23. For Such A Feeling Loss
Autumn faded into winter, and Benvolio's life settled into a comfortable rhythm. Vincenzo married a young lady named Elizabetta on St. Stephen's Day, and Rosaline, the former object of Romeo's affection, took her vows at a nearby convent on New Year's Day. Romeo, at Juliet's suggestion, decided to grow a mustache. To his great dismay, it came in red, and he shaved it off again quickly. Benvolio realized with no small amount of surprise that he and his friends were growing up and taking their places in adult society at last. His mentor, Escalus's old secretary, claimed that he looked forward to the day when he could retire and live out his last days in peace with his wife. His eyes were failing rapidly, and Benvolio handled more and more of his work.
Mercutio's schoolwork improved considerably, and his astonished tutor reported that Signior Rinuccini's elder son, whom he had long thought to be slow, was in fact quite bright. Benvolio carefully kept a straight face upon hearing that, although he could have told the tutor as much several years earlier. Escalus received the news without much comment, but nodded to Benvolio as he left the room.
Benvolio was also pleased to see that Mercutio's wounded heart was beginning to heal, though not as quickly as his mind. Benvolio's patience and forbearance had begun to show rewards, as Mercutio gradually pushed beyond memories of helpless pain and terror and began to discover that night's activity could be a pleasurable sport. He was not always of a mind to accept Benvolio's advances, and sometimes he still squirmed away from even a friendly touch. However, there were times when, in a playful mood, Mercutio became almost wanton, and those nights shone brightly in Benvolio's heart.
Even now, Mercutio spoke no word of love, but Benvolio did not mind. Mercutio told him long, absorbing stories of fairies and demons, embraced him and kissed him when he grew lonely, played chess with him, or lay warm and relaxed in Benvolio's arms as the two youths talked about everything and nothing. For all his dexterity with words, Mercutio could not yet connect the proper name to these acts of affection. Benvolio did not press the issue. He read the intent in Mercutio's actions and, as in the larger matter of their contracted match, was perfectly content to have the substance even without the title.
Two days after Ascension Day, Benvolio was helping the secretary review the Prince's correspondence when a page announced that a messenger had arrived at the palace. The secretary went to alert the Prince, while Benvolio escorted the messenger to the reception hall. He thought no more of the matter and returned to his work. But it was not long before the door to the reception hall opened, and the page hurried out.
"Find Mercutio and Valentine," Escalus called after him. "Bring them here at once, whatever they may be doing."
Mercutio and Valentine appeared in short order, and Escalus called Benvolio into the reception hall with them. "Come," he said. "Thou shouldst also be present when this news is spoken."
The messenger seemed apprehensive, and his manner alarmed Benvolio. Valentine seemed puzzled, and Mercutio looked suspicious. Escalus, wearing an expression of regal neutrality, gestured at the messenger. "This man has come from Mantua," he said. "He bears tidings of great interest to our house."
The messenger bowed, then licked his lips nervously. "I am commanded to speak to the sons of Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, formerly resident in Verona," he said.
"I am his firstborn son," Mercutio said, "and this is Valentine, my brother."
The messenger glanced at Benvolio, but did not ask for his name. Instead, he removed his cap and bowed his head. "It is my sad duty to bear this most untimely news. Signior Rinuccini is dead this past evening, of a brief sickness brought about by a dinner of spoiled fish."
Valentine gasped. Mercutio stood frozen, all the color suddenly gone from his face. Benvolio laid a gentle hand on his arm, but he twisted away without seeming to notice. The messenger stared at them, not sure what to make of their reaction.
"Do you speak the truth?" Valentine choked out. "Is our father truly dead?"
"Ay. His last wish was that his body be returned to Verona to be buried in the ancient monument of his house." The messenger glanced at Escalus. "I trust that is acceptable?"
Escalus gave a brief nod. "We will prepare the funeral rites. Go now and take some refreshment."
The messenger bowed, and left the reception hall. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Mercutio turned on his heel and strode out of the hall. Benvolio hurried to the door, just in time to see Mercutio break into a run and sprint towards the palace entrance. He would have followed, but Escalus restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Let him go. He will return."
Benvolio shook his head. "He is distraught. I fear that he may injure himself unwittingly."
