CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16

Many times had I trodden the path from the Montagues' glorious compound on a paved Veronese square to Friar Laurence's humble establishment on a narrow, shadowed alley lined with apothecary shops. Today I kept my hood up and my gaze down as Nurse walked before and shoved people out of the way.

As always, the market square bloomed with riotous flowers, the sellers shouted and the housewives jostled. Rows of rosy apples, blushing pears, yellow onions filled the carts hung with garlic braids, and wheels of thick-rind cheeses could be bought whole or cut as the buyer wished. Wine merchants filled jugs, reunions occurred, arguments flared. Women fetched water from the towering Madonna fountain. Every person could be met here, every staple of food and drink and cheer could be bought here. And the waiting livestock gave off the kind of barnyard odors that made me press my nosegay to my face.

I love this town. It's old, so old, with a tall arena where once, it is said, lions feasted on Christians. The arena had been in use as a theater until a few hundred years ago an earthquake (the earthquake, as it is called) knocked down one of the walls. In truth, the earthquake of 1117 had obtained a mythical quality in the telling, and if the old folks were to be believed, most of my Verona had been built on the ruins of the old city.

My Verona was raucous and smelly and elegant and dear. All it needed to be perfect was young Lysander striding toward me, a smile on his handsome face and his hand over his generous heart.

Instead a grand horse cantered into the square with a nobleman on its back. The youth was a stranger to my eyes, and a rare sight in this place; aristocrats had servants to do their shopping. He looked about him as if delighted in every act and object that made Verona, and behaved as if he'd passed his life in prison and only now on his release could he see the sunlight in the world. He was so charming heads turned to watch, and Nurse and I stopped in our tracks. I tossed back my hood and smiled at such infectious joy.

"Who is he?" I asked, for Nurse knew everyone and never forgot a face.

"I don't know. He reminds me a little of—" She gasped and spread her cloak as if to conceal me from his gaze.

Too late. His gaze narrowed on Nurse, then his gaze found mine. "Lady Rosaline!" he called. He took care not to trample anyone as he rode toward us. "It is Lady Rosaline, isn't it? And her fearsome nurse who I remember from the life I once enjoyed in Verona?" He dismounted and gave his reins over to the beggar boy who ran up to hold his horse.

I recognized this young man now. Orlando, Duke Stephano's brother and heir, who had been in exile and in hiding. He had been a lad when he fled in fear of his life. Now he was a man; leaner, stronger, someone who watched behind him and in front at the same time. I gasped. "Orlando? I hadn't thought—"

"That I could return from exile once my wicked brother was dead? Yes." Orlando took my hand and kissed it. "And I have you to thank for it!" For good measure he kissed Nurse's hand, too, and she was so overcome she blushed, possibly for the first time in her life, and was speechless, also for the first time in her life.

He'd already been the focus of attention; now passersby had heard him, and looked at him and me. And me, and in a way that made clear my father was right; the city wasn't safe for me alone, not until the furor of Duke Stephano's stabbing had died away and the rumors of my guilt forgotten. I pulled up my hood again. "No. Really! No, I didn't kill him. How could I, a feeble woman, overcome a grown man such as Duke Stephano?"

Fiercely he replied, "Believe me, if I knew, I'd have done it years ago."

I tried to divert the subject. "You're here to arrange your brother's funeral."

"Throw his body in a plague pit! What do I care?" He was unshaven, and a sprinkle of hair formed a dark shadow over a jaw shaped of angry derision. "No one can light enough candles to save that man's soul from hellfire, and no one on this earth cares enough to try."

"Hush, sir, I beg you," Nurse said in an undertone.

He noted my expression and her fright, and smiled again in that charismatic manner that had first attracted notice. With his hand on his chest, he bowed. "My pardon. I've forgotten how to behave in polite society. How is your family, Lady Rosaline?"

"They are well. And you, sir? How are your parents?"

"I've sent for them. They're traveling in from the stony castle where brother Stephano forced them to live in hopes they'd develop a cough or a fever of the lungs, and when they arrive we'll unite and sweep all the horrors of the serpent's reign away." Orlando took the reins of his horse and tossed the boy a coin. "I keep you from your errands, but God put you in my way so that I might wait no longer to render my thanks. Addio, fair Rosie, our paths will cross again."

