O, Juliet (30 page)

To me Don Cosimo said, “I will send my men to Verona to your uncles’ house for proof of your claims.”

I looked to Lucrezia. “Your messenger will bear witness to everything I’ve said.”

“No! No!!” Jacopo shrieked as four weavers surrounded him and began marching him away.

But fury, flashing from his eyes and straining every sinew of his body, turned suddenly to inhuman strength. He wrenched free from his captors’ grip and dived unaccountably onto the table on which the contract lay signed, half-covered by a length of the black silk that had fallen there.

When he arose, we all saw Jacopo’s purpose for falling on the table. In his two hands he held the giant scissors, their blades outstretched to their fullest in a wide V, and he was running at me, full speed, with the razor-sharp blades at the level of my neck.

I was still surrounded by the men who had held and beaten me, and they, in confusion of what they were now seeing, were slow to move. Jacopo and his shears were nearly upon me before the men scattered, giving me breadth to move.

I swiveled and ducked.

Jacopo missed his target and overshot his mark, and by the time my enemy had turned to find me again, I had unsheathed the only weapon I had—my dagger.

The scissors, blades unwieldy in their V, were now closed, yet with their heavy length of steel and blunt-pointed tip they were still a formidable weapon. I could see that Jacopo was that most dangerous of all opponents—a man humiliated with nothing to lose.

Seeing me suddenly armed—although with an instrument but half the size of his—inflamed him even further. With a grip on both handles he slashed at me from low to high, aiming to land a blow on my chin.

With each slice I backed away another step, but I saw that each attempted cut came slower and slower as the weight and odd shape of the weapon weakened him.

For a single moment Jacopo’s chest was exposed and I lunged hard with the point of my blade.

He was yet agile, and to my dismay jumped back and avoided the stab. And then in a move I had scarce expected, Jacopo spun in a full circle, smashing the closed scissors to the back of my neck.

I fell flat to the ground, facedown, stunned by the force of the blow. But this was not how I wished to die. I felt the hasty welling of my wits and my strength and rolled on my back in time to see my opponent had once more opened the scissors. Their two sharp points were even now descending to doubly impale me.

The moment had come.

Punching my arm in a high, triumphant salute to revenge, I plunged my dagger hard into Jacopo Strozzi’s chest. He gasped with shock and fury as the strength drained from his hands, causing the shears to slip harmlessly to the cobbles. As he fell to his knees I rose to mine, kneeling face to face, connected only by the sharp bridge of steel. I saw with pleasure that the mad gleam in his eyes had faded to unspeakable agony.

“For my uncles,” I said, and wrenched the dagger upward. Jacopo’s mouth widened in a silent scream. “For Marco.” When I pulled higher, I could hear the ripping of sinew and bone. My face was wet with tears as I pulled him into a closer embrace and whispered the words that only he could hear. “For Juliet.” With that fiinal thrust, the blade pierced his heart. Blood erupted from his lips and death took him. He toppled to the street in a graceless heap.

I scrambled quickly to my feet, unsure of the crowd’s disposition to an exiled man—perhaps once exonerated for a murder on this street—who had now, with violent certitude, taken the life of another.

I spent but a moment committing to memory the faces of those whose lives had intertangled with my own—Simonetta and Capello Capelletti, who had given Juliet life. Don Cosimo, who had been my partner in peacemaking. And Lucrezia—now and forever a Medici—who had courageously spoken to my honor.Then I turned and walked from the crowded street, my head held high.

“ ‘I seem to see the sun darken in a way that gave the stars a color that would have made me swear that they were weeping.’ ”

“ ‘The tender soul, perfectly filled with grace, now lives with glory in a worthy place. She has ascended to high heaven into a realm where angels live in peace.’ ”

“ ‘The ladies had covered her face with a white veil, and it seemed that her face was so filled with joyous acceptance that it said to me: “I am contemplating the fountainhead of peace.”’ ”

“ ‘So much grief has become the destroyer of my soul,’ ” he went on reciting. “ ‘My sighs can hardly relieve the anguish of my heart. Indeed, I grieve so, that whoever were to see me now could die of pity.’ ” Romeo’s voice was dull and piteous. “ ‘He sins who witnesses my desperate state and does not try to comfort my torn heart.’ ”

“ ‘I went to see the body in which that most trustworthy and blessed soul had dwelt,’ ” he quoted, altogether morose. “ ‘Oh, my lady lies dead!’ ”

“ ‘I called upon Death and said, “Sweet Death, come to me and do not be unkind. Come take me now, for I earnestly desire you. You can see that I do, for already I wear your color.”’ ”

Perhaps it was alarm at Dante’s words too heartily claimed by my husband, or the slow receding of the potion from my veins, for now I felt Romeo’s lips on my face, and warm tears. Moved by his suffering and determined to fully wake, I threw all my intention downward to my right hand and moved my pointing finger once, a single small jerk
.

He cried out sharply and pulled away. When he spoke again, it was with trembling voice.

“What is this?” he said in a low tone of horror. “Just a miserable man’s wishful thinking?”

Romeo sounded close again. He was angry and disbelieving. “Juliet’s finger moving on my thigh? Self-pitying fool!”

With all my resolve and all my strength I pushed open the stone-heavy lids of my eyes.

Now he shrieked, and though my sight was yet blurred in the dim, flickering torchlight, I saw the shape of him propelled back and away from me.

“Unnatural apparition! Unholy ghost! What foul creature has inhabited my poor wife’s body?”

“Romeo ...” That hushed word escaped me like a long sigh.

“ ‘Romeo’? The wide-eyed monster speaks my name?”

“My love, please . . . ,” I managed, a supreme effort.

