16. By Summer's Ripening Breath
August should have been a perfect month. Many things that Benvolio had expected only in his imagination had taken place. Romeo had found a lover who would love him back, and had married her; Mercutio had learned of Benvolio's love for him and had at least accepted it, even if he did not know his own heart well enough to be able to return it freely; and Signior Capulet and Uncle Tiberio had taken the first small steps toward making true peace with each other. August should have been the month of dreams come true. Instead, it proved difficult in ways that Benvolio had never imagined, and that disappointment often made him want to weep in frustration.
What surprised him most of all was the sudden, unexpected surge of jealousy that rose up in him when Romeo was around. Aunt Susanna had declared that, as a married man, Romeo should have his own household, and Uncle Tiberio had agreed. Within a week after their sudden marriage, he arranged for Romeo and Juliet to move into the house adjoining Uncle Tiberio's. It had belonged to Benvolio's parents, but had stood empty and boarded up ever since their deaths eleven years ago. Uncle Tiberio had explained to Benvolio that, while Benvolio's father had intended to leave the house to his son, he had never written it into his will.
"Lucio had intended to alter his will when thou didst become a man, Benvolio," Uncle Tiberio said. "But, while thou were yet a child, he did entrust it to me. I had intended to keep it for thee, but circumstances have forced my hand in this matter. Thy lady aunt is right; Romeo cannot form his own household under our roof. Therefore, I beg thee to see the sense in this matter. Romeo and Juliet will live in Lucio's house, and thou canst see them as much as pleases you all. Thou wilt still retain thy place in my house, and I will love thee no less for it. Should the time come that thou dost wed and find thyself in need of a home, we may revisit this matter."
Put that way, Benvolio could not deny the basic logic of Uncle Tiberio's decision, but resentment still festered in his heart. It was not that he cared so much about the house itself. He had not entered the place since his parents' death, and he was not sure he could have brought himself to live there now, occupying rooms alone where once he had been someone's son, sleeping in the chamber where his parents had slept, and where they had died. But the fact that Uncle Tiberio had given Romeo something that should have been Benvolio's, a final legacy from dimly remembered but beloved parents, rankled. Romeo had seen that, and had assured Benvolio that he was welcome to visit as often as he liked. Benvolio appreciated the sentiment, but did not like the idea of being a guest in what he still thought of as his parents' home.
After Romeo and Juliet established themselves in their new home, Benvolio found that he was lonely as well. Without Romeo, who had become more a brother than a cousin to him, Benvolio became painfully aware that he was the nephew and not the son of the man and woman who had raised him, no matter how much they loved him. Although in his head he knew it was not the case, he wondered in his heart if Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna saw him as an imposition, a burden that they had not asked to bear.
He tried to discuss his feelings with Mercutio, who also had experience with living under the care of an uncle. Mercutio offered sympathy and a hand to hold, but Benvolio could see that he did not quite understand the heart of the matter. Mercutio had almost forgotten his own mother, and thoughts of his father still gave him dreadful nightmares. He also had Valentine, who adored him, and from whom he had not been parted.
Benvolio remembered that the Prince had also adopted Paris, his other nephew, and briefly considered asking Paris for advice. But Paris, who had sincerely hoped to marry Juliet, bore his own crushing weight of disappointment, and was less than inclined to speak with any Montague. Mercutio assured Benvolio that it would pass, that Paris would learn to be friendly again, but Benvolio was still left with no one who could aid him.
The time he spent on the street with his friends helped a little bit. As he had promised, the boys had welcomed Mercutio back among their numbers, and they still gathered in the piazza most days to share news. In many ways it was as Benvolio had always wished it would be. The sight of a group of Capulets was no longer an overt sign of danger. The two gangs, though not friends by any stretch of the imagination, honored the truce, and kept their distance from each other. Mercutio's spells of distress still came upon him, but Benvolio was better able to distinguish their early signs, and no longer feared to offer Mercutio the steadying hand that would calm him.
But Romeo was no longer among them, and there were signs that the group as it stood would soon dissolve. Vincenzo's father had entered serious marriage negotiations with another family on his behalf. Salvatore had managed to settle his wandering eye on one particular maid, though he took Romeo's example to heart and pursued her slowly and with all due caution. Benvolio dutifully kept up his pretense of being in love with Helena Pergolesi, explaining his lack of progress by claiming that his family wanted him to wait a while until the shock of Romeo's marriage to a Capulet had worn off.