Escalus considered that statement, then nodded. "I shall instruct one of my guard to follow him at a discreet distance and see that he returns safely. In the meantime, we must plan for the funeral. I would have it dignified, as befits a man of Rinuccini's rank, but not elaborate. No grand ceremony will I hold for the man who turned my sister's existence into hell and who treated his own son as a common whore."
Mercutio did not return that evening. Benvolio worried, but there was nothing he could do. Escalus assured him that a guard had been assigned to trail Mercutio's every move. Beyond that, all they could do was wait. No one ate much at dinner, and Benvolio climbed into a cold, lonely bed. He had barely drifted off when a knock at the door woke him. He guessed that Mercutio had returned, and wondered why Mercutio felt the need to knock on the door. "Come in," he called. "I have not barred the door against thee."
The door opened, and, to Benvolio's surprise, Valentine edged into the chamber. "I cannot sleep," he said. "Whenever I close my eyes, I am assaulted by the most terrible dreams." Muzzy, tousled, and frightened, Valentine bore no resemblance to the confident youth of fifteen whose striking good looks already caused female heads to turn in Verona.
Benvolio sat up and pulled the quilt aside. "Thou canst stay here with me if thou wilt," he said. "I am not thy brother, but perhaps I can offer thee a little comfort."
Valentine needed no second invitation, and climbed under the covers. Benvolio pulled the quilt back over both of them and lay down. Valentine shivered, and burrowed his face into Mercutio's pillow. After a moment, he turned to Benvolio.
"I shared a bed with my brother when we still lived in Father's house," he said. "Mercutio tried to comfort me, but I was always terrified. I dreaded the moment when Father would come in at night and take Mercutio away. I always feared that Father would come for me one day, but he never did. I only learned later how Mercutio arranged that, the sacrifices he made for my safety. I cannot believe Father is really dead, Benvolio. In my dreams, he stood over me with his hand raised to strike me."
"He is dead," Benvolio said, his voice sounding thin and hollow in the darkness. "He will be buried tomorrow, and thou wilt see him shut in the tomb. He will never emerge from that place."
Valentine nodded. After a while, he relaxed enough to fall asleep. Benvolio adjusted the quilt, then closed his eyes and indulged himself in a moment of pure hatred for the man whose funeral he had helped to plan. Giacomo Rinuccini's body might be dead, but his spirit and his memory had lost none of their power to terrify the two sons he had abused.
Mercutio returned to the palace in the gray hours of the morning. He said nothing of where he had been or what he had done, but changed into attire suitable for a funeral. The cortege from Mantua arrived just before midday. Servants transferred Rinuccini's shrunken, shrouded body onto the bier prepared for it, and the small procession set out for the cemetery. Friar Lawrence offered a brief prayer, and choirboys sang. Through it all, Mercutio stood stiff and withdrawn, seemingly oblivious to Benvolio's hand on his shoulder and Valentine weeping at his side.
Some of Rinuccini's former associates attended the funeral, and after the body was interred, they attempted to greet Mercutio, calling him by his father's title. Mercutio's eyes flashed dangerously, and Paris stepped in to draw the men away from his cousin. "Mercutio must return to the bosom of his family now," he said smoothly.
"Of course," one of the businessmen said. "A good son must have time to mourn his father's passing. The sons are so young still – twenty and . . . fourteen, perhaps?"
"Fifteen," Paris said.
"Of course. So young. Ah, well, 'tis a sad day indeed to bid farewell to a most honored associate." The man bowed. Mercutio shut his eyes.
"I will tarry no longer in this place, this temple of the past," he said.
Escalus nodded, and Paris and Benvolio escorted the dead man's sons home.
Even in the relative safety and comfort of the palace, Mercutio's behavior continued to deteriorate. Escalus called him into his study to go over the titles and property that Mercutio and Valentine were to inherit. Benvolio laid the files on the desk, but Mercutio refused to look at them.
"Take them away," he said. "Valentine may have it all, if he desires it. I have no wish for anything that was my father's."
Escalus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is not so easily done, Mercutio. Thy father had a house, land, and investments here in Verona, and it appears that he has built a second fortune in Mantua. His property in Verona is willed to thee and Valentine in shares proper to your rank, but he has left behind no testament concerning his business and other holdings in Mantua. The law of Mantua confers these upon thee, and I cannot change that on a whim. If thou dost truly wish to refuse thy inheritance, thou must consult a lawyer and create formal documents to that effect."
