2. By Art As Well As By Nature
For the bricklayers, stonecutters, and plasterers of Verona, the months after the earthquake provided easy business, as the citizens patched and repaired their houses. Inside the freshly rebuilt walls, they went about the more difficult business of repairing their families.
Benvolio now lived with Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna, who had taken him into their home as if he were their son and not their nephew. He slept in Romeo's large bed, which meant that he had a constant companion with whom he could giggle and chatter after the servants extinguished the candles and who would snuggle next to him when he woke in the night crying for his parents. Gradually, the servants began to treat him and Romeo as if they were twin brothers, though Benvolio was a full month older than his cousin. Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna referred to them in a single breath as "Romeo and Benvolio," and made sure that their nephew had all the privileges they bestowed upon their son.
The Latin school that was run by the brothers of the Franciscan monastery on the edge of the city opened as soon as it was repaired, and Uncle Tiberio declared that Romeo and Benvolio were old enough to attend. They had both learned their letters and syllables from hornbooks at home the year before, and both could read and write simple Italian. Benvolio could struggle through most of the Lord's Prayer in Latin, though he recited it by rote rather than from true understanding.
"The good friars will teach thee that prayer and much more," Uncle Tiberio said as he inspected the two boys before sending them off on their first day. He pulled a thin, worn book from one of the shelves above his desk and held it out before them.
"This was my primer, that I shared with my departed brother Lucio. I have kept it since, and now the two of you will learn from it," he said. "Alas, you will have to share it, as Lucio and I did not, for he used it after me. Can you do that?"
Two dark heads nodded.
"Yes, Papa."
"Yes, Uncle."
"Good." Uncle Tiberio handed the book to Benvolio. "Thou wilt carry it to school, Benvolio, and Romeo may carry it home."
When they arrived at school, they were pleased to find Mercutio among the crowd of students and retainers waiting at the door. A brilliant smile lit his thin face when he saw them. "You are coming to school, too!" he cried. "I know I will like it now."
"What hast thou learned already?" Romeo asked, a little nervously.
"I can make most of my letters," Mercutio said, "though sometimes I forget and write them in the wrong direction, and I can read long letters in Italian, except for some words that I do not yet know, and Papa sometimes sets me arithmetic problems so that I will be quiet for a while, and –"
"Dost thou know any Latin?" Romeo broke in.
Mercutio seemed not to notice the interruption, but shook his head cheerfully. "Not a word. Papa said he did not know enough to teach me, and that is why he chose to send me to school. He said that a young gentleman ought to know Latin, and that was reason enough to spend money on my school fees."
Benvolio exchanged a worried glance with Romeo. Neither one of them had considered that their schooling cost money. "Surely thy father can afford thy fees," Benvolio stammered.
"Of course he can. I think he really wanted to have me educated at home, but a tutor costs even more money than school." Mercutio pursed his lips in imitation of his father. "He says that the Rinuccini family did not become wealthy by spending money on idle luxuries, and that sending me to school would cost him less money and keep me out of his hair, though the prank with the mouse and the cobwebs was long ago, and I have not done anything like it since then –"
At that moment, a young friar in a simple brown robe opened the schoolhouse door and rang a bell to summon the boys inside. Romeo and Benvolio found an empty desk and sat together, since they were sharing a primer. Mercutio chose a desk next to them and opened his own primer, swinging his legs as he waited impatiently for the first lesson to begin.
On the whole, Benvolio enjoyed going to school. Sharing a primer with Romeo was not as difficult as he had feared, though sometimes they had to study at different places in the book. Occasionally, Benvolio would slide out of his seat and go to sit with Mercutio and share his primer instead, for the subjects at which they were on the same level. Mercutio was clever and quick-witted, and learned elementary Latin faster than any boy in the baby class. It was far more interesting to sit next to him than Romeo, who, though not dull by any stretch of the imagination, had relatively little interest in school. Eventually, Benvolio stopped sitting with Romeo during lessons altogether.
