21. Come, Loving, Black-Brow'd Night
Benvolio did not speak as he followed Mercutio up the stairs and through the corridors of the palace. He had never been upstairs, in the private family quarters, before, and it struck him that he was now, in a sense, part of the royal family. Mercutio did not speak or look at him. Benvolio ached to clasp his hand and reassure him, but he feared that Mercutio would either collapse or lash out and strike him.
They stopped in front of one particular door. Mercutio pushed it open, then leaned against the doorframe. "This is my chamber – thine as well, now. Thou wilt find thy trunks inside, and some of thy things unpacked, I think."
Benvolio started to enter the bedchamber, then stopped when he realized that Mercutio was not moving. "Wilt thou not come in as well?" he asked.
"Shortly. Go thou in and make thyself comfortable. I – I wish to say my prayers. I will join thee when I have finished."
Benvolio walked into the chamber, and Mercutio shut the door behind him. Momentarily alone, Benvolio looked around. Mercutio's bedchamber was of a good size, but sparsely decorated. There was a balcony that overlooked the garden. The dominant feature of the room was a large bed, hung with gauze drapes and made up with fat pillows and a thin quilt. There was a shelf above the bed, which held a variety of stones, feathers, and other interesting objects. A servant had located Benvolio's nightgown and laid it out on the bed. Benvolio's trunks occupied one corner of the room.
Slowly, Benvolio removed his hat, his shoes, and his doublet, laying them carefully over one of the trunks. Clad only in his shirt and hose, he sat down on the bed, and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He knew that Mercutio had not gone to pray, for Mercutio was not nearly that pious. Benvolio suspected that he was waiting just outside the door, not quite daring to enter his own bedchamber.
Benvolio looked at the small jar that Escalus had given him. It was short and squat, made of thick green glass. He opened it, and discovered a sweet-smelling unguent inside. Escalus had made the purpose of that unguent quite clear, and a hot blush spread over Benvolio's face. He put the jar on the shelf above the bed. Part of him wanted desperately to find Mercutio and waste no time putting that unguent to good use. He had dreamed of such a moment ever since he was thirteen years old, and this not insignificant part of him almost could not believe his incredible good fortune.
But his mind and his heart were not so sure. As much as he had fantasized about being in a bedchamber, with Mercutio lying pliant and willing in his arms, he knew that such a dream could have no basis in reality. However firm Mercutio's affections for him might be, he was still painfully chary of all but the gentlest physical expression of that affection. Giacomo Rinuccini had done that to him, and Benvolio hoped with all his heart that there was a special place prepared for that man in the hottest part of Hell. Meanwhile, Benvolio was left to sit on Mercutio's bed, achingly stiff with desire, but consumed with doubts about what he had been granted an extraordinary license to do.
A soft noise at the door brought Benvolio out of his thoughts. Mercutio had reached his own decision, and now stood just inside the bedchamber, looking at Benvolio. There was no expression on his face, but Benvolio could see the stiffness of his posture and could easily guess at how tense he must be. Benvolio's mouth went dry, and he could not help feeling another jolt of arousal now that Mercutio was within his sight.
Mercutio slowly removed his shoes, then came to stand before Benvolio. With trembling fingers, he worked at the laces of his doublet until he had undone them all, and the doublet hung open. As it did, Mercutio's stoic façade crumbled, and Benvolio saw naked terror creep across his face as he removed the doublet and dropped it on the floor. Benvolio's heart broke to see Mercutio so desperately frightened of him, and his arousal shriveled away. Mercutio's breath hitched, and he summoned the courage to pull off his shirt. Openly shaking, he reached for the strings that fastened his hose.
Benvolio could no longer bear the horror of the moment, and he reached out and took Mercutio's hands. "Mercutio, stop," he murmured. Mercutio made a small, unintelligible noise, and tried to pull his hands free. Benvolio gripped them tighter. "No, caro," he said. "Do not do this. I cannot bear to see thee in such misery."
"I know what I must do," Mercutio said, almost in tears. "For thee, sweet Benvolio, I will. I am prepared to give myself to thee."
"Caro, thou art no more prepared to do this than I am the queen of Persia. I have no desire to ravish anyone as unhappy as thou art."
"I am sorry," Mercutio said. "I have displeased thee."
Benvolio shook his head. "Thou hast not. Dost thou truly think that I would want to lie with thee in such sorrow? I love thee, caro, and I would prefer to discover the fruits of that love in joy rather than fear."
Mercutio started to sink to his knees, but Benvolio caught him and helped him sit down on the bed. "All my wits are in disarray," Mercutio said. "I cannot think. What shall we do now?"
