“I keep none of it,” I said. “I give it freely to the Church. May Christ himself witness my sincerity.”

Friar Lawrence was caught in a dilemma, and if the situation had been less dire it might have been amusing. He considered for far too long before he said, “Quickly, go behind the altar.” He tossed the heavy bag behind with me, tore the cloak from my shoulders, and used it to mop up the spots of blood, all the way to the door of the chapel, and then out to the street to confuse the trail. “Stay here and quiet, for the love of God and your mortal flesh!”

I eased back against the wall and took the respite to pull pieces from my linen shirt to bind up the wound tightly. The bleeding had slowed, which was lucky, but the limp would be difficult to conceal, and a nasty betrayal should anyone put out word to look for such to the guard. One problem at a time, I told myself. First, you must get home alive.

I heard the dog come nearer . . . nearer . . . and the shouts of the men, with the high-pitched, anxious tone of the goldsmith riding over all.

Then it all swept past, without a pause.

I collapsed in sweet relief for a few moments, and was about to rise when I heard the chapel door swing open. I thought it would be the friar returning, but instead, it was someone else. I heard the light tread, the quick, nervous breathing, and the rustle of stiff fabrics as someone knelt before the altar. I risked a quick glance over and saw a hooded figure—but not the figure of a monk, or a man.

Those were the skirts of a woman.

She began to raise her head, and I quickly ducked down again, silently swearing at the ill luck. “Friar?” Her voice was low, and a little uncertain. I heard her rise to her feet. “Friar Lawrence? Are you here? I’ve come at the appointed time. . . .”

All was clear, then; the friar’s vows of chastity were well lapsed, and this was some girl come for an assignation. I’d ruined the holy man’s night in many ways, it seemed—but then the chapel door opened and closed again, and I heard the hasty slap of sandals and the heavy, labored breaths of the monk. “My lady,” he said, “I am sorry; please sit. It’s been a . . . surprising night. I’ve another wayward lamb to tend, so if you would not mind—”

“Another . . .” She gasped. “There’s someone here! I knew it! I could hear him move!”

“Another with as little reason to be known as you, my lady, so please console yourself. He will not see your face, nor you his. Wait here, in the shadows, while I fetch him to the confessional.”