Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare's Secrets: Book I)

Act 1 - Gregory (1)

PROLOGUE

The story of Romeo and Juliet has never been told. But as I wait here for my death, I will indulge you. This story has many twists and turns, many dark passages and hidden alleyways. But to understand this story, we will have to travel these twists and turns together. It has taken me decades, but I have finally unearthed the true story of Romeo and Juliet.

CHAPTER ONE

Gregory

It is twilight, though the rain clouds pouring their contents onto us made it look like the darkest hours of night, thunder chanting to the gods. Sampson rambles on in a drunken rant about the Montauges, trailing behind me kike a lost puppy. Traversing the streets of Verona at night is dangerous. Sampson slowly gets more hysterical as time passes. My two choices are to either take him through the main streets to avoid bandits and gangs, which would take much longer with him in this state, or to take a path that cut through the middle of the city, leading us back in half the time.

As Sampson vomits again, I make my choice. I push him ahead of me and begin to lead him through the streets of fair Verona. At home waiting for me is a warm bowl of stew, a cozy bed, and a lady.

"Sampson, quiet down!" I instruct as we cross the road. The thought of a lady waiting at home makes me quicken my pace, dragging along my bedraggled companion. Turning the right corner of Seyton's bakery as always, I hesitate. I am basically hauling Sampson along me, him being barely conscious, if anything between me and- no! I must not think these thoughts! But as tempting as this would be, I can not let him down. Desmona and Marie are depending on me. What would I tell Marie if I dragged her brother back from a brawl - half-dead? And sweet Desmona-

"Greg'ry," Sampson stumbles. "Montauges, filthy scum . . . rats, burned at the stake, deserve to live in the . . ."

Not wanting to waste my night listening to Sampson curse the Montauges, I tune him out. But then again, Sampson was drunk, and he would only stop rambling and let me have my peace at home if he was satisfied.

"Hush!" I tell him, stepping over a puddle while he falls into it. Sampson picks himself up, now soaked and covered in mud. "Why, of the people in Verona. . ." I curse, hoping Sampson will follow my voice.

Thunder and lightning light up the sky, Sampson's pale face, and my own cloak. "We are going through the alleyway!" I declare. Once a month is too much, but this is the second time this week. Dragging a drunk Sampson through mud and rain when I could be at home is not a task I take a liking to very often.

"In this state, you'll never make it home," I murmur. As he falls onto the streets again, I storm up to him. "Sampson! Hear me! Snap out of that stupor!" I yell at him over the thunder. I shake him thoroughly and bang him against the wall. "Get out!" I scream shrilly into his stark face.

Sampson tilts his head and shakes me off, a hand going to the hilt of his sword. He was always stronger and larger than me, two times broader at least. In a battle of strength, I would never claim victory. In a battle of wits, I would refuse, in order to spare him the humiliation.

"Montauge," he mutters, before stumbling away, in the direction we came from.

"Sampson!" I run to catch up to him, splashing mud and water over my cloak. "Come back! We must go through the alleyway!"

He continues on his way back to the alehouse, I presume. "Sampson! Desmona and Marie will worry for you!" I cry at his retreating back. "Sampson, you filthy rat! Come back, bastard!"

He hesitates, weighing my words. "The Montauges will find you! You'll never survive!" I bellow against the winds. "You're no better than a Montauge! You leave your wife and sister at home with no defense! You coward! And me! You leave me, your own-"

Sampson roars frighteningly, throwing his body against mine. The impact of the road on my body, though softened by the mud and rain, takes away my breath. I retreat on my hands and feet as he towers over me. "Me alone, in the streets, ready to be killed? Aren't you supposed to protect me? Father told me, that's was her last wish." I finish weakly. "No better than a Montauge," I whisper.

The rain slows, as if watching our quarrel. "No better than a Montauge," I repeat, firmer. Sampson watches me as I stand and try my best to clean the mud off my cloak. I hope he will stop me, as I turn away and start towards the alleyway.

"I apologize, brother."

His apology makes me stop and clench my fists. "Good, now come, we will take the alleyways. It crosses through a part of town where Montauges reside, but I'm sure that we can avoid them. Come, Sampson," I call over my shoulder. The mud squelches underfoot as I feel his presence follow mine into the dark alleyway.

"If we meet Montauges, do nothing. Keep your hood up and do not show them that you are a servant for Capulet. They have the numbers and strength that you and I lack," I remind him as we step over a large puddle.

"I'll keep my hood up and bite my thumb, that's what I'll do," Sampson growls from behind me.

"Not now, Sampson. Desmona and Marie await our return," I scold him lightly.

As I cautiously step into another back passage, I look back. "We are on so-called Montauge territory now, Sampson. Take care."

The rustling of cloth notifies me that he has nodded.

With Sampson in this state, a meeting with a Montauge would be unwelcome. As I am being depended on to bring my friend - and brother - back home, to his wife and sister, and soon his child, I make sure to take the less-travelled roads. "We're almost off the road now. A few more turns and we'll be at the Capulet place. Then it's only a short while until we arrive home," I inform him. "Try not to get us into trouble."

Sampson grunts, eyes fixed on a group of five figures dressed in Montauge wear. "Not now, brother," I say quietly. "Think, what will your child say when he learns to speak? He will hang his head in shame and tell his friends what deeds you have done."

"He will be raised a Capulet servant, and he will tell his Capulet friends about me. He will not hang his head in shame, he will hold it high, like Prince Escalus himself." Sampson argues. "I bite my thumb at the Montauges!"

"Peace!" I quiet him. "We are outnumbered today."

Sampson merely stays mute and keeps walking. I make way through the street, reaching the other end. Just as I breathe a sigh of relief, a rough shout reaches my ears.

"You!"

A Montauge storms up behind me, to Sampson. I turn slowly as the scene unfolds.

"You bite your thumb at me?"

"I do not, good sir," Sampson replies, monotone.

"Capulet, are you?" the other says, seeing the crest of a servant of the household. "Just as I thought. Only a Capulet would bite their thumb. Arrogant, loud."

"Are you describing me or your own self?" Sampson remarks. "I cannot tell."

Then the fight begins. Unfair, most likely, five against one, but he had it coming. I watch Sampson from the shadows, feeling a tug on my heart. Desmona . . .

And as the winds blow, and the rain washes through my soul, I stand and watch, and hear Sampson call out my name. I watch as the men leave, as they warn me, as blood stains the streets. I watch Sampson reach for my arm feebly.

And then I leave for home. Desmona . . .