“Did you just compare yourself to the Holy Trinity?” asked one of the council indignantly.

“Don’t be literal, Senator, people will think you thick. But in a word, yes. And you would be well advised not to ask to see the Holy Ghost in my trinity, as she’s got two sides, and one of them is a wet nightmare of dark destruction that makes your Othello look like a bloody parade princess.”

Only then, in front of the council, Iago and Antonio constrained, did it occur to me, why, exactly, Vivian had not attacked me like all the others.

“So Shylock may be a vengeful, greedy bastard,” said I. I grinned at Shylock to assure him I was on his side. “But not because he’s a Jew, any more than the lot of you are shiftless, greedy tossers because you are Christians. You all share the same god: gold. Your faith follows fortune, and would deny him fortune for his.”

“Yes! Yes!” said Shylock, coming forward now, leaving Antonio still tied to his chair, straining to turn to watch the proceedings. “I am deprived justice because I am a Jew? Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands?”

“Hath not a Jew shoes?” said the puppet Jones. “If you count them, are they not two Jew shoes? If you dye them blue, are they not two blue Jew shoes? If they, too, make the sound of a cow, are they not two blue Jew moo shoes?”

“That is not what I am saying!” said Shylock.

“I thought we were just asking about Jew kit. Proceed,” said Jones.

“If you prick us, do we not bleed?” said Shylock. “Ouch!”

“That would be a yes,” said I.

“Why did you poke me?” Shylock held his arm where I’d barely touched him with my dagger.

“Hardly worth toting three sharp daggers about if you can’t use them during question time, is it? To the point, Your Grace, you use your faith as a tool to exclude this Jew, the same way these two scoundrels and Brabantio were going to use it to foment war. A Crusade. They poisoned my queen, they told me their plan because they thought I would never live to tell anyone.”

“He has no proof,” said Iago. “You have no proof.”

“That Antonio sits bound there now,” said I, “is proof. The three thousand ducats he borrowed from Shylock was to finance his protégé Bassanio’s marriage to Portia so he could influence the council.”

The council members whispered among themselves.

“Is this true, Antonio?” the doge asked.

Antonio had returned to us during my rant, although he’d gone pale and seemed he would faint again at any shock. “It is true that I borrowed the money to finance Bassanio, but because he loves Portia, and I wanted him to be happy.”