Caro, Chapter 19
As some of you have guessed, the Handbasket Express is gearing up for its regular run downhill. It's been something of a sheltered winter and spring, but the boys are going to have to face the real world sooner or later.
A quick note: Benvolio makes an impassioned defense of himself in this chapter, but he doesn't have all of his facts correct, being nineteen and not massively experienced in the world. Don't believe every single word he says.
19. Wisely And Slow
Juliet’s pregnancy caused an enormous fuss. Aunt Susanna and her nurse watched over her constantly, supervising her diet, shielding her from anything that might upset her and mark the baby, and escorting her on carefully guarded walks so that she could breathe good air. The nurse bought armfuls of amulets against evil spirits from street vendors, while Aunt Susanna inquired of the other ladies of Verona whether they knew of any potential wet-nurses.
In public, Romeo was the very picture of a proud father-to-be. In church, he doted on Juliet, and escorted her gallantly to the stone benches along the sides of the building. He allowed both Uncle Tiberio and Signior Capulet to toast his health, and endured both the good-natured teasing of his friends and Tybalt’s frosty politeness. But in private, drinking in taverns with Benvolio, Romeo confessed his secret fears. He worried about Juliet’s health, and was utterly terrified of Lady Capulet.
“I do not understand,” he said. “During the first months of our marriage, it was as though Juliet was an orphan, so thoroughly did the lady cast her aside. Now that Juliet is with child, Capulet’s wife has become a mother once more, and will smother her with affection.” He shook his head and drained his wine.
Benvolio could not suppress a snort of laughter. “Thou may’st console thyself with philosophy, cousin mine. Juliet cannot carry this child forever. When the babe is born, and Lady Capulet finds herself a grandmother, perhaps her conduct will change.”
“Ay, but will it change for the better?”
“I am not learned in deciphering those particular oracles,” Benvolio replied. “But, at the very least, it will be a change.” He drank deeply from his own cup. “When I hear thy tales, I count myself glad that I will never sire children.”
Romeo frowned. “Art thou sure?” he asked. “Wouldst thou not -“
“Never,” Benvolio repeated. “Unless, by some chance, I should beget one on Mercutio, and the sun will set in the east before that happens.”
“Ah.” Romeo suddenly became very interested in the grain of the wooden table. “Then thou and Mercutio have . . . ?” His voice trailed off, and his hands finished the question.
Benvolio shook his head. “Do not fear. Mercutio can barely endure an embrace or a single kiss, and that only on days when fortune smiles. My virtue remains intact.”
Romeo could not quite mask his sigh of relief. “I am glad of that.” He glanced sharply at Benvolio. “Is it worth the risk, Benvolio? Dost thou know if Mercutio returns thy love?”
Now it was Benvolio’s turn to examine the surface of the table. “Mercutio has only begun to comprehend the meaning of the word,” he said. Romeo raised his eyebrows, and Benvolio met his eyes. “That is not such a surprise,” he said. “Who has ever bothered to love him, apart from me, or thee, or Valentine?”
“Can he love thee, then?”
“I do not know,” Benvolio admitted. “But I believe so. We have spent much time together, and I have begun to learn to read his actions as well as listen to his speech. He cannot speak the words, but I do believe that his affections for me are of the same nature as mine for him.”
Romeo sat up a little straighter, and offered Benvolio a little smile. “Well, that is good tidings, at least. But I fear for thee, Benvolio, and for Mercutio as well. I can assure thee of my discretion, but others may not be so kind. Do not draw attention to thyself.”
“I shall have little chance of that,” Benvolio said, forcing a laugh. “I have no need of such haste as thou hadst, since I cannot simply run to the abbey and beg Friar Lawrence to wed me to my secret love.”
“Nay, I suppose thou art correct,” Romeo said. “Thy road is a hard one. I hope that thou wilt be happy, cousin.”
