It is a beautiful summer's day, the household and their guests carry their hampers into the hillside, spreading their blankets across the grass glade. Hero sprawls out beside Beatrice, weaving wildflowers into her cousin's hair. Laughter flows with the wine and the food is shared around. The musicians strum a pleasant tune, a backdrop to the merriment.
At some point, the conversation turns to war; old soldiers trading stories with the young. Messina's inhabitants crowd forward, listening in rapture to the tales of the recent insurrection; the winning battle recounted in glorious detail. Hero shifts, glancing to the shadowed copse where the villain of the piece has sat himself, apart from everyone else.
"To Don Pedro," Benedick raises a toast. "Our true and most beloved sovereign, under whose rule we so prosper."
Hero joins in the cheers, but her smile is thin, her cup heavy in her hand.
Claudio stands, lifting his own cup. "To the Prince! A most magnanimous ruler, even traitors know his benevolence. It is an honour to serve a man as noble as his blood. Long may he reign."
Hero does not partake in the applause, the wine sour on her tongue. Don Pedro smiles and thanks his friends, bidding they speak of something else.
"Humble prince, modest lord," the people chorus.
Hero shuffles across the blankets. "Signior Benedick, will we receive another show of your skill with the bow?"
Benedick's eyes light and he puffs out his chest. "Point me a target, my lady, and I shall prove what a man can accomplish when his aim is true."
"Then we best seek cover, for in jest, Signior Benedick, you fire like a blind man," Beatrice joins them. "The sharpest arrows could not help you hit your mark. You would do better to trade your bow for a club."
Benedick goes steaming red and the crowd's attention turns, watching as the two wits snap at each other.
"I, at least, know battle, lady. You sit in your room dreaming up barbs to spear the rest of us with, but will never know what it is to take up arms or fight a noble cause. Yours is a dull existence and for that I pity you."
Beatrice releases a sound, half squawk, half snarl — but no words follow. Hero is alarmed to see her cousin pale, rendered speechless before an audience.
Don Pedro swoops in, chuckling as he wraps his arm around Benedick's shoulder, leading him away. "Peace, please, my friend. I can stomach no more talk of war on as fine a day as this. Musicians strike up, let us be merry."
The musicians play once more and slowly chatter resumes amongst the picnickers.
Hero tugs on her cousin's sleeve, "Beatrice…"
Beatrice breaks from her trance, ripping her arm from Hero's grasp and marching down the hill without a backwards glance.
Hero stands momentarily frozen, then goes to pursue. A hand on her arm prevents her.
She turns, finding an elderly gentleman smiling at her. "You are Leonato's daughter, yes? The fair lady Hero?"
"I… I am."
She watches as Beatrice's golden head bobs out of view, her stomach squeezing, the cheese and cured meats she has eaten threatening to reappear. Glancing up, she notices Benedick staring down the hill.
"My nephew has spoken highly of you."
She blinks, looking back to the man beside her. "O-oh… who — who is your nephew?"
"Why, the honourable Count Claudio."
:-x-:
More than anything, Hero wants to go after Beatrice and check if her cousin is alright. But she is trapped in polite conversation, sat beside Claudio's uncle, who alternates between flattering her and praising his nephew. She tries to be gracious but her thoughts are elsewhere. The fear she may have unintentionally caused her cousin harm gnaws inside her and she has no appetite for any of the food or wine offered to her.
"I hear even the Prince is enamoured of your beauty," Claudio's uncle lavishes and Hero's gaze flicks to where Don John has been cornered into conversation with her uncle before she realises she has the wrong royal.
Claudio's uncle follows her gaze and his pleasant smile blackens into a scowl. "I do not understand how the Prince tolerates the traitor. If my brother, of full-blood, betrayed me as the bastard did, I would have slain him where he stood. It would be a mercy to put the mongrel down. To us and the cur. Every breath he takes pollutes the air."
Hero is stone. Her heart beats against a marble breast, hollow in her ears.
"You know it was my nephew's military genius that ensured the bastard's defeat. If only the Prince had more of Claudio's courage; he would have severed the traitor's head from his shoulders."
Hero gags and staggers to her feet. "Par-pardon me, sir. I fear I am — in need of air."
It is an odd excuse given they are outside but he accepts it with a gracious smile. "Of course. My nephew shall accompany you. Claudio — will you walk with this sweet lady?"
Claudio rises, his expression pinched, but he nods to his uncle and offers Hero his arm. Her gaze darts around the picnic, but she cannot refuse him. She sets her arm through his as one would a trap, forcing a fractured smile. They set off down the hillside in silence; Claudio's gaze fixed ahead.
The weight of the silence falls between them, pressing uncomfortably around Hero. As much as she does not want to converse with Claudio, it feels wrong not to and she scrounges for something to say.
"What lovely weather we are hav—"
"My lady, I must speak." Claudio whirls, his face set with determination.
Oh Heaven, do not let him propose. They are far enough now from the picnic not to be overheard but if anyone sees him go down on one knee it will be a terrible mess.
"I know the Prince is for you — and I recognise that as a mere count, I cannot compare to his royal splendour. Mine is a humble love. But, please understand, I hold you both in the highest esteem and bear you no ill. Therefore, please trust no jealousy infects my heart when I advise you thus."
