The Mercutio Problem

by Carol Anne Douglas

  When had she started thinking of it as her side? Beth wondered.

  Beth willed herself to be in London, wherever Adam was.

  She coughed on tobacco smoke as she walked into a tavern. The smell of ale also assailed her nostrils. The torches on the wall smoked, adding their scents to the strange bouquet of smells.

  Adam sat at a table rolling dice with another young man, who Beth guessed was also an actor. They both wore bright-colored though well-worn clothes.

  Still coughing, Beth approached them.

  “Ben! Good to see you.” Adam beamed at her. “Want a roll of the dice?”

  “I have no money to waste on that sport,” she said.

  “No more do I,” Adam’s companion said. “You’ve won enough off me. Master Burbage doesn’t pay enough to risk losing it. See you tomorrow, Soothsayer.”

  “Tomorrow, Cinna. Ave atque vale.” Adam slapped him on the back. He turned to Beth. “Sit down, Ben.”

  “If you’ve finished your drink, let’s go outside and talk,” she said.

  “It is dark, and dark, and dark outside,” Adam said, not budging. “It is warm, and warm, and warm in here. Let us stay in the warm a little longer.”

  “Can we talk here?” Beth looked around the tavern. The smoke made her eyes water.

  “There’s no one near us.” Adam took up his tankard and drank. “Hot cider for my young friend,” he called out.

  Beth suspected that the cider would be considerably more alcoholic than she was used to, but she was willing to taste it.

  “How is your play going?” she asked.

  “It’s wonderful. Caesar dies excellent well. Brutus is too sure of himself, and Antony’s speech could make a lawyer weep.”

  “I hope I get a chance to see it.” Perhaps that would help her decide whom to approach, Beth thought.

  “You should. The Soothsayer is magnificent. His warning is heartbreaking,” Adam said. “Maybe next time I’ll get a bigger part.”

  A boy whom Beth thought was too young to be working in a tavern, or working at all, brought her cider. She sniffed it. At last an aroma that pleased her. She touched her lips to the tankard, but the cider was still too hot to drink.

  She glanced around again to make sure no one was near enough to hear them. The nearest tables were empty.

  “If you had to pick a character from your play to work against Richard, who would you choose?” she asked. “Cassius is already working with Richard, but conspires against him, and is trying to persuade Brutus to join him in conspiracy.”

  “Some people never change.” Adam shook his head and drank more ale. “Brutus is undecided, of course.”

  “Of course. Undecided, but leaning against. Who would you choose?”

  “Mmmm.” Adam put his hand on his chin as if lost in thought. “Caesar. If one of the greatest generals in history is available, why choose anyone lesser? And he’d probably enjoy destroying Cassius.”

  “If Richard doesn’t do that first. He doesn’t exactly welcome conspiracies against him.” Beth tasted her cider. It had cooled down, but it burned her throat and hit her chest like a blow. “Darn. This is too strong for me.” She pushed the drink away. “Wouldn’t Caesar want to change the play?”

  “I doubt it. He’s too intelligent to want to play around with history. His position is assured.” Adam finished his drink. “He’s the one you should approach.”

  “He’s the one we should approach,” Beth replied. “You’ve been studying Roman manners. I think you’d make a better impression on him than Mercutio would.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows. “You think I could come, too?”

  “Let’s see if my power is strong enough to bring you.”

  “Cool. Very cool.”

  “Let’s walk outside, please, so no one sees us disappear.”

  “Anyone could disappear on a street at night in Southwark and no one would be surprised,” Adam said. “Let’s hope we don’t return in the midst of a gang of cutthroats.”

  “Can we go to your room?”

  “I have to share it with two other actors. Let’s go to the green room behind the stage at the Globe. There’s no play tonight. I have a lantern to light our way.” He pulled a lantern from beside his bench and lit it with a torch on the wall.

  They walked along a Southwark street. Many passers-by also carried lanterns, and no one seemed to dawdle. Some of the alehouses they passed echoed with shouts.

  A man bumped into Adam and tried to steal his purse. Adam kneed him in the groin and hurried on, taking Beth by the arm.