Benvolio smiled. “And I wish thee the same.” He poured more wine into their cups, and they drank to each other’s continued good fortune.
Romeo proved as good as his word, and maintained the discretion that he had promised. However, Benvolio had not reckoned with the rest of his family. It was a fine, warm evening at the end of the spring. Most of the flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with a rich, humid perfume. Romeo had invited Benvolio and Mercutio to dine at his house. The food, as always, was excellent, and Juliet fairly glowed in the torchlight. When the visit was over, Benvolio drew Mercutio into the honeysuckle arbor that connected Romeo’s house with Uncle Tiberio’s.
They did not speak for a while. Benvolio allowed Mercutio to explore his face with his fingers, the tiny, gentle caresses that were Mercutio’s way of kissing with his hands. Each fluttering touch sent a shiver through Benvolio, and he gradually responded with caresses of his own, all up and down Mercutio’s arms. After a pleasant evening in the company of friends, and relaxed a little with wine, Mercutio was in a playful mood, and responded amiably to Benvolio’s inquiring pats. He moved a little closer to Benvolio, enough that Benvolio could draw him down for a kiss.
Mercutio returned the kiss, and for a moment, Benvolio was conscious of nothing except their mingled breath and the warmth of the honeysuckle-scented air. All too soon, Mercutio squirmed away, drawing his finger gently over Benvolio’s lips to ease the parting. “Good night, Benvolio,” he said. “I shall see thee again when the sun covers the world in glory.” With a brief clasp of hands, he left the arbor and collected his page for the walk home.
Benvolio remained in the arbor for a while, savoring the memory of Mercutio’s touch, his entire body enflamed with desire. When his wildly pounding heart slowed to something closer to its normal rhythm, he rose and walked toward the house. He had not taken ten steps when something rustled. Benvolio turned to investigate, and froze in horror. Aunt Susanna was standing there. It was hard to make out her expression in the darkness, but Benvolio could see enough to make out her disbelief and distress, and he knew that she had seen them.
“My lady aunt -“ he choked out.
“Come inside, Benvolio,” she said, in a soft, even tone that bore an undercurrent of steel. “Get thee to bed. We will speak in the morning.”
Benvolio’s shoulders slumped, but he followed his aunt without a word.
The next morning, Benvolio sat uncomfortably in Uncle Tiberio’s study, his plans for a leisurely day with his beloved friend utterly ruined. Instead, he squirmed through a discussion of his abnormal desire for men and his choice of Mercutio in particular. He was not sure which pained him more, Aunt Susanna’s quiet sorrow or Uncle Tiberio’s crushing disapproval.
“Why dost thou persist in thy stubborn ways?” Uncle Tiberio asked. “Experimentation between boys is one thing - many youths have had such experiences in childhood, and have emerged none the worse for it. But thou art no longer a child, Benvolio. Why must thou persist in this childish activity?”
“My heart has chosen its path,” Benvolio answered. “Its course is set. I cannot wed a woman in honest faith and be a full husband to her. I would not be so cruel to any maid of Verona.”
Aunt Susanna choked back a sob. “I had longed to weep at a wedding,” she moaned. “When Romeo married secretly and in haste, I consoled myself with the thought that I might yet attend thy nuptials.”
Benvolio clamped his lips together and forced down a surge of guilt. “I am sorry, madam,” he said. “I cannot take Mercutio to church for your sake.”
“Thou wilt still claim Mercutio as thy accomplice?” Uncle Tiberio asked. “Now dost thou compound our scandal. Perhaps I could have overlooked thy unnatural affection. I would have wedded thee to some fair maid, perhaps Helena, who I believed had caught thy eye, and thou couldst have lived as a decent man by day. I know full well that the stews are home to boy-whores as well as dames, and I know why they offer themselves. Thou canst yet have a respectable home, and feed thy taste for boy-flesh where none need know of it.”
“No father would offer up his daughter to such a marriage,” Benvolio said. “No heirs would come from my bed, and within a year, the lady would have sufficient grounds for annulment.”