As Nurse and I watched him ride away, I said, "He is a Janus, two sides of a man, laughing and dark in equal parts."

"Being seen with him could be dangerous to you. Let us get away." Nurse pushed me ahead of her, and I knew she now carried her knife hidden in her hand. We turned into the alley lined with tall buildings that shut out the direct sun.

Each apothecary had a carved sign above the door, the traditional bowl entwined by a serpent, and some indication of a specialty. On Friar Laurence's sign, a cross marked the bowl, showing his dedication to God.

At the far end of the dead-end alley, in the darkest corner on the left, the bowl looked more like a cauldron that steamed and bubbled. The two women who ran the shop, Agatha and Nunziatina, kept their faces covered in public, and in times of public unrest the shop remained closed and locked; a stench of witchcraft lingered about all of the herbal arts, but Toil and Trouble advertised their knowledge. A bold move, and one that made Friar Laurence worriedly shake his head.

His shop stood first on the right where the light shown brightest. Nurse opened the door for me. The bell over the door tinkled its announcement. She handed me the basket, packed with a meal for Friar Laurence and me, and as I entered, she shut the door behind me. Then, as always, she slipped back onto the streets to shop and visit with her friends.

I entered the dim hush of the narrow shop, lit only by two grimy front windows. I took a deep breath and smelled old books of parchment and paper, dried herbs, ground pastes, fresh flowers and dusty bottles, and for the first time in days, I relaxed. Here on the packed dirt floor and among tall counter tables I was at home.

From the back room, I heard the rumble of men's voices. Friar Laurence I recognized instantly, but the other voice puzzled me, for it sounded very like . . .

Prince Escalus threw back the curtain that separated the rooms and stepped out, holding a bottle and wearing a worried frown.

We both did a double take.

"Lady Rosaline!"

"My prince!" I stumbled into a curtsy.

He observed the mud stains on my cloak, and his already solemn expression stilled into displeasure. "You came here unescorted? Through the streets?" He asked as if he had the right, which although I prickled at the assumption of authority over me, in all honesty he was the keeper of the peace and wished no person to be assaulted or kidnapped in Verona.

I did understand that, and assured him, "My nurse brought me hence."

"A fragile woman to protect a lady of means?"

I laughed. Possibly not the best response when dealing with royalty. "No, Prince Escalus, I promise there's nothing fragile about my nurse. All of Verona knows and fears her. She carries her eating knife, and she never has to use it to protect herself or others. She's like the spring melt on the river; if met unwarily, her slap will knock you off your feet." I lowered my gaze so as to not seem as impertinent as I belatedly realized I sounded.

Prince Escalus's cool tone made it clear he was spectacularly unimpressed with my explanation and my feeble gesture of respect. "Nevertheless, when you've completed your business with Friar Laurence, my sedan chair will take you home."

"That won't be for some hours."

"Is the potion you seek so complex?"

"I come here in search of more than a potion. Here I learn craft."

"Craft from a Franciscan monk?" The prince looked around at the dusty shelves, the labeled bottles, the stone mortar and pestles. "What craft is this?"

I suspected from the severity of his tone he wouldn't be pleased with my answer. "I work as his apprentice."

"Lord Romeo allows this?" He gathered outrage about him like a dark cloak.

"Friar Laurence has been a true and loyal advisor and caretaker to our family, and I'm merely the elderly daughter who no man of Verona would now wed." As I spoke, I realized that was true; where before some merchant or aristocrat in need of a wife might have looked on me favorably, now I carried the taint of not only broken betrothals but also a betrothal that ended with the grave. Duke Stephano's murder had ended my chances for marriage as surely as the knife had entered his heart and ended his life. All would shy away. Surely, I had become unmarriageable to all . . . All except, perhaps, Lysander, and some might say he was none too bright in his continued pursuit of a woman under the shadow of suspicion.

Yet last night in the tree he proved a man of intelligence and sharp wit, something I hadn't expected. And why?

To be frank, because his handsome face and manly figure so attracted me and the admiration of other women, I believed he must be a dolt. What kind of person was I to so allow appearances to influence my opinions of character? In the future, I resolved, I would think about a man's character without making assumptions based on beauty.

"You should take care, Rosaline, you allow your thoughts to control your expression." Prince Escalus's warning tone sounded dire in my ears.

