Star-crossed Lovers (✓)

Chapter Eight

It was cool in the chapel. Romeo watched heat waves rising above the wild flowers which grew unhindered across the hillside.

'May Heaven bless this holy ceremony so that we won't regret it later!' Friar Lawrence was saying.

'Yes, yes,' said Romeo. He didn't take his eyes off the door. 'But whatever sorrow may come it couldn't cancel the joy I get from seeing her for even a moment. You just join our hands with holy words and after that it doesn't matter what happens: it's enough that she'll be my wife.'

Friar Lawrence tutted. 'Such extreme emotions often end in disaster – they explode like gunpowder. Be careful, my boy. Even honey can become sickly precisely because it's so sweet, and eventually you can't face it. So don't go overboard on this loving of yours. It will last longer if you take it easy. If you go too fast you'll fall.'

But Romeo wasn't listening. He had been watching the brow of the hill and when Juliet's head appeared he sprang up and rushed to the door while the Friar was still talking.

She came, running so lightly that it was as though she wasn't touching the ground.

By the time she got to within ten yards of the chapel she was in her lover's arms. They clung to each other and he kissed her again and again. Friar Lawrence prized them apart gently.

'Dear Juliet,' said Romeo. 'If you are as happy as I am and can express it better, then tell me how much happiness you imagine we have when we add it all up.'

'As usual, you say ridiculous things,' she said. 'You speak extravagantly. And don't talk about imagined love. Our love is real. And people who can count their wealth are poor: my true love has grown so huge that I couldn't measure half of it.'

'Come on, come on,' said Friar Lawrence. 'Enough of this nonsense. Let's get on with it. Follow me.'

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It was incredibly hot; the only movement came from a lizard that broke cover and streaked through the white dust of the piazza to the safety of an ivy covered wall. The goats and chickens and piglets were silent and the market traders dozed beneath their awnings. Dinner ended at the Montague house. Benvolio and Mercutio and the friends who had been with them left their hosts to their siesta and sauntered through the scorching piazza. When they reached the fountain Mercutio bent over towards it and splashed water at the others.

'Come on now, Mercutio,' said Benvolio. 'Let's go. It's very hot and we're right outside Capulet 's house: if we should bump into any of them there's bound to be trouble. Tempers are short in this heat.'

Mercutio laughed. 'Look who's talking. You're the biggest troublemaker of all. You're like the fellow who goes into a pub, slams his sword down on the counter and cries: "I hope I won't need you" and then, after his second drink, challenges the landlord for no reason at all.'

'Who, me?' said Benvolio. They were all pointing at him and laughing.

'Come on now, what's this innocent act?' said Mercutio, 'You're as hot a fellow as any in Italy.' He winked at the others who demonstrated their agreement by thumping Benvolio on the back, jeering, pretending to protect themselves from him and generally fooling about, 'You're as quickly aroused as anyone.'

'Aroused to what?' said Benvolio, sitting down and scooping water over himself.

'What?' said Mercutio. 'If there were two like you there would soon be none: you'd kill each other. You? You'd quarrel with a man who had one hair more or less than you in his beard.' Encouraged by the laughter, including Benvolio's now, he continued. 'You'd quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason than that you've got hazel eyes. Your head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of yolk – in fact your brains have been scrambled by the number of times you've had your head punched.'