Aunt Susanna gasped and waved her fan in front of her face. Uncle Tiberio twisted his hands together and glared at his nephew. “Then thou wilt still ally thyself with Mercutio, as full-grown as thou art, as highly born as thou, a ward of the Prince and heir to his banished father’s fortune? What madness has possessed thee, Benvolio? Mercutio cannot play the whore for thy amusement.”
The corners of Benvolio’s mouth twisted into an ironic smirk. “On that point, uncle, we are in perfect agreement. I love Mercutio, and I would not ask him to play the whore for me.”
Uncle Tiberio sucked in a breath. “Wouldst thou debase thyself to play the hind for him, then? Has he tumbled thee, beneath my very nose?”
The idea of Mercutio, still uncertain and wary of kissing, tumbling anyone was so absurd that Benvolio burst out laughing. Uncle Tiberio’s face went purple, and he leaped to his feet and seized Benvolio’s arm. “Come along, thou pillicock,” he said. “I shall take thee directly to the palace. Thou canst make thy case for thy behavior with the Prince’s nephew to the Prince himself.” And with that, he marched Benvolio out of the house.
Benvolio had faced the Prince before, and found him intimidating, but never more so than now. The aged secretary had shown them directly to Escalus’s study, where Uncle Tiberius accused Benvolio of immoral acts and unnatural desires. The Prince listened quietly, his eyes fixed on Benvolio. Benvolio burned with shame and wished silently that the floor would open up beneath his feet and swallow him. For the first time, he felt that he truly understood why Romeo had chosen to marry Juliet in secret.
At last, Uncle Tiberio had said all that he wanted to say, and fell silent, glaring at his nephew. The Prince regarded Benvolio silently for a moment. “Benvolio, what have you to say to your uncle’s charges? Does he speak the truth?”
Benvolio swallowed. “Ay, he does, for the most part. I fear he exaggerates certain details . . . but his primary argument is accurate. I do love Mercutio, as I have done since I was thirteen years of age.”
“Hmm.” The Prince motioned to his secretary. “Find Mercutio and bring him here.” The secretary hobbled out of the room, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Presently, the door opened again, and Mercutio entered. He took in Escalus’s carefully neutral expression, Uncle Tiberio’s suppressed anger, and Benvolio’s misery, and stiffened.
“I am here, Uncle,” he said. “What is your will?”
“Signior Montague has come before me saying that an unusual closeness has developed between thee and Benvolio. What hast thou to say in this matter?”
Mercutio blinked in surprise. Benvolio trembled a little, afraid of what Mercutio might say and how it would be received. Mercutio glanced at him, and there was a familiar set to his jaw. It was the same expression he had worn as a child, just before fighting Tybalt in defense of his brother or his friends. “Benvolio is the sweetest friend I have,” he said. “He is kind and gentle, and cares for me even in those hours when I am as cross and contrary as any evil demon. He loves me, and I know this because he has told me, and because he has stayed at my side even as my fortunes have changed. He is dearer to me than anyone, save only Valentine my brother.”
Uncle Tiberio stared. Benvolio’s breath came in small, quiet gasps. Up until this moment, he had not been quite certain of Mercutio’s heart. Even now, Mercutio had not used the word “love,” but his plain, direct statement had made his affections clear.
The Prince nodded thoughtfully at Mercutio. “Would it distress thee to be parted from him?”
Mercutio nodded. “Ay,” he said. “If harm came to Benvolio because of me, then I would surely go mad.”
The Prince laced his fingers together. “I would speak with Signior Montague in privacy,” he said. “Mercutio, take Benvolio and wait in the antechamber.”
Mercutio bowed. Benvolio rose shakily to his feet and managed a polite nod. Then he followed Mercutio out into the antechamber. Mercutio guided him to a chair, where he collapsed.
“What has happened?” Mercutio asked. “Has thy uncle . . . ?”
