Vincenzio’s grip tightened on Giulia’s small hands. ‘What is this you tell me? The Devil’s work …?’ He would not meet her gaze and his eyes swept across the bed as though looking for something. ‘What happened?’

‘There will be another seed soon and I will not fail you a second time. We cannot blame ourselves. It is God’s will.’ Giulia spoke quickly and crossed herself in confirmation of their loss, hoping this would be enough to end the conversation.

‘What of the baby I hear crying? It sounds healthy as an ox. I do not understand?’ He stood and turned towards the door.

A great sadness swelled in Giulia as she watched him. It flooded through her like a drowning wave so that her breaths came short and swift and she gasped for air. Vincenzio swung round and stood over her, so close she could see the throb of his pulse in the side of his neck. She instinctively shrank back but he did not raise his hand and his silent judgement was more oppressive than any previous punishment she’d endured.

‘I will bear sons pure of body and heart, many Fusili to honour you, but this one was born under a cursed full Moon.’ She glanced towards the open window and the dark of night beyond, where the Moon she feared was rising. ‘Behold and you will see la maledetta luna, taunting us with her fulsome glow even as this horrible, cursed day ends.’ Giulia took a deep breath. ‘You do not need to see the child. I have dealt with it.’

‘What have you done?’ Vincenzo’s voice was low.

She knew better than to answer. They may only have seen one winter as a married couple but the signs of her husband’s dark mood were clear and the chance to appeal to his affection was over.

Giulia watched Vincenzio stagger to the framed image of the Virgin Mary and fall to his knees, spreading his arms wide. Minutes passed in which all she heard were his mumbled prayers. Then he cried out and it sent a jolt of shock through her.

‘Why have I lost your favour thus?’ His arms, raised up momentarily in adoration, dropped again to the floor.

Giulia shrank against the bedhead, more terrified of this strange and melancholic outburst than of her husband’s anger.

‘This is my doing and it is I who must repent,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘I will pray every hour for God’s forgiveness, until you tell me to stop.’

He did not seem to hear her. ‘Am I no longer the head of this family?’

‘Most assuredly you are.’ She paused to find the strength to continue. ‘There are none who command the respect of the wool guild as you do, my husband.’

‘Then who are you to decide the fate of my child?’