He turned his attention to the parchment page thrust upon him by Bernardo from within his own studiolo. What a duplicitous cat he’d spawned in Luna. To think she went behind his back and wrote that! Her hand was never as confident as his own; her letters were obvious, to him at least. If it came out she’d written that nonsense, his reputation would be permanently damaged. He’d believed her mind, adorned with knowledge, was excellent, and trusted that her soul was manly, but now she seemed so abject and so truly a woman that he saw none of the estimable qualities he’d thought she possessed. He paced the room and decided October was too long a wait to be rid of her; he’d send her to the nuns forthwith.

A wretched feeling swamped him and Vincenzio was forced to hold the table for support. Once he’d managed to control himself, he looked to the heavens and made the Sign of the Cross. Giulia had been right all along, God bless her soul: there was a part of Luna that was the Devil’s work. He would no longer trouble himself about where she lived out the remainder of her days. It was God’s will she be sent away.

The bolt creaked loud as it was swung aside and Vincenzio was glad to see Bernardo appear through the doorway.

‘What news?’ he asked his friend without waiting on pleasantries. ‘When do we address the Signoria?’

Bernardo had a pitcher of wine and he filled the cup and handed it to Vincenzio.

‘Why did you have Medici florins?’ he asked, and sat heavily. ‘Speak openly, my friend.’

Vincenzio slapped his thigh. ‘By Christ’s body, will that family never give me peace? How did they discover the coin was mine?’

‘Master Palmieri told the magistracy that it was your wife who paid him with Medici florins.’

Vincenzio shook his head. ‘Will this go badly for me?’

‘I will do my best, but they raise an argument you plot to return Piero de’ Medici and his brothers to Florence.’ He got up and refilled Vincenzio’s cup. ‘The blasphemous parchment gave me evidence enough to arrest you on a charge of heresy. Now they want me to add another—the charge of a crime against the state—for good measure and to secure your fate.’

‘I am neither. I love my city and my God.’ Vincenzio spread his arms wide then saw the way his hands shook like an old man’s, like his father’s used to do. He clutched them together and made as though to pray.

‘The evidence points otherwise. They mean to condemn you. Savonarola’s men still dominate.’

‘They lie in their throats. I do not agree with the preacher, but I would not have him dead, for sure.’ The words tumbled out as easily as grain from a sack, so fast any guise of honesty loosened and was lost like chaff.

‘You damned him to Hell at Mass only two sennights ago, by your own tongue, Vincenzio.’