“My lady aunt espied us in the arbor,” Benvolio said. “She was most distressed, and told my uncle of the matter. I think he would have beaten me and turned me out onto the street if Aunt Susanna had not been there with him. I do not know what I shall do now. They will surely wish to part us, if they do not put us to death. I do not know which fate I fear most.”
Mercutio ran his hand gently through Benvolio’s hair. “Sweet Benvolio, do not terrify thyself before our guardians have spoken. Our case may not be so dire as thou dost fear.”
“How can I be other than terrified? The Prince knows what I have done with thee, and -“
“Ay, he does. And he does not condemn us for it.”
“Canst thou be so sure?”
Mercutio smiled. “I can. I dwell under his roof, after all. Listen, I shall tell thee something that most of the citizens of Verona do not know. There is a good reason why my uncle has never taken a bride.”
Slowly, the words penetrated Benvolio’s whirling mind. “Thou dost not mean - he shares this -“
“Ay,” Mercutio said. “He takes male lovers to his bed.” Benvolio stared at him in shock, and Mercutio laughed. “Benvolio, I am not so innocent that I would not notice such things. My uncle takes male lovers, and maintains his discretion. There is probably none in Verona who will extend us more indulgence.”
Finally, Benvolio was able to relax a little. He picked up Mercutio’s hand and kissed it, with a silent prayer that this would not be the last time he would be allowed to do so. They waited in silence for a while. At last, the door to the study opened, and Uncle Tiberio emerged, a roll of paper in his hand and an odd expression on his face. Mercutio and Benvolio rose to their feet.
Uncle Tiberio nodded. “I thank thee for thy speech, Mercutio,” he said. “Benvolio, come thou home with me. The Prince has offered a course of action, which I will describe to thee at home.”
Benvolio swallowed nervously. Uncle Tiberio was not nearly as angry as he had been earlier. That could only be a good sign. He dared not kiss Mercutio in front of Uncle Tiberio, but he gave Mercutio’s hand a quick squeeze before he followed his uncle out of the palace.
A quick note: Benvolio makes an impassioned defense of himself in this chapter, but he doesn't have all of his facts correct, being nineteen and not massively experienced in the world. Don't believe every single word he says.
19. Wisely And Slow
Juliet’s pregnancy caused an enormous fuss. Aunt Susanna and her nurse watched over her constantly, supervising her diet, shielding her from anything that might upset her and mark the baby, and escorting her on carefully guarded walks so that she could breathe good air. The nurse bought armfuls of amulets against evil spirits from street vendors, while Aunt Susanna inquired of the other ladies of Verona whether they knew of any potential wet-nurses.
In public, Romeo was the very picture of a proud father-to-be. In church, he doted on Juliet, and escorted her gallantly to the stone benches along the sides of the building. He allowed both Uncle Tiberio and Signior Capulet to toast his health, and endured both the good-natured teasing of his friends and Tybalt’s frosty politeness. But in private, drinking in taverns with Benvolio, Romeo confessed his secret fears. He worried about Juliet’s health, and was utterly terrified of Lady Capulet.
“I do not understand,” he said. “During the first months of our marriage, it was as though Juliet was an orphan, so thoroughly did the lady cast her aside. Now that Juliet is with child, Capulet’s wife has become a mother once more, and will smother her with affection.” He shook his head and drained his wine.
Benvolio could not suppress a snort of laughter. “Thou may’st console thyself with philosophy, cousin mine. Juliet cannot carry this child forever. When the babe is born, and Lady Capulet finds herself a grandmother, perhaps her conduct will change.”
“Ay, but will it change for the better?”
“I am not learned in deciphering those particular oracles,” Benvolio replied. “But, at the very least, it will be a change.” He drank deeply from his own cup. “When I hear thy tales, I count myself glad that I will never sire children.”
