Now is the Mad Blood Stirring

"Delays have dangerous ends."

June 27th

On another day, watching Romeo spar with Benedick might have been amusing. Romeo was slim and fast, with an almost supernatural ability to lean and thrust at odd angles. He was a challenging opponent for his brother when Romeo could be bothered to practice. Benedick's form was also heavily reliant on leaning - as a means of survival. At sixteen, he fought like a novice, swinging his sword like a baby with a toy. Once or twice, by pure luck, he had beat Romeo back. He had spent the rest of the exercise avoiding a friendly flaying.

But it wasn't another day, not a normal day at all. It was the first day of mourning, when men were expected to perfect the mixture of toughness and respect that defined mourning. One week earlier, after a heinous, weeks-long final illness, Patrizio Montague had died in his sleep. Yesterday, he had been put to rest in the family crypt. Lord Montague's survivors - his wife, his children, and his grandchildren - had gathered in a newly-built addition to give the last honor to their late patriarch.

The new chamber, constructed to house the the crypt's most illustrious inmates, had been completed only eight months earlier. Its first residents were Claudio and Olivia Montague, moved from their last resting place to christen this new chamber of honor. Claudio and Olivia had been dead for several years, but family lore said that a virgin crypt would create its own occupants. If their presence had somehow delayed Patrizio's arrival, it was a cold comfort to the remaining Montagues.

The business of mourning was, as nearly everything seemed to be in Verona, tied to status. Mourning demanded a separation from worldly concerns. As shops, fields, and hungry children could not survive on tradition, the lower classes did not outwardly mourn for long. A noble house might mourn for as long as six months. The matters put out of reach varied a bit between families, from the basic money and politics to marriage or even education, but the air of distance itself was always to be played to the utmost. Once a member of the family broke the aura of mourning, the performance and the grief were both concluded. 

Naturally, there was always a small bit of give in the constraints. Patrizio's will would be read the next day and his successor announced to the country. The identity of that man had undoubtedly been a popular point of discussion since the death. Mercutio, as the eldest son of the late eldest son, and Antonio, a living second son, both had valid claims in family tradition. Patrizio Montague had taken years to make his decision - too long, in the minds of most. Mercutio himself didn't know what to expect - he had no idea what was in the last will or whether Patrizio had lived to amend it, and he couldn't ask. He could only wait.

"Good afternoon, sir."

Mercutio had been harboring a growing attachment to Paulina, a cousin of Lord Arlecchino who had come to live with that family for a time. She was a fine example of a lady in Mercutio's mind: pretty, intelligent, sensible, and mild. If he was named his grandfather's successor, he was determined to ask for Paulina's hand as soon as it was appropriate. She would be an excellent mother to his children, and there would be no time to waste in producing heirs to secure the line. Until then, he would content himself with a gentle flirtation. "Good, indeed. How long have you been here?"

"All afternoon. My cousins are to come tomorrow to visit you, but Beatrice sent me a most insistent note this morning." Lady Montague had demanded that her entire family take up residence in the main house for the mourning. "She is bored, I think."

"Perhaps I should teach her to fight." Mercutio glanced at the ongoing farce of a battle. "One of them ought to be able to do it."

Paulina turned to the rather pathetic duel just as Benedick tumbled onto the stones. "Oh! Oh, goodness. Well, perhaps it is not so... perhaps he will choose..."

"A monastery?"

She relaxed, grateful for a path away from watching that sad sight. "I know very little about monasteries, but if they are anything like convents, you are a very cruel cousin to suggest it."

"On the contrary, my lady, if you consider the droves of unprincipled ladies sent to convents, they must be very lively places."

Paulina smiled; the day was too solemn to laugh. "You have never been to a convent, sir. I was educated at a convent for five years. They are not lively places at all."

"No, no," he protested, "I don't believe it. They were solemn around you, an impressionable young lady, to preserve your honor. After they tucked you into your bed, they must have had a merry time."

"And monks are the same?"

Monks were not nearly so appealing to Mercutio as involuntary nuns, so he dropped the topic with a shrug. "I should warn you not to let Beatrice believe you are in her service. Do not come more often than you like, or you will always be here."

"But if I liked to be here often, to soothe your cousin, would you object?"

"Absolutely - if you were only here to soothe my cousin."

"AH!"

"Idiot." Romeo muttered. "Did you think I was going to run you through?"

Paulina silently took her leave to fetch help. Mercutio rolled his eyes at his doltish cousin and gave him a boost out of the water. "Did your tutor quit again, Benedick?"

"He was treating me like a child."

"You fight like a child," Mercutio shot back.

Romeo said, "Mercutio and I will help you for now, but you must be less peevish with the next. You would be cut to bits in a true battle."

"Why would I ever be in a battle?" Benedick spat. "That's what soldiers are for!"

