I have never considered myself the tavern-wench sort. ’Tis comical, verily, this ploy of mine to bring Tybalt to the Untamed Shrew today. I have instructed my maidservant, Marie, to deliver him a missive explaining that I have, of all things, accepted a position at the disreputable inn, and this very noon hour I shall begin my first shift as a barmaid there. (I am counting on Tybalt’s quick temper to stave his good sense. In truth, there is no logical purpose for a noble-born lady such as I to seek employment anywhere.) I also writ there have oft been known to be hooligans gathered there, and I would be very much grateful for his protection. Marie is to bring him the letter no earlier than a quarter before that hour, which shall ensure his timely arrival.
Indeed, I wonder what will stun my protective cousin more—the news that I have become a barmaid or the news that I shall become a Montague!
’Twill be only an act, of course. I will be no more a wife than a waitress. We will only pretend to be engaged, Benvolio and I. This wells up a strange feeling in me, one I cannot name. But before I can think more deeply on’t, there comes a knock upon my door and Juliet bursts into my chamber, flushed and smiling for all she is worth.
“Congratulate me, cousin!” she cries, throwing herself into my arms.
I comply, though I know not for what I am congratulating her. She squirms free of the hug and retreats a step, allowing me to admire her as she spins like a giddy dancer.
“Do I look changed at all?” she inquires.
“Aye, most assuredly,” I tell her, for it is true. Juliet this morn appears more … well … more thoroughly Juliet than ever before, though in a way I cannot precisely describe. “Thou hast not changed thy hair. And you wear a gown I have seen you in at least one time before. Art thou taller—thinner—since last night? Pray tell what brings about this remarkable transformation, for indeed, that is surely what it is.”
Juliet goes up on tiptoe and cups her hand to my ear to whisper something, but her excitement blows the words out in an unintelligible rush.
“Buried?” I repeat the word I think she spoke. “Say you
that you have been buried this morning? Jules, that is nonsense.”
She rolls her eyes. “I did not say buried, cousin. I said …” Again, she leans in and whispers.
And this time I hear her clearly.
“Married?”
She nods, her eyes bright with the thrill of it. Her delight proves momentarily contagious.
“Married,” I gasp in disbelief “To Romeo, I assume?”
“You assume correctly.” She twirls, laughing. “O, I am a wife! I am wife to Romeo! He is my husband!”
“Aye. But how … ?”
“He sent word with my nurse, inviting me to our wedding. Naturally, I accepted and did hasten to the monastery, where Friar Laurence did close our hands with holy words. I am married, Roz! ’Tis full real, and duly blessed. I belong to Romeo, and Romeo is mine!” Again, she twirls.
I would dance with her, but ’tis now that the magnitude of the situation settles in. Of a sudden, my mouth goes dry, and my heart begins to pump ferociously. A terror rises within me, a panic so intense I can barely breathe.
“Juliet, you have surely taken leave of your mind! By all that is holy on God’s earth, you have signed a death warrant for us all!”
Juliet huffs, pressing her fists to her hips. “You exaggerate. Aye, my father will be angry at first, my mother, shocked. And Romeo’s lord and lady will also react badly, but—”
“If by badly you mean slipping a hangman’s noose round his handsome neck, then, aye, you have hit the mark. They will never accept you!”
“They must accept us!” Her eyes are glittering with tears now. “I could not bear it if they did not.”
“What you can or cannot bear will be of no consequence in the face of their fury. I daresay, you and Romeo have gone too far. Hell’s blood, cousin, you are but thirteen. You have known the boy less than a day!”
“Last night you approved.” She huffs at me, folding her arms across her chest indignantly.
“I approved of your wanting to love him. Dost thou not recall my warning you to proceed slowly and with caution?”
I take her by the shoulders and push her into a chair, then pull up another and sit facing her. “Ironical as this is going to seem, Benvolio and I had a similar plan. Ours was perilous to some degree, but this rash, impulsive thing that you have done is nothing short of tragic. Each family will blame the other for such colossal injury. Your father will feel betrayed, as will Romeo’s. The wrath this marriage will unleash is unimaginable.”
There is a long pause. Then Juliet lifts her chin in a childish gesture. “Well, it is done. Romeo and I have sealed our love, and with it our fate.”
I consider the news, and I wonder how it will impact the course Benvolio and I had hoped to take. Certainly, our cousins’ truth makes our falsehood unnecessary. I
cannot suppress the prickle of regret that comes with this realization.
“Well, I suppose this marks the sudden end to my career as a tavern wench.”
Juliet looks at me as though I am mad.
“Pay it no mind,” I tell her. “’Tis a long story.”
Now a worried crease mars Juliet’s brow. “Speaking of long stories,” she begins in a tremulous voice, “I was hoping you might explain something to me.” She draws a long breath. “I know nothing of what Romeo shall expect of me on our wedding night!”
“Nay.” I allow a slight grin. “I suppose you would not.”
“Canst thou tell me, Roz? Impart to me some understanding of what a man demands and what a lady ought to do … and ought not to do? I know your personal experience is as lacking as mine own. But you are a healer, in essence, a physician. You must know, at the very least, something.”
She is curious and afraid, and every bit as desperate as she sounds.
I squirm in my seat, a tad stymied by her request. “I know only—how shall I describe it?—only the mechanics of the procedure in question. The simple physicality. I can tell you what goes where and why. But with respect to romance, and, well, pleasure—”
“Aye, pleasure. From what little I have heard spoken among my lady’s maids and servants, I suspect there is a good deal of pleasure to be had.”
“Must be,” I mutter, more to myself than to Juliet, “for so many seem so eager to partake in it.”
“If Romeo’s kissing is any indication of what follows, then I am sure it will not be entirely awful.”
A pang of envy strikes me, as I remember Benvolio’s failed attempt upon that unsteady log—a kiss unkissed, and sorely missed.
“I know this much,” I tell her. “You have done well to stay your desires until after your wedding, for when undertaken outside the sanctity of wedlock, the love act often has dire consequences.”
Juliet considers this. “I suppose, then, ’tis a good thing that we married so quickly. I daresay I would have been hard-pressed to maintain my virtue otherwise.”
I recall the sweet surprise of waking up in Benvolio’s arms and know she speaks the truth. “Chances are, Romeo has had experience with this sort of thing.”
“Do you think so?”
“He is a man, after all. He is likely an old hand at this mating thing.”
Juliet is appalled. Instantly, I regret the remark.
“Then again, he may be as virginal as you and I. You need know only this: If you truly love Romeo and he adores you as deeply as you say and you are already blessed in the sacrament of matrimony, then there is no wrong way to do … what it is you are going to … do.”
“Will it pain me, do you know?”
“Yes. Most assuredly.”
“And will he get me with child on the first try?”
“Mayhap. That is dependent upon your cycle, upon the level of your fertility at this time.”
Juliet smiles at the possibility. “A Montague babe in a Capulet womb. Romeo’s lord and my own sharing a grandchild! Would that not put an end to the feud?”
I do not answer. For I fear it is equally likely that a child of Montague and Capulet blood would inspire enough heartbreak to bring about the greatest violence yet.
Still she must know what she must know. And so, with cautious candor I impart to her the facts as thoroughly as can one virgin to another.
Abruptly, I wrap my arms around Juliet in a firm embrace.
“God be with you, cousin,” I whisper.
God be with us all.