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Winter. Nature was frozen in crisp silence, and the sun’s shy rays accompanied a cruel wind across the streets of Verona. Despite that, there was always a restlessness in the air during the month of December. Children ran and shrieked, their faces and hands red, their clothes wet. Merchants displayed shiny trinkets for them to admire at a distance. Adults walked briskly by, their hands in their pockets. The lead up to Christmas came with carols to be rehearsed, presents to be found, sumptuous meals to be served… The air shined with promises.
“How could anyone rest?” thought Mercutio.
One night, he lied awake in his bed while a fire died away in the chimney. He was comfortable and warm. Only his bed seemed to be spared the cold drafts of air that ran about. Yet he could not stay still. He pushed the covers away and got up. The stars called onto him, and he knew better than to ignore their call.
He dressed quickly and left the Escalus palace, humming a song. The night was clear, bright and utterly silent. Mercutio felt entirely alone, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. He embraced it, for he knew that he was probably the only one even noticing how beautiful the sky was and certainly the only one enjoying it fully, outside.
He strolled through the streets, blowing hot air on his hands to keep them warm. After a few minutes, snow began to fall softly. Mercutio could not help but smile at how privileged he was to be witnessing the season’s first flakes.
In the quietness, a sound caught his attention; he was not alone. He looked carefully around him as he crossed a square, and he noticed another person, alone on Verona’s streets. They looked up at him and exclaimed: “Mercutio!”
It was Romeo. They ran to each other.
“What are you doing out here at this time of night, young Montague?” asked Mercutio.
Romeo’s cheeks were flushed and his hair dishevelled. He smiled and made a dismissive hand gesture.
“Is it your secret lover?” continued Mercutio, “whose identity even your best of friends can’t know?”
Romeo shook his head. “Don’t mock me, it’s serious.”
“That’s why I tease and you get teased, dear Romeo: you’re serious, and I’m not.”
Romeo shook his head again, and a snowflake fell on his nose, startling him.
“It’s difficult not to make fun of you, do you know that?” added Mercutio. He desperately wanted to put his cold fingers against Romeo’s neck. He was so serious and flustered; Mercutio craved his laugh but also his touch. The thought of it made him warm.
“Ok,” said Romeo. “It’s only fair that you and Benvolio should know.”
They walked at random, Romeo’s gazed fixed in front of him on something only he could see, while Mercutio looked up at his face.
“I’m engaged to the most perfect girl in Verona.”
Mercutio’s mind turned blank.
“It’s got to stay a secret for a while,” he continued, speaking rapidly, “but I wish you could meet her. I wish we could all be friends. And I love her – oh I love her like I never dreamed I could love! I love her! I love Juliette, Capulet or not! … Everyone would say it’s meant to fail or whatever… I’m so scared, but we’ll make it work. I feel like I can do anything when I’m with her… I just wish… I just want her to be happy...”
“...engaged?”
Mercutio did not remember how he had got home. The next day, he broke the news to Benvolio, who did not seem to feel as betrayed as he was. No one understood what it meant for him.
It was only a few days later that Romeo, Benvolio and Mercutio had the chance to spend time together. A fire was lit in a parlour in the Montague house, and the three of them talked lazily. A choir was singing not far from there, its sound distorted and eerie.
Romeo was lying on some cushions, his eyes closed, his expression serious. Mercutio felt the strong urge to get closer to him. He wanted to poke him gently, to caress his hair, even to sit on him and have him cry out at him. It was the contact with him that was important. A single touch of Romeo was divine. It had soothing qualities that blessed Mercutio with peace, all the while cursing and tormenting him. Brushing against Romeo was the only thing that mattered. If all other sensations disappeared, Romeo’s presence would still tingle on his skin, burning him and absolving him all together.
Benvolio nudged him back to reality. “It’s this evening, isn’t it? The Next Capulet Masquerade Ball, This Time With Enhanced Security?”
Mercutio shook himself and grinned. “It is, my dear friend.”
Romeo sighed and sat up. “I really want to go.”
The other two exchanged confused looks.
“It’s difficult to see each other with Juliette,” he explained, “so this is the perfect occasion.”
“I’d love to hear more about your ideal date Rome,” answered Mercutio. “Does it involved getting stabbed to death in front of your fiancée by her own family? Because if so you just might be in for a treat!”
Romeo cast his eyes down. “I just want to see her… Why has it got to be so difficult?”
His mournful face was more than enough to convince Mercutio.
“Oh dear Romeo, look at you and your puppy eyes… We’ll all go together-” Benvolio nodded “and Ben and I will protect you.”
