Act I, Scene 5: The Disgrace

(I am not Shakespeare. Does this surprise you?)

I whirled around. My page was behind me, gazing up with expectant eyes. "This," I pointed, "by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy." He scampered out to retrieve it. Surely even my uncle could not bear a Montague in our house, attempting to corrupt his own daughter! A Montague boy wanted nothing honorable from a Capulet girl. I could just hear what he would say to his crude friends if he won her heart . . .

I whispered scathingly to no one in particular, my eyes boring deep into the oblivious Montague's back. "What, dares the slave come hither, covered with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" He was here to crash our party; I was sure of it.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder and jumped. When I turned around, there was my page with my sword. I took it and grinned, feeling the fighting blood within me begin to swell. I turned back to discover that the Montague boy had-- along with unwitting Juliet-- slipped into the crowd. I followed sneakily, like a cat, my rapier held in my left hand so I could quickly unsheath it with my right as I leapt upon him.

Focused on the couple, I dodged around the column behind which the boy had so lately stood, and plunged headlong into a thick body. I looked up into the startled face of my uncle, the Lord Capulet.

"Why, how now, kinsman! Wherefore storm you so?" his shocked expression changed to suspicion as he saw the sword in my hand.

"Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe," I explained, drawing myself up and pointing to Romeo accusingly with the air of a telltale. "A villain, that has hither come in spite, to scorn at our solemnity this night."

Lord Capulet squinted. "Young Romeo, is it?"

"'Tis he, that villain Romeo," I pressed dutifully, using the dirty word once again, testing my limits.

My uncle sighed and smiled rather patronizingly. He clapped his hand on my shoulder and said calmly, "Content thee, gentle cos; let him alone. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Verona brags of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth."

I spluttered. I stared up at his unmoved face and started feeling sick to my stomach. He was complimenting the Montague boy? Disgusting!

He didn't stop there, either. "I would not for the wealth of all this town here in my house do him disparagement. Therefore, be patient; take no note of him." He glared down into my still-defiant eyes and tightened his grip on my shoulder. "It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns; an ill-beseeming semblance for a feast." His tactics had changed from reason to raw obedience; to try him would be to try not only the Prince's law by my uncle's authority-- and going there had always been disastrous. As my uncle, he could make me obey him by simple demand. It was maddening.

Still, I could not believe he was letting this slip! Had he not seen Romeo with Juliet? Did he not care what could be done to her? I was not so weak as to allow a common law-- or even my uncle's authority-- prevent me from preserving the sacred honor and sanctity of the House of Capulet. If the patriarch didn't, and then I didn't, who else would? Surely the entire family's honor was greater than the simple boundaries between master and ward.

I stood up to him resolutely and said firmly. "It fits, when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him."
I had focused my eyes firmly up into his, trying to burn him down with my steadfast gaze, but suddenly I found myself longing to tear my gaze away. His eyes had seemed to catch flame and his face was changing to a raging purple volcano at amazing speed. "He shall be endured!" he thundered. I held my gaze, blinking calmly, angering him. He pushed me sharply so that my scabbard knocked against my knee painfully. "What, goodman boy? I say he shall! Go to!" He began backing me towards the wall, his voice growing in volume. I was afraid he was going to strike me. "Am I the master here, or you? Go to!"

We had reached the wall, and my uncle was now mocking me, rather loudly, humiliating me to get me to back down.

"You'll not endure him!" he said in a high, petulant voice. Then he growled, "God shall mend my soul-- you'll make mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop; you'll be the man!"

I could feel the blood rising heavily in my cheeks. He was embarrassing me, and loudly, in front of guests. I knew I had to keep silent; he was slightly drunk and very irritated, but temper took over and I retorted before I could stop myself. "Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame!"

"Go to, go to!" My uncle's eyes flashed and he lashed out at me, striking me sharply across the face. I staggered, clutching my burning face with my sword free arm. I gasped but was unable to speak.

Lord Capulet raged above me still, chastising me with the most vituperative language he could think of. "You are a saucy boy, is't so indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what; you must contrary me! Marry 'tis time . . . " My blood boiled as he insulted my temper, my insolence, but I had to hold it down lest I prove his words true. I felt both deeply offended and frightened-- he was lord of the house, I was supposed to obey him, but did I have to stand as he scolded me like a child in front of all the guests?

Suddenly, his voice became soft and he turned away. "Well said, my hearts!"

I looked up and realized that my worst suspicions were true: the entire room seemed to be watching me. A group of women were craning their necks to look at me over Lord Capulet's arm, and he was addressing them, rather red in the face. A few of them tittered, but they turned away. One of them had probably said something terribly witty about me. I hated women.

My uncle was not finished with me. As if only angered more that I brought such ignomonious attention to the both of us, he looked me up and down furiously, then seized my sword away from my sweating hands.

"You are a princox, go!" He pointed to the door. I was being sent away from the party, once again like an unruly child.

I opened my mouth in shock and protest. He seized my collar and forced his eyes into mine. I shut my mouth and felt my insides tighten. I wished my choler did not fluxuate so with my fear. I was nearly lifted from the ground and I was practically strangled. I could see nothing but his face, not even everyone watching. He gritted his teeth and hissed incontrovertibly, "Be quiet, or--"

He jerked his head back suddenly. In the moment he was turned, I saw that one of the lamps had gone out, darkening one corner of the room. "More light! More light! For shame!" he shouted to the servants.

His grip renewed on my shirt and I closed my eyes, blocking out the authoritative stare that made me want to lash out at him and crumple at the same time. I knew even more people were watching, due to his outburst.

"For shame . . . I'll MAKE you quiet," he hissed. He shook me forcefully by the front of my shirt one last time and then flung me backwards, where I could do no more than cling to the wall, my face burning, my entire body off center.

Lord Capulet stormed away, but he soon greeted his guests benevolently. "What, cheerly, my hearts?" It infuriated me.

He had dressed me down, confiscated my sword, and humilated me in front of the entire high society of Verona-- including, worst of all, Romeo Montague. I looked for the boy-- he had slunk off somewhere with my unwitting cousin. He was going to corrupt her, deceive her, play her false or torment her in some way, and her father had not even cared. I, her cousin, was unable to aid her. I had a half a mind to dash out on the floor and slay him on the spot.

If I had a sword.

It was thoroughly undignifying, having been stripped of my weapon. First to have it banned, then to have it physically taken. I had never heard of anything more humiliating, especially for me. The most renowned fencer in Verona, denied his greatest asset.

My face stung from the slap, and my dignity from his words. He had praised Romeo in the same sentence he had disparaged me, his own nephew.

As I saw red, staring at the floor as if ready to set fire to it, I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up to see Lord Capulet with his eyes on me once again. He jerked with his shoulder towards the door.

I felt the blood rush back up into my face again. He was serious about my banishment. I was sent out; I was expected to obey. I did not want to risk any further scenes-- if I tested him much further I might find myself being swatted over his knee like a six-year-old.

As he turned away, I glared at the back of his head. "Patience perforce with willfull choler meeting make my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall," I shot a look at Romeo-- who was still with Juliet-- "now seeming sweet, convert to bitterest gall!"

I made my vow and stormed out. Romeo had not seen the last of me.

Even in the corridor and stairway up to my room, my temper was cooling . . . congealing from molten fire to noxious black spite. Vengeful ideas flowed through my brain.

I would teach that Romeo a lesson he would never forget. He would learn not to cross the Capulets, and never, ever Tybalt. I would show my uncle that I was a man and could take care of my own affairs. The Prince could do nothing to stop me. I was going to do what any honorable man did when he was humiliated.

I would challenge Romeo Montague to a duel.