What Dreams May Come

            If I’d been able to sleep that night, things would have been much different…

            Luckily, I was awake and staring with dry, hot, wide eyes at the night candle’s flame when I heard the furious whisperings of two familiar young female voices on the balcony next to mine.

            With a glance at Nurse, who was snoring heavily on her cot and more than partially responsible for my recent not-death and who would move swiftly to make sure nothing untoward happened to me ever again, I slipped out of bed and moved to fix whatever had upset my sister, Katherina, and her best friend and our princess, Isabella of the House of Leonardi. Because that’s who I am: Lady Rosaline Montague, fixer of all things or, as a less than pleasant acquaintance called me, “Female Most Likely to Win the Verona City State Know-It-All Contest.”

            The problem, as I see it, is that a woman of intelligence is unappreciated and indeed frowned upon, and I’m not good at dissembling. I scowled as I tightened the knot on my robe. If I know the right thing to do, shouldn’t I say so?

            Yes, yes, you’re right. You’re always right. It’s annoying how you’re always right! I should say so in such a mild and tactful way as to allow others to believe it’s their idea. Sometimes… Well, most of the time, I lose patience and say what I think. When if I don’t say what I think, my facial expression seems to speak for itself. What can I say? I leave the acting to the professionals, i.e. the rest of my highly overwrought and dramatic family.

            It was with that somewhat impatient thought that I walked barefoot and quietly onto my balcony. I told myself I did not wish to wake Nurse but also, I wanted the opportunity to observe and perhaps overhear Katherina and Isabella. Such stealth could considerably shorten the time it took for me to pry the source of their distress from them.

            Fie! Fie! As soon as I laid eyes on them, I knew all.

            Or not all, but I knew they’d been making mischief and somehow had been caught, for they stood with their heads together, dressed like well-born youths in tights, thigh-length tunics, and short capes. Like youths. Boys. Males.

            Gentle reader, you will not be surprised to hear I gasped in thunderous dismay.

            They turned as one and stared at me in a mirrored horror, their beautiful faces dark with strain.

            Princess Isabella's chin wobbled as if she wanted to bawl like a calf, and while Katherina's long tresses were tucked beneath a brocade cap, Isabella's hair was in a braid down her back and her cap was nowhere to be seen.

            “What have you done?” I whispered.

            As I said, not always tactful, for the already-fraught Katherina caught fire, leaped to the railing and whispered back, “Nothing you haven’t already done, Sister!” She projected so well, Nurse's snoring abruptly stopped.

            We froze.

            Katherina and Isabella didn’t want to be caught in boys’ clothes. I didn’t want them to be caught in boys’ clothes because, as Katherina said, I had indeed done exactly that myself. What I’d failed to realize was that anyone in the family had discovered my folly, much less my-seven-years-younger-than-me sister.

            We waited, barely breathing, as Nurse muttered and groaned, and at last resumed her bed frame rattling snore.

            We all breathed sighs of relief, and Isabella poked Katherina hard with her elbow. “Chiudi la bocca.Rosie might be able to help us!”

            Nurse's snoring paused again.

            Again we froze. This time, when it resumed, I gestured to them to back up, grasped the plank that rested against the wall, placed it between our railings and, hitching up my nightgown and robe, climbed up and walked over.

            “Fantastica!” Isabella breathed as she backed into the empty bedroom behind her. Empty because Mamma had decided when Princess Isabella stayed the night, these two highly responsible adolescent girls should have privacy, so she allowed them to stay in a bedchamber reserved for guests. Or should I say—formerly highly responsible adolescent girls?

            Katherina and I followed into the room lit by a single candle and shut the doors behind us.

            “I can do that, too,” Katherina bragged, and then in a disgruntled tone, “but Rosie keeps the board on her side.”

            “If I didn’t keep it close, Imogene would do flips across it and Mamma would kill us all.” I turned on my little sister. “As opposed to Mamma killing only you, Katherina, who accompanied the princess of Verona on an adventure into the night streets!”

