Mercutio is in fine form this day. He leads his motley band of fellows through the streets in search of argument. They laugh, taunt, and curse, shoving one another in the name of brotherhood. I imagine Mercutio’s head is spinning still with the dregs of last night’s drunkenness and that his heart is stinging still from having turned away Rosaline.
“I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire,” I urge. “The day is hot, the [Capulets] abroad, and if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.” I indicate the tavern, the Untamed Shrew, a few steps off.
He looks at me with bloodshot eyes; his mind is muddy. We enter the tavern.
Within, I immediately search the dusky place for Rosaline.
She is not present as yet, but I have no doubt that she is on her way.
My mind returns briefly to the letter shown to me by Balthasar. ‘Twas writ to Romeo by Tybalt, who did spot Romeo at last night’s feast and would now challenge Romeo for the insult. Glad am I that Romeo is not about, for if Tybalt were to find him here at the tavern, he would surely demand satisfaction. But the stars align for us. Romeo’s present absence will allow my plan to play out in peace. Hopefully ’twill be the beginning of the end of violence in Verona.