How could he see my expression in the light of the dingy windows?

Before I could ask, Friar Laurence bustled through the curtain. When he saw me, his face lit up. His gentle brown eyes searched mine. He hurried toward me, embraced me, said, "Rosie! Rosie! I had such fears that . . ."

He loved me, I knew. We had been good friends since my birth. But this greeting seemed out of proportion with my arrival. Or perhaps . . . "You heard of last night's events?"

"The city is abuzz, and my dread and horror was that you, too, had been harmed."

"I am, as you see, very well in health."

He took a step back, and his mien changed from friend to holy friar. "As your confessor, I must ask—do you have anything to acknowledge?"

I knew what he was asking. "I have no great sins on my soul, Father. I've broken no commandments."

He sighed in relief. "I thought that would be your answer, but as a confessor, I've heard things that—" He looked down as if grieved, then up again into my eyes. "Come to me at any time for any sin."

"Friar Laurence, have I not always trusted you with my sins?" So I did, even though because he recognized my voice I had no chance to remain anonymous. "Last night I was much maligned and perhaps today the speculation continues, for as Papà has rightly declared, some people live to dispense misery as best they can. But sometimes misery turns on them and gives back the bite." I told him what had happened with Porcia.

"Foolish woman. Her parents will be displeased with her return." With a glance over my shoulder, Friar Laurence realized the prince was still there, a lapse out of the good friar's character; he was always alert to the sound of the bell on the door. He started, and bowed. "Is there more you require, my prince?"

"No." Prince Escalus extended his bottle to the good monk. "Send this to my sister via my man. Give him instructions to pass on. Request that he bring my sedan chair back with him, for Lady Rosaline will return to her home in that manner."

Friar Laurence took my shoulders in his chubby hands and looked into my face. "Dear girl, did you feel unsafe on your way here?"

"No, but—"

"A fragile woman, weaker in the mind than a man, is not fit to make these decisions for herself." The prince was crushing in his certainty.

Friar Laurence loosened his grip and stepped away. "You're right, as always, my prince."

I should also agree with Prince Escalus. I should. But I couldn't choke the words through my constricted throat. Yes, I'd heard that and words similar all my life, and shooed them away, ignoring their bite. But when spoken in his coolly aristocratic tone, they burrowed beneath my skin like serenity-sucking ticks.

Friar Laurence looked between us uncertainly.

Prince Escalus pulled a tall stool up to the counter under the window. "In your absence, I'll stay to care for Lady Rosaline and watch her learn your trade."

I shrugged at Friar Laurence and with a sideways nod toward the door, agreed that he should go. I thought it likely the prince wished to discuss last night's events without an audience, and I, too, wondered what information he'd since discovered.

Friar Laurence took the bottle and stepped out the door.

As I tied on my apron, I swallowed my impatience. "My prince, if your equipage is not at hand, how did you get here?"

"Like you, I walked."

That would account for his high leather boots that showed signs of wear.

He continued. "Because I am a man, trained in weaponry"—he touched the dagger at his belt—"the risk is minimal. Furthermore, I bring a trusted bodyguard well trained to protect me."

Furthermore . . .My irritation was back, multiplied. Furthermore. . . I was well aware of the honor the prince afforded me with his company. But . . . furthermore? That haughty tone and crisp enunciation made me want to empty a jar of stinkweed over his badly inflated head.

"Have you forgotten what you were doing?" Prince Escalus asked.

I realized I stood stock-still, hands on the tie behind my back, staring at the appropriate jar and its smelly contents. I released the bow and looked down at my palms. With such uncharitable testiness coursing through my veins, I should not make a potion for my mother, for fear my mood would taint its efficaciousness.

"Which of your bodyguards?" I asked. "Marcellus? Holofernes? Dion?"

"In fact, Marcellus accompanies me today."

"Ah." My memory of Marcellus was not fond.

"Why would the who be of concern to you?"

"Marcellus is a gentleman of much propriety." I had gathered that the previous night from his withering dialogue.

"And possessed of valuable fighting skills," Prince Escalus told me. "The very day my father released me from the dungeon, Marcellus appeared in Verona with the spoken intent of serving the house of Leonardi. My father recognized his flare with a sword, and also the need to protect me, for I dwelled in the lingering darkness of torture and imprisonment. Papà himself hired him. Now Marcellus commands my guard and the respect of all."

