13. Into Some House

The Montague boys stared at Mercutio, all their pleasure in his victory turned to horror. For a moment, there was no sound save Mercutio's gasps for air. Benvolio quickly replaced Mercutio's hand over his wound and looked at his friends. "Did none of you hear my words? He needs a surgeon!"

Balthasar, Romeo's page, swallowed convulsively. "I shall go fetch one," he offered, and turned to leave.

Benvolio grabbed at his arm. "Nay, do not go. There is no time to wait for a surgeon to come to us. We must bring Mercutio there ourselves."

"How?" Pietro asked. "He cannot walk that far."

Benvolio glanced around the piazza. A rickety cart filled with straw caught his eye. He did not know whose it was, nor did he care. "We will bring him in that cart."

"I see no horses," Pietro said.

"Then we will pull it ourselves!" Benvolio cried. "Wouldst thou have Mercutio die while we debate horses and carts? Pull it here, at once!"

Pietro, Salvatore, and their pages rushed to do his bidding. Vincenzo cast a worried glance at Mercutio, then at Benvolio. "Where shall we go?" he asked. "Dost thou know any surgeons of repute?"

It was a good question. Benvolio did not know any surgeons. Aunt Susanna usually oversaw the process of patching up members of the household who had been wounded by Capulets, but he doubted that she could fix the sucking hole in Mercutio's chest. Benvolio glanced up at Romeo, to see if he had any ideas. But Romeo stood transfixed, nearly overcome with a shock that Benvolio guessed went far deeper than the sight of Mercutio bleeding on the pavement. He knew not what the cause of it was, and he did not care. Romeo was useless to him now.

Pietro and Salvatore pushed the cart across the piazza. It creaked alarmingly, but it held together. Vincenzo organized the pages to lift Mercutio into it as gently as they could, though Mercutio grimaced and nearly fainted. Still, Romeo stood as if he were made of marble. Benvolio gave him a shove. "Take Balthasar, and tell someone what happened," he ordered, more sharply than he had intended.

"Who should I tell?" Romeo asked. "And what should I tell them?"

Benvolio only hesitated for a moment. "Find Valentine. And tell the Prince. Tell him that Mercutio has been hurt, and we have taken him to . . . to . . . " he glanced around, and inspiration struck. "We are taking him to the house of Eliezer ben David Moreno, in the goldmongers' street."

Romeo blinked, startled, then recalled the name. "The surgeon, the one with a daughter."

Benvolio nodded. "Yes. Now, go."

Romeo hurried away, with Balthasar hot on his heels, and Benvolio climbed into the wagon. Mercutio was still conscious, although he seemed to be in so much pain that Benvolio was not sure whether that was a blessing or a curse. "To the goldmongers' street!" he cried.

Vincenzo looked back from where he and the others gripped the harness pole. "The goldmongers' street? That is in the ghetto."

"I know. That is our destination."

The Montague boys shrugged, but leaned forward. Slowly, the cart began to rumble out of the piazza.

The slow ride through the streets was easily the most terrifying experience of Benvolio's life. He dimly remembered being frightened after the earthquake that had killed his parents, but Mercutio had been there to comfort and distract him then. Now, Mercutio lay curled around his wound on the straw of the wagon, struggling to stay conscious and alive. Benvolio helped him press down on the wound and made him talk through the pain, fearing that Mercutio would die if the words stopped.

"It is too late," Mercutio murmured. "I am sped."

"Thou art not sped. We are nearly at the ghetto now. Art thou such a churl as to die when we have gone to such trouble to keep thee alive?"

The cart creaked and swayed. It was moving through the ghetto now; when Benvolio looked up, he saw suspicious faces, beautiful and mildly exotic, staring at them, strange Christian intruders into their separated world. "Which way to the house of Eliezer ben David Moreno?" Benvolio asked. "We must find him, and quickly! We mean no harm to him," he added as an afterthought.

An old woman, her hair covered with a black veil, pointed them down a particular alley. "The third house on your right hand." Benvolio thanked her, and his friends pushed the cart along. They stopped in front of the third door, and Vincenzo pounded on it.

After a moment, a tall man with fathomless dark eyes, in the prime of life, opened the door. "We seek Eliezer ben David Moreno," Benvolio said, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar name. "Our friend is dying, and we have come to beg his aid."

The man regarded him skeptically. "What need of money can he have if he is dying? A Jew may give a Christian no other aid, according to the laws of Verona."

