Beatrice stalks through the villa like a tempest unleashed. Doors and portraits rattle in her wake; passing servants spring from her path. Her burnished curls snake out behind her like the head of Medusa. The spirits of the ancient Furies have possessed her and there is Hell to pay.
"Beatrice! Good morning!" Benedick bounds before her with a broad grin.
"Signior Benedick." She pushes around him.
Benedick scrambles after her. "Tarry, Beatrice, what urgent matter has you in such haste?"
"I am to kill Claudio."
Benedick crashes into a table. The vase atop it threatens to fall and he catches it just in time. "Pardon. I must have misheard. What is your purpose?"
"To kill Claudio."
Benedick laughs. Beatrice does not. His laughter trails to a croak as he realises she is in earnest.
"Beatrice! Beatrice!" He dives in front of her, blocking her path. She pushes past him, but he seizes her shoulder, wheeling her round. "Stay. Stay. Tell me how he has offended you."
"Let me pass!" She barrels into his chest, but he plants his feet, immovable as an oak. "He has wronged my kinswoman! I will have justice served!"
"Wronged your kinswoman? I do not understand. In what way has he done so?"
Beatrice slams against him, turbulent as the sea, and Benedick strains to hold back the tide. "You saw Hero last night. How she had been abused! Claudio did that to her." She glares ahead. "Oh, for raising a hand against her — I shall take his hands!"
"Peace, Beatrice. Peace. Claudio is not your enemy. The villain you seek is Don John."
Her gaze whips to him. "Don John? Why say you so?"
"He was seen last night with Hero in an… uhh… an intimate embrace."
Beatrice glances around for eavesdroppers, then leans into Benedick, her voice a hiss, "I know of my cousin's conversation with Don John. There is no wrong in that. Who is spreading such tales?"
"No one spreads tales. Claudio saw Hero with Don John and brought his concerns to the Prince—"
"Claudio." Beatrice's eyes flare, pupils spearing him. "You have this from Claudio."
Benedick falters. "I… well… I have it from the Prince… who had it from the count…"
"Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant surely!" Beatrice scoffs. "You and the Prince are deceived. Don John quitted Hero after a chaste exchange. It was Claudio, vicious jealousies aroused from spying on the pair, who then, with unmitigated rancour, assaulted my cousin — scorned and injured her. Oh God!" She shoves from him. "That I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place."
Benedick gapes. "Claudio did… but this cannot be!"
She whirls on him, eyes as bright as the fires of Troy. "You doubt my cousin's word? I have the full of it from her."
"No. No. And yet—" Benedick frowns, shaking his head. "I cannot believe Claudio, who is my friend and an honourable gentleman, capable of this — this violence. It is John the Bastard whose spirits toil in frame of villanies."
"I have heard how the count butchered his enemies in battle. You cannot deny that violence is in his nature."
"That was war! We all killed on the field. Claudio is a good soldier."
Beatrice sinks her fingers into his coat, steel features softening the smallest amount. "A good soldier does not mean a good man."
He flinches from her. "I cannot credit this."
Her face hardens. "Go then. I will not waste my breath convincing you when that louse goes unchallenged and sweet Hero weeps in her chamber."
She makes to leave. Benedick snags her arm before she can, reeling her back to him. "Tarry, good Beatrice." He holds her storm-blue gaze. "Think you in your soul that Claudio has wronged Hero?"
She looks him dead in the eye as she answers, "As sure as I have a thought or a soul."
Benedick inhales. He is not the fool others think him. He knows whose words are inscribed on his skin. Though he has never breathed a word, lest it should destroy him — he knows. And she does too.
He bows his head, clasping her hand. "Enough. I am engaged. We shall confront him together."
Beatrice exhales and her fingers rise to brush his chest, catching in his collar between shirt and skin. "You are a good man, Signior Benedick."
He lifts his gaze to hers, his shoulders heavier than before. Beatrice feels flayed at the raw emotion in his face; her ribcage cranked open, exposing her beating heart for all to see. But it is only Benedick. Only Benedick…
He rocks forward and her breath hitches; her pulse fluttering. He takes her hand, the bristles of his beard scratching the skin in a not unpleasant manner as he bestows the faintest kiss to her fingers
"By this hand, I swear Claudio shall render us a dear account."
Beatrice's chest tightens, her legs trembling a second before she recalls herself.
"Come," he bids, voice firm with resolution, "Let us not dither. There is a recompense to be paid."