  An old man cried out, “Pretty girls, fresh from the country, come in and enjoy.”

  Beth grimaced.

  They reached the unlit theater. Adam had a key and took Beth around to a dark room behind the stage, the place where the actors changed clothes between scenes. Togas lay neatly on a table.

  Adam hung up his lantern.

  “Think Roman thoughts,” he urged Beth.

  Beth closed her eyes. “Great Caesar, lend us your ears,” she said.

  They stood in the atrium of a villa that was much grander than any she had seen before. Statues of Greek and Roman gods stood among flowering plants. Some statues were bronze rather than marble. Beth noticed that the bronze statues had more detailed expressions than the marble ones. Some of the statues of men made her blush. Why were the ancients so fond of nude statues?

  Adam wore a toga, and so did Beth. Her body was Mercutio’s, and she wore Mercutio’s rings. She hoped she wouldn’t trip on the toga.

  Caesar stood at his desk, writing. His face was stern, impassive, commanding. He looked just like his pictures on coins she had seen depicted in history books. Beth was so impressed that she took a step backwards, so as not to impose on him.

  Caesar glanced at them.

  “What do you want with Caesar?” the great man asked.

  “Mighty Caesar, other characters conspire to change the ending of your play,” Adam told him. “We beg you to oppose them and put your great strength on the side of Shakespeare, and indeed of Plutarch.”

  A woman rushed into the room. She was middle-aged, but handsome, in the Roman way. She wrung her hands. “O Caesar, do not listen to them! Change the play, I beg you!”

  Darn, Beth thought. This must be Calpurnia, Caesar’s wife. But he didn’t listen to her, in life or in the play, much to his loss.

  “Great Caesar,” Beth said, “you have written history. You would not want anyone to tamper with your words. Would you want them to tamper with Shakespeare’s?”

  Caesar gave Beth a dismissive wave. “Caesar does not need you to teach him his duty, Mercutio.” As in the play, Caesar referred to himself in the third person. “Nor you to inspire cowardice, Calpurnia. Caesar has lived his life and he will stand by it. History is on Caesar’s side. What little men would dare to tamper with it?”

  “Richard III,” Adam told him.

  “And Cassius,” Beth added.

  “O, that lesser men should try to change the fates of greater.” Caesar shook his head. “They will fail. Caesar will oppose them. I have defeated greater men than they. Pompey was far greater.”

  Calpurnia glared at Beth and Adam as if they were aiding and abetting the conspirators.

  “Thank you, great Caesar,” Adam said.

  “Great Caesar, thank you,” Beth added.

  She saw servants bringing dishes to a table beside a couch. She wished that he would invite them to dinner, but she guessed that was not to be.

  “Farewell.” Caesar did not gesture, but made it clear that they were dismissed.

  Adam saluted him and Beth bowed. They both bowed their heads to Calpurnia, who gave them a smile that was all teeth.

  As the climbed down the villa’s marble steps, Adam stared at Rome spread out before them.

 
“I’ve never been to Rome before. Let’s look around.”

  “I’ve never seen it either, and we’ll never see it this way again,” Beth agreed. No ruins. No Vandals had come. And no churches, no Vatican City. A whole different place. “And Bottom might be hidden in this play.”

  “I don’t think he would fit in very well,” Adam said.

  They approached an intact Capitol. Beth stared at the columns. Many were brightly painted, unlike the modern idea of classical architecture.

  She wondered whether guards would keep them out, but she saw no guards, which seemed strange. Were the plebs allowed to enter at any old time?

  They climbed the steps and entered the doorway. Beth thought of Caesar’s last trip there before he was assassinated.

  They walked into what must be the Senate chamber. A body lay on the floor. A knife protruded from his back. Not Caesar; Cassius.

  Beth gasped and grabbed Adam’s arm. She hadn’t liked or trusted Cassius, but she didn’t want to see him dead.

  Beth turned away from the sight. “Who killed him?” she asked. “Caesar?”