Benvolio's stomach clenched, but he persisted. "He did give aid to your daughter, a year past."

"I have no daughter," the man said. Benvolio nearly broke down right there, but another man, older, and wearing a long gray beard, appeared in the doorway.

"What is it, Solomon?" he asked. "What do these strange guests need of us?"

Solomon, the younger man, turned and spoke to him in a strange language. Benvolio bowed his head and muttered a prayer, hoping that it would be heard even in a Jewish ghetto. After a brief argument, the old man turned to him.

"I am Eliezer Moreno. What would you have of me?"

"It is my friend, Mercutio Rinuccini," Benvolio said. "He has taken a terrible hurt, and he will die of it if he does not see a surgeon. He told me once that he had heard that you were learned in that art."

"And who told him that?"

"It was Sarah, your daughter, whom he did defend a year ago, from the very man who has dealt him this wound."

Eliezer's eyebrows shot up at that remark, and he went to peer through the rails of the cart. "It is he," he said, "the Prince's nephew. I remember him well. Bring him inside. I will do what I can for him, though I can work no miracles."

Solomon helped Vincenzo and Benvolio lift Mercutio out of the cart. Though they were as gentle as they could be, Mercutio cried out with pain, and then collapsed in their arms. For a terrible moment, Benvolio thought he had died right there on the surgeon's doorstep, but Eliezer placed a hand on Mercutio's brow and shook his head.

"He clings to life, but barely. There is no time to waste. Solomon, go ahead and tell Sarah to prepare the secret room." He glanced at the Montagues. "One of you may accompany me, to witness that I will do this boy no harm. The rest must wait in my receiving room."

All eyes turned to Benvolio. "I will go along," Benvolio said. "I would not leave his side, not for all the gold in Verona."

Eliezer nodded. Between them, he and Benvolio carried Mercutio into a back room, its entry concealed beneath drapery, and laid him on a table covered with a clean linen sheet. Eliezer removed his outer coat, draped himself in an apron, and leaned over to examine his patient.

"It will not be easy," he said, "but perhaps I can yet save him. Tell me, young sir, will your courage hold through what I must do?"

Benvolio had no idea what Eliezer planned to do, but for Mercutio's sake, he could endure anything. "Ay," he said. "Do what you must, and I will witness it."

"That is well said. Hand me that chest."

Benvolio found a small wooden box on the shelf that Eliezer indicated, and handed it to the surgeon. It turned out to contain a variety of implements. Eliezer selected a small, sharp knife, and bent over Mercutio's still body. Benvolio took a deep breath, and steeled himself for the first cut.

He knew not how long the surgery lasted, but at last, it was over. Eliezer stitched the wounds with silk thread, and bound Mercutio's chest with pads of wool and bandages of soft linen. Mercutio was as pale as death, but he still breathed. Eliezer and Benvolio moved him onto a couch in the corner of the room, and Eliezer draped a light coverlet over him. Benvolio gently brushed a lock of hair away from Mercutio's brow while Eliezer tidied away the bloody table linen, wiped his instruments, and put them away.

"He has survived my efforts," Eliezer said, in a soft voice. "Now his fate rests in the hands of the Eternal."

Benvolio recalled the last time that someone had said that about Mercutio. He had survived then. Perhaps it was a good omen. "I should say a prayer for him," Benvolio said. "Do you think God will hear it?"

Eliezer stopped his tidying and looked Benvolio in the eye for the first time. After a moment, his expression softened. "Do you not know that your God and mine are the same?" he asked. "Any prayer said from a true heart for your friend will be heard in this room."

Encouraged, Benvolio dropped to his knees beside the couch and prayed for Mercutio's soul with all of his might. Eliezer finished tidying, and called down a hidden corridor. After a moment, a young maiden appeared, as dark and beautiful as Solomon. "This is Sarah, my daughter," Eliezer said. "She will watch over your friend now, for he cannot be left alone. You must accompany me now, as we reveal to the world what we have done."

Benvolio brushed his fingers over Mercutio's brow one last time, then rose and followed Eliezer out of the secret room. His friends were still waiting in the front room. Romeo and Balthasar had joined them. Valentine clung to Romeo, trying hard to look brave. When he saw Benvolio, he ran and seized his hands. "What of Mercutio?" he asked, tears spilling down his face. "Does my brother yet live? Oh, say not that he is dead!"

