An Old Accustomed Feast: Part One

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"A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities"

December 25th

"No!"

Juliette awoke in panic. She could hardly breathe.  Her heart thumped in her chest, and her fingers anxiously twisted the bed sheet. On any other night, it would have been just a dream.

An old story said that a gold coin under the pillow on Christmas Eve would purchase a glimpse of the future. It was considered a silly tradition, but most Veronese still played along. Juliette put hers down faithfully every year. Last night, she had hoped for a vision of herself old and gray, Fitzwilliam at her side, and the red Capulet ring on her finger. A pudgy-faced newborn with intelligent brown eyes would not have been amiss. One of those tawdry dreams Hermia claimed to have would have been welcome.

When talking to herself sternly didn't work, Juliette shuffled over to her little shrine. A moment later, the pre-dawn morning was brightened by lighting a few of the candles. The warm glow was comforting. She tried to focus on what had to be done today ahead of the celebration, but her mind was barely her own. She couldn't forget what she had seen.

How could she forget it? After engaging in a ritual to see into her future, she had dreamed of Fitzwilliam being murdered in a brutal fashion that very night. There was no mistaking the time. She had been wearing the gown she had chosen for Christmas night. They were in one of the portrait galleries at the Manor. Instead of wine and dancing, she saw blood and death topped off by an ornate, gleaming dagger. She saw the end of happiness - forever.

"I'll just go back to sleep. I'll get rid of the coin and go back to sleep." After throwing the coin as far away from her as possible, she hunkered down in bed. She had never had a truly prophetic dream, but she didn't want this to be the year that she did. If she went back to sleep and had another nightmare without the coin, then it would mean nothing. Juliette slammed her eyes shut.

Only a minute passed in this vain search of sleep before it was broken up by a knock at the door. She knew who it was; there was only one room that particular door opened into. "Come in."

"I thought you would be asleep."

"Then why did you knock?"

He shrugged. Tybalt had wanted her to be awake, but it felt better to pretend somehow. "I was just going to leave your present."

"A present?" They typically exchanged presents, but this year had not been typical. The fractures had begun almost immediately after Tybalt finished at the Académie. After their grandfather's health turned and the twins' birth, the cracking had slowed for the summer. Autumn made them more strangers than they had been since their parents died. That distance told her not to expect any presents. "What is it?"

"It's..." When he looked down for help from the box, he realized he hadn't brought it with him. "It's in the other room."

"Never mind," she grumbled. The only gift she wanted from her brother was her brother. She couldn't have it because he was wasting himself. Once upon a time, she had demanded the room next to her brother's for a feeling of safety; now all it did was worry her. She heard every late arrival, every curse over a fresh injury, every last moment spent spewing excess ale into the pot. "It's probably covered in blood or sick from one of your nights out anyway."

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing that you care about."

"That's not true."

"Let's not start off Christmas with an argument, Tybalt. Go back to bed." She curled down onto the bed and waited to hear the door move again. It didn't. "What do you want?"

"For you to give me a goddamn break!"

"Why should I?"

"I don't know! Are you happy now? I don't know a damn reason why, but give me a chance."

She hauled herself back up. "Fine."

"Look, I know I've been a-"

"A selfish ass?"

"Ye-"

"An idiot? A buffoon? A troll?"

"Jule, I'm trying to apologize."

She folded her arms. "Try harder."

"Fine." Frustrated, he grumbled and looked at the floor. Fighting was so much easier than talking. "For everyone else, there some part of me that isn't good enough. You accepted me, whatever I did, and maybe that means you're the only true friend I had. Now you're leaving for someone who is better than I am, and you don't give a damn anymore. Hell, you won't even bother to argue with me when you're angry. I need one person to give a damn about me and what I do. Not everyone, just one. I need you, all right? I don't know what to do."

This was a vicious cycle if Juliette had ever seen one. They were constantly stabbing each other in the back rather than talking. Destruction begot destruction, and silence increased itself. She would have apologized to anyone else right then, but this was her brother. Juliette had never known him to be able to take an apology. Hers would have to be covert, disguised in happiness she couldn't feel with the sour pit in her stomach.