            “I didn’t accompany her.” Katherina gritted her teeth, then admitted, “I led her. It was my idea.”

            My premonition of disaster had been miniscule compared to this reality.

            Prince Escalus Leonardi the Younger, podestà of Verona, had trusted his much beloved little sister to the care of my parents, and my own sister Katherina had guided her on a dangerous bacchanal that ended in some kind of calamity, the severity of which I had yet to determine. But no matter what, if a breath of this leaked out, the Montague family would be disgraced and perhaps exiled.

            “Yes, but I jumped at the chance!” Isabella turned to me and defended her friend. “Really I did. I’ve never been part of such an exciting family. Your father teaches me how to use a sword. Your mother helps me learn how to listen to people. Your brother and sisters are funny and smart and brave. The palace is so quiet. Nonna Ursula is kind, but she always says what she thinks and sometimes I don’t want to know. Escalus is a good brother who wants me to be happy, but he’s staid and somber—”

            No other word for it. I grunted as if I’d been punched in the gut.

            “—Yes, I know. He talks to you, I’m so sorry, because when does he ever say something interesting?” Isabella took my hand and patted it. “Thank you for being good to him, Rosie, and not rolling your eyes when he speaks, for he worried about you while you recovered from your wounds.”

            I was speechless at the thoughtlessness of youth…and at the same time, I wondered when, at the creaking old age of twenty, I’d grown so aware of duty and responsibilities. I suppose, because I’m the eldest, I was forced into that mold, but at the same time, to the despair of my parents, in the past I’d had my rebellious moments.

            I had.

            I had!

            “Good to hear.” I barely moved my lips which were still tender from this evening’s—what should I call it?—unbelievable, ridiculous, humbling horrible misstep involving Prince Staid and Somber.

            Have I mentioned humiliating?

            “That first night, I had so much fun!” Isabella squeezed my hand.

            “That first night, you were such a sissy!” Katherina teased.

            “Yes, but I got over it.” Isabella poked her with her elbow. “I swagger better then you do.”

            “Do not.”

            Isabella swaggered across the room. “Do too.”

            She was very good.

            “Remember when I bit my thumb at those boys?” she asked.

            They both fell into a fit of giggles.

            However, I wasn’t in the mood. “You girls could have been hurt. They could have drawn swords!”

            “They did. And you know what we did?” Isabella spoke while both hopped up and down.

            Was there ever anything sillier than young girls on the verge of womanhood? And more inclined to step right into danger? “Sweet Madonna, what?”

            Katherina finished triumphantly, “What Papà told us to do. We counted our legs and when we got to two, we ran!”

            I slumped against the wall in relief, not at all amused by Papà's ancient jest.

            “The second night—” Isabella began.

            My heart stopped. “There was a second night?” Of course there was a second night. Tonight. Something had happened tonight to send them into a dither.

            “The second night was even more fun,” she said, as if that was reason enough for more risk of danger and dishonor. “The second night we—”

            “Wait.” My vision zeroed in on the manly display between their legs. “Did you stuff your codpieces?”

            “No, Rosie, we grew pizzles overnight.” Katherina rolled her eyes. “Of course we stuffed our codpieces. Just like the men do!”

            Isabella sniggered.

            These girls were making me feel as neverendingly somber and appropriate as…Prince Escalus.

            I winced. Why did everything conspire to remind me of him?

            Isabella said, “We ventured into a public house and drank wine—”

            I clutched my throat.

            “Rosie, stop being so boring,” Katherina said impatiently. “They thought we were stupid youths and watered the wine. They cheated us, and that was fine because we were not drenched, or even tiddled.”

            “Right.” I translated. They weren’t intoxicated. That was one relief.

            “After that, we danced in the square, we sang ribald songs, we swaggered some more and, on the way home, we almost got robbed!” Isabella couldn’t have been more thrilled.