“Romeo mumbled “I don’t need protection,” but he could not hide a smile from his face.
“Besides,” added Benvolio, “I think Tybalt’s expecting you Cutio...” He sniggered.
Mercutio raised an eyebrow at him.
“Come on,” insisted Benvolio, “you two are always together. Honestly if I ever wanted to find Tybalt I’d just follow you!”
“Ew!” said Mercutio. “Gross, don’t! Tybalt, of all people, what the fuck...”
Romeo was giggling.
Mercutio turned to him. “Hey, you’re the one attracted to Capulets, don’t try to pin this on me!”
Perhaps it came out more snappy than he had intended. Mercutio was annoyed. Of course he’d run into Tybalt Capulet at some point at the Capulet’s. Where else would he be on the evening of his family’s Winter Ball? Moreover, as long as Tybalt was under Mercutio’s watchful gaze, he could not be harassing Romeo for his relationship with Juliette.
**
The increased security of the Capulet party was provided by Tybalt, who was posted at the entrance to the ball. He glared at the arriving guests with a grimace parading as a smile, his mask held uselessly in his hand.
However Mercutio was no amateur in the art of crashing parties. He had entrusted his cousin Paris with the mission of distracting Tybalt long enough for Mercutio and his friends to enter unnoticed. Paris had been swayed by Mercutio’s promise that, by helping him, he was indirectly serving a lady. Paris, impressed by his cousin’s uncharacteristic earnestness, had accepted.
At the entrance to the house, Paris immediately walked up to Tybalt and expressed his wish to pay his respects directly to his host, Lord Capulet. Tybalt was evidently displeased, but Paris insisted long enough that he put on his mask and led him inside the doors.
As soon as the coast was clear, the trio put on their masks. Led by Mercutio, who possessed an invitation – the origin of which he did not explain – they walked confidently to the entrance and were shown inside.
An orchestra played in the ballroom. Guests were dancing in a circle; servants with trays of food and drinks skirted to and fro; old ladies sat in a corner. Lord Capulet’s laugh boomed across the hall. Paris was probably with him: he had charming ways, and Lord Capulet was sensitive to his kind of polite flattery.
Romeo waved his friends goodbye. “Juliette told me she’s be on the other side of the house. I’ll see you later!”
He slipped away before the others could do more than nod. Mercutio looked after him until he disappeared.
“Now what?” said Benvolio.
“You mean now that our best friend has left us because he prefers to our company that of a Capulet?” smirked Mercutio. “Well now begins The Party!”
They grabbed drinks from a passing tray, downed them, and joined the dance. Mercutio noticed a good-looking woman, danced a few bars with her, then abandoned her for a young man in a fashionable coat with whom he twirled around the room, knocking aside and old man in a military uniform. He kissed his partner lightly and left him to pull into the dance a woman who was talking with her friends – she bore some resemblance to Lady Capulet. He danced erratically, changing partners as often as he could, sometimes spotting Benvolio, until he was ushered from the circle of dancers for tripping up a young girl he had not noticed.
The orchestra was turning to slower music. Mercutio suddenly felt cold. The thought of Romeo was tormenting him. He wanted to see the gardens. He walked slowly, humming to the music until he got lost in a corridor and he could not hear it anymore. What he could hear were loud voices: two people were arguing nearby. He got closer to understand the words.
“Give me one single reason!”
Mercutio recognised Tybalt’s tones.
“You promised!” answered a young woman. She was tearful yet angry.
“You didn’t tell me the whole story!”
“But you promised! I asked you to not hurt him, and you promised!” Is your word worth nothing?”
“Juliette...”
“Leave him be. If you love me leave him be.”
There were words Mercutio could not catch. He was rooted on the spot. They were obviously talking about Romeo.
“He’s not alone,” growled Tybalt.
“I don’t care if his stupid friends are here! Leave them alone!”
“Hey!” thought Mercutio. “That’s not nice, you don’t even know me! Have I ever said you were stupid? Ehhh… perhaps I have. To Benvolio. Once. Sorry about that...”
The arguing had sopped, and steps indicated someone was striding in his direction just around the corner. Mercutio turned back and started walking slowly, humming to himself. It was Juliette who swept past him, not even noticing his presence. Mercutio crept away before Tybalt could swoop up on him.
In the ballroom, the party was in full swing. Mercutio noticed Romeo and Juliette before they hid in an alcove. He did not see Benvolio, but he was not too worried about him. His friends and him were safe, protected from Tybalt’s wrath by none other than Lord Capulet’s daughter.
