The bailiff unfolded a parchment and read, “ ‘Your Grace shall understand that I am very sick, and cannot heed your call, but when your summons arrived, I had as my houseguest a young doctor of law from Rome, called Balthassar. I acquainted him with the case between Antonio and the Jew, and he is furnished with my opinion, bettered with his own learning, the greatness of which I cannot commend enough. Let not his youth be an impediment, for never have I seen one so young with such a body of knowledge.’ Signed Bellario.” The bailiff folded the paper.

“Where is this doctor?” called the doge.

I heard steps behind us and turned to see Portia, dressed all in black, the robes of a lawyer, a false beard and mustache fixed upon her face, followed by Nerissa, who was dressed in similar clothes, wearing the hat of a clerk, and carrying a secretary’s box, much like I had carried for Shylock in those early days.

The duke held his hand out to Portia, and she bowed over it as stoutly as any boy. When Nerissa had told me of their plan, I thought it would never work, but I would have believed Portia a young man if I did not know better. Fine of features, to be sure, and Nerissa had disguised her girlish curves by draping her robe and having her wear high boots so the curve of her calves did not show.

“You know the case, and Bellario’s judgment?” asked the doge.

“I do, Your Grace,” said Portia. “I am informed thoroughly of the case. Which is Antonio and which is the Jew.”

“I don’t know, love,” I whispered to Jessica, “perhaps the one wearing the bloody bright yellow Jew hat who is sharpening his knife on his boot.”

Jessica giggled, far too girlishly for her disguise, and I was forced to elbow her in the side, at which she giggled more, but silently, as she elbowed me back.

Before I could respond, Nerissa shoved into the space between me and Drool. “You look fetching,” she said, making no effort whatsoever to sound like a young man.

“As do you,” I whispered. “Smashing beard. Strapping down those bosoms seems sinful, like hiding your light under a bushel, innit?”

“Shhhh,” she shushed.

“Is your name Shylock?” Portia asked the Jew.

“Shylock is my name. Murray Shylock.”

“Murray? Bloody Shylock’s Christian name is Murray?” I said to Jessica, who shushed me from that side.

“Not really his Christian name, though, is it?” said Nerissa.

Jessica shushed us both.

“Of strange nature is this suit you follow, Shylock. Yet Venetian law cannot impugn you as you proceed.” She turned to Antonio. “You stand in his danger, do you not?”

“Aye, he says so,” said Antonio.

“Then must the Jew be merciful,” said Portia.

“On what compulsion must I?” asked Shylock, now honing his knife on the leather sheath with great flourish.