9. A Gentler Judgement

It was only after nearly a month had passed that Benvolio saw Mercutio again. He had been studying Aristotle in the solar, when Romeo strode over to him and yanked the book from his hands. Benvolio snatched for it, but Romeo held it out of his reach.

"We are going out," he said. "Too long hast thou sat here or in the chapel, not letting the sun kiss thy face."

Benvolio glared, but put a hat on his head and followed Romeo out of the house. It was indeed a beautiful day. Spring was ripening into summer, and Uncle Tiberio had declared them old enough to go out by themselves, without Abram to guard their backs. Romeo was in fine fettle, and walked with his hand resting prominently on the grip of the rapier that Uncle Tiberio had given him for his birthday. He looked around, casting admiring glances at pretty women in their windows, and Benvolio finally had to laugh.

"Thou hast the persistence of a mule, cousin mine," he said.

Romeo sighed, but his grin spoiled the effect. "Verona is home to hundreds of comely ladies. One there must be who will return my poor heart's affections."

Benvolio was about to make a retort about the location of Romeo's affections when they entered the piazza, and he stopped cold. Mercutio, whom he had feared he would not see alive again, was tossing a ball back and forth with Valentine near the fountain. Mercutio missed a catch, and the ball rolled into the depression at the base of the fountain. He went to fetch it, and Valentine noticed that they were not alone.

"Benvolio and Romeo!" he cried. "Mercutio, look who has come to play with us!" Valentine charged across the piazza to greet them. Romeo laughed, and he and Benvolio pretended to hide behind each other. Valentine normally tended to be a somewhat reserved child, and Romeo and Benvolio had encouraged him to emerge from his shell. However, he had all the energy of his nine years, and could knock them over if he were not cautious. He threw his arms around Benvolio, and Romeo ruffled his hair.

"It is good to see thee again, Valentine," Benvolio said. "We feared that thou and Mercutio were gone from Verona forever."

"Nay, that's not so," Mercutio said with a smile as he joined them. "I remain to plague this city still."

Benvolio looked at his beloved friend, and his stomach flopped over. Mercutio had always been thin, but his recent illness had left him with almost no flesh on his bones. His smile, still beautiful, was slightly uncertain, though his eyes were as bright as ever. Benvolio raised his hand, wanting desperately to embrace Mercutio, but knowing that Mercutio despised close physical contact. Romeo, who had fewer reservations, threw an arm around Mercutio's shoulders anyway and held him for an instant before releasing him.

"We saw the Prince, and he told us that a fever had claimed thee, and that thou wast sick almost unto death," Romeo declared. "Truly, thou hast more lives than a cat."

Mercutio's eyes twinkled merrily. "If that is so, then I may fight Tybalt with impunity, for he is the Prince of Cats, yet I have more lives at my disposal."

"Caution," Romeo said, holding up a finger. "We know not how many lives thou hast already used."

Benvolio could see that this conversation would quickly turn into a contest of wits, and he would have to intervene if he wanted any real information. "Stop there," he said. "Mercutio, what happened? Romeo came to my chamber a month past with the news of thy father, but we have heard nothing since save idle gossip. How cam'st thou to the Prince, and wherefore is thy father banished?"

Mercutio laughed a little. "Dost thou care about my father?"

"It is a most sudden change," Romeo pointed out. "We seek only to understand."

"Very well." Mercutio pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve, and toyed with it as he spoke, twisting it through his fingers and tying it in knots. "In truth, I know not where to begin my tale, for I do not know all of it myself. My father has committed a – a great crime, and for that my uncle has banned him from Verona's walls. He has gone to Mantua, and I will never see him again save only if I seek him out. My uncle has offered sanctuary to Valentine and to me. We do not see him often, but we see Paris. Indeed, when I awoke from my fever dreams, it was my noble cousin who sat by my bed."

"All this in so short a time," Benvolio mused. "What illness struck thee down so suddenly? I suppose it could not have been grief at thy father's fate?"