            I hyperventilated until Katherina shoved a stool under my rear and warned, “You haven’t heard the bad part yet.”

            “You were robbed? You lost something of value?” Even to me, my voice sounded thready.

            “No! I mean yes, but not that night.” Katherina dismissed the second night robbery as unimportant. “Tonight was when we were robbed and…” She exchanged a miserable glance with Isabella.

            Dear sweet Jesus and his holy mother Mary, this was my fault. I had wished and prayed that I be released from the results of my own act of stupidity, and three nights of girlish freedom and ensuing disaster was the result.

            That fraught reasoning was so dramatic it was worthy of one of my siblings or even my parents…but not me. Not practical, mature Rosie who until recently managed her own life and everyone else’s with adept skill. How that had changed, how I’d landed on this rocky shoal slapped by ever-increasing cold and briny waves, I did not know.

            I took myself in hand and firmly told myself tonight was not about me. I must grope my way away from self-pity and back to logic. “Dear girls, why don’t you tell me, in short easy words, exactly what you did tonight that causes you such apprehension?”

            I thought I was being incredibly patient and supportive.

            Katherina viewed it as criticism, and being my sister and a Montague, she went on the attack. In a strident tone, she said, “You did it first.” She waved me to silence. “I know. You didn’t get caught.”

            Exactly. As Papà says, Never exchange skill for luck. “How did you find out?” I asked.

            Katherina grinned, suddenly cocky. “I was in your trunk looking for your practice sword—”

            “For me,” Princess Isabella said.

            “—And there it was. The boy’s outfit.”

            “Wasn’t mine.” Kneejerk reaction that immediately confirmed it was mine. I should have claimed it was no more than some misplacement by Nurse.

            “I recognized the slash on thigh. At first I thought…no, no way. Rosie’s my oldest sister. She’s cool. She’s savvy. Sure I helped her with that cut on her leg, but…” Katherina grinned evilly. “Actually I wasn’t sure until you asked how I found out.”

            I groaned. Amateur mistake!

            “Stop being such a snotnose sister. Tell her why!” Princess Isabella urged.

            Alert at once, I asked, “Why you went out?”

            Princess Isabella didn’t wait for Katherina to catch up. With her hands clasped before her chest, she said, “Your romance with Lysander has captured our hearts.”

            Briefly I closed my eyes in anguish. “Gee, yes, terrific.” A vision of Lysander's beloved face rose in my mind. A thought to how he would react to the news of tonight’s debacle made me cringe. How to explain? Boldly, I suppose, clearly as always, yet…nothing I could say would bring about a conclusion to mend the inevitable breach.

            “All the women in Verona dream of finding their One True Love delivered by the hands of fate!” Princess Isabella spun a romantic spindle threaded with gold.

            “Yeah. Fate. Which we’ve now proved conclusively is a man.” The edge of bitterness in my voice made Katherina look sharply at me.

            Princess Isabella didn’t notice. “We went to Guglielmo, the poet from far Inghilterra who writes plays for the theater and commissioned him to write a sonnet in honor of you and Lysander!” Reaching into the pouch at her side, she triumphantly pulled out a wax-sealed roll of parchment and offered it to me.

            I took it, broke the seal and as I read, it became clear that…OMG, no gift in my life had ever been so sweet and loving.

            “We went to Guglielmo the first night—and picked it up tonight.” Katherina beamed. “He is so proud of this sonnet, he added it to the end of his new production and tonight the players perform it for the first time!”

            The sonnet sang a glorious praise for Lysander and me, to romance and first love, to poetry and laughter and…if it was performed tonight before a crowd, the disgrace already set in motion by the girls’ escapades would cause me to be the downfall of Montague honor and prosperity. I would carry the burden of shame for the rest of my days.