Romeo did not seem to mind in the least, and the three boys gathered to play together at the short recess that the friars allowed after dinner in the school's refectory. One of them would usually bring a small toy to school, perhaps a ball or a bag of dice, and they would entertain themselves in the schoolyard. Romeo turned out to have a knack for betting on dice, and Mercutio could invent the most extraordinary games to play with a ball. These games soon attracted a larger crowd of boys, most of whom were distantly related to Romeo or sons of his father's clients.
It was during one of these games that Verona's feud, which simmered constantly beneath the daily life of the city, erupted into their lives. Mercutio had thrown the ball high in the air, and Benvolio ran to catch it as the rest of the boys scattered. Benvolio kept his eye on the ball's flight, and did not bother to look at the ground as he ran. Just as he was about to catch the ball, his foot caught on something, and he fell, sprawling on the pavement. The ball bounced down near him and rolled away.
Benvolio slowly sat up, wincing at his scraped knees and hands, and groaned. Tybalt, a dark, sturdy boy who was somehow related to the Capulets, stood over him and smirked, the wind making his black curls stir a little. "See the clumsy babe!" he crowed. "Montague's false son has fallen on his false face."
"Because thou didst put out thy foot to trip him," Mercutio snapped, as Romeo helped Benvolio to his feet.
Benvolio tried to pull the shreds of his dignity together. "This is our game," he said. "Thou hast no right to intrude."
Tybalt laughed at him. "It is a Montague game. I will not be told what to do by someone who is not even a real Montague."
"Benvolio is more a Montague than thou art a Capulet," Romeo said.
"And anyway, it is not a Montague game," Mercutio added, "as I am the owner of the ball, and I am no part of the house of Montague."
"Thou dost consort with them. That is good enough for me." Tybalt shoved past Mercutio and Benvolio, and spat in Romeo's face. "That is for playing at Montague games where all eyes can see, scum!"
"The schoolyard is free for everyone, rat-eater," Mercutio said, moving so that he stood nose to nose with Tybalt. "We have as much right to play here as thou and thy friends."
"Good," Tybalt replied. "I want to play Kill The Montague!" With that, he spun around, hauled back his fist and knocked Romeo to the ground.
Mercutio screeched, and leaped on Tybalt's back. Tybalt went down, and the two boys rolled over each other in the dust, hitting and kicking. Although Tybalt was the heavier of the two, Mercutio's fists were as quick as his tongue, and it was only a few moments before he had pinned Tybalt to the ground. The noise of the fight quickly attracted a great crowd of friars, students, and retainers.
"What is going on here?" Mercutio's cousin Paris, a big boy of nearly thirteen, hurried over, lifted him off of Tybalt, and held him squirming in the air so that Tybalt could rise and brush himself off.
"He jumped on me!" Tybalt cried, pointing at Mercutio.
"Only after thou didst strike Romeo," Benvolio retorted. Tybalt would have hit him for that, but Paris put Mercutio down and dragged Tybalt back a few steps.
"I do not care who started it," Paris said. "There is to be no fighting between Montagues and Capulets, by order of the Prince. That includes little children such as yourselves."
"Thou art high and mighty today," Mercutio grumbled. "One might think that Uncle had died and left thee his throne."
Paris snorted, and grabbed Mercutio's arm. "Hold thy tongue, pipsqueak, or I shall tell Uncle about thy part in this, and he will tell thy father, and then thou wilt have a thrashing."
Benvolio thought he saw a flash of genuine fear in Mercutio's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. Mercutio tossed his head defiantly. "I am not afraid of a thrashing. And I am not afraid of thee, nor of Uncle, neither."
"Thy Uncle is a buggerer, anyway," Tybalt said. That remark almost started the fight up again, but Paris hauled Tybalt and Mercutio apart.
"Be quiet, Tybalt," he said. "Thou hast no idea what that word means. Go back inside and study thy books. Romeo and Benvolio, do likewise. Mercutio, I thought that thou didst know better than to involve thyself in this fight. I will take thee home myself after school is out."
"No!" Mercutio cried, but Paris paid no attention, and dragged him back into the schoolhouse by the wrist, shooing Tybalt before him as he went.
