Even though it was warm in the house, I was shivering, so I did as I was told, and she propped me up on some pillows. “You do look like you could use a meal. I’ll fetch you some bread and cheese—maybe some sweet wine if we have any left. I’m going to have to keep you hidden here in my room until you’re well enough to present to Papa, so you’re going to have to be quiet.”

“Quiet,” I repeated.

“You look like you’ve been in the water for a long time. Were you shipwrecked? Escaped galley slave what went over the side in despair? They wash up now and then, but usually not still breathing.”

I thought it best, at this point, to not reveal that I was ambassador from a kingdom that no longer existed, a former slave to the king of Britain and royal consort to his daughter, late queen of nearly a third of Europe. “I’m a troubadour. Traveling to England. Our ship hit a reef and sank.”

“I didn’t hear of a ship sinking.”

“Well, it was far, wasn’t it. Thus explaining why I was in the water for so bloody long before I washed up—where am I?”

“You’re on the island of La Giudecca, at the home of Shylock the moneylender. I’m Jessica, his daughter.”

“And I’m your father,” said a tower of lint in the corner of the room.

“Holy Flaming Fuck-Moses! What’s that?” You think that you have run out of fear, that you are beyond surprise. As it turns out, no.

It moved.

“Oh, that’s the blind beggar Gobbo,” said Jessica. “He helped me get you up here. Borrowed a chisel and hammer from the smith to break the chains off you.”

I began to make out the shape of a bent old man who was uniform in color from head to toe, where covered by rags and where not, a shade I can only describe as, well, filth.

“I knew I’d find you,” said Gobbo.

“I’d never have rescued you if it hadn’t been for old Gobbo recognizing you as his son and lending a hand.” Jessica raised her eyebrows and nodded for me to go along with it.

“Charmed,” said I. “Didn’t think to intervene during the circumcision, then, Da?”

“What circumcision?”

“Can’t imagine why your son abandoned you,” I said under my breath. Then to Jessica: “Bread and cheese, you said? Wine?”

“I’ll fetch some. You’ll need some salve for those scrapes on your wrists and gouges on your bum, too, or the wounds will fester.”

“Fine, but no touching the willy. I’m grieving and I’ve been used roughly, so I’m in no mood for sport.”