            Yet I looked at the girls’ hopeful, happy, romantic faces and I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t slap them down. Sooner or later—tomorrow morning at the latest—they’d find out that all their expectations had been shattered by my own foolish actions and by my (as of this evening) betrothed’s deliberate actions. My eyes prickled with tears I held back from an effort of will. I opened my arms to them. “Dear sorelle, how you honor me with your love!”

            Both girls came at once into my embrace.

            Isabella's eyes swam with tears. “I’m honored that you call me sister.”

            Katherina, who knows me better than the princess, hugged me tightly and asked in a worried tone, “Is all well with you, dear Rosie?”

            I cupped her cheek. “I’m so touched by your thoughtfulness. You lift my heart!” Which might have enlightened her—my sister is wicked smart—but I assumed a sterner demeanor. “What happened tonight to send you scuttling back to Casa Montague with your tails between your legs?”

            “Ah.” Isabella hung her head. “We did something not so bright.”

            Not so bright? As opposed to all the other nights when they challenged fate and by the grace of God won?

            …I did not explode with exasperation. I did not. But it was a close thing. “Can you clarify?” I could scarcely grind out the question.

            “We went back to the square to dance.” Isabella whirled around, her arms raised. “Rosie, if only you could do that. It was delightful! Peasant dancing, kicking up our heels, leering at the women, listening to the music, drinking watered wine and eating all manner of jellied eels and fermented onions.”

            Her exuberance almost made me smile, but I tempered my amusement by saying in my driest tone, “That explains your breath,” and the memories of my own stolen night at the square nudged me into a small lift of my lips.

            But Isabella didn’t laugh, and that wiped my small smile away. More quietly, she said, “There’s a lofty, thin house on the corner of the square. I never noticed it in the day, but at night, it’s brightly lit.”

            “Yes?” I knew that house, and my heart sank.

            “A woman, rounded and pretty, opened the door and beckoned us in.” Isabella flushed with embarrassment.

            We had reached the heart of the matter. “You went.” It wasn’t even a guess. Of course they went. They had discovered the joys of being lads, free and without constraint.

            “I had to…go.” Katherina glared meaningfully at me.

            “Because you’d imbibed too much watered wine,” I guessed, “and you couldn’t piss in the streets, like all the other boys, without betraying yourself.”

            Katherina touched the tip of her nose in acknowledgment. “We entered the outer chamber. Musicians played. A minstrel softly sang love songs. Women wandered about in gowns of gaudy colors, and smiled and spoke sweetly to us. Rich materials draped the windows, and flowers and fruit perfumed the air.”

            “First clues,” I muttered.

            “I know!” Katherina slapped her own forehead. “I’m not the brightest candle in the sconce.”

            Isabella took up the story. “A tall woman met us, welcomed us, said her name was Madame Culatello, asked what she could do for us. Katherina jiggled her codpiece.”

            Much to my mixed horror and amusement, Katherina demonstrated.

            “We went into the room where Madame directed us. The color of the walls seemed to stroke the senses. Lounges covered in pillows of exotic colors tempted us to rest. We used the chamber pots, then we gave in. I chose the lounge with the pillows of silver and blue cloth and reclined upon it, and I saw…I saw…” She squirmed and grimaced and ran out of words.

            “I chose the lounge of crimson red, so I saw first.” Katherina did not squirm, but she did grimace.

            Gentle reader, I knew what she saw, for I’d seen it myself. Yet I would have to fix whatever the problem was, and I know you’ll forgive me for dragging every guilty, uncomfortable admission from them. “Tell me, Katherina, what you saw first.”

            “There were paintings on the ceiling.”

            “What comprised the paintings?” As if I didn’t know.

            “Naked people.”

            “Like cherubs? Sweet baby angels with wings?” I managed to ask without a trace of audible sarcasm, and surprised a choke of laughter from Isabella.

