Friar Bartolomeo grabbed Luna by the shoulders and turned her forcefully to face him. ‘We must go. If any of the preacher’s men recognise you, then most certainly you will die here.’

‘Let me!’ she wailed. ‘I want to die!’

‘No, we must go!’ The light of the fire flickered on Friar Bartolomeo’s panicked face.

A monstrous heat pressed on them. Luna found it hard to breathe. She cried out once more, for her sister, her brother, her step-mamma, for Livia. The fire crackled in response.

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Vincenzio took in his surroundings. There were worse rooms in the Palazzo della Signoria and this was nothing like he’d heard prison cells described; indeed there was a bed and a woollen blanket, a writing desk with quill and ink, even a small pitcher for washing on the desk. There was little here to give him cause for concern. A cup also, he noted, relieved to think he’d get some wine. The window was small but it opened when pushed. The door was held shut with a bolt that would not shift under even Goliath’s strength, but Bernardo would return soon enough and the bolt loosed and he home by day’s end. At least he wasn’t up in the tower.

What an extraordinary turn of events had overtaken his morning. Never before had so much attention been paid to him, and by so many illustrious gentlemen. Even now he thought he could hear the senior members of the Signoria gathering below. Everyone of import would be there. Most of them had been at the lecture yesterday afternoon too. The thought fired him and he turned for the cup, forgetting for a moment he was not at home and the wine yet to appear. Bernardo would defend him; together they’d make a formidable voice.

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.