Vincenzio slapped his gloves against his thigh. He did it again and again and the sharp sound made him feel a little better. He’d bundled them all into the carriage at the conclusion of the Mass and sent it home. God’s teeth, how he’d wanted to join them so he could be there when the doctor arrived to assess Filippo, but he’d had to leave that to his wife’s good work. He trusted she’d waste no time in calling the doctor.

At least Guido Palagio had not been hurt by Luna, though Vincenzio anticipated with rueful distaste another bill of reparation forthwith, a cost he could little afford. He’d assumed Luna would have recognised Guido, surely the womenfolk gossiped? The man was to marry Maria after all! Vincenzio shook his head. Luna had no interest in such talk and so the man who was to become her brother remained a stranger.

Signore Palagio waited for him already in the tavern on Via San Gallo but Vincenzio needed a moment to think and found a stone seat to rest upon. Tommaso had been outraged when he saw how Luna comported herself and they’d exchanged heated words, which Vincenzio now regretted. The man’s reaction was understandable; Luna had struck his son, and he’d be lucky to only receive a fine. She’d become unmanageable and because of her behaviour, he must claw back the good reputation of his name yet again. What was worse, now he could not afford to lose the Palagio marriage contract. His hands formed tight fists against his thighs; without the Palagio name to underwrite his new loan, he’d be forced to leave the shipment of wool at the docks for another month. It would mean reprioritising the orders. He shook his head. Would God’s benevolence desert him forever? The Palagio fabric was still not finished and Vincenzio would not countenance disappointment from his wife. The thought of her reaction filled him with resentment. He’d have to delay paying the fullers and the dyers, then there were the contract weavers in the contado. Damn it, if any of them refused to work without getting paid it would affect all the orders. He’d already been forced to shut his shop in Prato and planned on keeping that quiet for as long as he could. The Medici coin had all gone to the household expenses. He peered about cautiously. Friar Bartolomeo had warned him there was gossip afoot about coins stamped with the Medici crest in circulation. A shopkeeper had received one as payment only last week. Vincenzio closed his eyes to settle his racing pulse. He must be more careful from now on.