            “No. Definitely not cherubs.” Katherina narrowed her eyes at me as if she saw through my solemn mien. Yet she needed me, so what could she do but admit, “Men and women. Men and men. Women and women. Beasts! With men’s bodies and bull’s heads. All of them…doing things like we hear Papà and Mamma doing, openly, in all positions, sometimes three people! Smiling and…”

            “I wish I could un-see all of it!” Isabella blurted. “Euw!”

            My amusement soured. Yes, at twelve- and thirteen- years old, they were of an age to be married, but to me, looking at them from the vast age of twenty, they were too young. “You had entered Verona’s foremost bordello,” I said sympathetically. “It was bound to be unsettling.”

            “I simply never thought…right there on the square! A brothel! And it wasn’t squalid, it was…inviting.” Katherina spread her arms expressively.

            “Rosie, are men’s parts that huge?” Isabella wanted reassurance. “Or is that simply the size of brush a man picks up to illustrate his pizzle?”

            “Maybe. Probably it’s the painter’s imagination. But from what I’ve heard, they come in all sizes.” I lifted my hands and let them drop. “I frankly don’t know, dear. I really am a virgin.”

            It’s true. At the age of twenty, in a town and in an era where women married as soon as they started their menses, I was still a virgin. If I’d been a nun, no one would think anything about it. But I was a single woman, by my own design, I repeat, and the whole of Verona pitied me. Normally, except for a little irritation, I took my role as a withered old spinster with some grace.

            Isabella hugged me in sympathy. “That’s right. I forgot. I’m sorry I reminded you.”

            Not so much grace now. With the best of intentions, this kid felt apologetic for reminding me about my pure state, like virginity was an embarrassing social disease.

            This just wasn’t my night.

            Isabella brightened. “But soon that will change!”

            “Yes.” In a way she’d never imagined. “Back to your problem.”

            “Isabella and I leaped up to flee. We knew we had to get out of there.” Katherina talked faster and faster, as if the impulse to run urged her words to a gallop. “We looked for a way out, but there were no windows in that chamber. We had to go back into the…parlor. We thought we could sneak out, but Madame Culatello was watching for us. She called us young men. She offered us services. We said we had no money. She said the first time was on the house.”

            I did not guffaw, but it was close. I knew Madame Culatello; she was savvy in all things involving bodies. I likewise knew she’d immediately spotted what separated these girls from youths, and I could only imagine how much she enjoyed tormenting them with such offers.

            “The outer door opened!” Isabella joined in the tale. “A gentleman strolled in. He was tall and wore the scarlet mask of a satyr. So creepy! Kate said, ‘Flee!’ and dashed toward the opening. She shoved the gentleman out of the way. I followed and—”

            The and hung on the air.

            “You can’t stop now,” I told her gently.

            “Madame Culatello grabbed at my cap. My braid tumbled down. I heard the ladies laughing and the madame chuckled…she sounded like a man!” Isabella's blue eyes fluttered with confusion. “Rosie, is she a man?”

            “Gender is quite fluid where pleasure is served.” Which was all the answer she was getting from little ol’ virgin me. Right now we had to concentrate on this looming catastrophe. “You lost your cap. You were exposed and recognized? Someone called out your name?”

            “No. At least, I don’t think so. I didn’t hear anything.” Isabella turned to Katherina. “Did you?”

            “No! As soon as Isabella was out the door, I grabbed her arm and we ran out of the square and home.”

            I didn’t yet have a clear picture of the disaster. “All this panic is because you lost your cap and think perhaps you were recognized?” I began to relax. “Because we can deny—”

            Isabella clutched my arms and shouted into my face, “I lost my ring! My mother’s ring, set with diamonds. Lots of diamonds. And a priceless Indian diamond in the center! Big, polished…” Words failed when she tried to describe it. “I wore the ring on a ribbon around my neck. When she grabbed at me, I felt the tug at my throat, but I didn’t realize what it signified until I got back here. Madame Culatello has the ribbon, and she has the ring, and I am a gull, a dolt, a knotty-pated fool!”