24. Grace And Rude Will

Benvolio woke when the sun shone in his eyes. He had not slept nearly long enough. His muscles ached, his mouth was dry, and his eyes felt as though they were filled with sand. Mercutio still lay huddled against him, sleeping as one dead. Slowly, Benvolio eased Mercutio down onto a pillow, and rose to use the chamber pot. When he carried it outside into the corridor, he heard the servants' voices, and he had an idea.

As he had hoped, the cooks were in the kitchen already, and there were scraps from last night's dinner left over. Benvolio put all of his best persuasive skills to work, and finally emerged from the kitchen bearing a mug of warmed-over chicken broth and two chopped hard-boiled eggs on a plate. He brought the food into the bedchamber just as Mercutio began to stir.

Benvolio climbed back onto the bed and pulled Mercutio into his arms. "How dost thou fare this morning, caro?"

Mercutio turned his face away from the light and shuddered. Benvolio patted his shoulder. "I have brought thee food. It is nothing heavy, merely broth and eggs."

"Food?" Mercutio croaked. "So early in the morning?"

"Thou hast eaten nothing for two days, caro. Thou hast no flesh to cushion thy bones. I would not have thee starve thyself." Benvolio picked up the mug of broth and held it to Mercutio's lips. "Drink, just a little. It will soothe thy throat."

Mercutio took a few sips of broth, then turned away. Benvolio kissed the top of his head, and offered a slice of egg. Mercutio ate it without seeming to notice. Benvolio waited a little, then offered the broth again. This time, Mercutio raised shaking hands to hold the mug himself. He took small sips, and Benvolio made encouraging noises and fed him more pieces of egg. Slowly, with much coaxing, Benvolio managed to get most of the food into Mercutio.

Once he had eaten, Mercutio seemed more alive, and the tight knot of worry in Benvolio's chest began to ease a little. They lay together in silence for a while before Mercutio spoke.

"I loved my father," he said softly. Then he sat up just enough so that he could see Benvolio's face. "Does that surprise thee? After all that he did to me, all that he made me endure, I still loved him."

"He was thy father,caro. It is the most natural thing in the world for a child to love its father."

Mercutio shuddered. "He touched my entire body, and he taught me to use my hands and my mouth on him even before he took me from school. When I was a little older, he ploughed me until I bled, and he promised to do the same to Valentine if ever I breathed a word of it. He beat both of us, whether we had earned it or not, and we feared him too much to cry. And still I loved him. Is that not perverse?"

Benvolio shook his head. "What thy father did to thee was perverse. Thy love for him was as natural as the sun and the rain."

"Every time I . . . satisfied him, I prayed that it would be enough, that he would love me as a father ought to love his son." Mercutio gave an ironic laugh. "I prayed for a life such as thou and Romeo had. Even after my uncle banished him, still I clung to the hope that he would return to make amends, that he would finally tell me why he did such things to me."

At last, Benvolio understood what had been behind Mercutio's strange behavior the past two days, and why he had screamed himself into exhaustion the night before. "And now he is dead, and he will never return."

Mercutio nodded. "I will never have my father's love, nor the answers I desired for so long. All that is left to me are the memories and the nightmares they engender."

"Caro, I cannot take thy memories away, nor can I tell thee why thy father acted so brutishly towards thee. I wish that I could do these things for thee. But all I can do is to give thee my love and ensure that thou needst not ever face another nightmare alone."

Benvolio buried his face in Mercutio's hair, and Mercutio patted his arm gently. "Sometimes," he said, "I fear that I am going mad."

"Thou art not mad," Benvolio assured him. "A weaker man would have gone mad, but thou art too strong for that."

"I am not mad?"

Benvolio chuckled. "Nay, thou art exhausted. No one has come to fetch us, and I suspect that they will not come for a while. I am weary this morning, and I wish to sleep a little more. I think it best that thou do the same." He carefully shifted down until he lay comfortably, still holding Mercutio, then wrapped them both in the quilt. Just before Benvolio's eyes fluttered shut, Mercutio tightened his embrace.

"I love thee, Benvolio," he murmured. Benvolio had but a moment of ecstatic joy at the words before he fell asleep.

When they finally rose, the sun was high in the sky. Benvolio had a moment of panic at missing his first appointments with the secretary. However, when he flew down the stairs and raced into the secretary's office, he found Paris sitting at his desk. Paris nodded to him. "Good morrow, Benvolio," he said. "I will take thy tasks for today. We guessed that thou wouldst be needed elsewhere."