"Grief? Nay," Mercutio snorted. "Thou art clever, Benvolio, and I know thou art aware that I would never grieve to see my father gone. But I must confess, this fever has cooked my brains, and I cannot remember all of my tale. I do not remember how I came to the palace with Valentine, nor have I a memory of my father's banishment, save only that Paris told me of it when I awoke."

Mercutio took a deep breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were troubled. Benvolio took it as a sign and elected not to push for further details. "Thou art well now," he said, "and safe, and still in Verona with us. That is what matters. The rest is not important."

Mercutio smiled at him, a real, genuine, affectionate smile. It pierced Benvolio's heart, and he was helpless to do anything more than return the expression, reveling once again in his secret love.

Romeo looked Mercutio up and down. "Thou art grown so thin, it is as if thou art all bone," he said. "Come, let us play a while. It will help thee regain thy strength."

Mercutio agreed, and called Valentine to bring them the ball. The four boys spent a glorious, golden hour playing with it until Mercutio grew weary, and they took leave of each other to go their separate ways.

Giacomo Rinuccini's banishment might have meant turmoil for business dealings in Verona, but it was an unmitigated success for the young people of the city. Mercutio no longer appeared in the piazza with bruises or other injuries that he could not explain. He was more lighthearted than he had been in several years, and could hold the entire group of Montague cousins and hangers-on in thrall to the elaborate stories he invented. He also turned out to have a talent for telling bawdy jokes that made his adolescent audience roll on the ground laughing. If Rinuccini had had a hand in suppressing Mercutio's joy in life, and Benvolio was certain that he had, then Benvolio, at least, was glad that he was gone.

Mercutio turned out to have another surprise for them. He had always been small and thin, and had become downright skinny when his problems with food had first started. But he was eating a little more these days, at Paris's insistence, and his reaction to the food was hardly what anyone expected. Instead of filling out, Mercutio began to grow, shooting up until he was taller than Benvolio, who had always been the tallest of the three boys. When Benvolio teased him about it, he laughed.

"I do not mind growing," Mercutio said. "For one thing, it means that I may have new clothes. My uncle has said that he will give me money, and I may ask the tailor for whatever I desire."

"There art thou fortunate," Benvolio said. "Aunt Susanna still exercises her taste on my wardrobe and Romeo's. We must dress to reflect the dignity of the House of Montague, she says."

Mercutio laughed, and pulled Benvolio's hat down over his nose. "There is the dignity of the House of Montague!"

After that, there was nothing else for Benvolio to do but chase Mercutio around the piazza until they were both sweaty and laughing. He chased Mercutio to the fountain and playfully hurled a handful of water at him. Mercutio whooped, and pitched himself into the basin. Benvolio let out a scandalized gasp that turned into a laugh.

"What art thou doing?" he cried. "Thou wilt ruin thy doublet."

"I have outgrown it anyway," Mercutio replied. "And the day is hot, and the water will cool my brains. They have been cooked enough already this summer." He ducked his head under the water, then surfaced, his fine blond hair dark and plastered to his skull. Benvolio looked at him, and suddenly wished that he had his friend's daring. Mercutio smiled, and handed Benvolio his handkerchief, dripping wet.

"Bathe thy face," he suggested. "Thou art nearly as wet as I from thy perspiration alone."

Benvolio sat down on the edge of the fountain and ran the cool, wet cloth over his hot face and neck. It did feel good, and he groaned in pleasure at its touch. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, enjoying the sunshine and the rush of the fountain. After a while, Mercutio pulled himself from the basin and sat down on the edge next to Benvolio. Something seemed to be bothering him, and he glanced away several times, as if trying to find exactly the words he wanted.

