O, Juliet Part 19

"It is beyond all reason that Romeo goes unpunished for the killing," Jacopo continued. "We know where he has gone. His uncles in Verona are harboring a violent murderer. I say we go there and wrest him away from that unholy sanctuary. Then we see justice served."

"I will go," the head silk weaver said.

"Let me come, too." This was one of Papa's merchant friends.

Others offered themselves up for the terrible journey to Verona. Jacopo could barely suppress his glee, but with every new volunteer, Papa looked more and more alarmed. I did not dare face my mother.

"We will leave in the morning," Jacopo announced. "Arm yourselves well, as we have no idea how strongly the Monticecco uncles will defend their f.e.c.kless nephew."

"Just let them try," a factory worker warned.

"If they take up arms, they might just find themselves without them," another joked, and pretended slas.h.i.+ng off his hand.

Everyone laughed.

"That is enough."

The men startled at the sound of judicial authority. Then all eyes turned to attend Don Cosimo, whose face was a grim and threatening mask.

The listeners, including my father and Jacopo Strozzi, seemed to shrink back, as if they had been confronted by a coiled viper.

"What is this talk of revenge?" he demanded, his voice quavering with pa.s.sion. "Do you propose to go, as a mob, to the city of Verona, drag a young man from his uncles' house, and, without trial, put him to the sword?" He looked around for an answer, but everyone was silent. "A crime has been committed-we know that. But is it not a more heinous crime to plunge Florence back into that dreadful cauldron of vengeance from which it has so recently emerged? Do you think the violence would end with the death of Romeo? I, for one, cannot see it ever ever ending." ending."

He gazed around the room with apparent mildness and said in the softest tone imaginable, "I am neither a prince nor your king, so I have no say in what you choose to do. Do what you please. What your conscience dictates." But when he sat back in his chair, I could see fear in the eyes of every man there.

Thus was the sway of the Medici, whose disavowal of influence was more powerful than a threat.

"What should we do, then, Don Cosimo?" Papa asked, as a child would ask a father. "Surely you do not mean for Romeo to go altogether unpunished?"

Don Cosimo placed his fingertips together and bowed his head. "Let the Signoria write a Decree of Banishment," he answered.

My heart began pounding in my throat. That word evoked thoughts of Dante Alighieri, who had, himself, been unjustly banished from Florence and who'd died exiled from his beloved home.

Was that now to be Romeo's fate?

"For a Florentine," Don Cosimo went on in a provoking tone, "is banishment not the same thing as death?"

Several men muttered their agreement with the sentiment. My father nodded thoughtfully.

Then Jacopo spoke. "With due respect, Don Cosimo, a cold-blooded murder has been committed. Who knows if Romeo might not steal back into the city and wreak more havoc than he has already done?"

The Medici patron considered this question with closed eyes and tight lips that worked and twisted. In the awful silence I cursed Jacopo Strozzi to high heaven. I had for some time thought him contemptible, but now I saw that he was an evil man, one who had accomplished great harm to the innocent, with no apparent twinge of conscience. I saw that if Don Cosimo's mind could be further swayed against Romeo, he was a dead man.

And I would be a widow.

Don Cosimo opened his eyes. "I have had several opportunities to speak to the young Monticecco, and it is my considered opinion that he will be of no further harm to any of us."

I saw my father's shoulders sink with relief. Jacopo bristled, but did not dare contradict the most powerful man in Italy.

"I beg you to consider our fine city," Don Cosimo continued, "one that has become renowned the world over for its cathedral dome and Baptistery doors, its works of art, and its rich heritage of commerce. We are a people who dare stand toe-to-toe with the pope and to welcome through our gates the great philosophers of the East. Should we allow ourselves to sink so low as to revenge a single killing, no matter how tragic, and throw our populace back into the turmoil of violence that we have finally put in our past?" He looked around at the faces of his fellow Florentines, defying them with his quiet authority. "So, are we decided?" Don Cosimo asked, a touch of levity having crept into his voice.

There was muttered a.s.sent all around. Several men at the table rose to their feet.

My mother sighed so audibly that she quickly shrank back with mortification.

My own knees went weak and I braced myself against the wall, forcing an emotionless expression.

Then Jacopo stood in his place. A thrill of unnamed fear clutched at my throat. And when the man smiled that long-toothed yellow smile, every sense in me cried out, "Run! Leave your father's house, for disaster is at hand!" But then he placed his spidery fingers on Papa's shoulder and began to speak. His nasal drone had never sounded more repulsive to my ear.

"While our decision does not please me, it was properly made and I, a loyal citizen of the Republic, shall abide by it. But as my own interests have been diminished by the foul murder of my future partner's nephew-a young man who would have, in the course of time, become my partner as well, and a pillar of Capelletti and Strozzi Silks and Wool-I seek a closer tie to this ill.u.s.trious family."

