Luna watched the activity of the yard one afternoon whilst she sat at a desk by the windows and read a letter from Friar Bartolomeo. He wrote of the endless pleasure he took in hearing how favourably she found conditions at the Novara estate and her hosts, and spoke of how quiet his days had become without her curiosity to distract him. Luna smiled at that because it told her that he missed her. Her friend wrote that Friar Savonarola had returned from his audience with Pope Alexander VI in Rome and was preaching again, in defiance of the Pope’s orders. His devotees were dwindling though, in fear of excommunication, and the city was rallying. A festive group calling themselves Compagnacci—the bad comrades—were challenging Savonarola’s ban of Carnival celebrations and hoped to have the season resurrected. Luna read with shock about a gang of these Compagnacci who had pelted the preacher’s fanciulli with stones, grabbing crosses from the young boys and smashing them, screaming, ‘Take their crosses!’ and ‘Throw the false prophet in the Arno!’ She shivered at the memory of Filippo wearing the white robes of these angel children. The friar spoke of the orange citrons he’d enjoyed, made using the fruit from her tree in the monastery’s quadrangle. He had kept some to send on to Luna at the convent. He inquired as to her departure date though reminded her she must take the time she needed for respite. He begged her for another letter and signed off May the Lord bless you. She traced the line of his name with her finger, pleased to have had word from her friend. She felt reassured he was safe.

Luna folded the sheet and slipped the letter into her pocket. She would think on her reply and write back to the friar later. Firewood was being cut and she listened to the repetitive whack of the axe. Men hidden beneath sheepskin cloaks trudged across the yard carrying sacks to the kitchen doors. Some wore mittens to protect against the cold. Luna heard the door open and turned, expecting to see Elisabetta returned from inspecting her chickens in their winter coop, but it was Nicolaus. His smiling welcome was such a surprise she felt a jolt that flushed blithely through her. She smiled back and rose to greet him. They stood by the mantel and Luna warmed her hands in front of the fire.

‘It is cold as ice out there. Thank goodness for this fire,’ he said.

‘You look to have been walking?’ A path of mud flakes followed him.

He turned with his back to the fireplace and frowned at the sight. ‘I’ll be in trouble for bringing dirt into the hall. I’ve been out all morn plotting the most favourable position in the estate to view the lunar eclipse that is predicted for five weeks hence. The professor has me straight back into work.’