“He works in the stable. The stable master said he smelt of shit and so sent him in here to have a good hot bath. Stand up, love.”

The giant unfolded in the raised cauldron and great cascades of soapy water ran off him as he stood, naked, his enormous erect dong swinging in a wide arc at Iago’s eye level like the loose boom of a sailing sloop.

Iago backed away from the swaying beam and looked at his wife. “Did you put him in that state?”

Emilia fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly. “Possibly.”

“Emilia’s got smashing knockers, she does,” said Drool.

Iago raised his hand as if to backhand Emilia and felt himself suddenly yanked into the air by that selfsame hand—held high and squirming as he tried to draw his sword and Drool turned him so they were looking eye to eye.

“I fink you should fuck off now, sir.” He dropped Iago, who landed in a heap on the slippery stone and struggled to roll over so he could get to his sword.

With the same meaty paw he’d used to lift Iago, the giant snatched up a boat oar the laundress used for stirring the cauldron.

“Would you like to bugger a soldier, puppet?” Emilia asked Drool.

“Yes, please, mum.”

She crouched down until she was face-to-face with her husband. “You might want to do as the boy says and fuck off, now, husband.”

Iago scrambled to his feet, snatched a handkerchief from the table, and ran out of the laundry, roaring with frustration as he went.

“He were cross,” said Drool.

“He often is,” said Emilia. “Impressive willy wagging.”

“Fanx. Just a peek then?”

“Well, you’ve earned it, haven’t you? But sit down first, love, you’ll frighten the cats.”

Shylock had spent a fretful two months with no word of his daughter, until today, when the two huge Jew brothers, Ham and Japheth, came to his door on a chilly winter morning with a message from his friend Tubal to meet him on the Rialto at noon. The moneylender donned a heavy, fur-lined cloak and hired a gondola with a closed cabin, and was an hour early for the meeting, so he stamped his feet and blew on his hands until he saw his friend ambling over the Rialto Bridge. Shylock rushed to meet him and was breathless from climbing the stairs when they met.

“Tubal, you have news? What of my daughter?”

“Shylock, you rush too much, maybe we should go inside, where it is warm, where you can sit down.”

“I would know now. What of Jessica? Did you find her in Cyprus, as you thought?”

“The news is not so good. I spread the fingers of my sources from the harbor in all directions, with promise of silver for news, but the news did not come o’er the sea from Cyprus as we thought, but from travelers by land, from Genoa.”