Benvolio rummaged through a clothes chest until he found Mercutio's nightgown. "Put this on," he said. "Thou art distraught, I know thou didst eat nothing at dinner, and I am certain that thou art exhausted, from fear, if nothing else. Tonight, we will sleep. In the morning, after we have slept a little, we may resume this discussion."
Mercutio struggled into his nightgown and wriggled out of his hose. Benvolio turned his back to change into his own nightclothes. When he turned back, Mercutio seemed somewhat more alert, sitting on the end of the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest.
"Does thy bed have a truckle?" Benvolio asked. "If it does not, give me a pillow, and I will sleep on the floor."
Mercutio managed a laugh. "That is a foolish idea," he said. "The floor is cold and hard, and thou dost not deserve that. I said that thou wouldst dwell here in comfort, and I meant that. It is too late to find thee another bed for the evening, and I will not have thee on the floor, so thou wilt share my bed. It is large enough, I think."
"For this trust, many thanks," Benvolio said. "I swear that I will lay no untoward hand upon thee tonight, caro."
Mercutio crawled beneath the quilt, and Benvolio joined him a moment later, being careful to keep an open space between them. Very slowly, Mercutio began to relax, and Benvolio reached out to snuff the candles. In the darkness, he listened as Mercutio's breathing slowed. Just before he fell asleep, Mercutio reached over and placed his hand in Benvolio's. Warmed by this gesture of trust, Benvolio caressed the knuckles with his thumb before sleep claimed him as well.
For the most part, Benvolio slept peacefully. Shortly after midnight, he woke to hear Mercutio squirming and moaning in agitation. Benvolio grasped one flailing hand and held it tightly. "Sleep, Mercutio," he murmured. "It is not real. It is naught but a dream, caro, and it cannot harm thee."
Gradually, Mercutio grew quiet, not having woken fully. Benvolio fell asleep again almost instantly, still holding his hand.
They woke in the cold gray light just before dawn. For a moment, Benvolio could not remember where he was, or how he had come to be sleeping in a strange bed. Then he turned over and saw Mercutio curled on a pillow next to him, blinking sleepily, and he remembered everything. He remembered the tense feast, the promises, his aunt and uncle leaving him, and the dreadful conversation that had followed.
He could see that Mercutio remembered as well, for he frowned a little and buried his face in his pillow. But after a moment, he looked up and smiled at Benvolio. "Good morrow," he said softly. Then he held his arm out in invitation.
Benvolio swallowed. His blood sang with promise, and he was suddenly aware that he was hard. "Art thou sure?" he whispered.
Mercutio nodded. "Ay. Thou hast been most kind to me, and I am grateful for this night of peace. But now it is time for me to give thee what I promised, and I am willing."
Benvolio moved closer, and took Mercutio in his arms. Very gently, he ran his hand through Mercutio's hair and kissed him. "Last night, I made promises to my Prince and to our houses," he said. "Now, I will make a promise to thee. I love thee, whether or not thou canst understand that. I will never knowingly hurt thee or cause thee to come to harm. Whatever happens, remember that I love thee with all my heart."
Mercutio smiled and nodded, then rolled onto his back. Benvolio, lying half on top of him, pulled off his nightgown, which had suddenly grown constricting. Then, slowly, with many soft, soothing words and gentle caresses, he eased Mercutio out of his nightgown as well. Mercutio shivered, and Benvolio reached back to pull the quilt a little higher, then wrapped his arms around Mercutio's bony frame to warm him. When Mercutio's tremors subsided, Benvolio reached up to the shelf for the jar of unguent he had placed there the night before.
Mercutio's eyes widened when he saw it, his breath hitched, and his body stiffened again. "Please," he said. "Please, not inside my body."
Benvolio dropped the jar on the bed and embraced Mercutio again. "Never, if it causes thee distress."
"My father would do that to me, he did it the last time I saw him," Mercutio said. "I still bear the scars."
"I am not thy father,caro. I promised that I would not hurt thee, and I will honor that promise."
Mercutio clung to Benvolio for a moment longer. Then he lay back and nodded his permission, his blue eyes now dark with desire. Benvolio leaned over him and began his introduction to the joys engendered from the coupling of two loving bodies. The old fire, familiar from many nights in the company of his own hand, built in Benvolio's belly. He and Mercutio writhed and thrust against each other, their bodies growing slick with mingled sweat, unguent, and other fluids, and their breath coming in small gasps. Then Benvolio cried out as his entire body tightened in a glorious spasm, and he remembered again exactly why the French called it the "little death."