Beatrice nods and the storm in her billows; lightning forks through her veins, salt-winds lash beneath her skin, the hurricane in her chest howls for release. Oh, Claudio knows not what is coming for him. She will eat him raw.
:-x-:
John is shoved into a room, where Pedro is waiting inside. The Prince holds himself with the same stone-faced dignity as when a battle-scarred John was dragged before him, bleeding and in chains. His father's disdain in his brother's face.
As he did then, John sneers. "If you wanted to speak, you could have sent a messenger."
"You were not in your chambers."
"What, did I exceed the boundaries of my leash?"
Behind him, Pedro's soldiers shift, no doubt wanting to strike him for his insolence. The corner of John's mouth curves.
Pedro notices the movement and looks to his men. "Thank you, gentlemen. Please wait outside."
John senses their hesitation, glancing towards him, before abiding their prince and shuffling from the room.
"Not afraid to be alone with me?" John drawls. "You certainly treat me like a criminal."
"I have treated you BETTER than you deserve." Pedro rounds on him. "Against the counsel of my fellows, against caution not to allow familial affection to sway me, despite your many treasons, I have permitted you the freedoms and the privileges owed to your station." John scoffs and Pedro's nostrils flare. "Still, you show no gratitude, no humility, for the grace afforded you. You scorn not only me but Leonato, who has welcomed you into his home, honoured you with every courtesy. Then to repay him, to repay me, with such vile dishonour — I have no words for the depth of your depravity."
John arches an eyebrow. Pedro lacks their father's talent for castigation. He could make a man writhe like a snail without its shell. But Pedro is so insufferably self-righteous that it extinguishes any guilt John might have otherwise felt, instead sparking his insolence.
"That was a lengthy speech for someone with no words."
Pedro's scowl is fierce. "You are more than a criminal, John. You are a villain."
John shrugs, "I have never denied it."
He watches with relish as Pedro's face convulses. "You admit it then. You are proud to have misused an innocent lady?"
Wait — "What lady?"
Pedro looks as if he might spit fire. "Hero."
"Hero…" John goes cold, dark letters snaking across his vision. "What has she to do with this?"
"You were seen with her last night."
John stiffens, memories of the night before flashing through his mind. What might an eavesdropper have heard, what might they have seen —
…his hand upon her breast…
…the scent of her tickling his nose, tracing his lips across her throat…
…her soft sigh, "Ruin me…"
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With some effort, he manages to hide his panic and feign indifference. He will not confirm Pedro's suspicions. He will not risk Hero.
"We danced together. What of it?"
"Do not play games with me, John." Pedro's voice has a serrated edge.
The beast in John pricks its ears. He re-evaluates the situation. Rarely has he seen his brother this irate; one of Pedro's many irritating qualities is he is difficult to frustrate. There is something John is missing; some unseen danger.
"I know what transpired between you two."
John tenses, iron filling his mouth. "Be plain. I know not of what you speak."
Pedro regards him with a disgust that has John flinching. For all their differences, his brother has never looked at him like that.
"You bastard. I have woefully misjudged the depth of your villainy — that you would DARE force yourself upon a lady and now have the gall to deny it."
John stills, a ringing building in his ears from an invisible blow. "Force myself — Pedro. What — ?"
"She was found by her cousin and Benedick in great distress."
John recalls Hero's crestfallen face as he left her standing there, the memory like a brand across his brain. But then the rest of Pedro's meaning hits him. White hot fury erupts. "You think her distress was because I attacked her. Because I am a villain. Because I am a bastard. Because I am evil. You think I am a rapist too?"
Now Pedro's eyes widen and John can imagine how he appears, the rabid dog turning on its master.
"Fit me with every vile name. I own it. But not that. Never that. You wrong me, Pedro."
For the first time, Pedro pauses but then his face hardens. "How then do you explain the state she was found in? Several witnesses saw her in your arms. The front of her dress was torn."
The words pull at John's gut like a missed step down a staircase.
A commotion outside interrupts them and Leonato forces himself into the room. "My lord, I must speak with you."
The guards hurry after him, attempting to steer the old man back outside and prevent Antonio's own entrance, following behind.
"Apologies for this invasion, sire. I explained to these old men you were in a private conference."
Leonato bats them off. "Call me old man. I still possess both strength of limb and policy of mind to quit me of you thoroughly. My prince, I implore you, this matter is urgent."
