Queen Mab (16 page)

But now?  Now, he reflected, there was nothing, nothing but his daughter.  He had no son to carry on his name, no male heir to protect the Capulet blood.

Oh, that he could kill Romeo with his own two hands.  Oh, if only Queen Mab had warned him of this.  He had been so focused upon his daughter's inevitable betrayal, that he had not thought his nephew might be guilty of the greater sin—losing his life to a Montague.

"Already this and yet to know enough of the future that the cruelest blow, to be struck with a closed fist by my daughter, is still to come..."

"What is to come?" asked a cheerful voice.

Lord Capulet looked up, startled.

"You must forgive me," said Lord Capulet, clutching his heart, "You gave me a fright.  I could have sworn that I was quite alone."

"My dear sir, I could not help but notice your distress," said the man.  He walked out from behind a cart.  He had brown curly hair and a brown beard.  His chest was bare, but for a strap that cut across it, surely for holding a purse.  Indeed, he pulled out some pipes and began to play.  He must have been wearing hard shoes, Lord Capulet mused, because his feet made almost the sound of horses or goats stepping upon the cobblestones.

"Indeed, my grief is that which would level the heart of any man, and no man think him less than a man for grieving.  My dear nephew has been slaughtered in the street."

The stranger gave a gasp in horror and motioned Lord Capulet to an overturned crate.  "Sit, sir..."

"I am Lord Capulet."

The man bowed.  "Even more so.  Sit, my lord, and tell me of all your woes.  You will not find a better ear in all of Verona.  I shall get to the meat of it and perhaps see some solution to your pain."

"Nay, no one may ease this weight upon my heart.  I wade not in the shallows.  I am chest high in the depths of my anguish."

"Tut, tut.  That is too much for one person to bear.  And why did this happen, my lord?"

"I know not.  I know not," he replied, waving his hand dismissively. "I only know that they did quarrel.  But I was the one who put them in each other's path.  I allowed the mongrel of a Montague into my home, why, just last night!  I welcomed him as a guest!  I shook his hand!  And my nephew took it upon himself to dispense the rightful hospitality he felt was lacking in my home.  Oh!  If I had but listened...  And now he is dead.  I see the last of the Capulet male blood surrendered to the bloody altar of a centuries-old feud.  I fear the cruelty to come and that which the Fates have in store."

"Nay, sir.  The Fates are kind to those who love them.  If you fear the weakening of your House you must strengthen it."

"I have only a daughter."

"Then marry her soon and marry her well.  Let the shame of Tybalt's death hang on the House of Montague and use this moment to fill the emptiness they have left.  Unite your child with one who will elevate your House to the glory that it once was and might have been.  In a few years time, so many babies and grandchildren will bounce upon your knee, you'll scarce have leg for it.  Trust me in this wisdom, for it was won over many a hard year."

"It is too soon for her to wed," he protested.

"Such decisions need not be made with haste.  Merely think upon it.  What suitor might wipe clean the sadness of the day and fill broken hearts with healing?"

"There was a cousin named Paris that Tybalt seemed to like..." Lord Capulet mused.  The danger now passed, it seemed as if a natural solution to a problem that was plaguing him.  "Paris came to visit me not yesterday.  My, was it only yesterday?  He made suit at our masque and my daughter Juliet was to receive him.  After such terrible events and anguish, I did not even ask how she thought upon him."

"Seems as if a question a loving father might inquire," stated the strange man, picking his teeth with a pointed nail.  "Go you to your daughter.  Unite her with this Paris fellow, for I have heard of his exploits and wealth from low-and-far to high-and-low.  See if her heart might be bent to his love.  And if so, this daughter of your ruin shall become the angel of your salvation."

Lord Capulet nodded.  "Your words are sound and fill this grieving man with hope.  Tonight is almost gone and her tears have not yet ceased.  I cannot think of such a happy event on such a day of pain, but tomorrow I shall speak with her and let this moment fade from sorrow to joy."

Lord Capulet turned to thank the man, but when he looked, there was no one there.  Lord Capulet rubbed his eyes.  Though the sun still hung in the sky, he felt as if he had woken from a dream.  His eyes were sandy and his heart strangely beat.

Slowly, he turned the way he came and began walking back towards his house.

