‘That will do for today, Master Lippi.’ Friar Bartolomeo ushered the painter from the room and, turning to Luna, gestured for her to change. She did not need encouragement and disappeared behind the screen, tugging off the gamurra and underskirts with relief. For a moment she stood in only her shift, enjoying the rise and fall of her unconstrained belly. There was a woman’s shape about her body now; her waist dipped inwards and her hips balanced out the roundness of her bosom. When she lifted her arms there were dark patches of hair like the curled fur on a kitten’s belly. Luna released the clasp of her necklace and felt the heaviness of the garnet cross in her palm before replacing it in the jewellery box along with the rings from her fingers. Friar Bartolomeo would arrange for the box to be returned to her home. There was only the pearl netting to remove. Her temple had begun to throb because her hair was so tightly pulled back from her face. She tugged on the knot and felt it loosen and the two front curls dropped a little. She looked forward to taking out all the pins when she got home and running her fingers through her hair till it felt free and loose.

Friar Bartolomeo coughed discreetly and so she hurried along, pulling on the long-sleeved shirt and slipping the woollen skirt over her head before tying it around her waist. Then she hooked together her bodice before draping her cloak around her shoulders.

‘Let us get you home.’ He held out her walking stick. ‘There’s no need to pretend any more.’

‘If that was pretending, I’ve done a poor job of it.’ Luna lifted her chin defiantly but she took the wooden stick without further protestation and, after a few steps, rested her other arm on his shoulder for support. Her leg throbbed from lack of movement and with each step, she felt her stump press and pinch within the boot.

Outside, Luna waited on the grassy verge whilst the friar went to saddle the mule. She shifted about to avoid sinking into the mud that lay beneath the top cover of grass and straw. The Franciscans complained to the city officials about the uninhabitable bog that stretched behind the church to the city walls but nothing could be done to counter nature’s wilfulness. Her quiet contemplation was broken by the church bells, ringing in the nones prayers. Luna looked in the direction of Porta alla Croce. Before long the streets would be busy with the butchers and tanners who traded beyond the walls and others who worked on the river and in the fields, making their way home before the nightly hour of curfew. Luna didn’t like being amongst so many strangers; they were not kind to cripples.