Note: Welcome to this story! It's a little different from some of the stories I've written before, in that it's based as much on The Merchant of Venice as on Romeo and Juliet, if not more. In addition, a few other works make cameo appearances, notably Othello and The Taming of the Shrew. Even Verdi's opera Rigoletto sneaks its way in! But for all that (possibly because of all that), it's still a part of the Caro-verse, and you'll see plenty of familiar faces here.

Like my more Romeo and Juliet-based stories, I'm using a movie for reference here, in this case Michael Radford's 2004 The Merchant of Venice. I have to admit, I don't like The Merchant of Venice all that much, but the film is brilliant, primarily because it addresses everything I don't like about the play. Where the characters of Romeo and Juliet are basically good-hearted, if not necessarily bright, the characters of The Merchant of Venice are all ugly and dishonorable in their own ways, and the anti-Semitism that they express in this story is entirely in character for them.

Regarding currency . . . the ducat, the scudo, and the lira were all Italian coins in circulation throughout Europe during the Renaissance. The ducat is the most familiar, I think it was the most widely used, and it's certainly the coin that Shakespeare mentions most often in conjunction with his Italians. The lira was historically associated with the city of Mantua, though in Rigoletto, the scudo is the coin of choice.

Finally, one character will quote portions of a poem. The poem is Petrarch's Sonnet 292 from his Canzioniere, and the translation is by Anthony Mortimer.

That's all for now. I'll see you at the end.

1. Friends That Purpose Merriment

The evening breeze of late spring blew cool in Venice, just enough to ruffle hair and cool a brow made sweaty by the warmth of the day. It carried the rich, complex scents of the city and the cleaner saltwater tang of the lagoon over the courtyard where two gentlemen of middling years sat, sated with a fine dinner, enjoying small glasses of grappa and friendly conversation.

The two were old friends and occasional business partners. Antonio Solera had accumulated a vast fortune at a young age through fortunate speculation, and now owned a fleet of fine ships that sailed the world to bring exotic foreign luxuries to Venice. His current host, Stefano Giacosa, was not nearly as bold a speculator, but had an artist's eye and a happy talent for marketing, and had amassed his own respectable fortune from his interests in the glass furnaces of Murano. On more than one occasion, he had put up money for one of Antonio's ventures, and had been rewarded handsomely with a selection of the goods to retail in one of his shops. It was because of Stefano's skills in the marketplace that Antonio had come to visit him today.

"Verona or Mantua?" Stefano mused, holding his glass of grappa up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. "The choice is hardly clear. I cannot see why thou wouldst wish to establish partnerships in either of those cities."

Antonio leaned forward in his chair. "Why, might one ask?"

Stefano snorted, but a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "One might also ask wherefore thou wouldst establish foreign partnerships at all," he countered. "Hast thou not enough market for thy goods here in Venice?"

"Ah." Antonio sat back and grinned at his old friend. "Fear not, Stefano. It is hardly my intent to replace thee as marketer or friend. Thou art a most enviable resource to any merchant of Venice, but thou hast thy own interests as well. I have of late acquired another ship that I intend to send to the Indies, perhaps as far as Mexico. I would not burden thee overmuch."

"That is a comfort."

"Thou shalt receive thy choice of the Mexican treasure, I swear to thee. But I would not force the neglect of thy glassmakers in Murano upon thee, neither. Tell me what thou dost know of the cities I have named."

Mollified, Stefano sipped at his grappa for a moment and considered his next words. "I should not have chosen either of them," he said. "Padua, perhaps. Or Ferrara."

Antonio shook his head, and a look of gloom spread over his face. "The market in Ferrara is full, and cannot bear one more merchant," he said. "And our Doge rules Padua with a firm hand; there is no challenge there."

"Well, if it is challenge that thou desirest, then challenge wilt thou have in Verona and Mantua both," Stefano said with a mirthless chuckle. "Do not mistake me; both cities boast merchants as skilled as thou, who would relish the chance to trade goods with thee. But they are hardly without their own quarrels. Therefore, choose wisely among the merchants there."

"Well, how wouldst thou choose, Stefano?" Antonio asked. "Thou hast clearly had dealings in both places."

Stefano did not answer for a moment. He rose from his chair and paced the length of the courtyard, pausing on his return to pour himself another glass of grappa and top up Antonio's drink as well.

"Mantua is the wealthier of the two cities," he said at last. "And in the days of our youth, I would have urged thee there with all speed. But the present Duke is a man who cares more for sport and pleasure than good governance, and the city suffers for it. Thieves and murderers roam unapprehended, and I have heard that the Duke engages the Jews of the city to sing and dance at his court. Trust not thy ventures to that city, Antonio."

