“I will do so, sir, consider Cassio dead, but I beseech thee, let Desdemona live. She may yet be innocent.”

“Damn her, lewd minx! Oh damn her, damn her! I spare her now. I withdraw now, but find me a means of swift death for her before I again see you, and surely, for this service to honor, you shall be my captain.”

“I am your own forever. You shall have your proof, then your will be done.”

CHORUS: Thus Iago went from fearful suspect to gleeful celebrant and his greatest enemy became the laugh he had to fight down as he hurried from the command room. Much relieved, he left the Citadel directly to arrive, hat in hand, his most gallant and gracious false face on display, at the door of the courtesan, Bianca.

She answered the door in a plain linen gown, hair disheveled, the unapologetic yawn of a day sleeper forced to have discourse with deranged people who inexplicably preferred morning at the beginning of their day rather than, properly, at the end. She was tall, dark of hair and eye, with a fine jawline, lips that evinced a bit of a pout, even in her smile, and a delicate thin nose.

“What?” she said with another yawn.

“Good day, lady, I am sorry to rouse you at the very crack of noon, but I am here on behalf of my friend Michael Cassio.”

At the sound of Cassio’s name she shook off her torpor and fixed her robe. “Cassio? I have not seen him for a week. I heard of his troubles—on his way to see me, I was told.”

“Indeed, indeed. And I fear he did not want you to see him in his shame, but his talk of you is constant, and I know he has purchased a small gift for you to show his affection, but as I said, he is taken with a melancholy that will not allow him to venture to your door.”

“Oh my. My poor Cassio. I wondered.”

“I know he will be in his quarters tonight, lady. Perhaps if you could visit him there, allow him the joy of giving you this token of his love, and perhaps use your own charms to help break the lock of his despair. To speak truly, lady, he needs you.”

Her breath stopped and her fingertips went to her chest as if to test that her heart had not stopped.

“He needs me?” She had been wanted, often, constantly since she was a girl, as had many a beauty, but needed?

“Aye, lady. But you must not tell him I was here. Go there, as if drawn only by your affection.”

“I will. Oh, I will.”

“Eight o’clock,” said Iago.

“Alas, once more I feel as if I am on the edge of a very precipice, at the edge, almost, almost, almost, and yes, I sneeze,” said the Moor. “Choo.”