"Perhaps, then, thy home is not circumscribed to one sole place as thou say'st. Thou art not bound by the shadow of one great palace, the soil of one land, the reaches of one noble lord. There is freedom in that. Is there some quality of the road then that calls out as home? Or, as I have known such souls, an aspect of the sea? Some as I know them would say that when the wind is fair and the waves lap and curl just so then there is their home."

He pours her a cup of wine and offers it to her. The drink is not fancy by any means, but it does pair perfectly with conversation. Sweet enough to loosen the tongue of most, by Iago's reckoning.

"I have been thinking of late of the bells, my good lady, in my home. There's many a church close at hand, where I was born. And through the day they announce the hour or call all to mass--their singing echoes off of Venice's old stones and across the canals and through the markets and the palazzos. I am no crow-black ghostly father, no, and have little patience for their like, but methought it was as if the saints themselves did wag their tongues in time with the chatter and calling of my countrymen. I do miss it."