"Then thou wouldst commend me to Verona?" Antonio considered the prospect, and gave a wry shrug.

Stefano laughed. "I would not deprive thee of the markets in Mantua. Go to Verona, for the two lie not distant from each other. There are families in Verona who could tie thee to Mantua, if thou wouldst trade the scudo and the lira as well as the ducat."

"Then I shall go to Verona," Antonio declared, but Stefano held up a hand.

"Take care, Antonio," he said. "Verona is not without its own perils. That city is torn with internal strife, and thou must choose thy partnerships with care, lest another faction rise against thee."

That remark gave Antonio pause. He swirled the grappa in his glass and took a contemplative sip. "Methinks that Mantua is the lesser of the two perils, for all the brigands and Jews in the city."

His tone was so despondent that Stefano could not stifle a laugh. "Fear not Verona, dear Antonio," he said. "I have had acquaintances with certain of the gentlemen of that city, and I shall commend thee to them. Thou shalt meet with both men, and see if thou canst not form alliance there. And for my part, I shall receive handsome reward for my aid in forging a tie between thy chosen ally and our great city."

At those words, a great weight seemed to rise from Antonio's shoulders. In truth, he had worried for many days about the effect that his decision to expand his trading empire would have on his friendship with Stefano. But now that Stefano looked to share a small part of the profits of Antonio's ventures, it seemed that all was once again well between them. Antonio sat a little straighter in his chair and allowed a smile to crease his thin face.

"Then it is decided," he said. "To Verona shall I travel."

Stefano raised his glass. "To Verona and fortune!"

Antonio tapped his glass against Stefano's. Just as they drank, the door to the house opened, and a handsome, lanky youth sauntered out into the courtyard. "Why, what is in Verona?" he asked.

Stefano laughed. "Naught that need concern thee, my son," he said. "Thy godfather and I speak of matters for men. I would see thee engaged with thy studies a while longer."

"Bassanio." Antonio held out his hand, and Bassanio came to him and gave it a squeeze. "I have not seen thee for far too long. Thy father has told me that thou hast recently made a new acquaintance."

Stefano gave a good-natured snort, but Bassanio's face glowed with excitement. "Ay, my father speaks truly. Gratiano is a gentleman of this city but few years my senior. He has traveled abroad, and he has told me many a strange tale of his adventures. He has shown me places in Venice that I had not dreamed of."

"Thy godson has discovered the stews and the dice-houses, Antonio," Stefano said, and though his face was stern, he could not keep a shade of fatherly warmth from his voice.

Antonio smiled. "Alas that boys must grow into men. But come now, I'll wager there is still boy left in him." He turned to Bassanio. "Thy noble father and I spoke of Verona and of Mantua," he said. "In a week's time, perhaps a little more, I shall travel to Verona to seek business partnerships. Perhaps there is aught that I might bring thee from my travels?"

Bassanio's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Sweet my godfather, wouldst thou bring me a fine velvet hat with a feather?"

Antonio laughed. "Mark this, Stefano," he said. "Thy son is yet boy enough to desire a frippery from his old godfather. Ay, Bassanio. Thou shalt have the finest velvet hat to be had in all of Verona."

Stefano nodded. "He has no need of another hat," he said, "but neither will I counsel my son to refuse a gift offered in so generous a spirit. Hast thou aught to say, Bassanio?"

"I thank thee," Bassanio said, with a grand, sweeping bow that Antonio was sure he had learned only recently from his dancing master. Bassanio pivoted on his heel and made a smaller bow to his father. "By your leave," he said, and at Stefano's nod, he went back into the house.

Antonio smiled after him. "He has grown tall and well-favored," he observed, "and thou canst take much pride in him. Wilt thou have him matched soon?"

"I had considered the prospect," Stefano answered. "Bassanio is still a youth, but the last plague did drive home the fragility even of the loveliest flower. Vittoria and I grow no younger, and I know that she dreams of a grandson to dandle upon her knee."

"Bassanio is still more boy than man. I cannot imagine him with a son of his own."

Stefano shrugged. "There is yet time. I have observed the maid-children of Venice, with an eye to arranging a match when they come of a riper age. What think you of the daughter of Brabantio?"

Antonio had never had many dealings with Venice's military men, and he had almost no recollection of their families. He furrowed his brow in thought, and came up with the vague image of a little blonde girl sitting primly with her embroidery so as not to dirty her fine brocaded dress. "I see no cause to object," he ventured.

