A Stolen Marriage Day

"Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts."

April 12, 1518

Hampton Square was empty. It was well past the normal hour of business for the attorneys and other professionals who were the main tenants of the buildings on the square. The shops that sat below the offices were also closed. These shops and offices, as well as the square's proximity to the great building where the Council met, drew large crowds during daylight hours. It was odd to see such a bustling place so dead, Puck thought.

It was also annoying. When he had asked a friend to make sure Goneril Capulet was busy all day, he had not thought it would interfere with a nighttime wedding. Yet, the sun had set, the candles were lit in the abbey, and Puck didn't have a man to stand up with him.

In a corner of the square, Fitzwilliam noticed the darkened sky with pride. He had kept Goneril Capulet busy all day with a business meeting regarding her favorite cause: the Capulet family purse. When a page had nearly broke up their meeting, he had been forced to do more acting in three minutes than he had done in his life, but he was proud of the result. The meeting and Goneril's ignorance were both preserved.

At last. Puck stood up and yelled, "I was beginning to think the old dragon ate you alive!"

Fitzwilliam turned, visibly surprised to see Puck. "Shouldn't you be at your secret wedding, you fool?"

"I can't get married without the martyr of honor!"

"You will have to sing my praises a little louder. I can't hear you from on high!"

"You are the foremost actor in all of Verona. I would throw gold at your feet, but you have it all!" Both men began laughing heartily. They would have been the object of great speculation if there had been anyone at all to see them in the square. "You didn't think I'd have a wedding without you?"

"As long as you're not trying to marry me."

Puck punched him in the arm. "It's in two hours, in the old abbey."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I told you, fool. I need someone to stand up with me - mostly as a buffer against the priest."

"And you chose me for the honor? I am utterly flattered."

"Who else but the man who slayed a dragon today?"

"How about your new brother?"

Puck chuckled. Tybalt had also been a friend of his for years, but Puck knew what he would do in Tybalt's position and didn't have even half as hot a temper. It was a small blessing that the brothers-in-law would not have to meet again for another two or three weeks. "I'd rather not look like a side of tough meat at my wedding!"

"At least Tybalt will also look like one when Hermia is finished."

"The Capulet women do not make good enemies."

"Much better to befriend them," Fitzwilliam agreed. "Uh... will Juliette be there?"

"No." Puck frowned. "I think Hermia is bringing Miranda. Sorry."

"Don't be." He clapped his arm around Puck's shoulders. "At least I don't have to worry about insulting your bride by staring at her sister through the entire Mass."

"She won't be looking in your direction, fool. Come on." Puck chattered for most of the walk to the abbey, saying nothing of consequence. As much as he was certain he wanted to entwine his life with Hermia's, he was nervous to the pit of his stomach. Talking kept his mind off of his stomach and its pits. When they came upon the Abbey, Puck was even up to tormenting his friend one last time. "By the way, I had my father bring something for you to wear. A wedding of this caliber demands something a little more... Summerdream."

The old abbey was not the preferred venue for noble weddings in Verona, but it suited the young couple's wedding. The closeness of the front of the chamber and the altar embraced the Mass like a wall of secrecy. The candlelit darkness (mostly) covered the remaining traces of dirt on the bride and groom, who had both spent quite a while on their knees earlier to complete Father Laurent's extensive penance. (Puck had asked Hermia if all the praying was really necessary; Hermia replied she would not marry anyone who was covered in boils.)

The wedding was to be as small as it was quiet. Puck's parents and sister were joined only by Consort in the pews. Fitzwilliam was the only person outside of the families, other than the priest, in attendance. For the marriage of the son of a prominent ambassador and the daughter of an ancient, noble family, it was the utter opposite of what would be expected. Yet, where Puck Summerdream and Hermia Capulet were concerned, the antithesis was always to be expected.

Waiting for Hermia to make her appearance, Puck's nerves grew. He was scolded by Miranda for looking her way too often. Looking only forward now, his mind pushed itself on to a topic of possible disaster.

"Uh, Fitzwilliam.... what do I do if I don't know what the priest is saying?" Though the Summerdreams attended Mass every Sunday, it was always treated by the family as a diplomatic gesture. Puck believed his mother understood the service after a lifetime of gesturing (she had inherited the ambassadorship from her mother.) He had taken after his father, simply mumbling along when everyone else spoke. He regretted it now, because he was as likely to declare himself the foremost dancing piper in the duchy as to promise to be Hermia's husband.

Diligent to the end, Fitzwilliam stepped over to the priest's side. Father Laurent was preparing for the Mass in his own way, looking quite in communion with some greater power. He didn't want to interrupt, but he took another lump for Puck's welfare. "Father Laurent, the bridegroom is not entirely familiar with the text of the Mass..."

Father Laurent, a man barely older than the couple he would be marrying, allayed Fitzwilliam's fears without breaking his stance or even opening his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me something I don't already know, my son? Even God can be flexible. Go back to your place."

The bride's entrance put an end to worrying. Wearing her mother's gown (hastily brushed off and re-hemmed) and a few early spring flowers, she looked as beautiful to Puck as if she had planned her appearance for months. Miranda, who had been guarding the door to the antechamber, hugged Hermia tightly. "You are the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

Consort, who would be escorting the bride the few steps to the altar, agreed. "You do your mother justice, child."

Hermia took her grandfather's arm. "And you?"

The weathered old man was touched. He had seen more of his granddaughter's heart in one day than he had in years. "You were a good girl, Hermia. You will make a very good woman."

What God has joined... 

... men must not divide.

Next Post: The Children of an Idle Brain