Then to my horror, Jacopo's eyes found me where I stood trembling. Though I looked straight ahead, I could feel Mama's eyes boring into me.

"There has been for some months," he went on, "talk with Capello of a betrothal between myself and his daughter, the Lady Juliet."

Contented and congratulatory sounds suddenly replaced the dark grumbling, and a slow smile began lifting Papa's features.

"I therefore propose that our betrothal be announced here and now...."

Mama clutched my arm and whispered, "Joy is born amidst sorrow! Oh, Juliet, you are to be a bride!"

I am a bride, I thought miserably. I thought miserably. This is not possible. This is not possible.

Papa made to stand, but Jacopo again stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.

"If I may beg one thing more of the girl's father . . . ," he said, addressing the crowd. Now he looked straight at me, holding my eyes with unabashed possessiveness. "I wish that the betrothal be short and that the banns of marriage be spoken with all good haste. In a week or two, perhaps. Once that is done, the partners.h.i.+p papers should be signed and our business arrangements formalized."

I could not withhold my groan of desperation, but it was masked by noises of approbation, some of which were so enthusiastic as to sound lewd to my ear.

Papa was nodding and smiling at Jacopo.

Then the final blow.

Don Cosimo stood in place and, looking out across the room, found me and fixed me in his gaze.

"You are a dear girl, Juliet, one who is held in the deepest affection by my son's wife-to-be. This has proven to be a painful day for us all ... except for this proposal of marriage."

Mama stepped up close to me, hoping, I thought, to be seen by Don Cosimo. "Therefore I wish to bestow my full blessing on this happy coupling . . ."

No, I thought, I thought, I do not want your blessing on this marriage! I do not want your blessing on this marriage!

"... one that will restore the peace to Florence. So with my son's permission, I suggest a double wedding-Piero and Lucrezia, Jacopo and Juliet!"

Piero de' Medici nodded his enthusiastic approval of the plan, and the place exploded with celebration and cheering.

I burst into tears.

Mama laughed and clapped me to her, believing, as all but Jacopo Strozzi must have believed, that mine were tears of joy. What girl, after all, would not feel fortunate in the extreme to be marrying into one of the wealthiest families in Florence, and so beloved by the Medici that they would share with her the wedding day of its heir?

Mama wiped my tearful face with her sleeve and led me through the congregation of men to the head of the table. A numbness had crept over me, and though I knew my legs were carrying me, it was dreamlike, very dark. I felt as though I was walking to my doom.

Papa, Don Cosimo, and Jacopo were beaming. As though preordained, my father nodded at his patron, and in the next moment, Don Cosimo took up my hand and Jacopo's and, placing one on top of the other, held them clasped between his own.

"I do hereby announce the betrothal of Jacopo Strozzi and Juliet Capelletti," he said, smiling. "May G.o.d bless your happy union."

The deed was done. The nightmare real.

I was to be the wife of two men.

Romeo How could it have come to this? I thought. I thought. I, Romeo of the proud house of Monticecco, slinking out of Florence into exile in a monk's disguise on the back of a broken-down beast of burden I, Romeo of the proud house of Monticecco, slinking out of Florence into exile in a monk's disguise on the back of a broken-down beast of burden.

Stolen, at that.

My manhood had been stripped from me as I trembled before Juliet in her room, she cutting off my hair to make me safe from capture. She consoling me with promises that we'd meet again. Then tearful and disgraced, I had abandoned her, left her standing on the balcony-the same stones upon which I had first wooed her so tenderly that I'd wholly won her heart-and accepted my banishment.

On this plodding journey, the most terrible of my life, I mourned my losses-my mother and father, whom I treasured and adored. The olive orchard that was my blessed childhood and would have been-but for the jealousy of one vile man-my bright future with Juliet and our brood. And I cursed the loss of Florence, the greatest city in the world, my home.

I had on that dreary ride a hundred times tried to console myself with the belief that Marco, delightful clown and faithful friend, had felt the first shove from behind. Had known it was Jacopo's death embrace pus.h.i.+ng him farther onto the shaft of my dagger. Had heard, in the moments before he pa.s.sed out of life, Strozzi's confession, "I set the fire."

If no one else believed me, I thought, at least Marco had I thought, at least Marco had.

It was all the solace I'd allowed myself. That, and my scheme for righting all the wrongs that had been perpetrated against me and my wife-my beautiful, heaven-sent Juliet.

But here, b.u.mping along the exile's road toward Verona, I knew my "scheme" to be no more than a seedling, one that had yet to break through its thin sh.e.l.l to reach damp earth and push up and up, seeking sunlight and fruition. My mind was yet muddled with anger and sadness and mad scenes of revenge. How could a man keep a cool head and plan a clean and measured rescue of his wife from her father's home in a city that had banished him, on pain of death, for his return?