Faunus watched as Lord Capulet went.  Such a fascinating human, he thought, so willing to engage in whatever it took to secure what he felt he deserved.  Faunus smiled.  They seemed to be two of a kind and Faunus looked forward to being so much more than just an adviser.

No  more would he be mere demigod, scraping at the feet of Jupiter and Juno.  These humans with their power of adoration would crown him rightfully.  They would bow down before him, and in doing so, turn him to a god.  And why not?  Such horrors they could avoid by worshipping him.  Mab would no longer strangle their line, plaguing their dreams so that their days seemed full of woe.

Faunus thought of the marble statue they would carve of him, of the wreathes of flowers that they would lay at his feet.  At the way the House of Capulet would teach their children and their children's children of his munificence and glory.  They would be so grateful for his sound council. The plans he began a century ago by that theft of Mab's sacred bull were finally ripening and, at last, almost ready for the plucking.

But first, to County Paris.  This Lord Capulet might still change his mind.  Too easy tomorrows and tomorrows became the unfolding promises of days which never came.  Faunus would send Paris to the Capulet house this very night and before the sun rose, a day would be set for a union so blessed, it would to make the gods smile.

Indeed, Faunus smiled.

M
ab's eyes opened in her palace in Verona.  The world was already deep into night and who knew what terrible events had come to pass since she walked this earth.  She tried not to think of Mercutio and the last breaths he sighed so very close to this place.  Mab let Juno's command temper her heart, allowed the fire of her words forge her resolve like a sword beneath the master's hammer, honing it for its singular purpose, knowing if she failed, she would never see her love again.  It was not yet time for mourning.

In haste, she called for her chariot and made way to the Capulet house.  The home was dark, almost all of it in slumber, except for a single light in a front receiving room.  Mab flew to the open window to see what secrets were unfolding when the rest of the house was abed. 

Inside, Lord and Lady Capulet were speaking to Paris. 

"So yea or nay?  Shall Juliet be my wife?" asked the young man sharply.

Mab's heart grew troubled, knowing this conversation was too soon, knowing that the good family Capulet would never have spoken of such things without unnatural influence, and yet, there they stood, unfolding.

Lord Capulet paced beside his window, staring at the sky as he spoke, "I have not had time to speak to my daughter.  She is grieving even now for her kinsman Tybalt.  The hour is late and the moon in the sky.  If you had not come, I would be in bed myself.  Let us speak another day."

Paris did not seem to understand the weariness in the man's voice.  He did not seem to hear the pain and anguish wracking this man's soul.  No, indeed, he seemed to be controlled by one whose influence was much greater than kindness and love.  With a sharp edge, Paris did command, "Lady Capulet, please take me to your daughter.  I will have her happy answer and her joyful hand and, in doing so, will aid her in casting aside this grief."

Mab recoiled, realizing it was the dream she had planted foolishly in Paris just days ago which still held its talons in his soul.  It told him to speak and demand when the moment would be better served by temperance.  Once more she felt the weight of her fault in this.  It was hers and no one else's. 

Lady Capulet tried to reason with him.  "I will, and I will know her answer for you early tomorrow, but tonight she is filled with woe and tears."

Lord Capulet turned to Paris, exhausted and seeing that the night would not come to an end.  "County Paris, I will speak with her.  She will abide by my will, I do not doubt.  She shall be yours.  This I will command!  Indeed, I shall set forth the wheels this very moment.  Wife?  Talk to her of Paris's love.  Tell her the wedding shall be Wednesday next—But, soft! what day is this?"

"Monday, my lord," said Paris.

"Monday! Well, Wednesday is too soon.  Thursday.  Let it be on Thursday.  Wife, tell her that on Thursday she shall be married to this noble earl."  Lord Capulet turned to Paris and asked, "Will you be ready?  Do you like this haste?  We shall keep the celebration small.  If we make too merry so soon after Tybalt slain, it might be seen that we cared not as deeply for him as we do.  Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, no more. Perhaps a dozen.  Or two.  But that is a matter for later.  What say you to Thursday?"

"My lord, my heart wishes that Thursday was tomorrow, but I wait knowing the day's arrival will be made that much sweeter for the longing of it," Paris smiled.

"Well get you gone.  On Thursday be it, then," said Lord Capulet with a dismissive wave.

Paris nodded in acquiescence. 

