Chapter 19
My sister Imogene is a genius at creating chaos from order.
Because the major party preplanning had been done, as promised, at the palace, I was able to spend the next day at home—Cal might not call it that, but I could—at Casa Montague.
For me, the hours of relative quiet allowed me to keep tabs on Papà’s recovery, hold an armful of baby whenever I wished, chat with the gang of girl cousins who followed me around, begging me to recite poetry and giggling at my attempts, and generally relax into the homelife I knew and loved.
The only interruption came from a delivery sent from the palace.
Prince Escalus sent a gift of gardening tools: sharp clippers, a beaten iron trowel with a wooden handle, and gloves to protect my hands.
A leather apron with pockets was wrapped around the tools, and in a rough cloth bag closed with a rope, I found a copper watering can created to look like a lion … sort of.
I smiled at the watering can, seeing in its crooked lips, which were meant to snarl and instead looked tipsy, and its crooked, notched tail, which twirled up and around to form the handle, the work of an apprentice craftsman.
Cal liked to support apprentice artists, and he loved his exotic plants, and so I had yet another thoughtful gift from the groom, one that would unite us in the day-to-day tending of all the gardens and greenhouses of the inner palace.
Of course, in between the family time, consultations on the menu, and admiring the arrangements Mamma created from the dried flowers Vittoria and Susanna had found in the market, I implemented the steps of my wicked, clever schemes to bring the Montagues and the Capulets to their next stage of détente.
That night, in my childhood bed, I slept the sleep of the righteous.
Or maybe the smug.
Whatever. I slept all the dark hours and woke rested. It was glorious.
The day of the party dawned; relatives and friends had been summoned; the musicians arrived early to set up and discuss their selections; my young ward, Evella, arrived from the palace to perform all the errands, handle every crisis and, of course, care for the Silvers, who also arrived very early, because they intended to leave very early.
People of a certain age saw no shame in an early bedtime.
I was twenty, but after the long days, late nights, and constant diplomacy I’d been enduring, I did occasionally agree with them.
Remember what I said about Imogene creating chaos from order?
Based on her disgusted, spur-of-the-moment comment about making the guests stand, I had ordered two tables—boards placed on wooden frames that could be raised or lowered—set up high, close to the walls of the great hall.
The head table had been placed at right angles to those, was of normal height, was raised on the dais, and sat before the giant fireplace, where our yule log merrily burned.
The only chairs in the huge room were those at the head table, and those seats were reserved for my Silvers: Nonna Ursula, Lady Pulissena, Nonna Montague, Lady Capulet, and especially Nonno, who was the only male geezer in the family still alive.
As a Montague, he used his position to flirt ruthlessly with every woman up there.
Come to think of it, they all loved it. Old ladies don’t get flirted with enough, and Nonna Montague affectionately laughed at him as he spread extravagant compliments and fluttered his lashes.
Lady Capulet was determinedly not impressed.
The Silvers loved being the top tier, they loved having the giant glass salt cellar and the elegant pewter plates at their table, and they really loved being the only ones seated where they could see the action and add loud commentary about everyone attending.
They took full advantage of their privileges.
On the other hand, as the Montagues and the Capulets arrived and realized they would not be seated, they got ruffled up, ready to be offended.
They huddled into family groups, eyeing the others and fingering their blades, because, somehow, the deficient hospitality of Romeo and Juliet must be the fault of the other family.
Other guests came in from far cities, from Verona, friends of the families, enemies of the families, plus every curious onlooker who could get through the door.
Tommaso vetted them, but nevertheless plenty leaked in, and he had orders to allow those who he thought worthwhile, for I wanted gossip about these festivities to spread far and wide.
To start with, everybody was grumbling—and no one left, possibly because our staff was renowned for their warmed spiced wine, which we liberally dispensed.
Certainly when Friar Laurence arrived and let them pour his cup full and was abundant in his praise, a small neutral group formed around him, as if seeking protection behind his bulk.
Evella darted here and there, ordering, tweaking, serving, a veritable whirlwind of benevolent tyranny.
As the buzz of discontent grew, Mamma sidled over to me wearing her “sparkling” party smile and, out of the corner of her mouth, asked, “Rosie, are you sure about this plot of yours? I really don’t want to end up on a marble slab again.”
“If any of them want to take up their displeasure with me, let them come.” I raised my voice. “Behold, Mamma, I’m more than a mind and a soul. I, too, have a voice, and its resonant thunder shall make the realms of heaven tremble!”
Aunt Samaritana, of the giant glossy cow-udder bowl, announced, “That girl of Romeo’s is already putting on airs.”
Then! Enter Prince Escalus of Verona, stage right, accompanied by his bodyguards.
He did what was right and proper and went first to greet Papà and Mamma, but while his courtesy was flawless, the way he constantly glanced at me left no one in doubt that it was me whom he waited for, me he cherished, me he … lusted after.
I looked right into Aunt Samaritana’s drooping eyes and smirked and went to stand demurely behind my parents to greet my betrothed.