Romeo frowned. “Art thou sure?” he asked. “Wouldst thou not -“
“Never,” Benvolio repeated. “Unless, by some chance, I should beget one on Mercutio, and the sun will set in the east before that happens.”
“Ah.” Romeo suddenly became very interested in the grain of the wooden table. “Then thou and Mercutio have . . . ?” His voice trailed off, and his hands finished the question.
Benvolio shook his head. “Do not fear. Mercutio can barely endure an embrace or a single kiss, and that only on days when fortune smiles. My virtue remains intact.”
Romeo could not quite mask his sigh of relief. “I am glad of that.” He glanced sharply at Benvolio. “Is it worth the risk, Benvolio? Dost thou know if Mercutio returns thy love?”
Now it was Benvolio’s turn to examine the surface of the table. “Mercutio has only begun to comprehend the meaning of the word,” he said. Romeo raised his eyebrows, and Benvolio met his eyes. “That is not such a surprise,” he said. “Who has ever bothered to love him, apart from me, or thee, or Valentine?”
“Can he love thee, then?”
“I do not know,” Benvolio admitted. “But I believe so. We have spent much time together, and I have begun to learn to read his actions as well as listen to his speech. He cannot speak the words, but I do believe that his affections for me are of the same nature as mine for him.”
Romeo sat up a little straighter, and offered Benvolio a little smile. “Well, that is good tidings, at least. But I fear for thee, Benvolio, and for Mercutio as well. I can assure thee of my discretion, but others may not be so kind. Do not draw attention to thyself.”
“I shall have little chance of that,” Benvolio said, forcing a laugh. “I have no need of such haste as thou hadst, since I cannot simply run to the abbey and beg Friar Lawrence to wed me to my secret love.”
“Nay, I suppose thou art correct,” Romeo said. “Thy road is a hard one. I hope that thou wilt be happy, cousin.”
Benvolio smiled. “And I wish thee the same.” He poured more wine into their cups, and they drank to each other’s continued good fortune.
Romeo proved as good as his word, and maintained the discretion that he had promised. However, Benvolio had not reckoned with the rest of his family. It was a fine, warm evening at the end of the spring. Most of the flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with a rich, humid perfume. Romeo had invited Benvolio and Mercutio to dine at his house. The food, as always, was excellent, and Juliet fairly glowed in the torchlight. When the visit was over, Benvolio drew Mercutio into the honeysuckle arbor that connected Romeo’s house with Uncle Tiberio’s.
They did not speak for a while. Benvolio allowed Mercutio to explore his face with his fingers, the tiny, gentle caresses that were Mercutio’s way of kissing with his hands. Each fluttering touch sent a shiver through Benvolio, and he gradually responded with caresses of his own, all up and down Mercutio’s arms. After a pleasant evening in the company of friends, and relaxed a little with wine, Mercutio was in a playful mood, and responded amiably to Benvolio’s inquiring pats. He moved a little closer to Benvolio, enough that Benvolio could draw him down for a kiss.
Mercutio returned the kiss, and for a moment, Benvolio was conscious of nothing except their mingled breath and the warmth of the honeysuckle-scented air. All too soon, Mercutio squirmed away, drawing his finger gently over Benvolio’s lips to ease the parting. “Good night, Benvolio,” he said. “I shall see thee again when the sun covers the world in glory.” With a brief clasp of hands, he left the arbor and collected his page for the walk home.
Benvolio remained in the arbor for a while, savoring the memory of Mercutio’s touch, his entire body enflamed with desire. When his wildly pounding heart slowed to something closer to its normal rhythm, he rose and walked toward the house. He had not taken ten steps when something rustled. Benvolio turned to investigate, and froze in horror. Aunt Susanna was standing there. It was hard to make out her expression in the darkness, but Benvolio could see enough to make out her disbelief and distress, and he knew that she had seen them.
“My lady aunt -“ he choked out.
“Come inside, Benvolio,” she said, in a soft, even tone that bore an undercurrent of steel. “Get thee to bed. We will speak in the morning.”
