fate.
Romeo. His name was a talisman to keep me steady. I could still smell him, faintly. No, not his scent, the scent of us together.
My head ached with grief. My mind was dazed. My body longed for him.
I felt slightly sick, but also as if my body floated somewhere else. I had not slept last night, nor much of the night before. I pinched myself hard, to try to think. There was no time for dozing now.
How to get to Mantua? I had no money. Even if I had, what was I to do with it? Who would hire a horse to a girl? A few great families kept carriages, but there were none for hire. When I had travelled before, it was only to our own estates for a brief time in the summer or when the plague raged in the city. The litter curtains were always drawn, for modesty. While they prevented the common folk seeing me, they also prevented me seeing where we were going, except when I peeped out between the curtains. Could I hire chairmen to carry me to the city gate, and to keep going till they came to Mantua?
But travellers needed food. They needed inns with rooms prepared for them, the fires lit, the sheets aired, the beds warmed, the hot water waiting. The household steward did all that. I realised I did not even know how much it cost to buy a loaf of bread.
I should have asked Romeo to hire men from Mantua to bring me to him! Stupid, stupid girl.
But if I had not stayed, I would not have discovered the threat of poison that still might strike him down. I tried to think which poison my mother would use. Foxgloves? Two drops could help the dropsy. Four could kill. Bitter almonds? One crushed into a hundred sweet almonds gave almond paste a rich flavour, but death followed hard and painfully if it were eaten alone. Even the hemlock my mother dropped into her eyes to make them sparkle in the candlelight could kill if given to a man to drink. Well, she had taught me a cure for her poisons too — a paste of rue and figs and walnuts. Friar Laurence must send Romeo the recipe. He must eat some of the paste each time he took food or drink.
My thoughts drifted to Mantua … was it a city just like ours? Faraway places had dragons, monkeys, elephants. Did Mantua have those?
I lay back on the cushions and shut my eyes, then opened them in case I wasted time in sleep. Think! Once I was gone to Mantua, my father would disown me. He would not break a vow. Would the Montagues disown their son too, for marrying a Capulet? Were Montagues kinder parents than Capulets? If both families disowned us, how would we live? Jewels were worth money, I thought vaguely. We could sell my jewels. My father would disown me, but he probably would not abandon my children.
I almost smiled. Children; mine and Romeo’s. Blood of my father, and of his father too. No matter what theson and daughter did, their children would be innocent, and the only blood relatives our fathers had. Blood called to blood.
If the Prince was happy with our marriage, he might decree that we be called back by Christmas-tide, allowed to live under his protection. Perhaps the Prince too had wept last night, for his cousin, slain Mercutio.
The chair stopped. Peter drew the curtains and helped me down. I climbed the stairs, not even glancing at the beggars, then hurried through the church and down the path.
The friar’s door opened. A man came out. For a moment my heart stopped, thinking it was Romeo. He had not yet left for Mantua. We could go together!
It was the Earl of Paris. He wore pink stockings, puffed-up gold breeches and a wide hat with three long feathers. It made him look younger, not older as perhaps he’d hoped.
He swept the hat off and bowed. ‘Happily met, my lady and my wife!’
My skirts were too wide to get past him on the narrow path. I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.’
He smiled. ‘That must be, love, on Thursday next.’
Fear clutched at my heart. I kept my voice steady. ‘What must be shall be.’
Friar Laurence
Romeo. His name was a talisman to keep me steady. I could still smell him, faintly. No, not his scent, the scent of us together.
My head ached with grief. My mind was dazed. My body longed for him.
I felt slightly sick, but also as if my body floated somewhere else. I had not slept last night, nor much of the night before. I pinched myself hard, to try to think. There was no time for dozing now.
How to get to Mantua? I had no money. Even if I had, what was I to do with it? Who would hire a horse to a girl? A few great families kept carriages, but there were none for hire. When I had travelled before, it was only to our own estates for a brief time in the summer or when the plague raged in the city. The litter curtains were always drawn, for modesty. While they prevented the common folk seeing me, they also prevented me seeing where we were going, except when I peeped out between the curtains. Could I hire chairmen to carry me to the city gate, and to keep going till they came to Mantua?
But travellers needed food. They needed inns with rooms prepared for them, the fires lit, the sheets aired, the beds warmed, the hot water waiting. The household steward did all that. I realised I did not even know how much it cost to buy a loaf of bread.
I should have asked Romeo to hire men from Mantua to bring me to him! Stupid, stupid girl.
But if I had not stayed, I would not have discovered the threat of poison that still might strike him down. I tried to think which poison my mother would use. Foxgloves? Two drops could help the dropsy. Four could kill. Bitter almonds? One crushed into a hundred sweet almonds gave almond paste a rich flavour, but death followed hard and painfully if it were eaten alone. Even the hemlock my mother dropped into her eyes to make them sparkle in the candlelight could kill if given to a man to drink. Well, she had taught me a cure for her poisons too — a paste of rue and figs and walnuts. Friar Laurence must send Romeo the recipe. He must eat some of the paste each time he took food or drink.
My thoughts drifted to Mantua … was it a city just like ours? Faraway places had dragons, monkeys, elephants. Did Mantua have those?
I lay back on the cushions and shut my eyes, then opened them in case I wasted time in sleep. Think! Once I was gone to Mantua, my father would disown me. He would not break a vow. Would the Montagues disown their son too, for marrying a Capulet? Were Montagues kinder parents than Capulets? If both families disowned us, how would we live? Jewels were worth money, I thought vaguely. We could sell my jewels. My father would disown me, but he probably would not abandon my children.
I almost smiled. Children; mine and Romeo’s. Blood of my father, and of his father too. No matter what theson and daughter did, their children would be innocent, and the only blood relatives our fathers had. Blood called to blood.
If the Prince was happy with our marriage, he might decree that we be called back by Christmas-tide, allowed to live under his protection. Perhaps the Prince too had wept last night, for his cousin, slain Mercutio.
The chair stopped. Peter drew the curtains and helped me down. I climbed the stairs, not even glancing at the beggars, then hurried through the church and down the path.
The friar’s door opened. A man came out. For a moment my heart stopped, thinking it was Romeo. He had not yet left for Mantua. We could go together!
It was the Earl of Paris. He wore pink stockings, puffed-up gold breeches and a wide hat with three long feathers. It made him look younger, not older as perhaps he’d hoped.
He swept the hat off and bowed. ‘Happily met, my lady and my wife!’
My skirts were too wide to get past him on the narrow path. I tried to keep my voice calm. ‘That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.’
He smiled. ‘That must be, love, on Thursday next.’
Fear clutched at my heart. I kept my voice steady. ‘What must be shall be.’
Friar Laurence
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