Time would be my friend, I told myself. In the coming days, ensconced in my uncles' safe and tranquil villa, I would cool the fires in my brain, compose my wild thoughts into some coherent design.Yet time, I knew even then, was my enemy. Jacopo Strozzi was capable of anything. I had to work quickly, cleverly . . . or all would be lost.

I arrived under cover of darkness at the Monticecco Vineyard outside Verona. As I had always remembered it, the gates of the high stone wall surrounding it were lit by four large lanterns, attended by a gatekeeper. But I, cowering under my white friar's cowl, was unrecognized by this man, one I had well known in my growing up here.

Ahead I saw my uncles' two-story villa, a place they had always insisted on keeping lit up like a palace, never short of oil for their lamps, provided by their dear brother, Roberto.

"A man of G.o.d," I was let into the house at once, only to be mistaken again for a monk by a house servant who must have been hired after my departure to Padua. He showed me into the first-floor salon, one my uncles had transformed into their vineyard office, the business being the center of their lives.

Sight of my uncles Vittorio and Vincenzo poring over their ledgers, their two favorite hounds at their feet, cheered me immeasurably. They looked up in surprise as the servant ushered in this unexpected visitor.

"Thank you, Francesco," Uncle Vincenzo said, and the man went out, shutting the door behind him. At once and with the greatest relief I threw off my hood.

"Romeo?" Vittorio said to me. Then he looked at his brother. "Good Jesus, he's become a priest!"

A moment later they were on their feet showering me with hearty kisses and embraces, and I quickly disabused them of my clerical affiliation. They called for food and wine to be brought in and locked the office door.

I commenced to tell my story. Then I blurted my frantic and confused plans for returning to Florence to liberate my bride and find a life with her elsewhere.

There was a long silence when I had finished. My uncle Vittorio-rotund, ruddy-faced, and perpetually jolly-spoke up. "Well, at least you are in good company. Your idol, Dante, was himself banished from Florence." He threw his dog a tidbit. "And they begged begged for his return." for his return."

"After he was dead," I murmured miserably. "I tell you, I cannot wait to be invited back. I have to go and take Juliet from her father's house."

"You mean abduct her," Vincenzo said. He was the more serious of my two uncles, slender and handsome like my father was.

"She is my wife!" I cried.

"A return to Florence under these circ.u.mstances is death," Vincenzo finally said. "Certain death."

"Did anyone see you arrive here?" Vittorio demanded to know.

I thought not.

Still, the brothers shared a worried look.

"We must get you to safety. The Strozzi will know where you've come. They cannot be allowed to find you here."

That they would pursue me was a thought, in my distracted state, I had not considered.

"Forgive my stupidity, Uncles," I said. "I never meant to place you in harm's way."

"No bother," said Vincenzo. "We will ferret you away where no one will find you."

"Even us," Vittorio added with the joviality I had always loved.

"There is a small house in the Torricelle woods we have just acquired," said Vincenzo. "The owner died. We have never been there, but they say the path is marked well enough if you know the way."

"But he doesn't doesn't know his way," Vittorio said. know his way," Vittorio said.

"He will learn."

Uncle Vittorio hugged me to him. "He is a clever fellow, eh?" He smiled. "Our Romeo, come home to us."

"We've missed you," Vincenzo said.

"I've missed you, too."

"But now we must prepare. Vittorio, you see to the mule. Remove the saddle and bridle and bags, and bring them inside. Don't tie him up. In the morning if the stable hands find him, we will say he wandered here." Uncle Vincenzo turned to me. "Go up and lock yourself in your room. Stay very quiet. Even the servants must not know of your arrival. Meanwhile I will procure the map to our new property. And then, tomorrow night, when everyone is dead to the world, you'll take the map and torch and you will go."

In my old room I wrote to Juliet, a.s.suring her of my love and making apologies for my weakness at our parting. I swore that a scheme was taking shape for my rescue of her, and pleaded that she take heart and wait for further word from me.

This I gave to my uncles with instructions for its delivery to my friendly friar at San Marco. Bartolomo would pa.s.s it to Ma.s.simo, the butcher's son and husband to Juliet's maid. He had once delivered me a message from my love. It was circuitous, this route, but perhaps safer for its winding path.

The next night I stood staring at the edge of the woods where my uncles had taken me, hidden under rugs in the bed of their grape cart. The head of the narrow footpath had been marked with a rugged outcropping of stone, but the trail itself was so overgrown it appeared I might set the trees afire with the flame of my torch as I walked it.

"Be careful!" Uncle Vittorio warned me.

"He'll be careful," Vincenzo said. "Give him the food."

"The food, the food . . ." Vittorio went to the cart and brought me a cloth sack. "They say a clear spring is a hundred paces from the back of the house."

"G.o.d protect you from evil spirits," I heard Vittorio say as I plunged into the undergrowth.

"What evil spirits?" I said, turning back. My uncles' faces flickered in the torch's glow.