To be fair, Romeo kept his promises to Benvolio and invited him to visit often. Benvolio saw him mostly during the day, at odd hours when they both happened to be home. Romeo or Juliet would call out to him, and he would stroll over for a brief visit. When the new household had been established firmly enough to host a formal event, Balthasar came to Benvolio with a list of invitees to a small dinner gathering. The list included Benvolio, Mercutio, and their friends, as well as several of Juliet's old playmates. Helena appeared on that list, and Romeo had also seen fit to invite Paris. Benvolio doubted the immediate wisdom of that, but Romeo had, no doubt, intended it as an overture of peace.
The dinner gathering itself proved an illuminating experience. Never before had Benvolio attended a feast where no adults were present. With a sudden shock, he realized that he and his friends were meant to be the adults. Juliet, all of fourteen years old, played a spirited hostess, and Benvolio had to admire her ability to rise to that occasion.
"Welcome," she said to him, kissing him on both cheeks. "Romeo has said that thou didst dwell in this house once as a boy."
He nodded. "It has not looked so festive since my honored parents occupied it."
Juliet gave him a warm, sunny smile. "This house opens its doors to thee with pomp and splendor once again."
He decided to take her words in the gracious sense in which she offered them, and allowed the warmth of the once-familiar surroundings to cheer him. Juliet moved off to greet one of her playfellows, and Benvolio took a glass of wine and went to seek out all of the places he had loved when he was little.
The dinner was excellent, rich and varied. Many of Benvolio's favorite foods appeared on the table. Romeo caught his eye during one of those courses and winked, and Benvolio understood that the food was meant in part to welcome him specifically.
He watched Mercutio going through his normal mealtime dance, occasionally nibbling at something, but mostly pushing the food around for show, and had an idea. He put two meatballs in Mercutio's dish. "Try these," he said. "This was one of my favorite things to eat when I was a boy."
For the first time, Mercutio looked interested in the contents of his dish. As Benvolio had hoped, he ate both meatballs and pronounced them good. Encouraged, Benvolio repeated the trick with a few more items. By the end of the evening, though Mercutio had not eaten nearly as much as Benvolio would have liked, he had at least eaten something, and Benvolio was glad of that. It was a small triumph, but one that he desperately needed.
When the feast was over, Benvolio looked around for Helena, thinking that he ought to bid her farewell. Mercutio laughed. "Didst thou not see?" he asked. "Paris offered to escort her and her chaperone home."
Somehow, that news pleased Benvolio. "I am glad to hear it. Perhaps he will find in Helena something to make up for his loss of Juliet."
"So the desertion of thy lady does not distress thee?"
Benvolio shook his head. "Paris is welcome to her. She deserves to have a lord who can give her his heart."
They bade farewell to Romeo and Juliet, and Benvolio was pleased to see that Romeo was once more able to look Mercutio in the eye. "Thou art still his friend," he told his cousin. "It would hurt him more to lose thee than to die by Tybalt's blade."
Outside, the street was empty. There was enough of a moon to illuminate Mercutio's face, revealing a tense, thoughtful expression. "What troubles thee?" Benvolio asked.
"I am not troubled. Thine is the distressed mind." Suddenly, Mercutio leaned in and kissed Benvolio briefly on the corner of his mouth. Startled at his own daring, he jumped back. Shocked and pleased, Benvolio stared at him.
"I thought perhaps to relieve a portion of thy distress," Mercutio said. "I thought thou wouldst enjoy it. If thou didst not –"
Benvolio smiled. "I did, and I thank thee for thy courage." He reached out slowly and ran his hand down the side of Mercutio's face, then returned the kiss, as soft and brief as the first. Mercutio trembled, but did not turn away, and he smiled a little when he bade Benvolio good night.
Such chaste kisses were hardly the stuff of romantic epics, but they burned straight through Benvolio. That night, when his hand moved between his legs, the memory of Mercutio's gentle mouth warmed his heart.
In the end, Romeo's feast did have at least some of its desired effect. Some of the unspoken tension among friends eased, and various slights and insults were tacitly forgiven. Benvolio acknowledged that Juliet's poise and graciousness had contributed greatly to that cause, and he wondered where she had learned it. He had not had much contact with Lady Capulet, but from what he had seen of her waspish behavior towards her daughter and unintended son-in-law, he could not imagine that Juliet had learned manners from her mother. The only other possible candidate, as far as he could tell from what he knew of Juliet's sheltered life, was her old nurse. To his own surprise, he found himself developing a certain respect, if not liking, for the garrulous old lady.
Mercutio had begun to eat a little more, at least in Benvolio's company. He still could not finish a meal, but he did make the effort to eat something, and would occasionally accept a sweetmeat if Benvolio offered it. Benvolio noticed that Mercutio found it easier to swallow food when he was in a good mood. To this end, he arranged for friends to dine with them often, and took Mercutio to taverns where they could find entertainment while they ate.
