least until dinner. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen."

Valentine had just finished his prayer when he heard a knock on the door. He tried to leap to his feet, but he became tangled in the overlarge nightgown and ended up sitting on his bottom on the floor. "Enter," he called.

The door opened, and Lorenzo, Paris's valet from last night, entered the room bearing a large bundle. He set the bundle down on a chest and smiled at Valentine. He was older than Valentine had thought, at least forty years old, and he had a friendly smile. "So you are awake, little master," he said. "That is good. I have brought your clothes, which were delivered here just before dawn by the Watch."

Valentine stared at the bundle in puzzlement. The bundle was so big that it must contain all of his clothes, not just what he might need for a few days. He was grateful for something fresh to wear, but he wondered why the Watch had gone to his father's house and why they had searched for his clothes in particular. Lorenzo opened the bundle and nodded to Valentine.

"Come, little master. Choose your raiment for the day. I will arrange your bedclothes and brush your hair, and then your noble cousin wishes to speak with you."

Slowly, Valentine stood up, managing not to fall down this time. He gathered up the trailing hem of the nightgown and went to investigate the bundle of clothes. While Lorenzo straightened the covers on the bed and set Valentine's toy soldier on the windowsill, Valentine selected a shirt, a doublet, and a set of hose. Lorenzo poured water from a small jug into a basin, and Valentine washed his face and hands. Then he changed into the clothes he selected, and decided that he trusted Lorenzo enough to let the valet help him with the laces on his sleeves. Finally, Lorenzo combed Valentine's hair so that it looked neat and tidy.

"You are as handsome as you are noble," he said when he had finished. Valentine looked into the hand glass at his thin, solemn face set with sleepy blue eyes, one of them blackened from Giacomo's punishment the day before, and crowned with wavy blond hair, and could not decide what he thought of Lorenzo's words. So he said nothing, but followed Lorenzo out of the bedchamber.

Lorenzo led Valentine down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and through a hall. He stopped and knocked at a large, heavy door. After a moment, a muffled voice bade them enter. Lorenzo pushed the door open and ushered Valentine into a small, tastefully furnished study. There were shelves of books on the wall, and an intricately inlaid wooden cabinet that bore a bowl of tempting fruit and an odd device made of interlocking circles of brass. Valentine would have loved to explore the room, but he could not. Paris sat at a large desk and beckoned him to come closer.

Valentine edged a little closer to the desk, but was careful not to stand too close. Paris smiled, but there was something sad about it.

"I see thou hast learned wariness in thy short years," he sighed. "I hope that we may be able to train some of that out of thee. But it is good to see thee awake. Thy visage is much improved for a little food and rest, though thy black eye is not at all becoming to thee. We must see that thou dost not acquire any more. I am charged with welcoming thee, since Uncle is busy. I wager that we will not see him today. I know not precisely what to tell thee, so I will place that burden on thy shoulders. Is there aught that thou wouldst ask of me, Valentine?"

"Where is Mercutio?" Valentine asked immediately. "Uncle did not send him home, did he? Father will be furious."

Paris sighed. "Mercutio is still here, Valentine. Thou needst not fear that Uncle or I would ever separate thee from him. But the matter is not entirely in our hands. Mercutio is quite ill. I cannot say whether or not he will survive."

Valentine's insides wobbled, but he managed not to shiver on the outside. "Might I be allowed to see him?"

"Nay, not immediately." At Valentine's look of horror, Paris elaborated. "Mercutio has a high fever, Valentine, and he wanders deep in dreams. He would not know thee if thou didst visit him."

"Might I stay in the palace until he is well, or until he dies?" Valentine asked.

Paris laughed out loud at that. "Valentine, dost thou know the meaning of asylum?" Valentine shook his head in shame. "It means the personal protection of a lord, who protects the weak from imminent harm. In thy case and in Mercutio's case, Uncle has granted both of you permanent asylum from the danger of living with your father. You will live here with Uncle and with me from now on. Didst thou not notice that thy clothes were brought here?"

"I did. But what if we meet Father on the street? What if he were to snatch us up and carry us home with him?"

"He will never do that." Paris's voice was stern, and Valentine wondered briefly if he had angered his cousin with his question. "Uncle has banished him from Verona. That means that he may never set foot in this city as long as he lives. He left for Mantua before the sun rose this morning. Thou and Mercutio may roam anywhere in the city and be safe from him."

