Chapter 4 – Sweet Vengeance
Right, friendly-type fluffy stuff. Review please. Chapter 5 will be Beatrice's birthday.
Beatrice bounced the child upon her knee and sighed. Wherefore had not they bethought how chattersome any babe of theirs would be ere they had 't? "Sweeting, Papa and I would that thou would'st to sleep now. Were it truly necessary to tell us of thy wish for a real observation tower in the middle of the night? It could have waited 'til the morn." The girl gazed up at her mother, appearing confused. Antonia had never found need of much sleep, and at four year it most obviously bemused her that her mother, father and elder brother required so long.
"But, Mama, will not the stars be gone on the morn? A new observation tower is of little use in the day. I had to ask at night." Beatrice laughed, and explained
"Do not the stars come back each new evening? 'Twould take more than one night for us to build a whole new tower on any road. It took Uncle Lorenzo fifteen year not to build an observation tower. Or a barn. Or a new church. Or much at all. Mayhap we could have such a tower built in six moons, but awakening us at midnight will make it come no swifter. Now, get thee to sleep. Think of poor Pedro in this next room. He would some sleep, no doubt." Evident content with such knowledge of a future observation tower, Antonia finally hopped back into her bed and drew the curtains around herself. She bade her mother good-night, and Beatrice left the room, shutting the door behind.
She climbed into her own bed with a sigh, and prodded Benedick, who had fallen back into slumber ere she had gone to deal with Antonia.
"What?" he muttered, unable to come up with any more cutting piece of wit at three of the morn.
"Tomorrow, thou canst get up and find out whate'er 'tis she has thought of. She would an observation tower. I would a nursemaid. Curse Ursley, she be already busying herself with Hero's little boys. Of all the woodwild tricks Hero could choose for her first piece of mischief, she bore twins first time round? Ay, I know Antonia alone is trouble enough for twins, but in the least we had Pedro first. And Margaret would sure be the cause of more troubles as a nurse to Annie, not the cure. They be each so bad as the other."
"Ursula said so much regarding Margaret and thee, once. Thou wast inclined to chatter."
"Not at three of the clock, Ben! 'Tis not the same."
"Thou wast ever like unto a dog with a bone about that nickname. 'Tis all for spite of me. I feel sure that never thought I of such spiteful retaliations as thee. Cleverer, but not so spiteful."
"'Twere all but those in words against Lorenzo, and he allway deserved it. For thyself have I still written evidence that thou once acknowledged my tricks to be cleverer than thine."
"Curses. 'Tis true enough."
Ay, thought Beatrice, true enough. The first time Lorenzo had settled upon her as a victim, he had sore regretted it. It had been a week into the progress, when Lorenzo took his revenge for the picnicke. Unable to wreak vengeance on his brother, who had thrown the first missile, foiled by the protection born of Benedick's friendship with the then Prince Pedro, he had sought out Count John and they had contracted to settle their score with Bea in a most dreadful way. On that Sunday morn after church, Count John had Borachio, the son of an Arragon man-at-arms, lure Benedick away from a most animated conversation (quarrel) with Beatrice. No sooner was he out of sight than Lorey and John had grabbed Bea, muzzled her, and dragged her into the castle buttery. They prised the lid from a cask of ale, tipped the contents out upon the floor, and pushed Bea inside the barrel ere she knew what she was about. John replaced the lid, muffling the cries of the screaming girl, and fastened its lock. He and Lorey roughly tipped the barrel back upright, and so further knocked Bea about as it rolled upon its base. Lorey crouched down to whisper malevolently through the wood to the sobbing Beatrice, who was too proud to beg for release. "Test thee not my patience again, wench. Thine own family, Prince Pedro, and my foolish younger brother may tolerate such shrewdness, but I'll none. Who art thou, but a reluctantly tolerated, dowryless ward to a small country house, to pelt the heir of a respectable estate with missiles? Expect not mercy at my hands, girl. Those of true breeding forget not such an offense to their honour." A cough from John, forgotten but until that moment, seemed to chastise Count Lorenzo's use of breeding as an insult whilst Count John were his sole confidant.
Lorenzo gave the barrel one last kick, and Bea heard the door slam. She whimpered, and so consider'd her predicament. Slowly she eased her bruisèd limbs into a more comfortable position. No-one would hear her should she scream, and although she might be able to roll the barrel to the door, she were locked inside, and the buttery door secured with bolt and pin. She began to weep in earnest. Curse the counts! Curse them! Locked in a beerbarrel for all eternity for the petty crime of throwing an olive stone! In fact, she reasoned, she like as not was not to remain for eternity. She had heard tell that some of Italy's more avaricious young noblemen would sell young girls into slavery or worse, all to earn a little coin atop their regular income. Or else, they would ransom the girl and, should her family not pay the price, would marry her and seize her dowry. Ha, even Lorenzo would not do that! Had not he said for himself that he knew she had no dowry? Second, Lorenzo hated her far beyond the bounds of contracting a marriage for spite. And lastly, such knaves as found that needs must they would auction off kidnapped girls for a sum of coin were most usually poor younger sons in need of funds, not the heirs to wealthy estates. Were Lorenzo, with his mind so twisted, the younger; and Ben the heir, then would she believe it. And yet… Hell's teeth! She being in such a state, what had the bedlam young counts done to Ben? 'T had been he that cast the first stone, and the malice of the counts clearly knew no bounds, to lock a five-year-old in a barrel still a finger's depth filled with ale. So speaking, the fumes from the drink began to make her distempered. The last thought she had before her head fell back and she swooned was of what they could possibly have made Ben suffer.