In that moment, Valentine looked far younger than his fourteen years. Looking at him, Benvolio began to shake. He wrapped his arms around Valentine and buried his face in the boy's hair so that no one would see his own frightened tears. "Mercutio is alive, Valentine," he whispered. "He clings to life by a thread, but he lives, for now."

Trumpets outside signaled the arrival of Prince Escalus. He strode into the receiving room, ignoring the bows directed at him. "Where is the Jew Eliezer?" he asked. "What has happened to Mercutio?"

Eliezer rose, trembling a little. "I am Eliezer ben David Moreno," he said. "At the request of these young men, who came to me, I did perform surgery on Mercutio, their friend, who had sustained grievous injury. The youth lives. This one," and he gestured to Benvolio, "will testify that I did no harm to him."

The Prince's gaze swept the room. He took in the worried faces of the Montagues and of Eliezer and his family. At last, he settled on Benvolio, who held Valentine with one arm while he wiped his face with his free hand. "Speak, Benvolio. Does this man speak the truth? Tell thy tale, and do not omit the slightest thing."

Benvolio released Valentine, and stood up straight. In a clear voice, he told the Prince all that had happened, from the moment that Tybalt had entered the piazza until the end of Mercutio's surgery. "Mercutio lies now in the surgeon's chamber," he said at the end. "He lives, whom Tybalt would have slain. Eliezer did him no harm, and I will swear to that on my life."

The Prince pressed his lips together and nodded. "We have always known thee for an honest youth," he said. "I would look upon my nephew's face. Tybalt will be found and brought to the palace, where we may have more study of these strange tidings. Romeo shall come as well, for it appears that he had no small hand in this matter."

Romeo shivered, but nodded silently. Eliezer ushered the Prince through his hidden passageway. The others stood silently, hardly daring to move. Valentine clasped Benvolio's hand. Benvolio stared at Romeo, working up the courage to ask the question that now burned in his mind.

"Why?" he said at last. "Why didst thou come between them? Mercutio has fought Tybalt a thousand times before. Why didst thou interfere this time?"

Romeo took a deep breath. "I did not wish to chance seeing blood shed on either side," he said. "Neither my dearest friend, nor my new-made cousin."

The Montague boys murmured in surprise. For a moment, Benvolio could not believe his ears. "Thy new-made cousin? Dost thou speak of -- of Tybalt?"

"Ay." Romeo lifted his chin defiantly, but the soft smile that spread over his face ruined the effect. "Tybalt, who became my cousin when I wed Juliet, the fair daughter of Capulet."

It took Benvolio a long moment to realize that his mouth was hanging open, and he quickly shut it again. "Thou art married?" he choked out. "And to a Capulet?"

A thousand more questions whirled about in his mind, and merged with the memory of the sudden terror on Mercutio's face as he sat, stabbed, on the pavement of the piazza. All at once, cold fury rose up in Benvolio's heart. Romeo, it seemed, had given them the slip twice. And Mercutio had been the one to pay for his impetuous change of heart. Benvolio turned away from the cousin who had always been as a brother to him. Valentine began to weep, and Benvolio put an arm around the boy's shoulders without really thinking about it. No one seemed to know what to say or where to look.

After a while, the Prince emerged from the secret room. "Mercutio will live, I think," he announced. "If he does not, I shall hold Tybalt responsible for his murder. For the moment, all concerned will come with me. I shall set this matter straight before the end of the day."

Benvolio looked up. "If it please your Grace, I would remain at Mercutio's side," he said. The Prince turned a sharp glance on him. "He will not know where he is when he wakes," Benvolio went on. "He should have someone he knows at his side."

The Prince considered this argument. "It is well spoken. I have already heard thy statement concerning Mercutio's injury. Thou may'st remain here, and continue to witness the honorable intentions of the Jew. But thou must remain until morning, for the ghetto will be locked at sunset, as the ancient law of Verona decrees."

"I am not afraid," Benvolio replied. "I will remain at Mercutio's side, if Eliezer will have me."

Eliezer nodded. "If all are in agreement, he may stay. Someone must watch over the youth in any event, and I think that, in these perilous hours, there is no force that could tear this one away from his friend's side."

Benvolio bowed to the Prince, and squeezed Valentine's hand. "I will send thee word as soon as there is word to be sent," he said. Turning from Romeo and his friends, he followed Eliezer to the secret room where Mercutio lay.