Benvolio’s shoulders slumped, but he followed his aunt without a word.
The next morning, Benvolio sat uncomfortably in Uncle Tiberio’s study, his plans for a leisurely day with his beloved friend utterly ruined. Instead, he squirmed through a discussion of his abnormal desire for men and his choice of Mercutio in particular. He was not sure which pained him more, Aunt Susanna’s quiet sorrow or Uncle Tiberio’s crushing disapproval.
“Why dost thou persist in thy stubborn ways?” Uncle Tiberio asked. “Experimentation between boys is one thing - many youths have had such experiences in childhood, and have emerged none the worse for it. But thou art no longer a child, Benvolio. Why must thou persist in this childish activity?”
“My heart has chosen its path,” Benvolio answered. “Its course is set. I cannot wed a woman in honest faith and be a full husband to her. I would not be so cruel to any maid of Verona.”
Aunt Susanna choked back a sob. “I had longed to weep at a wedding,” she moaned. “When Romeo married secretly and in haste, I consoled myself with the thought that I might yet attend thy nuptials.”
Benvolio clamped his lips together and forced down a surge of guilt. “I am sorry, madam,” he said. “I cannot take Mercutio to church for your sake.”
“Thou wilt still claim Mercutio as thy accomplice?” Uncle Tiberio asked. “Now dost thou compound our scandal. Perhaps I could have overlooked thy unnatural affection. I would have wedded thee to some fair maid, perhaps Helena, who I believed had caught thy eye, and thou couldst have lived as a decent man by day. I know full well that the stews are home to boy-whores as well as dames, and I know why they offer themselves. Thou canst yet have a respectable home, and feed thy taste for boy-flesh where none need know of it.”
“No father would offer up his daughter to such a marriage,” Benvolio said. “No heirs would come from my bed, and within a year, the lady would have sufficient grounds for annulment.”
Aunt Susanna gasped and waved her fan in front of her face. Uncle Tiberio twisted his hands together and glared at his nephew. “Then thou wilt still ally thyself with Mercutio, as full-grown as thou art, as highly born as thou, a ward of the Prince and heir to his banished father’s fortune? What madness has possessed thee, Benvolio? Mercutio cannot play the whore for thy amusement.”
The corners of Benvolio’s mouth twisted into an ironic smirk. “On that point, uncle, we are in perfect agreement. I love Mercutio, and I would not ask him to play the whore for me.”
Uncle Tiberio sucked in a breath. “Wouldst thou debase thyself to play the hind for him, then? Has he tumbled thee, beneath my very nose?”
The idea of Mercutio, still uncertain and wary of kissing, tumbling anyone was so absurd that Benvolio burst out laughing. Uncle Tiberio’s face went purple, and he leaped to his feet and seized Benvolio’s arm. “Come along, thou pillicock,” he said. “I shall take thee directly to the palace. Thou canst make thy case for thy behavior with the Prince’s nephew to the Prince himself.” And with that, he marched Benvolio out of the house.
Benvolio had faced the Prince before, and found him intimidating, but never more so than now. The aged secretary had shown them directly to Escalus’s study, where Uncle Tiberius accused Benvolio of immoral acts and unnatural desires. The Prince listened quietly, his eyes fixed on Benvolio. Benvolio burned with shame and wished silently that the floor would open up beneath his feet and swallow him. For the first time, he felt that he truly understood why Romeo had chosen to marry Juliet in secret.
At last, Uncle Tiberio had said all that he wanted to say, and fell silent, glaring at his nephew. The Prince regarded Benvolio silently for a moment. “Benvolio, what have you to say to your uncle’s charges? Does he speak the truth?”
Benvolio swallowed. “Ay, he does, for the most part. I fear he exaggerates certain details . . . but his primary argument is accurate. I do love Mercutio, as I have done since I was thirteen years of age.”
