“What problem? He’s of good family, he fancies the girl, and he’s fine and fit—too fit for my tastes. I’d see him locked down in marriage just to keep him out of my own wife’s bed.” Iago turned to Bassanio to explain. “She’s a bit of a slut, I suspect. Not your fault you’re pretty.”

“Bassanio is not the problem,” said Antonio. “It was obvious in her presence that Portia fancies him, but the late Brabantio has put conditions upon her marriage that bar our young lovers from finding bliss together.”

“Conditions?”

“To avoid another calamity of the Othello and Desdemona stripe, the old man composed a puzzle. Each of Portia’s suitors must choose one of three caskets: gold, silver, or lead. He is then given the key, and if the casket holds Portia’s portrait, they may be married, but if not, the suitor must go away and never return. The entire process is overseen by Brabantio’s lawyers, who hold his estate in balance—that part of the estate not willed to Desdemona, that is.”

Iago backed into his chair and sat down; his sword hand hunted down and trapped his half-filled goblet of wine. “How did Brabantio think such a test might save his daughter from marrying a rascal? Picking a metal casket?”

“He thought to oversee the process himself—use the caskets to give the girl the illusion that he had left it to chance.”

A vein had begun to pulsate on Iago’s sun-browned forehead. When he spoke, his voice came measured and he watched young Bassanio for signs that he might be frightening the youth. “Then even Portia herself does not know the contents of the caskets?”

“Nor any of the lawyers. Brabantio sealed the locks himself, with his own seal. Only he knew which casket holds the prize.”

“That miserable demented old tosser!” growled Iago. Then to Bassanio, gently: “May God bless him and have mercy on his soul.”

“Amen,” said Bassanio, bowing his head. “May God rest his soul, and my own when I join him in death’s dark country. Deprived of my Portia’s love for want of three thousand ducats, I shall drown myself.”

“Seems dear,” said Iago, scarred eyebrow raised. “I’ll drown you for half—nay—a third of that.”

“He quite fancies her,” explained Antonio. “The three thousand ducats is the price a suitor must pay to open one of the caskets.”

“Just for the opportunity,” wailed Bassanio.

“We’ll solve the puzzle before he attempts it,” said Iago. “Even if it means we have to persuade some lawyers with metal less precious than gold. Give him the money, Antonio.”

“I don’t have it. All my fortunes are at sea. It will be months before I can collect my profits.”