He was amazed, when the sensation faded, to discover that he had, in fact, lived through it. Nothing he had done with his hand and his imagination could quite equal the sensation of being with the youth he loved more than anything else in the world. Still shaking a little, he kissed Mercutio's open, panting lips, then slid off of him and tried to recover his own breath. His muscles were loose and thrummed as if he were drunk, and he was aware that there was a silly grin on his face, but he did not care. If the reality had not quite matched his expectations, it had still been an overwhelmingly joyous experience.
For his part, Mercutio lay on his back, stunned and silent for a few moments. Then he reached up to the shelf and fumbled until he found a scrap of blue cloth. With gentle hands, he used it to wipe their bodies clean, then folded the stained cloth and pushed it under one of the pillows. Then, to Benvolio's shock, he curled up on his pillow and began to cry.
All of Benvolio's warm satisfaction drained away, and cold horror knotted in his stomach. Nothing he had heard or read had prepared him to lie naked in a still-unfamiliar bed and watch his new-made lover weeping. For a moment, he wanted desperately to be somewhere, anywhere else, but there was nowhere to go. He did not yet know his way around the upper floors of the palace, he did not know who he might encounter in the corridors, and he certainly could not flee the building entirely. And, he realized, even if he could have gone somewhere, he could not leave Mercutio alone and miserable.
Guilt flowered in Benvolio's heart, accompanied by an almost overwhelming sense of remorse and self-loathing. He should have known better. No matter how ready and willing Mercutio had claimed to be, Benvolio should not have touched him, not after he had almost broken down just the night before. Mercutio was adept at using words to conceal his true thoughts and feelings, and had likely offered himself simply to please Benvolio. Two days earlier, Mercutio would have pulled away from him after a single kiss. What, Benvolio wondered, had made him think that a furtive, improvised ceremony would have changed that? Mercutio still bore the scars from his father's abuse on his heart as well as his body. In a single fit of passion, Benvolio had torn those inner wounds open again. He hated himself for it, and knew that Mercutio would be well within his rights to hate him as well.
Something pressed against his shoulder. Benvolio swallowed back tears of his own and saw that Mercutio's hand was fluttering blindly near him. He was astonished to realize that Mercutio appeared to be seeking comfort from the very person who had hurt him in the first place. Benvolio almost pulled away, then thought better of it. He had already broken the promise he had made less than an hour ago, and he would not compound the error by refusing to give the comfort asked of him, however foolishly.
He took the searching hand in his own, and was surprised at how firmly Mercutio returned the grip. As gently as he knew how, Benvolio slid his arm beneath Mercutio's body and held him close. Mercutio laid his head on Benvolio's chest, and after a while, his tears stopped. Benvolio used a corner of the sheet to mop his face.
"I am sorry," he said. "I fear that I have hurt thee, in spite of my promise. Believe me, Mercutio, I never intended this to happen to thee."
"Then thou didst not break thy promise," Mercutio said. "Dost thou not recall thy own words? Thou didst promise never to hurt me knowingly, and thou hast not done so."
In spite of himself, Benvolio laughed a little. "Thou art a marvel! Of course thou dost remember every word. How could I expect otherwise?"
"It was a promise. That is important." Mercutio sighed, and clutched Benvolio's hand a little tighter. "Now thou hast had me. Dost thou feel differently now?"
Benvolio almost made a quick reply, then thought better of it. After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "I do. I have seen the most fragile portion of thy heart, and thou didst offer it to me with such courage and tenderness that I am near overcome. After such a gift, I can do naught but cherish thee. I would keep thee from all harm, caro, even my own."
Mercutio did not make an immediate reply to that. "I can feel thy heart beating," he said after a while.
"For thee."
"Thou art as romantic as thy cousin." Mercutio's eyes held a little of their old mischievous glint. "I hope that I did not invite the wrong Montague into my bed."
Benvolio smiled. "Thou didst invite the one who loves thee more than his own life, the one who weeps to see thee hurt."
"Well, do not weep overmuch," Mercutio said. "I have been hurt before, and I know what that is like. I do not think I am hurt now, exactly. I feel – I feel -- I do not know what I feel. I am frightened, and happy, and overcome. Wilt thou stay with me a little?"
"Of course. Where else should I be than by thy side?"
Mercutio shivered, and Benvolio guessed that it was more than just a chill of the body. But he searched around the tangled bedclothes until he found Mercutio's nightgown, knowing that Mercutio would be happier clothed. Mercutio pulled the gown over his head and curled up again at Benvolio's side, and Benvolio drew the quilt over them both.
"I do not think anyone will come looking for us for a while, caro," he said. "Let us enjoy the morning together."
Mercutio nodded, and they did not speak after that. Benvolio watched the dawn slowly brighten the bedchamber, and idly stroked Mercutio's hair. After a while, Mercutio drifted off into a light sleep. Benvolio held him, and offered a silent prayer of thanks for the treasure that was still in his arms.