Romeo would be happy, but Mercutio did not want to think of him. To distract himself, he grabbed a drink and a bite to eat from a tray. He started contemplating how to be the most disruptive, when he felt a cold stare on his back. He twirled around.
“Tybalt!” he exclaimed.
He was leaning against a wall, attempting to look relaxed, but Mercutio knew how tense and frustrated he was. Behind his mask, he was glowering. Before Tybalt could do more than scowl, Mercutio took another glass and held it out to him with a smile.
“Care for a drink?” he asked nonchalantly.
He could feel hate pulsing though Tybalt’s veins, but the young Capulet could not act upon it. He stiffly took the glass from Mercutio, who smiled widely at him.
“Laugh while you can,” sneered Tybalt. “You won’t insult us by your presence forever.”
He drank, keeping his gaze fixed on Mercutio.
“How sweet,” he said, grinning even more, “you chose to seek my presence while it lasts.” He winked.
“I’m keeping an eye on you.”
“And me on you, so here we are.”
“As if you could do anything here.”
Mercutio’s grin widened. “But why me? You don’t think I’m here alone, do you?”
“Better you than any Montague.” He spat out the name as if it pained him to even pronounce it.
“Coming from you, does this count as a declaration of love?”
Tybalt put his glass down but did not gratify Mercutio with an answer. Since he was not in a fighting mood, Mercutio considered a little more teasing could not do much harm.
“So, dear nemesis, what do we do now?”
“You test my patience, Escalus.”
Mercutio decided that it was an invitation, and he made the most of Tybalt looking away at the room for a second to move and lean against the wall with him so that they were side my side. Tybalt winced at their closeness, but he dared not back away. Mercutio kept forgetting that most people did not like to be as close to others as he did.
The dance was going well. Groups were forming and separating and merging again to the music. Mercutio felt reckless.
“Do you dance?” he asked. He guessed the answer before it came.
“Not if I can help it.”
“You see, I want to cause mischief, and that involves dancing.”
Tybalt did not react in any identifiable way, so Mercutio went further. “The only way you can stop me from causing such mischief is by distracting me and letting me only bother you, and that means you dancing with me.”
Mercutio fully expected Tybalt to draw out his sword; however, he did not.
“I gave my word that all should go well tonight, and if the price of that promise is to have to dance with you, then I’ll do it.”
Mercutio was dumbfounded. He had not anticipated this outcome.
“Besides,” added Tybalt, “with any luck no one will know.”
Mercutio was speechless. Three words echoed in his ears in synch with the music.
“I played myself.”
“I played myself.”
“I played myself...”
As an added insult, the orchestra changed to a slow couple dance. Mercutio followed Tybalt to the dance floor area, and they began. Tybalt was a pretty good dancer. They were closer than they had ever been. Mercutio could smell his cologne, and it was not disagreable. Tybalt was also taller than he had expected, which was awkward. Yet, after all, the situation could have been much worse. Mercutio focused on his movements: he did not wish to be humiliated in front of Tybalt Capulet. Now was not the time to trip anyone up.
When Mercutio did look at the scene around them, the first thing he noticed was Benvolio, who was staring at him, obviously surprised.
“Ouch!” hissed Tybalt. “That was my foot, you idiot!”
Mercutio looked away from his friend. That would be a problem for later.
The dance soon ended, but before backing away from Tybalt, Mercutio gave him an amused look.
“You’re not too bad a dancer,” he said softly, “how come you hide it?”
“Why would I waste that information on you?”
“I don’t know, for the next time I crash a Capulet ball?”
“There won’t be a third,” snarled Tybalt.
“I’ve got a 100% success rate at the moment.”
Mercutio was conscious that he was talking without thinking and that it had already paid him a disservice earlier, but he could not stop. Arguing with Tybalt was just natural.
“I promise I won’t step on you next time,” he grinned.
“I hope not!”
“You didn’t say no. I guess it's settled now!”
Mercutio wished he could stop himself from talking. He wished anyone would stop him from talking. Luckily, they were interrupted by someone who wanted a word with Tybalt.
**
“It’s a date,” said Benvolio when Mercutio told him about the events of the evening. “You danced together, then you determined to do the same thing again at an ulterior time. It’s a date.”
Mercutio was mortified. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“You’ve still got some time if you want to cancel,” answered Benvolio, “the Capulets probably won’t have another ball before Spring at the earliest.”
Mercutio sighed. He was curious as to what could happen, and he was already tired of the cold and the snow. He wished Spring would come soon. Perhaps then he would know why he was so reckless.