Pedro gestures to his men. "Let them be. Good Leonato, what distresses you?"
"Sweet prince, my daughter is belied!"
Cracks splinter around John. "Hero?"
Leonato glances at him but his attention returns to Pedro, voice shifting between rage and despair. "Amongst the ranks of your men spreads slander against my innocent child."
Pedro looks to his men. "Be this true?"
The soldiers shift, their faces answer enough.
Pedro curses under his breath. "I thought my men more honourable than to bandy about tales of a lady."
"But they are not tales, my lord," one protests. "Donato saw her entangled with the — eckk!"
John takes him by his neck, pinning him to the wall. "Speak another word against her and I will tear out your throat."
The soldiers reach for their swords but Pedro raises his hand. "Enough. John. Release him."
John maintains his grip a few seconds longer, watching the man gag, his face turning puce, before letting go and knotting his hand in the soldier's shirt.
"Ba-bastard," the man wheezes.
John cocks his head then tosses him toward his friends. They fumble to catch him.
"Dishonour the lady," he warns them, "and answer to me."
"Nay, they shall answer to me," Antonio booms, pushing forward, a ferocious scowl splitting his red cheeks. "God knows I love my niece, and she is slandered by villains. Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!"
"Brother—"
"Good sir—"
Antonio throws up a hand. "Hold you content. I know them, yea, and what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple — scrambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys, that lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, go anticly, show outward hideousness, and speak off half a dozen dangerous words, how they might hurt their enemies, if they durst. And this is all."
The soldiers colour at this chastisement, shuffling their feet. John regards Antonio, impressed.
"Gentlemen, please, I beg your patience" Pedro intervenes, wrangling back control of the situation. "Good Leonato, I regret that your daughter's name has been besmirched and shall see to it my men are disciplined." He glances at John, "Those most culpable in particular." John bristles, but Pedro turns to his men, voice stern. "There will be no more talk on this matter. Silence is a virtue you shall prize over all and if further gossip reaches your ears, you will shut it down and report the culprits to me. Is this clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Get you gone."
The soldiers file from the room.
Leonato reclaims Pedro's attention with a desperate entreaty, "Prince, my daughter is gravely wronged. I will take satisfaction from the villain who has injured her."
Pedro holds up his hand. "Peace, sir. If you will have patience, I shall deal with my brother."
"What care I for your brother?" Leonato cries. "The villain is Count Claudio."
Pedro freezes. "Claudio?"
John is before Leonato in an instant. "What has he done? Tell me what the wretch has done!"
"This must be a misunderstanding," Pedro protests, "Claudio is honorable—"
"Then is my niece a liar?" Antonio demands. "For it was she who named him."
Pedro looks like a man who has drunk poison.
There is another disturbance outside and the doors crash open, revealing Benedick hauling Claudio, with Beatrice bringing up the rear.
"Princes. Uncles." She nods to them each with deceptive calm. She carries herself like the goddess Nemesis come to exact justice. "We bring forth Count Claudio who last night, in a jealous rage, assaulted my dear cousin, Hero."
Claudio breaks from Benedick, raising his hands in supplication. "Sinned I not but in mistaking. Believed I that she was promised to the Prince. Persuaded by this fiend," he points to John, "who swore his brother loved her, in what I now realise was a ploy to divide us. Thus, seeing her encouraging the lewd caresses of this same villain, I sought to defend my friend's honour and reproach the lady. Were I not tricked into thinking my friend misused, I never would have acted." He turns to Leonato. "I leave that office to her father."
Beatrice surges forwards. "Half her arm is black with your fingerprints, you dissembling brute. Hero told me of your accusations. That, with your single wit, you conceived she plotted with Don John to seduce the Prince and steal his throne." She scoffs. "Oh, how jealousy fevers the mind. You, sir, are the villain. More than this, you are a worm. You have wronged my sweet cousin, who is nothing but grace and virtue—"
"Ha!" Claudio barks. "You would not say so if you had seen her last night as I did, mewling for the bastard like a cat in hea—"
John's fist connects with Claudio's jaw and he goes down. John follows, raining blows.
"YOU. IT WAS YOU."
The marks on his skin burn across John's vision.
shameless succubus
loathsome Delilah
wicked siren
devil's whore
His fist hammers down, down, into Claudio's face, that wild animal inside him unleashed. Claudio lifts an arm to shield himself and strikes back at John. He feels the punches land but does not cease his assault. Shouts break-out above them, near-indiscernible over the thrumming in his blood, his own roar.