"Come here this instant." To her relief, he did. "First of all, nobody is better than you. Exactly equal, maybe" she said with a smile, "but not truly better. The accounting is different, but nobody is better than either you or Fitzwilliam. That makes you equal. Second of all, I am not moving to the sun or the moon. Last of all, don't you dare say I don't care again. I need you, too. I need my brother for me and for the serious work we have to do together. I need the real you, not the foolish version of you who tries to top Bertram and Hal in stupid behavior. You have responsibilities to prepare for."

Tybalt rolled his eyes. "Like what?"

"Something like the work Grandfather did for Grandmother when she was indisposed."

He started at her incredulously. Their grandfather had, at once time, been proxy for their grandmother. All of the governors and most of the Council members had proxies to serve for them in case of illness or absence. The proxies for matriarchal houses were more important than others because of pregnancies, and thus none was more important than the Capulet proxy. Traditionally, a Lady Capulet without a grown daughter chose a sister, as Goneril had. Occasionally, one chose her husband, as Contessa had. A brother had never been proxy. "You're joking."

"Why would I?"

"Because you have a sister and you'll have a husband by the time you need a proxy."

"Fitzwilliam..." She gulped. "Fitzwilliam and I have a 'one family, two houses' philosophy." When she saw her brother's confusion, Juliette elaborated. "Our sons will have his name and our daughters will have mine. He doesn't want his family to disappear into ours, and I don't think it's right for a head of house, even one that isn't truly noble, to be proxy to Lady Capulet."

"Then what about Hermia?"

"As long as women can't be powerful in many other houses, I think it's important that the Capulets set an example. It's also important to have the right people have power. It's always meant more to you than anyone. You were the one who thought Mother's family histories were interesting, who rebuilt them after the fire. You made me believe in it. I wouldn't do this without you. I can't. But if you continue to..." She searched for a gentler word than "embarrass".

"If I continue to act like an ass, you'll have to." He knew it. He had always known it. There was a fine line between defending the family and humiliating it. Someone like Mercutio, reluctant as Tybalt was to admit it, usually stopped short of being an embarrassment while Tybalt himself went charging across the line as often as he could. His personality would never be a moderate one, but he could learn to be more prudent with his immoderate moments. At least, he hoped he could. "I'll try, Jule."

"You had better. And you could start by apologizing to Grandfather."

"Like hell I will. He can shove his fortune up his..." He had to physically twist his mouth shut to stop himself from cursing again. "Look, I don't know when he decided to mistake me for a whore, but I'm not going to marry some madman's daughter for a larger inheritance. I'm not apologizing for it, and I'm not considering it."

"He thinks he is doing you a favor. When he asked you if there was anyone else, you said-"

"There isn't."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't," he snapped. "I called out that sea-hag aunt of hers and she hasn't spoken more than ten words to me since. I did a proper job of putting a knife into that one."

"Jule, what is it?"

"Hm?"

"You didn't finish trying to raise my spirits by telling me how wrong I am."

She gathered her courage. Who was going to do better for her now than her brother? "I had a nightmare with a coin under my pillow. Worse than a nightmare, to be honest." She told her brother of the entire dream. She described the blood, the body, and the ornate dagger lying just out of his reach. As she further described what had happened, Juliette didn't notice until several minutes had passed that her brother was now adrift in his thoughts. "Tybalt, what is it? You didn't have a dream, did you?"

"No." He had, and a strangely prophetic one in hindsight, but not related to Juliette's. Tybalt's fog came from the description of the dagger. Ornate was just how he would describe the one he had bought as Juliette's present. "It's nothing. You have nothing to worry about. We'll make everyone disarm at the door, and Gower will have his men ready to expel anyone who conceals a weapon. Just in case, keep him in the great hall when we're not at supper. Nobody will dare make a scene in that mob."

Juliette nodded. "He isn't going to believe me. He thinks the dreams are a superstition." Few people took the dreams very seriously. If Juliette had dreamed of something pleasant, it would have been a little something to joke and talk about later. "But, if I make enough of it, he'll humor me and stay with a crowd. That will have to be enough for tonight."

"It will be, Jule. Nobody is killing one of ours in our own house, not as long as I live."

One of ours? Juliette smiled. "There you are, brother. Where have you been? There has been some idiot occupying your body for months now."

"Shut up."

"Love you, too."

Next Post: "What revels are in hand?"