Three hours later, and the frantic search for Beatrice began to reach cellar level. Headed by Ben, the search party clattered down the stairs, Bea stirring and groaning in her barrel as the noise dinned her ears. She heard a faint voice, the voice of junior watchman Dogberry, say "It is exultant I am, good Master Benedick, but sure the lady cannot be down here, for her uncle had the door barred tight, only he and the Prince's man-at-arms had the keys, and unless she mistook the key from the man or his son – Bor… Borato? I see not how she could be down here."
"Well, I shall look but a little further down these steps, go you back and tell Signor Leonato to pray God we find her."
Ben was here! Disregarding all reasonable hope, as she heard the buttery door open, Bea flung herself agin the barrel's side, making it rock. She heard Ben's footsteps pause.
"Bea?" The voice was faint through the thick oak of the barrel, but 'twas there. Suddenly she felt her prison rock again as the boy grabbed the top of 't and wrenched it departed from its lid and lock.
"BEA!" He roared, and dragged her from the barrel. "Do not you ever – ever! Afright me so again! Ever!" He pulled her into a fierce hug, hot tears streaming down both youngsters' faces. Beatrice's knees, knotted from being so twisted inside the cask, gave way. Ben seized her before she hit the floor, and scooped her into his arms, carrying her all the way up the huge flight of steps and into the light.
He laid her down upon a bench, and said "What happened? Jove's sandals, who happened? This looks not even like one of thy foolish tricks." Bea divulged what she knew of Lorenzo's plan, and confessed her concern that Lorey would seek to play some similar trick on Ben. He dismissed this, however, and, having sent a servant to find Prince Pedro, played absently with a coppery lock of Bea's hair as he sat and attended the rest of her tale. Bea discovered that she liked it here in this peaceful corner of the castle, her greatest friend in this world holding her hand and toying with her hair, whilst her family were inform'd of her discovery and subsequent rescue. She appreciated for the first time in her life that all Lorenzo had alleged about her being kept but grudgingly at Messina was an untruth, she was part of the family, and she was there because Messina was her home. Her thoughts were heeded, she was cared for, and she was loved. And now she had friends, real friends, who would keep up the search for her no matter the odds. She appreciated for the first time, as the boy holding her hand pulled her into another hug, as her family ran over and, tearful, thanked Benedick for finding her, as Prince Pedro asked most concernèdly after her wellbeing, that someone loved her, truly loved her, and she found that she liked so much.
Locking Beatrice in a beerbarrel had seen Lorenzo packing to ride back to Padua in disgrace, and John likewise to Arragon. It had taken Bea a week to recover from her injuries, and from the ailment brought on by the fumes of drink. Benedick had visited her every day, and helpfully hidden the physician's bloodletting kit where the doctor could not find it. He had brought her sweetmeats, and made sure at Bea's request that Hero was happy enough in Beatrice's absence. Bea convalesced just in time to witness Lorenzo and John's departure. Ere they left, she set her revenge in motion. She directed Benedick and Prince Pedro to the woods the day in advance of the counts' withdrawal from progress, that they might collect the monstrous irksome itching rash powder from the seeds of plane trees, with pairs of gloves and the words "They be your brothers." The powder then found its way into the young counts' loincloths and riding breeches thanks to Meg and the other girls in the laundry. Finally, the morning of their departure, Meg and the other laundrywomen soaked the boys' belts in salt water, so that the leather would shrink and harden a few hours into the journey. The lads would, like as not, be trying to cut their breeches off with knives by the time they reached Calabria.
A few weeks later, three days after the rest of the progress moved on, Bea received a letter from Benedick which she kept as a trophy even after she announced that she never wanted to see him again.
Dearest Bea,
Lorey is not thy greatest admirer of late. He tells me that not only did he start to itch most terribly shortly after departing, but when he tried to remove his breeches, his belt was too tight to come off and as solid as a bit of wood. He had to jump in a dewpond ere it would loosen. Those breeches will ne'er again be the same. Papa insists that for a perfectly well made leather baldrick to shrink so is impossible, and thrashed Lorey for telling falsehoods. I might have thought of itching powder but never would I have considerèd to preclude him from removing the offending breeches after. 'Twas truly a stroke of brilliance on thy part. I applaud thee on such a masterly plan and will refer to thee the next time I wish to irk Lorenzo. Hark back to me never to let Miss Margaret wash my clothes should I visit Messina as Papa said I could.
And so I commit you to the tuition of God,
From La Palatia diPadua,
The Second of September,
Your (highly impressed) friend,
Benedick.