"Then I do respect him." Indeed, I must, for on the subject of propriety and fighting, I acknowledged that Prince Escalus was Verona's lord. Dragging my mind back to the subject at hand, the prince and his superior walking ability, I asked, "Do the people of Verona recognize you?" I asked.

"Indeed. They like to know I wander among them, hear their business and their complaints. I would not have another revolt harm my family or my city, so I listen and I harken to their words."

That was good of him. In my eyes, his actions made him a good podestà, and perhaps explained why he was concerned about me today. I took a long breath and released it—and caught it again when he said, "I wish to speak with you about this shadow that hangs over the death of Duke Stephano."

"I didn't do it." I was more and more defensive.

"I of all people know that."

Yes, rather than stopping me from stumbling across the body, he had observed me. He was a very observant man. Yet—I glanced at his hand—his fingers showed the mark of my teeth, something to remember when he patronized me. I had made him bleed.

Selecting one of Friar Laurence's salves, I pushed the clay jar across the table to the prince. "Put this on that bite."

He opened it and wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Will it sting?"

"Don't be such a baby. A bite from the human mouth can easily poison the humors of the body. As you walk the streets among possible ruffians, you want to be able to defend yourself, don't you?" As I watched him smear on the ointment and wince, I felt I'd repaid him a coin for his condescension. "Has the weapon been recovered from Duke Stephano's chest?"

"It has. It was a small knife, easily hidden, sharp, the blade about the length of my middle finger."

He had long hands, so—"Long enough to reach his heart."

"Yes, and well aimed to do so. The killing thrust was an assassin's thrust, up between the ribs."

"By the look on the duke's face, he recognized his killer, and was surprised. Terrorized, even." I smoothed my apron and pulled my mortar and pestle close.

"Who made Duke Stephano into a coward?"

"He seemed so unafraid of evil deeds and retribution that he could have challenged the devil to a duel." I looked at Prince Escalus in horror and crossed myself. Prince Escalus followed suit. I spoke the truth, but to speak of the devil was to invite him in.

"I understand you witnessed an altercation between Duke Stephano and Titania's parents."

I viewed the prince with surprise. "I did." I told him the details.

He nodded. "Very much what I heard, and for money, Brambilia is capable of any deed." Did his friends do all the spying for him? Or were there others who informed him of events in Verona?

I pointed out, "But he has no way to recover the money now that Duke Stephano is dead. Although . . ." My recent encounter had to be mentioned. "His brother and heir Orlando has returned to Verona."

"Already? That is . . ."

"Yes." The word suspicious hung in the air.

"When we ask who would profit from Duke Stephano's death, Orlando is—"

"Yes. Last, first, and always." Although I liked Orlando, I agreed. He had left unwillingly and come back much changed. "He said he'd sent for his parents, and together they would"—I squinted to remember the exact words—"sweep the horrors of the serpent's reign away."

"I'll summon Orlando, ask him questions and if I'm satisfied, tell him to watch his words and to whom he speaks."

"And warn him about Brambilia."

"That too. I will have peace in Verona. There will be no war over a dead and despised duke."

Before the prince could tell me and once more send me into a frenzy of irritation, I assured him, "I also will be careful what I say and to whom."

His approving nod was not quite as exasperating as his chiding—but only not quite.

"Looking back at the events of the last few days, I must declare I understand nothing about this entire affair." Going to the dusty shelves, I chose the bottles I needed to ease Mamma's morning. "Prince Escalus, do you have any idea why Duke Stephano made an offer for me?"

"You're beautiful." He spoke as if that could be the only explanation.

I brushed that aside. "And have been for most of my life."

The prince barked. It might have been a laugh . . .

I viewed him with surprise. "I'm not conceited, my lord. I'm outshone a thousand times a day by my mother and sisters."

"Beauty is a hallmark of your family," he agreed.

"The fresh bloom is off this rose"—I indicated my almost twenty-year-old face—"and until a week ago, Duke Stephano ignored me. Then the most greedy, despicable, deadly man in Verona took me without a dowry. Coerced my father into giving me to him. Why?"

The prince took a breath. "I fear that's my fault."