Benvolio relaxed with a shiver. "For this relief, much thanks." Then, something connected in his mind. "Last night – thou must have heard . . . "

Paris gave a wry smile. "Ay. Helena was terrified, and to speak honestly, there were times when my blood ran cold as well. That, I think, was the worst night since my cousins came to dwell here. But it was not unexpected. I think thou hast earned a little leisure."

Benvolio bowed his thanks and left the study. He thought for a moment about what to do with an unexpectedly free day. Though guilt twisted in his stomach at such treachery, he realized that he did not want to spend it in Mercutio's company. He loved Mercutio dearly, but last night had been too full of horror, and he wanted some time to clear his head. His heart sank at the prospect of telling Mercutio this, and he hoped that Mercutio had recovered enough to be left alone for a few hours.

Fortunately, Benvolio found Mercutio in the garden with Valentine at his side. The brothers sat beneath a tree, so deep in conversation that Benvolio was loath to intrude. But Valentine spotted him and waved, so Benvolio approached them. "Paris has agreed to take on my tasks for the day," he said. "I am going to pay my cousin a visit."

Mercutio nodded. "Send him and his wife a greeting from me. I am not disposed to walk in the street today. I would prefer to remain here with Valentine."

"Then I will see thee this evening. Be well." Benvolio kissed Mercutio's hand and left the garden.

Romeo was glad to see Benvolio and called for wine. Juliet kissed him on both cheeks and summoned the nurse to bring Marcello to greet his godfather. Benvolio bounced the baby in his arms and tickled him to make him laugh. Marcello, at nine months of age, crowed and babbled, and would crawl a little when placed on the floor. Benvolio was always happy to see his godson, though he occasionally regretted that he would not have children of his own. All too soon, a familiar odor rose from Marcello's clout, and the nurse carried him away. Juliet excused herself and left her husband alone with his cousin.

"I heard the news about Signior Rinuccini's death," Romeo said, sipping at his wine. "I must confess that the tidings aroused no grief in me."

For the first time in two days, Benvolio laughed. "I am sure that the joy I took in planning that man's funeral was a sin," he said, "but I care not."

"How fares Mercutio?" Romeo shook his head. "I cannot begin to imagine how a son of such a father might receive the news of his death."

Benvolio swirled his wine meditatively, and stared down into his cup. "It has been hard on him," he said. "Thou knowst well that he will not touch food when he is distressed. I am certain that he did not sleep the night before the funeral, and last night . . . Romeo, last night, for the first time, I truly feared that Mercutio would go mad. He grieves for his father and despises himself for it."

Romeo accepted the news silently, staring at the pear trees. "And thou?" he asked after a while. "How dost thou fare in the midst of such turmoil?"

Benvolio did not answer at first. Then, unbidden, his throat swelled painfully, and tears leaked from his eyes before he could stop them. Quickly, Romeo set down their cups and embraced Benvolio. He made no comment, but allowed Benvolio to weep uninterrupted.

"It is difficult," Benvolio choked out. "I cannot tell thee how difficult it is. Romeo, cousin mine, thou must believe me. I love Mercutio as I have never loved anyone else in this world. I would not give him up for any threat or any sum. I am bound to him by contract, by vow, and by the choice of my heart above all else. But he is so deeply wounded, the scars on his heart are so profound – there are times when I am overwhelmed. I know not how to care for him, and yet I am the only one charged with that task. Mercutio would have hurled himself from the balcony last night if I had not pleaded with him to return. Perhaps next time I shall not be so fortunate, and I could not bear to lose him thus."

Romeo waited until Benvolio had wept himself dry, then nodded. "When a man's body is ill, he calls for a physician," he said. "But it is Mercutio's soul that suffers now. I think a priest might help him where thou cannot."

"He has no great love for holy men."

"Perhaps, but there is a holy man who would gladly receive a visit from him."

"Who?"

Romeo smiled. "Friar Lawrence. He performed the funeral rites, did he not? It is to be expected that he would see the dead man's son, and I know that he would be glad to offer counsel to a former pupil."

Benvolio considered the prospect. "I recall no special affection between them, and the good friar certainly never saw the best of Mercutio. But it is a desperate state of affairs, and perhaps that calls for desperate measures."

Romeo nodded and stood up. "Come. I will walk with thee to the palace and present the plan to Mercutio myself. I shall escort him to Lawrence's cell, so that he need not face the friar alone."

Benvolio threw his arms around his cousin. "That is an excellent thought. How can I thank thee enough?"

"Mercutio is one of my dearest friends, and he is the lover of one who might as well be my brother. How can I not do all that is in my power to give him aid in his time of need?"

