Chapter 2 – What is this boy that dost not agree with me?
OK, here it is - Chapter 2! Many thanks to Zebra and Rowe for putting up with my Shakespeare obsession and bearing my gripes about the lack of reviews for chapter 1. Is my writing really that bad?If it is, please review and tell me how I can make it better. And prompts are accepted like sweeties. Yes, I know that it has taken ages to update, I'm sorry, it's hard to cross the way kids argue with the way B&B argue.
Beatrice and Benedick left the string of dancers, and ducked out of the hall. Beatrice espied a bench beneath a great willow tree, and they sat down upon it, content in each other's arms. Suddenly Benedick chuckled.
"What is't that makest thou laugh so, Husband?" asked Beatrice, temporarily confused, "Any particular thing, or but general happiness?" Benedick laughed again.
"I simply recollected that 'twas under this very tree we held our first battle of wits, Bea."
"Troth I had forgotten that. I daresay the prince will still swear that there ne'er was such a first skirmish, but that we have simply argued since the beginning of time. I remember now."
How could she have forgotten? She had been five, almost six, and Hero had been four, or a bit short of that, when Uncle had told them that Don Pablo, the then Prince of Arragon, was going on progress that summer, and that he and his court would spend a month or more in Messina, and that this was a very great honour and so they were to be exceeding good ( It was obvious to Beatrice even then that this comment was entirely for her own benefit, and ne'er for Hero's.) and not to chatter shrewdly at the important grown-ups who would be living with them for a while (fiery Hades would freeze before shy, meek little Hero needed to be told this).
They had been told that there would be children coming with the progress, though 'twas granted that 'children' meant 'boys', a new species which intrigued Bea as it terrified Hero. Neither of them had e'er encountered males of their own age before, and each of them knew monstrous little of what to expect. When Bea attempted to ask Ursley, their seventeen year old nurse, she was met with the advice of a woman who was fed to the teeth with dealing with the heartburns of twelve year old Meg –
"Speak not to them, and they'll speak not to thee, 'tis the best way." When she inquired with Meg, she received the most perplexing piece of advice she had been given in her four year of life –
"Ooh, aren't you just a mite young for 'all that'?" It had taken Bea years to puzzle out what moral Margaret had in saying this.
She knew that the Prince had a son who would be coming with him, for she had heard Uncle Antonio speak of "where the little prince Pedro is staying", but she knew not how many other lads would be with him.
The day the court arrived, Messina became awash with activity. When the first luggage carts arrived, they were swarmed over by servants, ready to dismantle the large piles of baggage, and giving unto the carts the semblance of an anthill which had been kicked.
They heard the Prince's train before they saw it. The sound of bugles, hooves and voices got gradually louder, until the head of the train rounded a corner, and Beatrice and Hero, leaning out of their window (in truth, Beatrice may have been leaning out of the window, but Hero saw fit to merely peer cautiously over the frame) saw it; a great, glittering serpent, moving slowly up the road towards the estate. And that armoured figure in front had to be the Prince, Don Pablo, ruler of Arragon, Messina, Florence, Padua and Calabria.
At his heels there were a gaggle of smaller figures, each mounted on ponies, and lead by a tall, swarthy skinned boy with a regal posture, closely followed by a smaller lad with blond hair, who glanced up at the house, saw Hero and Bea, and waved most forwardly. Hero squeaked and ducked down behind the sill, but Bea waved wildly back, giggling at the boy's antics. Maybe lads were not such poised, powerful creatures as Ursula said they were. Even he who looked to be one of the eldest of these, also lanky and swarthy, trailed at the back of the group, apparently plying that jewel of Beatrice's trinket box of ways to manipulate grown-ups, outright sulking.
Bea scampered down the stair and into the courtyard, dragging Hero behind her. They arrived just in time to be chivvied back up the stairway by an anxious Ursula. "Nay, Beatrice, young ladies are to be neither beheld nor heard." She tried to protest that they had been beheld already, by the blond boy who had waved at them, but Ursley would not hear her.
They waited in an agony of impatience as voices drifted up from the courtyard, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, half an hour, and just as Bea was fit to scream, Meg and Ursley came in, carrying Hero and Beatrice's frightful, uncomfortable best clothes and with the instructions for Bea to dress herself, then to help Hero, and to be both of them down in the ballroom fit for presentation to the Prince and his court in the next half-hour.