"I'LL KILL YOU."
Arms hook around John, dragging him off Claudio. He goes, thrashing, still kicking out at the dog.
"Easy, lad. Easy," Antonio's voice breaks through the din, "You will not right her like this."
John's mind fills with Hero… Hero laughing, twirling through the summer garden… Hero in the moonlit square, her hopeful expression shattering as he pulls away… kind, gentle Hero, wronged and injured because of Claudio. Because of him.
He goes limp, allowing Antonio and Benedick to heave him to his feet. Across from them, Pedro and Leonato raise Claudio, who stands on shaking legs, blood dribbling from his nose, his lip split.
"Damned swine," the boy spits, clutching his gushing nose. "I could not stain the lady worse than you. I have seen her mark. Bastard. Your filth is a blot upon her-uh-uh—"
He chokes as a knife presses to his throat.
Beatrice's voice comes silken and deadly as she wields the blade. "What know you of my cousin's marks? She keeps them hidden. Never would she have revealed one to you."
Claudio swallows. The room is silent, save for the rain lashing at the window.
Leonato rests his hand over Beatrice's and guides her knife from Claudio. "Nay, niece. Though I commend your purpose, this is a man's office."
Beatrice scoffs, drawing back. "Consider him a man?" She thrusts her blade towards Claudio. "Heed me, Count Worm. Come near my cousin again and I shall take that precious manhood from you and then we shall deal as equals."
This said, she slashes his cheek — a thin cut, too small for stitches but liable to scar. Claudio presses his hand to the wound, eyes bulging with shock, and cringes back into the wall, face pale beneath the bruises starting to swell.
Beatrice keeps her bloodied knife raised as she slinks to Benedick's side, who stares at her with open awe.
Leonato advances on the stricken youth. "Claudio, the wrong you have done mine innocent child forces me to lay my reverence by and, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, do challenge you to trial of a man."
Claudio baulks. "I will not have to do with you, old man."
Leonato's face twists, scarlet. Benedick catches his shoulder before he can strike Claudio. "Do not burden yourself, good signior. There are younger, more-abled men willing to take the challenge."
Claudio looks at Benedick with betrayal while Leonato frowns, "Who?"
Before Benedick can speak, John steps forward. "You will meet me, oh valiant Claudio. Or shall it be said you fear a dog's bite?"
Claudio puffs out his chest, regaining some of his colour. "I defeated you before, bastard. It shall be a pleasure to do so again."
Pedro exhales, speaking for the first time since the truth was revealed, his voice leaden. "This is a bad business, Claudio. Very bad. I know not what madness possesses you, but return to your senses at once. You have abused a sweet lady and claim it was done in my honour? This friendship I desire not. Act now as your conscience bids you, but know you act without my favour."
At this denouncement, Claudio's face crumples, looking much like a dog who has been forsaken by its master. John's lip curls. It will almost be a mercy to run the whelp through. Not that he has any intention of being merciful.
"Good Leonato," Pedro inclines his head to their host. "I shall ensure your daughter's name is cleared of blemish. I rue the trouble we have brought you. If I may, I would like to speak with your daughter to understand all that has passed."
Leonato turns to Pedro, a heaviness in his expression like he is regretting inviting the Prince and his cohorts into his home. But before he can answer the doors are thrown open again and a serving woman rushes inside.
"Oh, my lords! My lords! She is gone! She is gone!"
Leonato clasps the hand of the flustered woman. "Take breath, Ursula. What has happened?"
"The lady, Hero, sir — I left her alone for a few minutes to fetch some tea and when I returned she was gone. Gone. We have searched all over the house and cannot find her."
Leonato glances to the window, the howling wind rattling the frame, rain pelting against the shutters. His brow creases. "She would not have gone out in a storm."
Ursula grasps his sleeve, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Ooh, sir! After your harsh words I fear what she might do!"
Leonato's face drains of colour. John's pulse quickens, a chill through his veins, as instinct urges him to run, run, before he is too late.
Beatrice rounds on Leonato. "What did you say to her, uncle?"
Leonato does not answer, his eyes wide with fear, the years sinking into his haggard features.
John does not wait for more. He runs out the door, down the hall, out into the storm. The rain pummels down on him, the gale whipping at his clothes and hair. His heartbeat bruises his ribs, a desperate plea as he runs, runs, runs to Hero.
(Don't let him be too late.)