At that, Valentine fell utterly silent. He had not imagined that Mercutio could make a request with such drastic consequences. It took him a moment to think of the implications. "I will never see Father again?"

"Never. Not unless thou dost seek him out. But he will not come to thee, nor to Mercutio."

"He will never strike us again, nor tell me that I am a puling fool who is a disgrace to the name of Rinuccini, and he will not make Mercutio scream in the night?"

By the door, Lorenzo made a sad "tsk" sound. Paris winced, but regained his composure quickly. "Nay, Valentine. Thy father will never hurt thee or Mercutio again."

This was so overwhelming that Valentine began to shake. His knees gave way, and he sat down hard on the polished wooden floor. Paris and Lorenzo hurried to his side. Valentine was still not sure what he thought of Lorenzo, so he turned to Paris. And, incredibly, Paris ceased to be the stern young lord informing a child of its fate, and became the gentle older cousin he had been last night. He gathered Valentine into his arms and allowed Valentine to cling to him and shiver and tremble for a long time.

Once Valentine had regained control of his body, Paris offered to show him around the palace. Valentine accepted the offer eagerly, secretly glad that Paris had not sent him away. Though he was glad that he would not have to face his father's fury again, the palace was still a strange and overwhelming place, and Valentine could not see it as his home just yet. Paris showed him libraries, studies, antechambers, greater and lesser halls, and music rooms, then took him through the courtyards and gardens. Valentine clung to Paris's hand, comprehending and not comprehending at the same time.

"Where is my chamber?" he asked, as they stood in the main garden courtyard.

Paris pointed to one particular window. "That is the window across from thy bed."

Sure enough, Valentine could dimly see his toy soldier looking down at him from the window. The sight of the familiar toy made him smile a little. "Where is Mercutio's chamber?"

Paris indicated a window not far away, at the corner of the yard, with a balcony attached to it. "Mercutio sleeps in that chamber."

Valentine sighed. "I wish that I might see my brother. I know not what to do without him."

"Not while he is so ill, Valentine. Uncle's physician keeps watch over him, and thou wouldst do nothing save be underfoot. Perhaps we should do something else to occupy thy mind. Uncle will hire a tutor when he can, but I doubt that he will be able to do so today. Shall I give thee lessons instead?"

Valentine did not think that he could concentrate on anything until he knew for certain that Mercutio would recover, but he knew that he ought to agree to lessons, for that was a privilege and his duty as the son of a nobleman. He raised his eyes to meet Paris's, but Paris shook his head before Valentine could speak.

"Nay, I withdraw the suggestion. Thy wounds are still too fresh. Thou wilt learn naught today, no matter how hard I try to teach thee. Shall I take thee into town, to the church, perhaps?"

Valentine shook his head. "Nay. I thank thee, cousin, but I would as well remain within today." He twisted his toe in the dust, and added in a very small voice, "I would not be absent from the palace if Mercutio should die."

"I understand."

And Valentine thought that Paris really did understand. He wrapped an arm around Paris's waist, and the two of them returned indoors.

Although Valentine did not want to leave the palace, the idea of going to the church had appealed to him. Paris showed him a small chapel within the palace, where the Prince heard Mass in the mornings. The chapel was small and dimly lit, with only a few flickering candles, whose light made the rich ornaments glow. Valentine liked the place immediately, and Paris smiled.

"I shall leave thee alone with thy prayer for a little while," he said. "I have a little business to attend, and then I will come and fetch thee for dinner."

Valentine agreed to this, especially to the promise of dinner, and Paris left the chapel, closing the door behind him. Once he had left, Valentine knelt before the altar, but found that he could not make the words of prayer come out of his mouth. He remembered having been told in confession that God could see the smallest thoughts in his heart, and decided that that would have to do. So he knelt silently and thought about Mercutio, hoping that God would see his sorrow and worry and allow him to keep his brother, at least for a little while longer.

After a while, the darkness and silence of the chapel began to remind Valentine of the long nights in his father's house, and he began to itch under his skin. Hoping that God would not be offended, he crossed himself and said a quick "Amen," and then left the chapel.