I hadn’t seen Cal in the two days since I’d left the palace.
I suppose every word I communicated with Evella had been repeated to him, for he wore his comfortable boots, the ones he used to walk the streets of Verona and chat with the people, and his heaviest cloak.
After shedding his outer garments, he took one of my hands in each of his, kissed my fingers, and gazed into my eyes.
“My jewel of Verona, my lioness most worthy, I await the moment when we wed and our love warms and illuminates our city-state.”
Could he overly passionate-dialogue more?
At the same time, he gazed at me with all evidence of adoration, and my heart went soft and swishy like a shimmering rose-petal pudding.
I blushed and smiled like a shy maiden—the maiden part at least was true—and all of a sudden, into the silence, Lady Luce said in a tone of marvel, “Lady Rosaline looks almost pretty tonight.”
Bless her heart.
Cal spoke, unveiling a surprise that compelled attention and erased her observation as if it had never been. “Rosie, I brought our dear friend Lysander.” Reaching out, he drew Lysander from his place between Marcellus and Holofernes.
Lysander’s appearance caused a minor fuss among the guests, although why I do not know.
Yes, word that Lady Rosaline Montague had fallen hard for the brilliant and handsome Marcketti boy had spread throughout Verona and who knew how far beyond, but larger than that was the knowledge that Prince Escalus had taken me from him.
Taken was a fair assessment, as the deed had been done by stealth and deception, but at this moment that mattered not, for all my concern was for Lysander, whose complexion was pale and wan, whose eyes were lusterless, and whose clothes hung on his visibly thinner frame.
“Welcome back to Casa Montague.” I took his hand in mine and held it, feeling for an unusual warmth or tragic coolness. It seemed normal, as did his pulse, which I also checked. “Have you recovered from your recent poisoning?”
“I thank you for your concern. I’m better, and I appreciate Friar Laurence’s swift actions and the support of Prince Escalus and his palace staff.” Lysander sounded completely stable and sincere.
Yet Papà, who had been poisoned two nights ago, looked better than Lysander.
I glanced at Cal in inquiry, but he shook his head slightly and raised his voice for the blatherbeeks.
“I’ve taken advantage of Lysander’s enforced stay at the palace to question him about what can be done to repair the damage to the stone walls of the palace tower caused by the latest earth convulsion, and to ensure the same damage doesn’t occur again.
I thought we’d have to build a lifting tower to hoist the large stones, but Lysander believes that replacing the missing stones with many smaller stones, which can adjust to the shaking, is a better solution.
Easier too!” Cal beamed at the onlookers.
“To have such a brilliant mind here in Verona is a sign of God’s favor! ”
Everyone stared, as if they weren’t sure whether they were supposed to scoff or applaud.
Papà stepped forward and flung his arm around Lysander’s shoulders. “Indeed, we at Casa Montague are thankful to have Lysander of the house of Marcketti as a close friend to our family.”
With that diplomatic action settled, I swung into action.
I signaled the staff, and they brought out the first course: freshly baked bread loaded with nuts and dried fruits and covered in a honey-nutmeg glaze, which they placed on the Montague side of the tables, and pork roasted with herbs and spices and surrounded by cinnamon baked dried apples, on the Capulet side.
Ah, gentle reader, I see you’ve discerned my evil scheme.
Place two of the most fragrant foods across the room from each other and observe as the two houses, both alike in dignity, struggle to make their decisions.
Stay in place and lust after meat or bread?
Or walk across the no-man’s-land in the middle of the hall and reach for what they wanted?
At the same time, both foods were placed in front of the Silvers, and they merrily passed the foods back and forth, loading their plates and loudly praising the cook and the flavors, all the while chortling about everything and everyone.
I’d arranged their seating to be, left to right, Lady Pulissena, Nonna Montague, Nonno Montague, Nonna Ursula, and Lady Capulet, which meant Lady Capulet was seated next to the most important person at the table—Princess Ursula—who was seated next to Nonno Montague, and it would have been ungracious for Lady Capulet to be surly when Nonna Ursula glowed under his attention and included Lady Capulet in a most friendly manner.
Lady Capulet had a dread of being ungracious, and she loved being elevated, so a slow thaw began. …
Meanwhile, in the neutral zone that formed the middle of the great hall, the nonfamily-affiliated alternated between warily slipping between Montagues and Capulets to grab bread and then meat and placing bets on how long it would take before blood flowed. And hoping not to get caught in the middle.
The musicians played soothing music.
Mamma and Papà walked together, weaving between the Households and the friends.
Cal and his bodyguards moved like the prow of a warship through the crowd, arriving again and again at precisely the right moment to halt a butchery.
The prince was all affable smiles as he introduced Montagues to Capulets and used his princely-groom powers to force them to admit they knew each other and exchange greetings.
Yet when the inevitable thumb biting started, I ordered our servers to clear the boards and in the loud, clear tones I’d learned from my occasionally autocratic mother, I announced, “We are now going to play pin the fig leaf on Adam and Eve.”