Seething at being kept uninformed of the proceedings, and at having to don her hated best clothes, Bea dressed most reluctantly, and assisted her cousin in fastening the stays and sleeves of her dress. She brushed her own and Hero's hair, and they made their way, with great eagerness, down to the ballroom. Bea would have marched straight in, but Hero tugged on her sleeve, shook her head, and with her thumb firmly in her mouth, knocked on the door.
It was opened by two footmen in royal livery, and the girls walked inside. Leonato sat at the dais, entertaining His Grace and the regal looking boy, while the smiling blond and the dark, sullen lad who Bea took to be the eldest, along with an older blond, looked on.
Leonato stood when he saw the girls, and beckoned them over. The younger blond boy grinned at them, and Bea smiled back, while Hero widened her big, dark eyes, but said nothing.
"Your Grace, my daughter and my niece. The little one is my daughter Hero, the taller is Beatrice, only child of my late brother." Bea curtsied and smiled up at the Prince.
"My lord." Hero too dropped a curtsey, and removed her thumb from her mouth, but still uttered not a sound. Don Pablo beamed indulgently.
"I' faith Signor, thou art lucky indeed, with such charming young ladies to be proud of, marry they are truly an asset to your house. My lady Hero, lady Beatrice, I am delighted to meet you both. I am sure my son and his companions are wishful of being introduced to you." he gestured towards the boys, and each stepped forward as his name was called, "My son and heir, crown prince Don Pedro of Arragon," the kingly looking boy who appeared to be in charge bowed, smiling, and Don Pablo continued, "My… son, Don John, Count of Arragon," the sullen boy, who appeared to be twelve or thirteen year old, stepped up, "Count Lorenzo diPadua," a different, older blond from the grinning boy who had waved to Bea and Hero, bowed and kissed Hero's hand, while the shy little girl blushed furiously, "And Master Benedick diPadua, younger brother to Count Lorenzo and on progress at the special request of Prince Pedro." the spritely blond boy with the grin finally stepped forward, bowed, and promptly did away with protocol by kissing the hand of dowryless Bea, and ignoring Hero, the heir to the estate, but to smile to her.
Everyone except Hero looked slightly shocked, especially Bea, who had never been treated as being more important than Hero despite her superior age, and who, though she could see that these boys had been told to be courteous to them for the sake of forming an alliance, she was sure that no such alliance had been intended for her, since marriage with her, she knew already, was worth very little, because she held only the deeds to one small Calabrian estate which had been Uncle's until he inherited Messina from her father. There was no rule, as such, why the boy – master Benedick – should not approach her first, rather than the very relieved looking Hero, but common sense should have forbidden it. Master Benedick looked to be perchance a year, two year older than her, so he should have known better.
There was a moment's silence, and then Don Pablo cleared his throat in what seemed to Beatrice to be an unnecessarily awkward fashion, and said
"That is the sum of all. You children, run you outside to the gardens, and amuse yourselves for this short while, we grown-ups have most uninteresting matters to discuss."
They needed but little encouragement to do so. Every child, including Prince Pedro, walked in a most stately fashion to the door, which was opened by the two footmen. As soon as it was closed behind them, every child (except Hero, who, needs demanding it, was being towed along by Bea once again, and Count Lorenzo, who seemed to think it below his dignity), including Prince Pedro, broke into a run and dashed down the corridor and out to the gardens, only stopping when they reached the willow which overhung the stream.
"I must say, highness, that I for one am glad there is no need for me to sit up on that dais being polite to folk while my companions perch on comfortable seats and watc – " began Master Benedick, before Prince Pedro laughed and shoved him, breaking the younger boy off his teasing.
"'Tis a cruel thing when one's best friend takes it upon his seven year old self to knock a fellow down from his superiority. Is't not a fine thing that I have thee to keep me humble?"
Bea rolled her eyes and fished out her daybooke from the pocket of her petticoat, it being far more interesting than the ensuing scuffle which followed from this comment. This drew the boys' interest away from their playfighting, and towards the rare sight of a literate young girl.
"A daybooke, milady Beatrice?" enquired Count Lorenzo, "It is not seemly for a woman to write. If thou wishest any husband, thou shouldst cease thy scribbling, and take up embroidery. 'Tis a much more praiseworthy skill." And the thirteen year old stomped off, back to the house.