No one was in sight. Valentine was still a little nervous and did not want to be alone any more, but he did not know where or how to find Paris. He decided to return to his new chamber instead. His toy soldier was there, and that would at least be something familiar. He found the chamber with only two false starts, and was pleased to see the soldier still sitting on the windowsill, the remains of his chewed face as welcoming as ever. Already, the chamber was beginning to feel different, as though it were a place where Valentine could really live.

Then an idea struck him. He looked out into the courtyard and recalled how Paris had pointed his window out. Paris had also pointed out the window of the chamber where Mercutio lay. Valentine screwed up his nose and imagined himself down in the courtyard again, looking up at the windows. He remembered which way Paris had pointed, and how many windows had separated Mercutio's chamber from his, and thought carefully about directions. Then, before the image could evaporate from his mind, Valentine ran out into the corridor and glanced in what he thought was the right direction.

A door at the end of the corridor opened, and an old man in a black cap and robe shuffled out. He bore a small, oddly-shaped glass jar, and mumbled strange words to himself. Valentine thought that he must be the physician, and decided to try that chamber. Quickly, before the old man could return, he hurried to the other chamber, and carefully pushed the door open.

The room was dim, for the curtains had been pulled over the windows, and a few candles burned. Valentine could not see much of what the place looked like, but he saw the one important thing in the place. Mercutio lay on one side of a great bed, and moved a little as Valentine watched. Valentine could not tell whether his brother was awake or asleep, but he could see that Mercutio lived. Overjoyed, he crept close to the bed.

As he approached, he could see that Mercutio's face was shiny with sweat, and there were great rings beneath his eyes. At the sound of soft footsteps, Mercutio blinked, and then smiled weakly at Valentine. He made a limp gesture with one hand, and Valentine immediately picked it up and held it.

"Oh, Mercutio," he said, and then his throat closed, and he could say no more.

"Do not cry, ragazzo," Mercutio murmured. "We have done it. We have escaped Father's clutches, and we are safe at last."

"Thou hast done it," Valentine replied. "Our escape was thy doing. Thou didst take me from our bed, thou didst lead us from Father's house here, and thou didst plead our case before Uncle."

"And had I not had thee to care for, I would never have dared set foot beyond the door at all, much less been able to drag myself here," Mercutio said. "Do not lower thy own value, Valentine."

"Paris has said that thou art very ill. Thou wilt not die?"

Mercutio took a deep, ragged breath. "I can make thee no promises, ragazzo. But I shall endeavor to live, as it is clear that there is one person in the world who still has need of me. . . " Mercutio's soft voice trailed off. His head lolled on the pillow, and he was asleep again.

Now that he had seen Mercutio and spoken with him, Valentine's heart was lighter than it had been all day. He pulled the covers up to Mercutio's chin, and kissed his burning cheek. When he turned to leave, he saw the physician and Paris watching him from the doorway. In an instant, his heart shriveled up into a cold knot. He had disobeyed, and he knew that he deserved to be punished. He hoped that it would not be as severe as Father's punishments.

But the physician smiled at him, then turned to Paris. "What did I tell you, my lord?" he said. "There is a strong and natural affection between the older brother and the younger brother, and it is to be expected that the younger would be found here. Now they have laid eyes on each other, and perhaps the child will be calm."

Paris looked at Valentine with an expression that was part annoyance and part amusement. Valentine immediately came to stand before Paris, and put his heels together and his hands behind his back. "I disobeyed thy commands, cousin, and I am sorry for that," he choked out.

To his astonishment, Paris looked first at the physician and then at him, and then laughed. "Well, I do not mind that. I am glad that thou hast found a little peace today. Now, if thou wilt give me a smile, I shall take thee along to dinner."

At the mention of dinner, Valentine grinned hugely. "Oh, ay, I would like that very much!"

The physician nodded, and shooed Paris and Valentine out of Mercutio's chamber. Paris put a companionable arm around Valentine's shoulders and led him away to eat his first dinner in his new home.

END

Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. I have to admit, I wasn't totally sure at first that it would work, but I think, in the end, that it does. For my purposes, at least, I think I managed to find the right balance between on-stage abuse, off-stage abuse, and the really interesting part of the story, how the boys engineered an escape attempt that was not without a certain risk.

And they're safe. At least, for now. And for a given value of "safe." But they've got each other, and they're away from their father. That's enough to work with.