Romeo and Benvolio and their friends stood in the schoolyard for a while. Vincenzo picked up the ball and tossed it in the air, but none of them felt much like playing any more. Without a word, they went back to their desks.
The escapade with Tybalt earned both Romeo and Benvolio a severe scolding from Uncle Tiberio that evening. After one of the maids dressed their scrapes and bruises, Aunt Susanna sent both of them to bed without supper. They fell asleep listening to each other's stomachs rumble, and dreamed of large feasts. In the morning, before they went to school, they begged forgiveness of Uncle Tiberio.
"Of course I forgive you," Uncle Tiberio said. "I simply have no desire to see either of you hurt. The Capulets are dangerous and hotheaded, and they can kill the unwary in an instant. I would not want to see either my son or my nephew hurt in such an incident." With that, he opened his arms and pulled both boys close in a warm embrace. Just as they left the door, old Abram, who took them to school in the mornings, presented them with soft white rolls that he had sweet-talked from Cook while they were apologizing.
Romeo and Benvolio hurried to the schoolhouse, where they could play with their friends for a short time before lessons began. Vincenzo and Salvatore were already there, tossing Mercutio's ball back and forth between them. Mercutio sat on the stoop, holding Valentine on his lap and chanting a rhyme to him, while his retainer Domenico stood nearby and watched. As Romeo and Benvolio approached him, he ducked his head and looked away. Valentine crowed, and held out his hands to Benvolio. Benvolio smiled and pretended to eat one chubby little hand, and Valentine dissolved in giggles.
"Hast thou no words of greeting for us this morning, Mercutio?" Romeo asked. "Why dost thou hide thy face from thy friends?"
"And what is Valentine doing here?" Benvolio asked. "He can barely speak. Surely it is too soon to teach him Latin."
Mercutio pressed his lips together briefly, then turned to face them. Benvolio's hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp. The entire left side of Mercutio's face was swollen and purple with bruising. He tried to muster a smile for his friends, but the injuries to his face twisted the smile into a grimace.
Romeo found his tongue first. "What happened to thee?"
Mercutio shrugged. "Just what Paris said would happen. I fought with Tybalt, and Papa thrashed me for it." He glared at them, as if daring them to say anything else about the matter.
Benvolio gulped. "I am sorry. If I had kept a sharper eye on where I was going, I would not have run into Tybalt, and this fight would not have happened."
"Do not make a martyr of thyself, Benvolio," Mercutio said. "If Tybalt had not tripped thee, he would have found some other way to pick a quarrel. I do not regret what I did. I would fight him again. Tybalt is a bully, and I cannot stand a bully."
Benvolio nodded soberly, and reached up to examine Mercutio's wounds more closely, but Mercutio flinched away. "Do not touch me!"
"Does it pain thee?" Benvolio asked.
"Not so much. Only if someone touches my face."
Romeo drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Thy father must have been very angry at thee, Mercutio," he said. "My father scolded us and sent us to bed without supper, but he forgave us this morning. He and my mother have spanked me before when I misbehaved, but not often."
Benvolio nodded. "I think I remember my father spanking me once. It hurt, but that passed, and then I went and played again."
Mercutio would not meet their eyes, but took both of Valentine's hands and kissed them. "Papa was very angry last night, was he not, Valentine?"
"Papa angry." Valentine reached up and put his arms around Mercutio's neck.
"Papa is still angry," Mercutio said. "That is why I have Valentine with me today. Domenico will keep him while we have lessons. I thought it best for us both to be out of Papa's sight."
Benvolio started. "He did not hit Valentine, too?"
"No. But Valentine is still little and does not understand things. I did not want him to be in Papa's way today."
Neither Romeo nor Benvolio could think of anything useful to say. Valentine sat up straight in his brother's arms. "M'cutio broken." He gave Mercutio a sloppy kiss on his uninjured cheek. Mercutio managed another twisted smile and the beginnings of a giggle as he wiped his face.
Benvolio smiled, and ruffled Valentine's hair. "Thou art a good boy, Valentine." He shifted to sit a little closer to Mercutio on the stoop. The door opened, and Friar Salvatore rang the bell, summoning them to another day of Latin lessons.