"Take no offense of him, Lady Beatrice," piped up Benedick, "He is a stuffy bum-bailey and he be too thick skulled to realise as much." He sat himself down upon the grass, and patted the ground next him. Bea sat, laughing at the name he gave unto his own elder brother.
"Now, for myself I see a good friend in a woman who reads and writes, and to do so at the age of but five year suggests a talent for it. 'Tis a most useful skill when thou hast nothing of any great import to do." Bea gasped most indignantly at his arrogance over the matter of what her sex were permitted to do, conveniently forgetting that being disallowed from doing anything interesting was her own excuse for her reading so oft.
"Well excuse me, Master male pride!" The prince and his brother edged closer to them, sensing a most amusing fight in the offing. Hero edged away, gazing solemnly upon the emerging scene, as Master Benedick accepted the challenge, clearly confident of beating the younger girl.
"Male pride? Nay! I meant only that those of your sex seem to have a most unnecessary level of free time, mayhap you have by chance, as John here would say, gone 'Suspicious Female', and so taken imaginary moral from my truly innocent spaken words." There was what Bea considered to be an 'unnecessary level'of barely-suppressed mirth issuing from behind the hands of Don Pedro and of Don John. She had to change its victim.
"Is't such a great wonder that females be yet suspicious, when there are such suspect males as thyself to be suspicious of? Why, e'en the counts, dukes, and princes of both legend and truth have been known to give their women cause to suspect their own menfolk in their very hearts, base masters and signors not requiring my stressing of the matter!" For some reason or another, Prince Pedro seemed to find this comment infinitely more amusing than Count John, who resumed his scowling at the word 'hearts', and turned sullenly to trudge back towards the house. Benedick; meanwhile, ignored the jibe at his status and returned the volley with –
"O, base? 'Tis thy state of humour which is base, lady, base to the point of being choleric."
"Should I speak of thy state of humour? Such bile as thou spewest, it may suffice to ask, what state of humour?"
"Why, my state of humour is most finely balanced, enough to see the blood rising in thy face and temper!"
"May the blood in my face fill mine eyes, so I may look not on your face, for truly, the sight of it is painful to them!" She had won. Benedick could not counter it, and he finished rather lamely with –
"Come, let us be friends, I tire of arguing and wish only to spite thine eyes by inflicting my face on them. Friendship will allow me to do so." Don Pedro laughed harder than ever.
"Come on, Benedick, she has beaten thee. Thy tricks will not work on her, I warrant she will ever know when she has won, e'en after such a meaningful jibe as that. I do beg pardon of thee, did I say meaningful? Troth I meant meaningless."
Even Hero giggled at that, and Benedick extended his hand to Bea and said
"Truly though, Lady Beatrice, let's be friends. If thou art to impose thy tongue on folk, I want to be on thy side of the argument when thou dost. Do go thee and tell Lorenzo what thou hast told me, I wish only to watch his face when thou dost." Bea shook his hand and said
"I'm Bea, to my friends. Dost thou have a nickname, Master diPadua?" He sighed.
"Well, high-horse here" he shoved the Prince, "Calls me Ben, but that be simply to irk me. Why don't we do away with all this 'master' nonsense and just call me Benedick? And I think not that the 'diPadua' be necessary either. I try so hard to pretend I have no connection with Lorenzo."
Almost twenty years later, Beatrice reflected that not a soul had called her Bea ere the present moment, since she was fifteen. It had not been the fact that she had grown past a nickname, but that he had almost always called her Bea from that happy moment onwards, and after the… misunderstanding when she was fifteen and he sixteen, once they had gone their separate ways, no-one was in any great haste to remind her of him, lest she start spouting insults again.
"You know, his grace really would have no argument for such a statement. He were there to witness thee starting it." said Beatrice.
"I start it? Not so! Thou didst start it!"
"Nay, 'twas thine own comment that sparked my reply."
"My comment? Thy feminine suspicion!"
"O! So 'tis we are back to this, and, i 'faith, thou hast started it again!"
"Not I, Bea, not I!"
"Ay, 'tis so!"
"'Tis not!"
"'Tis so!"
"'Tis not!"
"'Tis so!"
"'Tis not!"
"'Tis so!"
"Ay, well enough, 'twas so."
"Ha!"
That fictional jelly watch is still unclaimed! What am I doing wrong? Is it really too much effort to type in that inviting little box in the right hand corner? Next chapter may be on the theme of 'Picnic'. Now please review or there will be NO FLUFF!