“Hmm.” The Prince motioned to his secretary. “Find Mercutio and bring him here.” The secretary hobbled out of the room, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Presently, the door opened again, and Mercutio entered. He took in Escalus’s carefully neutral expression, Uncle Tiberio’s suppressed anger, and Benvolio’s misery, and stiffened.
“I am here, Uncle,” he said. “What is your will?”
“Signior Montague has come before me saying that an unusual closeness has developed between thee and Benvolio. What hast thou to say in this matter?”
Mercutio blinked in surprise. Benvolio trembled a little, afraid of what Mercutio might say and how it would be received. Mercutio glanced at him, and there was a familiar set to his jaw. It was the same expression he had worn as a child, just before fighting Tybalt in defense of his brother or his friends. “Benvolio is the sweetest friend I have,” he said. “He is kind and gentle, and cares for me even in those hours when I am as cross and contrary as any evil demon. He loves me, and I know this because he has told me, and because he has stayed at my side even as my fortunes have changed. He is dearer to me than anyone, save only Valentine my brother.”
Uncle Tiberio stared. Benvolio’s breath came in small, quiet gasps. Up until this moment, he had not been quite certain of Mercutio’s heart. Even now, Mercutio had not used the word “love,” but his plain, direct statement had made his affections clear.
The Prince nodded thoughtfully at Mercutio. “Would it distress thee to be parted from him?”
Mercutio nodded. “Ay,” he said. “If harm came to Benvolio because of me, then I would surely go mad.”
The Prince laced his fingers together. “I would speak with Signior Montague in privacy,” he said. “Mercutio, take Benvolio and wait in the antechamber.”
Mercutio bowed. Benvolio rose shakily to his feet and managed a polite nod. Then he followed Mercutio out into the antechamber. Mercutio guided him to a chair, where he collapsed.
“What has happened?” Mercutio asked. “Has thy uncle . . . ?”
“My lady aunt espied us in the arbor,” Benvolio said. “She was most distressed, and told my uncle of the matter. I think he would have beaten me and turned me out onto the street if Aunt Susanna had not been there with him. I do not know what I shall do now. They will surely wish to part us, if they do not put us to death. I do not know which fate I fear most.”
Mercutio ran his hand gently through Benvolio’s hair. “Sweet Benvolio, do not terrify thyself before our guardians have spoken. Our case may not be so dire as thou dost fear.”
“How can I be other than terrified? The Prince knows what I have done with thee, and -“
“Ay, he does. And he does not condemn us for it.”
“Canst thou be so sure?”
Mercutio smiled. “I can. I dwell under his roof, after all. Listen, I shall tell thee something that most of the citizens of Verona do not know. There is a good reason why my uncle has never taken a bride.”
Slowly, the words penetrated Benvolio’s whirling mind. “Thou dost not mean - he shares this -“
“Ay,” Mercutio said. “He takes male lovers to his bed.” Benvolio stared at him in shock, and Mercutio laughed. “Benvolio, I am not so innocent that I would not notice such things. My uncle takes male lovers, and maintains his discretion. There is probably none in Verona who will extend us more indulgence.”
Finally, Benvolio was able to relax a little. He picked up Mercutio’s hand and kissed it, with a silent prayer that this would not be the last time he would be allowed to do so. They waited in silence for a while. At last, the door to the study opened, and Uncle Tiberio emerged, a roll of paper in his hand and an odd expression on his face. Mercutio and Benvolio rose to their feet.
Uncle Tiberio nodded. “I thank thee for thy speech, Mercutio,” he said. “Benvolio, come thou home with me. The Prince has offered a course of action, which I will describe to thee at home.”
Benvolio swallowed nervously. Uncle Tiberio was not nearly as angry as he had been earlier. That could only be a good sign. He dared not kiss Mercutio in front of Uncle Tiberio, but he gave Mercutio’s hand a quick squeeze before he followed his uncle out of the palace.