The pair of stunned brothers watched their young cousin stalk off with wide eyes. Romeo was the first to recover his tongue. "And you say that could be the future of our family come tomorrow?"

"If Grandfather never signed the amendment," he sighed, "possibly."

"Then we have to make sure he signed it."

Recently, a rift had formed between the brothers. Romeo was distracted and pleasure-seeking, forever falling in and out of love with whatever beauty crossed his path. Mercutio, though always quicker and more intelligent than his brother, had once also been a young man of high spirits. That considerable joie de vivre had cooled dramatically as his future took shape. He was impatiently focused on the House of Montague and its future. 

A renewed bond was Patrizio's final gift to his grandsons. While holding audience with Mercutio, he had sent for Romeo. He had been frank with his middle grandson, charging him with being lazy and idle - but also with being wasteful, for he was neither stupid nor uneducated. "I never had a brother," he had reminded them. "A great leader sometimes needs two minds - his own, and one to tell him he's a blundering idiot. You stop acting like an idiot yourself, Romeo, and you can do that for your brother. I'm trusting you, my boy." So far, the trust was well-placed.

Romeo had always had a knack for drawing and had, on occasion, converted it into the more useful skill of forgery. He was easily able to forge his grandfather's hand on the papers. To Mercutio's amazement, he had even been able to re-create the shakiness that had plagued Patrizio's handwriting in his last illness. When it came to bribing the counselor, it was Romeo's turn to be amazed. Mercutio used a careful mix of gold and flattery that not only garnered cooperation from the counselor but did so with astonishing speed. (Old habits were not entirely forgotten - Romeo resolved to adapt Mercutio's tactics for use on women.)

The following day, the reading of the will was proceeding in a very ordinary fashion. A settlement was made upon Lady Montague for her lifetime, personal property was divided, and fortunes doled out. If Bianca huffed when she received the same enhancement to her dowry as her sixteen-year-old niece, she did it quietly. Neither Romeo nor Mercutio heard much of anything that was said - their grandfather would have treated them fairly, and they had an inheritance from their parents already. Both were focused on enjoying Antonio's reaction when he was left out of the succession.

"The final portion of Lord Montague's will is the Rule of Succession," the counselor announced. "This is, again, from the will drafted after the death of Claudio Montague- no, I beg your pardon, there is something here." He pulled out two documents bearing familiar wax seals. "Sirs, this is a most exceptional circumstance. I have two perfectly legal codicils to the will, each dated the day before Lord Montague's demise. In one, he names his surviving son as his heir. In the other, it is the eldest son of his late son."

The ladies were aghast, and Lady Montague began to weep over the prospect of fighting. Antonio was suspiciously calm. "Obviously, one must have precedence."

"No, sir." Antonio was taken aback, expecting a different answer. "In this circumstance, it must be taken to court or, if you prefer, to the Governors."

"And that we shall do," Mercutio announced. "Fix a date for six months from today. My uncle may choose the venue."

The counselor, without even a hint of a smirk, looked up at Mercutio. "Sir, I'm afraid the legal time to dispute matters like this is quite limited. You must file your objection within three months."

"That is impossible. A dispute would break mourning."

"By design. It is meant to prevent, if you will forgive the term, trifling challenges."

Romeo interrupted his raging brother. "We can't abide by two different codicils. This has to go to law."

"Yes, within three months. Otherwise, it is the tradition to negate the codicils and accept the last complete will." He quickly skimmed the page, as if he had no idea of its contents. "It seems that Lord Montague originally designated his surviving son as his successor, but only for his life. Yes, 'After the death of my son, Antonio, my grandson, Mercutio Montague, will succeed to the title and headship and succession will continue upon his line.' It then further dictates the line, if you care to hear it, sirs?"

Mercutio slumped forward. Patrizio had been a second father to him, the one who pulled him out of a wasteful adolescence. He had made an idle, angry boy want to be a man of responsibility and power. Losing his mother and father had made him greatly doubt the honor of being born a Montague; Patrizio had made him see it again. Mercutio felt his grandfather deserved six years of mourning; anything less than the full half-year was a disgrace. But was disregarding the man's final wishes, however beneficial, any less dishonorable?

Just as he was ready to pounce upon the lawyer for double-crossing him, he felt a little nudge from the side. "Agree for now, Merc. He'll hang himself eventually."

There was only once chance to mourn a man at his passing. There would be time yet to honor his wishes, and the delay would only refine the next action. Romeo was right - Antonio would make a mistake. The man had no inhibition against acting in anger, no second mind, no brother. Verona would turn on him, and Mercutio would be there, the savior. It was better to rise from the bottom than fall from the peak.

"I withdraw my objection."

Two quick notes: 

1.) According to Maxis, Claudio was the youngest. According to me, the order is Claudio, Antonio, Bianca.

2.) Credit for the Montagues' amazing home lot goes to StephSim.

Next Post: "There is no evil angel but love."