“Mislike me not for my complexion,” said the Moor. “I am but the shadowed design of the burnished sun where I was bred. I would not change my hue except to steal your favor, my gentle queen.”

“You stand as fair as any suitor I have looked on, but choice is not solely led by my eye. My father has set the lottery of my destiny.”

One of the lawyers, longer and whiter of beard than the other, stepped forward. “He knows of the terms and has paid the price of his chance.” The lawyer then made his way to the doors to the terrace, which he unlocked with a key on a chain about his neck.

“Condolences on the loss of your father,” said the prince. “I heard only of his passing after we arrived in Venice or I would not have added the weight of my suit to the lady’s grief.”

Meaning, thought Nerissa, that his interest in Portia was the political alliance with her father on the council, not her legendary beauty and widely exaggerated cleverness.

Portia, too, caught the subtext of the prince’s comment, quickstepped to the terrace doors, and drew aside the curtain.

“You must take your chance,” she said. “Or not choose at all, but swear before you choose that should you choose wrongly, you must tell no one which casket you chose, and never speak to this lady afterward in the way of marriage.”

“If so cursed, I will console myself with my other nineteen wives,” said the prince.

Nerissa covered her mouth to stop from giggling, but alas, snorted a bit and drew the dragon’s glare from Portia.

The prince made his way around the table, reading the placard on each of the caskets.

At the lead casket, he read: “ ‘Who chooseth me must live and hazard all he has.’ Why, this is more a threat than a promise.”

He then moved to the silver casket. “ ‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.’ But what a man deserves is not always that which he requires.”

The prince stepped to the gold casket. “ ‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’ Methinks that only a bed of gold would be worthy of fair Portia. I would have the key to this one.”

The lawyer shuffled forward and drew a key from his purse and handed it to the prince.

“Take it,” said Portia. “And if my picture lie there, then I am yours.”

The Moor took the key, unlocked the casket, and pushed back the lid.

“Oh hell!” said the prince. “What have we here?” He lifted from the casket a miniature death’s-head. A scroll protruded from the skull’s eye. The prince replaced the skull in the casket, removed the scroll, unrolled it, and read:

“ ‘All that glitters, is not gold;

Often have you heard that told;

But my outside do behold;

Gilded tombs do worms enfold;