‘Walk with me to prayers,’ Friar Bartolomeo said, and Vincenzio fell into step beside him. The rich tolling was as familiar as his own heartbeat and the story it told hadn’t changed since he was a child. Yet Vincenzio hardly remembered the boy who stood watching for his father’s return each evening when the vespers bells rang out. He remembered the damp smell of their small home, the dull light, the muffled thwack of his father’s fists on his mother’s cheek. These memories he allowed to fester like a weeping sore; he needed them. But the nervous boy waiting for his father’s tired eyes to see him, that boy had all but vanished.

The pair passed through the larger cloister and into the main church, where others were gathered for prayer. Vincenzio dropped his head and closed his eyes; he needed God’s touch this day. Noblemen stepped forward to take the eucharist. Vincenzio hung back and waited. One day he would be first to drink of God’s blood and eat of his flesh. For now, he spoke the prayer and waited his turn. A shimmer of white and grey flew in the air behind the altar. It was a bird, so frequently seen amongst the rafters of the church, but the sight made Vincenzio stop still. The flash of white dropped downwards suddenly, just as Filippo had fallen. God’s teeth, he’d never forget that sight. There’d be no peace till the preacher Savonarola was gone, no peace for him or for any other father of Florence. He clenched his fists. There was still much to do.

Vincenzio rode home slowly and brought Apollonius into the courtyard with a firm rein. The horse still had energy to lose and pulled against the strain of his hold. The hollow clop of his pawing hoof echoed on the stones and Lucrezia’s face appeared over the balcony above.

‘Husband, I would speak with you.’ She followed him into his studiolo. ‘How fare you?’

‘Well enough, my dear,’ he answered and sat whilst she eased off each of his boots. Something was amiss but he had not the concentration for his wife’s hysterics.

‘Some wine.’ Lucrezia poured a cup and gave it to her husband. She stood by the window watching him. He was still a handsome man, despite the years. His curls would always be thick and luxuriant and that gave him a youthful air that many of his peers no longer boasted. ‘I wish to speak to you of something Signore Palagio said over dinner last week.’

Vincenzio drank the wine and held out his cup for more, ruing the fact he’d not tackled this conversation earlier. She didn’t wait for him to drink the second cup of wine before speaking.