"Thou hast no memory of the girl," Stefano said, laughing out loud. "Well, it is not important. He is not thy charge to match, and thou hast no cause to recall a particular small maid."

"I shall cast an eye through Verona," Antonio offered. "Perhaps I shall spy a likely maid there whose family would not object to a match with a family of means in Venice."

"I would be forever in thy debt."

"Then it is settled. I shall seek a trading partner for myself and a prospect for thy son." Antonio drained the last drops of his grappa and set the glass on the bench beside him.

"Wilt thou leave so soon?" Stefano asked.

"Ay." Antonio rose to his feet and Stefano followed suit. "I thank thee for thy hospitality, but I must begin to put my household in order that I might depart in a week's time. I shall see thee to take my leave of thee before then."

Stefano embraced him. "I shall send word to the gentlemen of Verona, and they will await thy pleasure."

Antonio bowed to his host, and left the garden.

He spent much of the week readying his letters of credit, arranging a supply of cash for the journey, and packing away samples of the gold, silks, and spices that were the basis of his trade. He left the house in the charge of his steward, but chose a retinue of men at arms and personal servants to accompany him to Verona, including an African Moor for effect.

Antonio visited Stefano once more before he left. As he had promised, Stefano had sent letters ahead to the heads of two wealthy families of Verona. "Thou wilt not lack hospitality there," he said, "for either man will offer thee a fine bed and entertainment. However, if thou dost desire other lodging, speak to Signior Amerigo Neri."

Antonio nodded his thanks. He suspected that he might pay Signior Neri a call in the end; it would not do to show favor while still courting the two merchants of Verona.

"Speak not the name of Montague in the house of Capulet, nor the name of Capulet in the house of Montague," Stefano went on. "I have had news that that feud is quiet at the moment, but I would not see thee fan the flames to life again."

"Of course."

"But come, let us dine!" Stefano gestured toward the doors that led to the dining salon. "It is thy last night in Venice for at least a fortnight, and I shall not let thee go without some good cheer."

Stefano's wife Vittoria awaited them in the dining salon. She greeted Antonio with a deep curtsey, and permitted him to kiss her hand. Bassanio stood at his mother's side, and Antonio embraced him fondly and ruffled his hair, which he immediately smoothed with his hands. Antonio smiled, remembering the vanity of his own youth, and Vittoria laughed.

"My son will attend a masque this night in the company of his new friend Gratiano," she explained. "I am not convinced that it is the most proper use of his time, but I cannot begrudge him such fine entertainment. I fear that Stefano and I have become dull with our years."

Antonio smiled. "Madam, you and your noble husband will never grow dull, and your company will never tarnish."

"You are a flatterer, Signior Antonio," Vittoria said.

Stefano raised his glass. "Then let us drink to the health of our flatterer, that he may show us the better side of our own natures for many years to come."

Vittoria and Bassanio raised their glasses as well, murmured assent to the toast, and drank deeply. Then Stefano signaled to his servants, who quickly filled trenchers from the dishes on the sideboard and set them before the family.

The dinner was excellent, as Antonio had expected, for Stefano's cook was one of the most renowed in Venice. Antonio savored every bite of the fish pasty and the delicate white wine, and shared some of his plans with Stefano. Stefano was pleased that Signior Neri would house Antonio during his sojourn in Verona. He agreed that it was better to avoid lodging with either of the two gentlemen whose business Antonio would solicit.

A gentle question to Bassanio provoked a lengthy, animated tale of Bassanio's latest adventures prowling the city with his friends Gratiano and Lorenzo, including a trip to the ghetto to ogle the pretty Jewesses hurrying about preparing for their Sabbath. Vittoria was horrified that her son had visited such a dangerous neighborhood and scolded him roundly. But Antonio caught Stefano's eye, and they hid their smiles behind their hands, for they both remembered youthful days spent trying to tweak the beards of the Jewish moneylenders and steal the veils from their wives.

Such sociability prolonged the meal until well after the stars had appeared in the sky, but at last, Antonio had to return to his bed, so that he could rise early for his departure. He embraced Stefano and bowed courteously to Vittoria. "I pray you forget not the hat that you promised me," Bassanio said.

Stefano frowned at his son's impertinence, but Antonio laughed. "I shall find a hatmaker before I depart Verona," he assured Bassanio. "I have even written myself a letter so that I will not forget."

He embraced his godson, then turned and left for his home.