Sometime past midnight she looked up from her folded hands to see Friar Lorenzo making the rounds of the mourning party. The sight surprised her; she had heard the Tolomei guards talking about a Franciscan friar who had-allegedly-helped Romeo escape through the Bottini right after the Palio, and she had naturally assumed the man was Friar Lorenzo. Now, seeing him walking around the church so calmly, comforting the mourning women, her chest became heavy with disappointment. Whoever it was that had helped Romeo to escape, it was no one she knew or was ever likely to know.
When he eventually caught sight of her sitting alone in the corner, he joined her right away. Squeezing into the pew, Friar Lorenzo took the liberty of sharing her kneeler, and mumbled, “Forgive me for intruding on your grief.”
Giulietta replied softly, making sure no one overheard them. “You are my grief’s oldest friend.”
“Would it console you to know that the man for whom you are truly crying is on his way to foreign lands where his foes will never find him?”
Giulietta pressed a hand to her mouth to strangle her emotion. “If he is indeed safe, then I am the happiest creature on earth. But I am also”-her voice trembled-“the most pitiful. Oh, Lorenzo, how can we live like this… he there, I here? Would that I had gone with him! Would that I were a falcon on his arm and not a wanton bird in this putrid cage!”
Aware that she had spoken too loudly, and far too frankly, Giulietta looked around nervously to see if anyone had heard her. But fortunately, Monna Antonia was too absorbed in her own misery to notice much around her, and the other women were still flocking around the bier, busying themselves with flower arrangements.
Friar Lorenzo looked at her intently from behind his folded hands. “If you could follow him, would you go?”
“Of course!” Giulietta straightened up in spite of herself. “I would follow him throughout the world!” Realizing that, once again, she was being carried away, she sank lower on the kneeler, and added, in a solemn whisper, “I would follow him through the valley of the shadow of Death.”
“Then compose yourself,” whispered Friar Lorenzo, putting a warning hand on her arm, “for he is here, and-calm yourself! He would not leave Siena without you. Do not turn your head, for he is right-”
Giulietta could not help but twist around to catch a glimpse of the hooded monk crouched on the kneeler behind her, head bent in perfect concealment; if she was not mistaken, he was wearing the very same cowl Friar Lorenzo had made her wear when they once went together to Palazzo Marescotti.
Light-headed with excitement, Giulietta eyed her aunts and cousins with nervous calculation. If anyone discovered that Romeo was here, in this very church on this very night, surely neither he, nor she, nor even Friar Lorenzo would live to see the sun rise. It was too bold, too devilish for a presumed murderer to defile poor Tebaldo’s vigil in order to woo the dead hero’s cousin, and no Tolomei would ever tolerate the insult.
“Are you moonstruck?” she hissed over her shoulder. “If they discover you, they will kill you!”
“Your voice is sharper than their swords!” complained Romeo. “I beg you, be sweet; these may be the last words you ever speak to me.” Giulietta more felt than saw the sincerity in his eyes, gleaming at her from within the shade of the hood as he went on, “If you meant what you said just now, take this”-he pulled a ring off his finger and held it out for her to take-“here, I give you this ring-”
Giulietta gasped, but took the ring nonetheless. It was a golden signet ring with the Marescotti eagle, but through Romeo’s words, I give you this ring, it had become her wedding band.
“May God bless you both forever after!” whispered Friar Lorenzo, knowing full well that forever after might not extend beyond this night. “And may the holy saints in Heaven be the witnesses of your happy union. Now listen carefully. Tomorrow, the funeral will be held at the Tolomei sepulchre, outside the city walls-”
“Wait!” exclaimed Giulietta. “Surely, I am coming with you now?”
“Shh! It is impossible!” Friar Lorenzo laid another hand on her to calm her. “The guards at the door would stop you. And it is too dangerous inside the city tonight-”
The sound of someone hushing them across the room made the three of them jolt with fear. Glancing nervously at her aunts, Giulietta saw them grimacing at her to be quiet and not upset Monna Antonia any further. And so she ducked her head dutifully and held her tongue until they were no longer looking at her. Then, turning around once more, she looked pleadingly at Romeo.
“Do not marry me and leave me!” she begged. “Tonight is our wedding night!”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, all but reaching out to touch her cheek, “we will look back on all this and laugh.”
“Tomorrow,” sobbed Giulietta, into the palm of her hand, “may never come!”
“Whatever happens,” Romeo assured her, “we will be together. As man and wife. I swear it to you. In this world… or the next.”
THE TOLOMEI SEPULCHRE was part of a vast cemetery outside Porta Tufi. Ever since antiquity, the people of Siena had buried their dead beyond the city walls, and every noble family had kept up-or usurped-an ancient vault containing a suitable quantity of deceased ancestors. The Tolomei sanctuary sat among them all like a marble castle in this city of death; most of the structure was subterranean, but it had a grandiose entrance above ground, much like the tombs of those august Roman statesmen with whom Messer Tolomei so liked to compare himself.
Scores of family members and close friends had come along to the cemetery on this sad day, to comfort Tolomei and his wife as their firstborn was laid to rest in the granite sarcophagus Tolomei had originally commissioned for himself. It was a sin and a shame to see such a healthy young man surrendered to the netherworld; no words could console the wailing mother or the young girl to whom Tebaldo had been betrothed since the day she was born, twelve years ago. Where was she to find another suitable husband now, so close to womanhood, and so used to thinking of herself as mistress of Palazzo Tolomei?
But Giulietta was too anxious about her own immediate future to wallow long in sympathy for her grieving family. She was also exhausted from lack of rest. The vigil had lasted all night, and now, far into the afternoon of the following day-with all hopes of resurrection proving idle-Monna Antonia looked as if she herself was likely to join her son in his untimely grave. Pale and drawn, she supported herself heavily on the arms of her brothers; only once did she turn towards Giulietta, her ghoulish face contorted in hatred.
“And there she is, the snake at my bosom!” she snarled, wanting everyone to hear her. “Had it not been for her shameless encouragement, Romeo Marescotti would never have dared lift a hand against this house! Look at her conniving face! Look at those traitorous tears! I wager they are not for my Tebaldo, but for his murderer, Romeo!” She spat on the ground twice to rid herself of the taste of the name. “It is time for you to act, brothers! Stand no more like frightened sheep! A foul crime has been committed against the house of Tolomei, and the murderer is prancing around town thinking himself above the law-” She withdrew a shiny stiletto from her shawl and waved it in the air. “If you are men, gut this town and find him, wherever he may be hiding, and let a grieving mother bury this blade in his black heart!”
After this outburst of emotion, Monna Antonia fell back into the arms of her brothers, and there she hung, limp and miserable, while the procession continued down the stone stairs into the underground sepulchre. Once everyone was gathered below, Tebaldo’s shrouded body was placed in the sarcophagus, and the last rites performed.