Hero stares, mystified by his words. It is not the profession of love she was braced for but heartfelt nonetheless. Claudio looks so desperately earnest that she softens.
"My lord."
"I understand you wish to endear yourself to the Prince's kin. It is admirable to seek the good in someone so undeserving, but Don John is without conscience. His soul is as black as his blood. You should not have to sully yourself with indulging the bastard's attentions. Nor should you trust his treacherous charms. He is against you, lady. He bid me dissuade the Prince from you, being that much lower than him in birth."
Hero is still, her arm limp in Claudio's iron clasp, but at this proclamation her lashes flutter, her voice faint, "...did he?"
Claudio speaks with vigor, harsh colour rising in his cheeks. "Yes, it is from him I learned — well, it was at the masquerade, he mistook me for Benedick. But, he is a vicious, spiteful creature, and resents his noble brother's vast accomplishments. I fear he intends the Prince an injury and will use you as his weapon."
They have drifted close to the pond Hero used to paddle in as a child, and she extracts her arm from Claudio, wandering to the shoreline. The breeze whips at her hair, sending ripples across the water.
"Are you certain he acts in malice? Perhaps it was fraternal love that spurred his concern. Perhaps he feared a common bride would not be accepted by the Aragon court and wished to spare his brother pain. Joh— Prince John has been… a friend to me."
Claudio's frown deepens, his voice dripping with disdain. "An act. While I commend your kind heart, lady, he is a villain by nature, incapable of love. He knows he will never be more than a bastard and covets that which belongs to others. He is a thief and a traitor; such filth is beneath our notice. I rue his scream was not amongst those of the treacherous swine I cut down on the field. I wish God speed in banishing him to Hell, to burn with his fellow traitors in eternal damnation. Heed me, sweet, virtuous Hero. Do not lower yourself for the vermin. Lest his fleas catch."
Hero is silent, looking out across the water, her shoulders tensed. She does not realise she has untied the ribbon around her wrist until the wind snatches it from between her fingers. She gasps, reaching for it, but it is too late, the ribbon wafts onto the surface of the pond.
"My ribbon!"
"I shall fetch it! Never fear, my lady."
Ever the gallant, Claudio wades into the lake after her ribbon; the shallow water licking at his boots.
"Be careful," Hero calls, fingers digging into her waist. "It will be slippery."
Claudio grins back at her. "I am a soldier, lady. I have braved worse terrains."
Hero thinks of soil slick with blood and says no more.
Claudio scoops up her ribbon, releasing a triumphant sound as he brandishes it aloft. He is transformed from the frightening man he was moments ago, that joyous youth once more. Hero offers a smile, frayed at the edges, and applauds. He makes to turn and she sees his leg sweep from under him, the rest of his body toppling after.
She screams as he disappears beneath the murky tide. "Claudio! Help! HELP!"
At her cries, men come charging down the hill. Claudio resurfaces, soaked, and spitting water. The pond is not deep, but there is a ledge where the shallows suddenly drop out. It is not something one would be aware of, unless they had grown up playing in the water.
Hero rushes to Claudio's aid. "My lord, are you alright?"
He staggers from the pond, his clothes soaked and breeches smeared with mud.
"Fine," he grits out, the faintest chatter to his teeth. "My lady."
Guilt coils around Hero's heart.
"Claudio!" Benedick chortles as he reaches them. "Did you have a pleasant swim?"
Claudio fixes him with a ferocious look and Hero retreats a step.
Benedick is undeterred, clapping his friend's shoulder. "Do not pout. In this fine weather you shall soon dry out."
Claudio snarls and shoves him into the pond. Hero jumps back as Benedick hits the water with a splash, muddy droplets spraying across her skirt.
"Your ribbon, lady." Claudio thrusts the sodden length of silk into her hand and marches up the hill before she can thank him, boots sloshing.
Benedick clambers from the pond, cursing. Hero takes his hand, helping him to his feet. He splutters, flinging his wet coat to the ground. He rolls up his sleeves and sweeps his hair from his face.
Hero sucks in a breath as there, wrapped around his forearm, she sees Lady Disdain.
There is no one else it could belong to. Beatrice's soul-bond is requited.
She looks away before she is caught ogling and hurries back to the picnic. Everyone is watching Claudio stomp about, even those pretending to be engrossed in conversation.
"What are you looking at, bastard," he sneers at Don John.
"A drowned rat."
Claudio gnashes his teeth, looking as if he might take a swing at Don John; the latter braces for the brawl. Don Pedro swoops in-between them, draping one of the picnic blankets around Claudio's shoulders.
"Come, good Claudio. I relieve you of your duty to me. Please return to the villa and get yourself dry. We shall toast to your heroism tonight."
"My prince," Claudio bows to Don Pedro, then stalks across to Hero, forcing a kiss upon her hand. "My lady, I am honoured I could serve you."
His lips are wet and cold like the rest of him and she fights a shiver. "Thank you, my lord."
For the second time that afternoon, Hero watches someone trek down the hillside and knows it is her fault. Glancing up, she catches Don John's gaze. His face is as unreadable as ever, but she remembers Claudio's warnings: "He is against you, lady. He bid me dissuade the Prince from you."
She wrings her ribbon and tears her eyes from his, plonking herself between her father and Ursula. The general conversation moves on with little input required of her. It suits Hero well, her thoughts distracted. She rubs her bare wrist. There is much to reflect on.