  “Stabbing in the back isn’t Caesar’s style,” Adam said. “Richard must have learned that Cassius was betraying him and sent someone to kill him.”

  “That does sound more likely.” Her pulse raced. Her heart beat fast. The sight of Mercutio’s body lying covered with blood in Richard’s hall flashed before her. She choked out a sob.

  “Hey, it’s OK.” Adam put an arm around her. “Cassius was a bad guy.”

  “Mercutio,” she choked.

  “He was nothing like Mercutio. And remember, these are characters. The real Cassius died two thousand years ago. He fell on his sword because he was defeated by Mark Antony.” Adam patted her shoulder.

  “But the characters seem just as real as you and me,” Beth objected. “So how can I feel that they aren’t real people?”

  “I don’t know the answer. But remember we saw the bodies of Mercutio, Tybalt, and Richard dissolve into thin air. Cassius’s body hasn’t done that yet, but I’ll bet it will.” Adam waved at it. “Go on, dissolve. You’re disturbing my friend.” He paused. “Sorry. It didn’t dissolve. Great. We might be suspects.”

  A guard wearing armor and a helmet entered the room. He just stared at Cassius and shook his head. “I helped clean up the blood from great Caesar’s body,” he said. “I have no taste for cleaning up his murderer’s blood, too.”

  “Do you have any idea who could have done it?” Adam asked.

  The guard shrugged. “It might have been a wild-eyed, white-bearded old man in strange clothes who stormed into the Senate a while ago. He stormed out again a little while later.”

  “King Lear!” Beth cried. “Richard must have persuaded him to do it.”

  “Lear wouldn’t have had much use for assassins,” Adam agreed. “And he was mad. Look,” he exclaimed. “The body’s dissolving!”

  Beth shuddered. “I don’t want to see it. Mercutio, poor Mercutio!”

  “That sounds truly strange when you’re wearing his body,” Adam said.

  “I don’t care.” She wiped her eyes. “Let’s get out of here. Back to London.”

  They landed beside the stinking Thames. Fortunately, it was morning this time. Dawn was fading. Vendors scurried around to get their carts in place.

  “Honey cakes! The best way to break your fast!” an old man called.

  “Buns are better! And onion pies! Best pasties this way!” an old woman cried.

  Blue-clad apprentices on their way to work flocked to the vendors to buy their wares.

  “Too bad we didn’t eat in Rome,” Adam said.

  Mercutio would have agreed, but Beth said, “Yuck. How can you think of food after seeing all that blood?”

  “Blood sausage!” cried a nearby vendor.

  Beth clutched her stomach. “I’m going to be sick. You stay in London. I’m going home.”

  “We didn’t look for Bottom,” Adam observed.

  Beth got sick all over the street. Two curs rushed over to lap up the mess.

  “Let me get you some water,” Adam said.

  “Not in this world!” She wanted to get away more than ever, now that he had seen her vomit again. She hid her face with embarrassment.

  Beth spun back to her room. She went downstairs and poured herself a glass of cold water from the refrigerator.

  She sat at the kitchen table. Opposing Richard was dangerous. Was Cassius’s death a warning?

  Chapter 15

  BETH FELT CONFIDENT AS she walked into her history classroom. Mr. Clarke had sent the class an email saying that they were behind schedule, so the reading of Richard III was over. Reading Henry V shouldn’t be hard to take.

  A movie screen stood at the front of the classroom.

  In the middle of the room, Mr. Clarke fiddled with a projector.

  “Reading plays takes up too much class time,” he told the students. “We’ll watch Kenneth Branagh’s excellent version of Henry V instead of reading the play aloud.”

  A few students applauded. Kevin slumped in his desk. Beth guessed that he had expected to read the part of Henry.

  The battle scenes were the only part of the play that would be difficult for her. She remembered being transported to a bloody version of the Battle of Agincourt. She closed her eyes and saw bodies without limbs and wounded soldiers screaming for help. Shuddering, she opened her eyes again. She realized that there wasn’t enough class time for the whole movie. They would see the bloody part the following day.

