“I traveled across Europe to come here, to speak my queen’s will to Venice, because of one man: Othello. O’er all the world, the legend of the Moor saving your city is prologue to the power of your empire. Who will ship their goods with Venice, send their soldiers to war with Venice, if Venice cannot protect her ships? The world knows that the spine of the mighty Venetian Navy is that brilliant general, the Moor, Othello, who saved them from the Genoans when he was five times outnumbered. In all the known lands, princes speak the name of Othello in the same breath with Venice, and see the city’s esteem in his sword. Brabantio tells you Othello is not a Venetian, but I tell you that there would be no Venice without Othello. The Moor is a Venetian because he is the father of Venice—he gave it life. Even tonight, with wind of trouble on another sea, you call for the Moor to defend your city. Would you be so base as to boast of your city of laws, your republic that is fair to all, so all may be equal to trade here, and not accept this brave general into its bosom? I tell you, Senators, to the world, to those with whom you would trade, with those who you would call to war, Othello is Venice.”

There was quiet around the room as the senators fidgeted. Brabantio’s eyes burned with hatred for me. I had played his own card against him, the war. The bloody Crusade he had lobbied for, but had not been able to get passed by the council. I had thrown it on him: Your daughter or your war, Montressor.

“The fool makes good sense,” said the doge to Brabantio.

The Montressor seemed to shrivel, from glaring rage to a beaten man—worn and exhausted. He shuffled to Othello and Desdemona, placed their hands in each other’s and held them there. “God be with you. I have another daughter, this one is yours, and to me, is daughter no more.”

Tears leapt from Desdemona’s eyes and she turned her face into the Moor’s shoulder.

The doge came down from the dais, took the newlyweds in his arms. “Venice blesses your marriage and declares Othello a Venetian, subject to and protected by all the laws of the republic.” He released them and stepped back. “But we must save the celebration of your wedding, for now, brave Othello, you must quickly take forces to Corsica. We have word the Genoans intend to move on Bastia, our port there, and you must turn them back.”

“I will go, Your Grace, but before I do, I would see that Desdemona is cared for in the manner to which she is accustomed.”

“She is no longer welcome under my roof,” growled Brabantio.

“Then perhaps Your Grace has room in the palace,” said Othello.