Nerissa now giggled, and covered her mouth coyly as she exchanged glances with Gratiano, his eyes following the twin moons of her rising décolletage, her gaze tracing the grand arch of the feather in his hat and falling to the hilt of the bejeweled dagger he wore in his belt. The game was afoot.

“I would have you tarry, extend the time we have together, a week, a month, even two,” said Portia. “For once you have made your choice, should you not choose right, then bound by your agreement, we shall never speak again.”

“Then let me choose, lady, for I wait as if stretched upon the rack.”

“Very well, the gentlemen will show you to the caskets.” Portia gestured for the lawyers to lead Bassanio to the terrace.

“You are coming, lady?”

“I’ll be along. You go ahead.”

The lawyers unlocked the door and led the two young merchants to the terrace.

Nerissa stood over her mistress, trying not to laugh. “You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

“These Florentine shoes are shit,” said Portia.

“Are you not wearing any knickers?”

“Of course I’m wearing knickers. Do you think me wanton? I’m stuck because I haven’t the strength to lift myself out of this position—now help me.”

Nerissa looped her arms under her mistress’s arms and pulled her to her feet, so they stood there in a rather awkward embrace.

“Even through silk, the marble is cold on one’s lady-bits, though,” said Portia.

“Warmed soon by a handsome merchant husband,” said Nerissa with a note of hope that was not altogether false. If she could charm Bassanio’s tall friend, perhaps Portia wouldn’t dismiss her out of jealousy after all.

“Oh, Bassanio is so handsome.”

“As is his friend.”

“Do you fancy him?”

“Do you jest? I was lucky not to be sliding on the slippery floor next to you.”

“That is not why I slipped.”

“Let us go join him, lady. There’s rumor that he was given the secret to the casket that holds your portrait. You may be a bride by evening.”

They glided to the terrace, hand in hand, like dancers, and were met by the smiles of the men, except for the lawyers, who never smiled unless actively fucking someone, as was the credo of their trade. Bassanio already held a black key in the air and stood before the lead casket.

“You’ve chosen already?” said Portia, surprised, yet pleased, yet anxious.

“Oh, lady, the world is deceived by fair ornament, by gaudy gold, hard food for Midas, or silver’s pale shine, that common drudge that is passed ’tween man and man, when the weight of beauty is what must be measured. I choose base lead.”

“Did he just call you fat?” whispered Nerissa.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Portia.