  She watched the movie, though she knew it almost by heart, and wished that Shakespeare hadn’t killed off Falstaff so soon.

  THAT NIGHT BETH SAT in her room waiting for her mother to come home. She decided to look for Bottom. The last time Bottom had gotten lost, he had been in a forest. Perhaps he had an affinity for forests. Beth decided to revisit the Forest of Arden. That should be pleasant.

  She smelled trees, resin, and moist soil. Mossy ground spread before her. Some trees had Orlando’s poems to Rosalind pinned on them. Beth smiled. Would she ever be that foolish in love? Well, perhaps agreeing to die to bring back Mercutio could be considered foolish.

  She heard a sound in the bushes. Was it a deer? Or a hunter?

  An old man rushed out at her. Lear carried a sword. His eyes were red with rage.

  “You’re the one who wants to keep Cordelia dead forever! Prepare to die, Veronan pretty boy!” He swung at Beth.

  She stepped back out of his way. “Peace, old man. I have no wish to fight one so senior to me,” she said, but she put her hand on her sword.

  “Condescending imp! Coward! I’ll silence your laughter.” Lear’s next lunge barely missed Beth.

  She darted to one side. The old king hadn’t lost all his strength when he wandered out into the rain in his play.

  She wanted to disappear, but what would Mercutio do?

  “A good try, old man!” she said. She forced out laughter. “I am the finest swordsman in Verona. You’re a fool to believe Richard. He won’t care which one of us kills the other.” She held her sword in readiness.

  Lear charged her. He dealt a blow to her sword, knocking it out of her hand.

  Beth jumped to retrieve it. “Nice try,” she said. Her voice strove for calm. “May Queen Mab send you dreams of victory over your foes. But I am not one of them.”

  Lear’s next blow struck her shoulder. She fell backwards onto the ground.

  “Peace!” cried a voice coming from behind Mercutio. “Arden is a place for peaceful gatherings, not bitter feuds. We find sermons in stones, books in running brooks.” A gray-haired man thrust himself between them.

  Lear’s sword went through the man’s chest. He collapsed.

  Letting out a howl of triumph, Lear ran off through the trees. He began tearing his clothes
off.

  Beth groaned. Lear had killed Rosalind’s father, the Duke, a truly nice man. And was it her fault?

  The corpse disappeared, but Beth wanted to slink out of Arden. She couldn’t face Rosalind.

  Beth fell on her bed. Yes, being Mercutio was dangerous. When would Richard find someone who would kill her? Should she let herself be killed so no other characters would be killed trying to save her?

  “Dinner’s ready, honey,” her mother called from downstairs. “I’ve brought home a wonderful veggie lasagna.”

  Beth dragged herself up from her bed. How many more people would die? she wondered. She couldn’t help thinking of characters as people. They talked like people, they walked like people, so they must be people.

  BETH CALLED UP HER friends and asked them to meet her at a deli near her neighborhood.

  Sita, Arnie, and Kevin all showed up. They ordered sodas from a waitress who was probably old enough to have grandchildren. Beth liked places that hired old women. It was good to hire kids, but if a place hired only kids, that meant salaries were low and the owners didn’t expect anyone to work there for very long.

  The deli had too many plastic plants, but it was always clean and you could get a good table during the week. The chairs weren’t too comfortable, but nobody pushed you to leave the minute you finished eating.

  “What’s happening?” Kevin said over his chocolate milkshake.

  Beth also had a chocolate milkshake. She needed it. She took a sip, then tried to make her voice steady. “Characters are being killed.” Her voice broke despite her best intentions. “King Lear has killed Rosalind’s father and Cassius. Richard must have egged Lear on.”

  Sita sucked in her breath.

  Kevin whistled. “Cassius is no loss, but why would anyone kill Rosalind’s father?”

  Arnie scrutinized Beth’s face. “Yes, why the Duke? Is Richard trying to intimidate the characters from the comedies so they won’t join you?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Beth felt a pain in her chest. She tried to soothe it with more chocolate milkshake. She held the chocolate in her mouth to savor it, but that didn’t work. She choked.