He came closer, looming above me. With all my might I held his terrified gaze. I saw him desperately searching for the human soul behind my eyes.

“Juliet?” he whispered.

The ugly rasping sound that came from my throat I regretted. It would have thrown the fear of God into a priest. But Romeo recalled his courage and steadied himself.

“Are you alive?” he asked.

“Alive. Your Juliet.”

He ventured nearer and kissed me on the mouth.

“Your lips are
warm
.” There was wonder in his voice. “Not so when I arrived here. You are alive. Oh, Juliet, blessed Jesus!”

Then he was all a flurry of hands, unsure how to touch me, move me, lift me. Where I had been stiff as a corpse, now I was melting and helplessly limp. When I groaned, he hugged me to him so tightly, with such sweet possession, I would have wept if I had had tears.

He gently arranged me to sitting, albeit leaning heavily on him, one arm around the back of me, the other bracing me not to fall.

I drank in the sight of him. His hair, still short and badly shorn by me, was tousled, as if from a long ride. He wore a modest doublet badly stained, and sturdy boots.

“Where is the friar?” I said, the faculties of my tongue thankfully returning.

“The friar?”

I tried to clear my mind, but his question had thrown me into confusion. Certainly our scheme had succeeded, for Romeo was here and in good time for my waking. Now I looked about and saw with too much clarity all the dead around us. Poor Marco under his sheer veil lay on a marble bier within a man’s length from mine.

“Can we leave this place soon?” I asked. “Where will you take me? The south of Italy?” The words were tumbling out happily now. “Your mother has a brother there. A farm?”

“Yes, a farm.”

“It will be sad to leave my family, but we’ll start again. Our ‘many strong children’ will bring us joy.” I smiled at my own small jest, then lifted my face and kissed him, my hunger reigniting, the promise of our life together feeding the flame.

But how strange. Romeo’s return kiss was mild. Almost meek. In all our joinings—fumbling embraces in the shadow of his villa wall, our wedding kiss at San Marco Chapel, our full thrust in the marriage bed—he had never held back. I knew him. He was a man of untamed passions.

I swallowed hard, suddenly afraid to utter the words.

“What is wrong, my love? What has happened?”

He was long silent, collecting his thoughts. “Of what friar did you speak?” he finally said.

I went cold again. “Bartolomo,” I whispered. “Did he not come to you in Verona?”

Romeo shook his head, a steady no.

“Then how do you come to be here in my tomb?” I was sure I would not like his answer.

“A messenger did come,” he said, “from Lucrezia de’ Medici, with news that”—Romeo’s features fell into grievous form—“Juliet Capelletti had succumbed on the eve of her wedding to Jacopo Strozzi.”

I was struck dumb.

“I died then, Juliet. I died.” His eyes filled with tears. “All my letters to you had gone unanswered....”

“They never reached me, love.”

“I know, I know. . . .” The look on his face was haunted.

“Romeo, oh God. The friar was meant to come to you and tell you my death was feigned. A way to avoid my marriage to Jacopo Strozzi. It was nothing but a long sleep, a potion I took. You and the priest were to come here and fetch me away.”

Romeo was shaking his head again.

“But all is well, my love,” I said. “Despite the crossed messages you came.”

“I rode like a madman, even believing you dead. I stopped for nothing.” Romeo looked away, remembering. “There was on the road—I remember now—a brown-robed monk who knelt at the side of a horse whose leg was broken. But even for this I did not slow. Bartolomo?” He looked back at me. “I tell you I was crazed with grief.”

“My sweet husband.” I caressed his cheek with my hand.

“Juliet ... I thought you were gone from the world. I did not want to live without you. I took some poison from an apothecary’s shelf.”

“Well, there you are,” I said, and gave him a cheerful smile. “You need not take the poison, for I am clearly not dead.”

He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips. Then he looked at me. “But
I
am, love. It is already done.”

I stared at him in horror. “Vomit it out!” I cried, pushing him off my bier. “Let me help you. I can help you.” I found the strength in my legs to stand.

“Too late.”

Romeo fell to his knees.

I dropped down before him and gently set him with his back against the marble bench.

“Icy vapors are in my chest. My fingers are numb.” He smiled crookedly. “Yet my eyes are clear. Here is your lovely face. Those clever eyes that see beyond the lies of flesh. Ha. That last would have made a good line of verse.”

I felt desperation sweeping over me. My voice became hard and strident.

“Where is the apothecary’s poison?”

“All gone.”

“No!”

“Juliet, sweet wife ...”

I cried out, “If it does not please God that we should live together, let us die together!”

Romeo’s voice was growing weak. “Do not think of following me. I am a suicide. I will exist as a twisted tree stump in the Seventh Circle of Hell, scaled harpies flying overhead.”

“Then let me be a twisted stump beside you.”

“Oh, my love, no. Your life is too precious. You have poetry left to write. Children to birth and love.”

“My life will be torment! Jacopo threatened to sign my name to the marriage contract, then rape me. Dante’s Inferno is a heaven compared to marriage with him!”

“Have no fear of Jacopo. He is worms’ meat.”

“Jacopo dead?”

“I took my revenge for Marco’s death. For my uncles . . .”

“Oh no ...”

“But most of all for you. Oh, the Fates were unkind in breaking that horse’s leg.”

“Unkind? The Fates must have chosen us as their deadliest enemies! And do not dare tell me that God is merciful, or works in mysterious ways.”

“I will not tell you that. It is my stars that most disappoint me. By their promise, we were to be together.”

Romeo slumped and a terrible sound came from deep in his chest. I sat beside him, my back against the bier, then laid him down, his head cradled in my lap. He was dying.