Chapter 26
The crypt at the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore is a lovely, silent, holy place where the feet of the holy have worn down the steps, and the knees of those praying for grace have smoothed the stones, and the remains of San Zeno rest in eternal peace.
The basilica is my family’s church, and as such, I’ve spent my religious life within its walls.
It is a home for me, the place where I was christened, where I took my first communion, where I went to pray to the Virgin Mary for help in taming my temper and finding proper acceptance of a woman’s role and, when that didn’t work, imploring God to change men into a whole different gender.
FYI, that didn’t work, either. Apparently, God was satisfied with His first draft.
Although right now, as I rushed forward to meet Prince Escalus, he whose body beckoned me at first against my will, then gained my grudging acceptance, I longed as surely as ever did my thirteen-year-old mother for her Romeo.
So I conceded to God that He was correct, for when Cal slid his arm beneath the sumptuous velvet cloak that he had given me and we embraced, I was satisfied, too.
At least, I intended to be satisfied soon, and warmed, too, for the winter cold that sat atop the city deepened every day, and as we exhaled, the sacred air grew white with frost.
Friar Laurence, dressed in his holy vestments, viewed our fever of mutual excitement and sighed loudly. “Holy Saint Francis, as I told you before, love moderately. Long love doth so …”
Cal and I broke our embrace and stared at him in confusion.
He passed his hand over his eyes, as if clearing away the veil of time.
“For a moment, Lady Rosaline, I remembered that time when I stood here to wed your parents in secret, never imagining that in twenty years I’d be doing the same for their sensible eldest daughter.
But you were conceived on that very night in their loving frenzy, and although you’ve long held yourself to a rigid agenda of prudence, despite the long delay, I see the two that created you infused you with a like madness of passion. ”
As always, Cal’s bodyguards had accompanied him, and at Friar Laurence’s rebuke, Marcellus, Dion, and Holofernes laughed.
Friar Laurence stared imperiously at the trio until they coughed and shuffled their feet. “You have come to be manly witnesses to the sacrament of marriage?”
They agreed, one by one.
Friar Laurence said, “Then behave like men of honor, thoughtfully and with dignity.”
They agreed again, sounding not so much like men as boys who had been rebuked.
“It’s late, so come, come with me, and we will make short work …
” Friar Laurence caught himself; he’d said this before, too.
After taking a wax taper, he collected a small yellow flame from the candle that always burned, as a sign of God’s presence, then moved with all the ponderous dignity bestowed by his office to light the candles on the altar.
“It’s late. Let us proceed so I can find my cot and sleep, tranquil in the knowledge that you burn, but with God’s blessing. ”
Truth to tell, I didn’t want Friar Laurence to think about our burning, but I bit my lip and kept that opinion to myself, because, like Friar Laurence, I wished as soon as possible to find my bed … and wait for all the glories of the flesh to be revealed.
As Friar Laurence began the sacrament of marriage, his voice gained that tenor and volume I associated with those moments most holy.
This ceremony might be impetuous, but Friar Laurence moved at a solemn pace, and his very deliberation left us in no doubt that we spoke our vows in God’s church and in God’s presence.
He cared nothing for the hard, frigid stones beneath our knees or the great echoing emptiness of the crypt at the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore and the church behind us.
He clearly and with gravitas spoke the powerful sacred words that would unite us to us, and he included Cal’s shivering bodyguards as they knelt behind us to bear witness to the wedding.
I confess, when it came time for me to speak my vows, my voice quivered from the cold, yes, but also from the sudden realization that I was at last doing what all my life I’d sworn not to do—leave Casa Montague, the house of my father and mother, and all my family, whom I loved so dearly.
I felt a kind of painful tearing of bonds, and for a moment, I was lost as to what impulse had led me to this place, where I was so alone.
Then Cal moved closer, put his arm around me, and hugged me to his chest. He bent his face around to look at me, and this Cal wanted me for more than our bodies’ passions.
This Cal shared his heat with me, shared his smile with me, shared his admiration for me.
Yes, I would cleave to a man, this man. We would become one flesh, and when our youth had vanished and all that remained of us was wrinkled skin over narrow bones, Cal would still share his heat, his smile, and his admiration for me.
As I would share with him.
I was not leaving my home; that was the home of my mother and father.
I was going home, to the home Cal and I would create together.
I cupped his cheek and smiled into his face.
He brushed his lips across mine and touched the long gold chain that hung around my neck.
I understood his message. He knew that hidden deep beneath as many clothes as I had been able to don, shone the tiny yellow bird with the polished amber eyes and the yellow sapphire wing tips, and in its beak it held the stem of a dark red rose.
Never mind the velvet cape and the elegant sedan chair and whatever other gifts he had to give; this was the one that meant the most to him, and to me, for it was a symbol of what I was to him.
You ask, what had I to give him?
Only myself.
We turned back to Friar Laurence and watched and listened as he, still ponderous, still deliberate, still intent, continued to weave between us the sacrament of marriage.