"Go you to Juliet in the morrow," commanded Lord Capulet to his lady.  "Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day."  He turned back again to Paris.  "Farewell, my lord."  Then he called loudly to his servants, "Light to my chamber, ho!  It is so very late that we may call the day early by and by.  Good night."

Mab stood as the three exited the room until she was all alone.  Her thoughts tumbled in her head.  If Juliet married Paris, she would live.  But what of the House of Montague?  What of this boy, Romeo, who once had been her Mercutio's friend?  The House had fallen from his shame and time would not restore them to glory.  The last of the Montague line would die from despair, waiting in exile for a day which would never come.

Mab stood, her feet unwilling to take to the air.  Her eyes were filled with the terrible vision of this child with a dagger in her heart, bleeding out the last beats of life upon the breast of Romeo.  The tomb was so dark, and the vision filled with such hopelessness.

A single misstep and Mab knew this was their fate.  A moment which stumbled instead of marching in lockstep, and death would be this young girl's groom.

And yet what choice did Mab have?

Mab left the home and walked to Juliet's garden, choosing to let the length of human footsteps forestall this fate, to have a few moments of respite before she set all upon a path of no return.

Q
ueen Mab looked up at Juliet's window.  She knew she had to rise, to go within, and plant the seeds of forgiveness in Juliet's dreams.  Let her love Paris, but she needed Juliet to understand that the death which fell upon Romeo's soul was done out of love, first to protect Mab's own beloved Mercutio and then to right the wrong of his friend's life cut too short.  Mab needed her to understand that if he had not slain Juliet's cousin, it would have been Romeo's life lost in the streets.  Romeo may be banished, but by his murderous hand, he protected the House of Capulet.  By killing this cousin, he took the blame for Tybalt's sins.  It was Juliet's own father's kindness which beat within Romeo's veins, the same kindness which led Mab here in the garden at midnight praying she could bend a girl to mercy, to remember love when her love had been betrayed.

Bravely, Mab left behind the garden with its comforting smells of summer and ripening life.  She flew to Juliet's balcony and stepped into her room.

It was here that gave her pause, for there was this daughter of Capulet entwined in a lover's embrace with the murderous Romeo.  They slept, clinging to one another as if survivors of some terrible storm.

A silvery glint shone from Juliet's hand.  A ring sat upon her third finger.  Mab realized that she looked upon not just lovers, but a husband and wife in their marital bed.  They were wed and bound together not just by heart, but by godly vows of fealty and devotion.

Mab sat down, in awe of a soul so young and yet so old.  She herself had lived for centuries, and even so, shame for being made a fool made her try and destroy the world.  Yet this young girl, this Juliet whose world had been destroyed, chose to follow the truth of her love, even if it meant welcoming in the enemy of her home. 

Mab almost wept in both fear and joy.  One step closer to the fate which she hoped to avert, but one step closer to happiness which could be forever theirs.

Queen Mab closed her eyes and leaned a hand upon Juliet's temple.  "Dream, my child, of thy love.  And welcome me into those dreams."

At once, Queen Mab stood upon a grassy knoll, a vast sky of blue behind her in contrast to the vivid green. 

There Juliet sat with Romeo's head resting upon her lap.  She stared down into a babbling brook in thoughtful revelry. 

Queen Mab walked to Juliet's side and sat beside her.

The images that flashed through Juliet's mind were more beautiful than even the dreams Mab brought at night. 

Dancers upon a floor. 

Whispered words in a garden which brought a thrill with every memory. 

The advance of a stolen kiss both foreign and familiar.  How was it that two souls could cross a boundary that seemed a million leagues apart to close the gap and touch? 

Queen Mab wondered how she ever could have thought these two nothing but playthings in her game with Faunus, to be pushed and pulled like chess pieces upon a board of black and white.  Now... oh now... the feelings which beat in her breast with every flutter of her heart cast this child's life in such different colors.  She must live.  They both must live.  And live happily!  No longer could she destroy this girl to protect the House of Capulet.  For, indeed, Mab had tasted love and knew of no sweeter drink.  Mercutio had shown her the way and she would not deny its taste to another, for true love was rare enough.  To push aside such a cup from the lips of one who had so few days to live on the earth?  Juliet's heart was one with Romeo, and no matter what the size of the substitution, it would never fill the void he would leave behind.  It would never heal the claw marks of his memory ripped away too soon.