“You would have me prevail upon my mistress on behalf of the fine officer you have previously referred to as an ‘addlepated accountant,’ that ‘bum-brained bean counter,’ and that ‘flouncing fucking Florentine’? ”

“He has flounced, upon occasion, but I have new, kinder eyes toward him, for all men, since the death of my good friend Rodrigo.” Iago looked off to the corner in the way he imagined would a strong man trying to avoid tears.

“I am sorry about your friend, Iago. He will be missed.”

“Oh yes, of course you will miss him,” said Iago, shrugging off his grief as easily as an unpinned cape. “Miss him in your bedchamber.”

“You’re mad.” Emilia sighed and started to walk away.

Iago grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I remember, you showed him favor, made eyes at him when you saw him before.”

“Favor? I said he didn’t seem to be a complete knob. That is not favor, that is just a kind comparison to everyone else with whom you keep company. Despite what you might think, Iago, I am not shagging every man I meet just because I am not shagging you. I am not shagging you because you are you, and I am not shagging them because they are not my husband. There is no sodding shagging going on.”

“So you say.”

“So it is. What do you want, Iago?”

“I need you to prevail upon Desdemona to receive Cassio.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. A brother-in-arms.”

“Bollocks. What’s in it for me?”

“It would suffice as the wifely duty you would owe me in other ways.”

“For how long?”

“For a month.”

“Forever.”

“Unfair.”

“Well, fuck off then.”

“Fine, forever.”

“Have him here in an hour. I will show him to the lady’s balcony.”

“I shall. Adieu, foul harridan.”

“Good-bye, husband.”

It was well past noon, hours since she’d left us, when Jessica appeared on the breakwater and waved a red scarf, signaling for us to row in and pick her up. We’d taken the boat out several hundred yards and pretended to be fishing to avoid the Genoan patrols. She had a great cloth flour sack slung over her back and her hair was down in long curls.

“Where’s Jeff?” I inquired, before the boat had landed. “And where is your hat?”

“Jeff is in the sack, having a go at my hat.”

There did seem to be more than a bit of movement and chatter coming from the sack than would have been produced by a more contemplative monkey.

“Well, your disguise is completely useless without the hat. Even with the pirate boots and the blousy shirt it’s clear that you’re not a boy.”