After a certain amount of persuasion, Mercutio agreed to accompany Romeo to the abbey the next morning. They left as the clocks were striking nine, and Benvolio settled down to his secretarial duties, grateful for the assistance. There were times, he thought, that Romeo displayed a rare wisdom. Mercutio had need of far more guidance than one lay youth could give him, lover or no. Escalus clearly had not seen fit to provide that guidance, and Benvolio found his respect for the Prince significantly diminished because of that. But what Mercutio lacked in his guardian, he had in his friends, and Benvolio was glad of that fortune.

Romeo and Mercutio did not return for most of the day, but Benvolio did not worry. He suspected that Mercutio would emerge upset from his conference with Friar Lawrence, and guessed that Romeo would find an activity to soothe and amuse him afterwards. In the meantime, there was pressing business at the palace to occupy Benvolio's mind.

Three hours after noon, a packet of letters arrived from Mantua. Some were addressed to Mercutio, and others to Escalus. As Benvolio sorted through the latter, he recoiled in shock at what he read. This was a matter that required the Prince's immediate attention, and he did not hesitate to interrupt a scheduled meeting with the city fathers.

"Send Mercutio to me as soon as he returns home," Escalus said. "He must know of this at once."

When Mercutio returned, he seemed to be in a good mood, to Benvolio's relief, for the difficult news would be that much easier to break. Benvolio greeted him with a kiss, then told him of his uncle's summons. Mercutio dutifully presented himself to Escalus, who laid out the letters for his inspection.

The primary letter came from the Duke of Mantua, asking for information about the habits of the late Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, a former resident of Verona. It appeared that he had not been idle during his years of exile. At the time of his death, five families in Mantua had brought charges against him in the court for preying upon their young sons. One of the boys, eleven years old, had hanged himself in shame, and another had been pulled from a cistern in which he had tried to drown himself. The family of the suicide had included a sketch of their son, drawn by his grieving sister. The sketch showed a slender boy with pale hair and piercing eyes, who bore a striking resemblance to Mercutio at the same age.

As Mercutio read the documents, his shoulders grew stiff and his expression hardened. "I knew he was a monster," he breathed, "but even I did not guess at the depth of his depravity. My heart breaks for these boys, and for the others as well."

The bottom dropped out of Benvolio's stomach, but he said nothing. Escalus raised his eyebrows. "The others?" he asked. "Dost thou know of more such crimes, Mercutio?"

Mercutio laid the papers down on Escalus's desk and clenched his hands tightly. Benvolio laid a hand on his shoulder, and Mercutio glanced at him with a flash of gratitude in his eyes before he answered. "I have no proof, Uncle," he said, "but I know in my heart that there are more. Perhaps he has victims still living here in Verona, and we do not know about them, for they never told a soul."

"The boys in Mantua revealed their secrets," Escalus said. "As thou didst, six years ago."

"And one boy has died a cursed suicide, and another would have done the same, had a servant not found him. I endured in silence for five years, before I begged asylum from the only man in Verona with more power than my father. The other boys were not nephews to a Prince. I know that five families believed their sons' tales. How many more did not?"

Escalus made no immediate answer, but shuffled the papers on his desk around. "Thou art thy father's heir, whether thou wilt or no. Hast thou a response to these charges?"

Mercutio considered the question for a while. "Ay," he said at last. "My father had a house in Mantua. I would ask you, in my name, to sell it and make restitution to the families in Mantua, to which I shall append letters of apology for my father's crimes."

Escalus nodded. Mercutio sat up a little straighter, and clasped Benvolio's hand briefly for support. "I have also made a decision concerning the rest of my inheritance," he said. "My father used his wealth to hurt children and buy their silence. I will use it now to bring good into the world and make amends for my father's presence."

"Fair words," Escalus said. "How dost thou intend to act upon them?"

Mercutio sighed. "I know not. But I will think of something. First, I wish to know exactly what my father has left me." He turned to Benvolio. "This will not be easy, and I do not know if I have the strength of will to do it alone. Wilt thou lend me thy aid in this?"

Benvolio knelt down and took Mercutio's hands in his. Mercutio's eyes shone with the same fire that had always burned in them when he had fought on behalf of the victims of bullies as a child. It was one of his finest qualities, and one of the things that had made Benvolio love him. Now, the childish impulse to rescue the helpless had matured into a man's quest for justice. "I will help thee," he said. "Thou hast always had my heart. Thou hast my hands as well."

Mercutio smiled. "My father is dead," he said. "We will build him such a tomb as to ensure that his ghost will never rise until the day of his ultimate judgment."