When they were alone together, they spoke of many things, but only occasionally of love. Mercutio's unease at the word was as strong as ever, but Benvolio persisted in demonstrating that touch could be a pleasant sensation. Mercutio sometimes permitted a few rare, brief kisses on his mouth, but made it clear that he preferred to be touched from a certain distance. He clasped Benvolio's hand readily enough, and allowed Benvolio to caress his face and hair, but quickly ducked away from any attempt at even the most casual embrace. When Benvolio asked him why this was so, he could not answer.
"I like to see thy eyes," he offered.
"My eyes?" Benvolio asked, charmed and puzzled in equal measure.
"They shine with a warmth to rival the sun when thou dost place thy hands upon me."
Benvolio smiled, and felt the beginnings of a blush warming his cheeks. "I enjoy touching thee," he admitted. "Thou art like a cat, who will not allow every Jack in the street to stroke its fur. Touching thee is an honor as well as a pleasure."
That remark seemed to surprise Mercutio. He frowned, and then the beginnings of an impish grin spread across his face. "Is this a pleasure, too?" he asked, and reached out to run his fingers through Benvolio's hair.
Benvolio shuddered. "Do that again, and I will have to kiss thee," he choked out.
Mercutio pulled his hand back and looked away for a heart-stopping moment. When he turned back, there was a look of determination in his eyes, and he ran his hand through Benvolio's hair again. Benvolio, being a man of his word, had no choice but to take Mercutio's face in his hands and kiss him, though he took care to keep the kiss gentle. After a moment, Mercutio responded, kissing back briefly before it grew too much and he broke the kiss. For a moment, Benvolio wondered if he had gone too far, but there was no panic or fear in Mercutio's expression, only the curiosity and mischief that had been there before.
When Benvolio left the palace to return home that night, he noticed that one of the shadows near the door seemed deeper than normal. When he gave it another glance, Valentine emerged from a dim corner and came to stand facing him. He wore a solemn, focused expression, one that Benvolio had never seen on him before. In a sudden flash of insight, Benvolio realized that Valentine knew what he and Mercutio had been doing in the garden. Without quite meaning to, Benvolio stood a little stiffer, waiting for Mercutio's brother to speak.
"Benvolio, thou knowest that I have always held thee in the highest esteem," Valentine began. Benvolio nodded, but could not bring himself to speak.
"Ever hast thou been a devoted friend to Mercutio," Valentine went on. "And I have not forgotten thy care for me as well, and I have loved thee for it. But now," Valentine swallowed convulsively, as if his speech cost him dearly, "I have seen things that make me guess that thy feelings for my brother have moved beyond the bounds of friendship, even one forged in earliest childhood. Am I correct?"
"Ay." The word came out as little more than a whisper.
Valentine studied Benvolio's face, and Benvolio realized how much he had grown. Benvolio still remembered the round, sticky toddler who had held his hand after the earthquake. Now, at fourteen, Valentine was already only a little shorter than Benvolio. He would probably grow almost as tall as Mercutio, and would certainly be broader. Benvolio had no desire to see Valentine's friendship for him turn to disgust and hatred.
"I do love Mercutio," he said, "but I do not wish to cause trouble by it. If thou dost oppose my friendship with thy brother –"
"I said no such thing," Valentine said sharply, then smiled to take some of the sting from his tone. "Mercutio has endured much sorrow and hardship in his life, some of it on my behalf. I am glad to see that someone has seen fit to offer him love, and that it is one of those he trusts. Mercutio does not trust many people."
"I know." Benvolio smiled at the understatement.
"I would not for all the world see Mercutio hurt any more than he has already suffered," Valentine went on. "I am no churchman, and if thou dost wish to pay court to my brother, then I will not object to it. But if thou dost hurt him or do him harm, I will not stop until I have paid thee back in kind. Do we understand each other?"
Benvolio nodded, and clasped Valentine's hand in his. "Ay. Know, then, that I love Mercutio as my own life, and I will guard both from harm with equal zeal. I cannot promise that Mercutio will never hurt again. But I swear to thee, I will do all within my power to ensure that it will not be by my hand, and that I will care for him as I would for my own kin should he be harmed."
Valentine smiled, and was once again the adoring little brother that Benvolio had always known. "I believe thee," he said, "for thou hast already fulfilled thy vow. Save for thee, I would be mourning at my brother's grave today."
With that, he embraced Benvolio firmly, then walked away. Benvolio left the palace and headed for home. Between the kiss from Mercutio and the embrace from Valentine, his heart was lighter than it had been all month.