Vincenzio paused, hand in the air as though about to stroke the baby’s head. Soft, muffled noises came from the squirming infant. Instead, he crossed himself. ‘We must embrace the path our Lord Jesus Christ, in His divine mercy, has chosen for us. Did He not say blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the Earth? This is my daughter and she will be raised as a Fusili.’

An immense tiredness swamped Giulia. Another flood of warm fluid gushed from her and she reached for a fresh piece of linen to push between her legs. But her body felt heavy and she struggled to move at all. The bursts of pain had solidified into an agonising, tight band that left no space for air. The baby cooed and squirmed where she lay exposed, so near that Giulia could almost touch her.

The spark of mother’s love she’d suppressed ignited once again; her daughter was to stay with her after all. She felt a prickling in her breasts and realised that now she had permission to mother, her milk would come soon enough. She reached out for her baby, but a prodigious weight pressed on her arms. Vincenzio picked up the newborn and walked to the window. Only when he was ready would Giulia be allowed to hold her babe. This was her punishment and she was as powerless as her baby. In truth, she could not lift her arms; a new lethargy had swamped her and it was as much as she could manage to stay awake.

The wind had dropped so that all was silent. The sky beyond the window was as dark as the winter’s soil and spotted with a million stars. The Moon hung high above them all. A small hand flapped helplessly from the swaddling and Giulia sighed at the healthy bracelets of skin that rolled around her baby’s wrist. How cold her little fingers must feel. But her baby had stopped crying. Her husband’s mood had settled too; Giulia could tell from the steady way he swayed from side to side, rocking the baby. He bowed his head to speak into the smallest, softest of ears.

‘Rejoice, lunetta del mio cuore, on this most magnificent night of your birth in the year of our Lord 1479, under a Moon as innocent as you are pure. Beyond those hills is your home, Florence. You are a Fusili and I will protect you, little moon of my heart. We will explore this world together.’

Giulia smiled and tried to speak but only a thin gasp escaped. She shivered in the damp sheets. She could not call out or lift an arm. The pain was now pressing on her like a thick blanket, so she lay still and watched her husband and daughter silhouetted against the window as the pain smothered all she could see.