"Benvolio," he said softly, "dost thou think . . . wouldst thou ask . . . dost thou think that thy Aunt Susanna would exercise her taste upon my clothes as well as thine?" Benvolio glanced at him in surprise, and Mercutio tried to explain. "I know not how to speak to a tailor, for my father always did that for me and for my brother. My uncle has no time. Paris says that a beanpole such as I have become must choose clothing carefully, and he has offered to help, but his own suits are not at all becoming, and I do not know that I should trust him with mine. But thou and Romeo are always well turned-out. Perhaps it requires a lady's hand, and I have neither mother nor aunt to help me."

For a moment, Benvolio was not certain what to say. He was proud of the compliment to Aunt Susanna, even if he did find her overbearing at times, and he was pleased that Mercutio thought enough of her to ask for her help. But at the same time, the fact that Mercutio had to ask for such help at all distressed Benvolio in a way that he could not quite fathom. So he pushed that thought to the back of his mind and smiled.

"I will ask my lady aunt," he said. "I am sure she will agree. She loves clothes, after all, and she will be pleased to hear that there is indeed one boy in Verona who desires her assistance."

Mercutio laughed, and clasped Benvolio's hand in gratitude, dripping water on Benvolio's clothes in the process. Nevertheless, Benvolio treasured the touch, as he always did, and counted himself well rewarded for his aid.

In the new clothes that Aunt Susanna helped him choose, Mercutio looked quite grown up, and citizens who knew whose nephew he was would occasionally stop him on the street to ask for his favor in their dealings with the Prince. Mercutio held himself at a wary distance for many of these encounters, and would always look around to locate Valentine if a strange man approached. But he listened to petitions, and gave advice if he thought that he could, which was not often.

"Why dost thou do it?" Romeo asked him, after yet another petitioner had walked away. "They frighten thee. I can see it in thy eyes. Why dost thou subject thyself to these encounters?"

"For the dignity of the Royal House," Mercutio answered. "Thou and Benvolio have duties to the House of Montague. I have duties to my uncle, in whose house I dwell, and who provides clothes for my back and food for my belly."

"Not enough of the latter," Romeo said. "Thou art still as thin as a blade of grass. Art thou never hungry?"

Mercutio shrugged. "I do not always wish to eat."

"Well, I do." Romeo looked around and smiled. "There is the man who sells pickles from his cart. Balthasar, wouldst thou be kind and purchase pickles for us, and one for thyself? My stomach calls."

"Thou didst dine at noon," Benvolio said, but he smiled to take the sting from his words. In truth, he wanted a pickle as well. He wondered if he would ever stop being hungry between meals. Balthasar, Romeo's new page, loped over to the pickle seller and bought four pickles, dripping wet, from the pickle seller's bin. He gave one to Romeo, one to Benvolio, and one to Mercutio, and kept the last for himself.

Romeo wasted no time biting into the end of his pickle, and Benvolio followed suit a moment later, his teeth sinking into the end of the pickle with a satisfying crunch and a burst of spicy, vinegary flavor. Mercutio hesitated, glancing from his friends to the long, thick pickle in his hands. A strange expression flitted across his face, and his smile vanished.

Benvolio looked up from his half-eaten pickle. "Mercutio?" he asked. "What troubles thee?"

Mercutio frowned, and looked as if he were about to speak, then changed his mind and was silent for a moment. He glanced at his pickle again, then placed it in Romeo's hand.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "I thank thee for thy kindness, but I cannot eat this. It would choke me, or, if it did not, I fear that it would return to see the light of day most unpleasantly."

With that, he turned and walked away into the arcade at the far end of the piazza. Romeo and Benvolio watched him go, stunned into silence. At the sound of footsteps, Benvolio turned to see Valentine standing next to him, staring after his brother with a worried look on his face.

Benvolio's heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to run after Mercutio and find a way to bring him back to the sunshine and pleasant companionship of the piazza, and he wanted to embrace Mercutio and take in all of his sorrows, but he knew that Mercutio would lash out at him if he did those things, so he did neither one of them. Instead, he put an arm around Valentine's shoulders, resolving to care for Mercutio's brother when Mercutio could not do that himself.