As he was staring at the pavilion, imagining the appearance and impact of various climbing plants, Francis saw Father Guido on its threshold, still gazing at the sea in the early morning light. He eventually stepped out, seeming rather dazed and lost in thought.

‘Good morning,’ Francis called, across the rock garden.

‘Ah, buongiorno,’ said Father Guido. ‘It is very beautiful. Everything is very beautiful, you agree?’

‘I agree,’ said Francis, walking over to the pavilion, smiling. ‘You’re up early.’

‘I have not been to bed,’ said Father Guido. ‘I have felt too exhilarated by the party and the kindness of the guests and the power of the concert, and then, when I was determined to go indoors, I was enchanted by the rising sun. I have been sitting here.’ Father Guido indicated the cushioned bench inside the pavilion.

‘May I?’ said Francis.

‘Of course,’ said Father Guido, seeming delighted to have an excuse to go back to his favourite spot. ‘Let’s sit down and look through this archway. For some reason it is even more beautiful, when it is …’ Father Guido searched for the English word.

‘Framed?’ suggested Francis.

‘Exactly. Like a picture,’ said Father Guido. ‘Nothing is added to the view, except the edges, and so it becomes a picture!’

‘Yes,’ said Francis.

‘So, you are the one who is up early,’ said Father Guido.

‘That’s right,’ said Francis. ‘I’m a naturalist, and Hunter asked me to have a look around and think of some ways to help more plants and animals make a home here.’

‘Oh, that is excellent,’ said Father Guido. ‘I am a Franciscan and we love all forms of life, all aspects of creation.’

‘Perhaps you can help me come up with some ideas,’ said Francis. ‘Saul tells me you have some lovely woods and gardens around your monastery.’

‘Ah, yes, it is lovely,’ said Father Guido. ‘I have always lived in Perugia, which is very fortunate, but you know, everything has grown quieter there since I was a boy. The birds are quieter in the spring, the cicadas are quieter in the summer. When we were children, we used to go into the woods to watch the fireflies; now many of the woods are dark. My mother used to warn me to watch out for the cinghiale, how you say?’

‘Wild boar.’

‘Yes! Now I would be so happy to see more of them. The country has grown …’

‘Thin?’ suggested Francis.

‘Yes, thin. Instead of an orchestra, we have a harpsichord, an old harpsichord, so to speak, with many dead keys.’

‘Ninety-three per cent of the biomass of all the birds and mammals on this planet is made up of human beings and their domesticated animals,’ said Francis, ‘only seven per cent is wild.’

‘Can this be true?’ said Father Guido.

‘Yes, that’s how much wildlife is crushed under existing conditions.’