The Serpent of Venice

“His will is done now. Tomorrow I have to stand before the court and answer Shylock’s bond with a pound of my flesh.”

“Then Shylock shall have to be removed as well.”

“But you have no men, no forces, and neither have I. I cannot send Bassanio to do such dread deeds. It is not in his nature. He is already distraught at the deaths of his friends.”

“Calm yourself, merchant. This is my business. I still have some of Rodrigo’s fortune cached away at Arsenal, and between his gold and my will, forces will come to our aid before morning.”

“Oh, Nerissa, I am beside myself with worry.” Portia fussed at her dressing table while Nerissa arranged her shoes into mismatched pairs in the closet. “I sent Father’s lawyer, Balthassar, to Padua a week ago with a letter to our cousin, Bellario, who is a doctor of law, and I fear he will not return with the response before the morning. If he does not, I know not how we will aid Bassanio in saving his friend Antonio.”

“How would we aid anyway? All the funds of the estate are out of your reach, lady. And even the funds by all the suitors have stopped coming with rumors that there could be no winner among the players.”

“We shall help them by pleading the case, Nerissa. As a doctor and clerk of law.”

“But, lady, only men may be doctors of law.”

“That is so, and so shall we be men. We shall dress as men, with jeweled daggers at our waists to show our authority, and great empty codpieces, where the court thinks our brains and abilities reside. I will turn feminine mincing steps into a manly stride, and speak with a voice that breaks like one passing from boy to man. And I’ll wager, when we appear as men, I’ll be said to be the prettier of the two.” She giggled.

“No doubt, sweet Portia, and your brash nature and unfounded self-confidence shall further convince all that you are the better man.”

A servant appeared in the doorway then, and cleared his throat.

“Lady, a visitor at the door for you. He asks that you meet him at the servants’ entrance.”

“A gentleman?” said Portia. “Well, show him into the foyer and I will make an entrance.”

“No, lady, not a gentleman, and the caller is for Miss Nerissa. He is a clown.”

“A clown?”

“Yes, mum. The visitor wears the motley of a fool. He would not give his name.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Nerissa.

She was gone for perhaps half an hour, in which time Portia noticed that she was having a particularly difficult time choosing shoes for dinner.

When she returned, tears streaked Nerissa’s face. “Portia, oh lady, I’m so sorry. Your sister.”

“What? What, Nerissa?”

“Desdemona is dead.”

As the gondola from Belmont glided up to the landing at Shylock’s house, I could see one of Tubal’s huge Jews, I know not which, eclipsing the doorway. Not alarming in itself, except I could see his heavy club dangling from a lanyard at his wrist, and we had approached at such an angle that I could see the other huge Jew poised at Shylock’s side door, ready to shoulder through it.

“Not a word,” said I to the gondolier. “Throw my bundle on the landing after me.” I plopped a coin down by his feet, and ran the length of the boat, leapt, and landed on the cobbles, coming up from a roll with one of my daggers in hand just as Jessica was opening the door.

I sent the dagger flying into the back of the thug’s knee, and when he bent over in pain, I sailed feetfirst over his back, into the house as Jessica stepped back in alarm. I had landed on my hip on the table, which I slid across, drawing another dagger as I landed on my feet.

“Drool! Side door!” I called, just as the side door exploded inward and banged back on its hinges. I sent the dagger straight to the oaf’s thigh and he tumbled into the house, leading with a long butcher knife. Drool had been sitting by the fire and now stood over the huge Jew as surprised as if he’d just discovered a live snake in his breakfast porridge.

I turned to face the attacker I’d wounded at the door. My friend Kent had taught me that, as a rule, with men of great size, it was more important to stop them first, rather than try to kill them in one blow.

I held my third dagger by the blade, poised to throw. “This one in your eye, boy,” said I. “Do twitch and I will send thee to a porkless Hebrew hell with stunning swiftness.”

He stopped struggling to gain his feet and froze on the spot; good fortune, for I was not sure that I would hit the mark, so long out of practice I was. If I’d missed, he might have bludgeoned us all to death. I heard Jessica’s intake of breath as she looked over my shoulder toward where the other huge Jew had fallen and was rising.

“Drool, hit him!” I called.

I took my eyes off my own huge Jew just long enough to see Drool smash a heavy, three-legged stool across the knife-wielding brother’s head, showering the room with splinters, kindling, and a fine spray of blood. The downed brother went limp on the floor, quite unconscious, perhaps dead.

I held my dagger fast. “Drool, fetch my dagger from that chap’s thigh. And come get the other one from this one’s knee.”

“Jones!” said Drool, noticing that I was again in possession of my puppet stick, which I’d shoved down the back of my jerkin for the gondola ride. “Me wee friend.”

“Get the knives, you great slobbering dreadnought,” said the puppet Jones, a bit breathless from the tumbling and whatnot.

Drool went around the table, a bloody knife in one of his hands, and regarded the huge Jew who stood in the front door. “It will hurt when I pulls out the knife,” Drool said to the huge Jew with no menace whatsoever. “Sor-ry.”

The huge Jew seemed as disturbed by the sight of a man-shaped creature larger than himself nearly as much as he was by the blade in his knee.

“He and I will both kill you if your club hand moves, Ham, so be brave lest you be twice slayed.”

“I’m Japheth,” said the giant Hebrew.

“I don’t give a jostled jeroboam of monkey jizz, you yellow-hatted buffoon. If you move, you die.”

Japheth gasped as Drool pulled the knife from his leg. Drool stepped back just as Jessica came around from the side with a half-full wine bottle, which ended its arc by bouncing off the huge Jew’s forehead, unbroken, sending him back a few steps from the door.

“Well done, love,” said I. “Can’t account for the thickness of his hat nor the density of his great noggin, but a normal bloke would’ve been right well brained.”

She smiled and curtsied, despite that she was still shaking a bit from the adventure.

“Take your brother and go home,” said I to Japheth. “Tell Tubal what happened here and that there are no more layers between him and his mayhem. If two hours pass and he is still on La Giudecca, he and his whole family will be floating dead in the canal by morning, and you two with them.”

Japheth, limping pitifully, made his way around the outside of the house and dragged his brother out the door. Ham groaned as he was moved, so evidently Drool had not killed him.

“Ta,” said Drool as Japheth carried his brother away.

“Drool, there’s a bundle of clothing out on the landing; would you fetch it before the tide takes it, please?”

“That were smashing, Pocket.”

“Go, lad. We’ll need that bundle.”

Shylock stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, where he had been when I’d sailed sideways into the room.

“So,” said I. “Marco Polo found his way back to his family?”

“Yes,” said Shylock, still a bit dazed. “He returned my ducats with interest.”

“Lovely. And he left the boxes for me?”

“Yes,” said Jessica. “As you asked.”

“Tubal has been my friend many years. And he sent these boys to kill me? He would not have done this for spite. He must have been paid.”

“No shit, Shylock,” said I. “It was business.”

“You are more agile than I thoug

ht,” said Shylock, nodding to himself sadly.

“Treated by a wizard with syrup of cat, he was, givin’ him magical quickness,” said the puppet Jones.

“Really?” said Jessica, her eyes wide.

“Nah, havin’ you on. I’m just a wooden-headed ninny,” said the puppet, tapping the Jewess on the bottom with a jingle of his hat bells.