"Call a lawyer, then," Mercutio said. "My father pricked me almost unto death for his amusement, and I will have no part of anything that was his."
"I will call no lawyer," Escalus retorted. "It is true that thy father is dead, and his legal power over thee is no more. But I am thy Prince as well as thy uncle, and it is within my power to declare thee still in need of guardianship. I will not hesitate to assume that power if I see the need." His expression softened a little. "Mercutio, thou art still in a passion, and thy thoughts are not yet rational. I will put thy inheritance in trust for a while. Later, when thy head is cooler, thou mayst think better of how thou dost wish to dispose of it."
Mercutio nodded stiffly, and wandered away.
Once again, Mercutio did not appear at the table for dinner. Escalus did not summon him, saying that he had no wish to start a battle he could not win. Dinner was a silent affair, and Benvolio was only too happy to escape to a private sitting room afterwards, where he could enjoy a book in peace for a while. Eventually, he grew weary and went to the bedchamber.
Mercutio lay fully clothed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He flinched away when Benvolio moved too close. Benvolio sighed. "Don thy nightclothes, at least," he said. "Thou wilt be more comfortable."
Mercutio took his nightgown into a side chamber to change, though he had not done that for several weeks. Benvolio changed into his own nightclothes and climbed into bed. Weary as he was, he could not fall asleep until Mercutio returned. He opened the covers in silent invitation, and was distressed but not surprised when Mercutio curled up tightly in the farthest corner of the bed. At least Benvolio knew where he was and that he was safe. That would have to do.
Several hours later, a blood-chilling scream shattered Benvolio's sleep. Mercutio struggled free of the bedclothes and raced for the balcony as if a demon out of hell were chasing him. Benvolio followed, and his stomach clenched as Mercutio climbed onto the balcony's rail. The balcony was just high enough that a fall from it would cripple Mercutio for life if it did not kill him outright. Mercutio did not seem to care about the danger, or even notice where he was.
"Mercutio, stop!" Benvolio cried. "Whatever is chasing thee is not real. It is a dream, caro, nothing more. Come back to bed."
Benvolio moved closer, trying not to startle Mercutio, but ready to pull him back bodily if need be. Mercutio stopped moving, and looked around, as if he had only just woken fully from his nightmare. Benvolio held out his arms.
"Please, caro, come inside. I would have thee safe in thy chamber. No one will harm thee there, I swear it on my life."
Mercutio did not flinch or fall, but neither did he return to Benvolio. Benvolio swallowed back a wave of terror and tried to appear calm and welcoming.
"I cannot bear the thought of losing thee, not to the terrors of thy father's ghost. Thou hast fought him courageously all thy life. Wilt thou surrender now that he is dead?" Benvolio's voice cracked, and he drew a ragged breath to steady himself. "Please, caro Mercutio, please do not leave me alone. I would die without thee."
Slowly, Mercutio climbed off the balcony rail. He stared at Benvolio for a moment, then took a step toward him, and another. He was almost inside when he doubled over, moaning. Benvolio rushed to his side and helped him back into the bedchamber. Mercutio collapsed on the floor, his cries growing stronger. Benvolio dropped to his knees and held Mercutio firmly in his arms.
"Cry, caro," he said. "I know that thou hast tears inside that must come out, or they will poison thee. Weep and scream if thou must – thou mayst scream into my shoulder, and no one will hear. Let thy grief out, caro mio, before it destroys thee."
Mercutio struggled for a moment, then went limp in Benvolio's arms. His eyes filled with tears, and he began to wail. Benvolio cradled Mercutio's head close to his shoulder and held him tightly as he convulsed.
Mercutio wept until he was sick, gagging over the chamber pot, but nothing came up save bile. Benvolio held Mercutio's shoulders as he retched, then clasped him in his arms once more, praying that they would both live through this terrible night. Mercutio screamed and wept and choked until he had no more tears left. With the last of his energy, Benvolio maneuvered them both back into bed, still holding Mercutio against his chest. He stroked Mercutio's hair, but said nothing, fearing that his soul was shredded as raw as Mercutio's voice. Finally, utterly exhausted, Mercutio fell asleep, and Benvolio followed quickly.