‘Take comfort from the pearl when you hear the laughter of scorn,’ he told her in his deep, confident voice, ‘and be reminded that you walk in the Lord’s shadow, whose sacrifice teaches that beauty is not always visible to the eye. You are a Fusili, lunetta del mio cuore, and you must never show your weakness.’

One morning, shortly after she’d been given the walking stick, Luna was in the square in front of their palazzo, testing the extra balance it gave her, when a girl stuck out her foot just far enough for Luna to trip. Quick as a whip, Luna brought her walking stick down upon the girl’s ankle with a mighty smack. There followed many minutes of shocked silence amongst the girl’s friends, during which Luna stood her ground though her heart pounded loudly. Her father’s words rang in her ears. No one spoke as they helped their friend away but Luna never left the house without her cane after that.

Luna leant heavily on her stick as the sound of the mule’s slow plod grew louder. The afternoon sun beat down and she wished she didn’t have to wear her cloak, but her step-mamma insisted. Friar Bartolomeo brought the mule to a standstill beside Luna. She grabbed hold of its coarse mane and the sweet smell of trampled barn hay caught in her nostrils as she clambered into the saddle.

‘Stop your fretting. I’ll get you home well before curfew,’ the friar said reassuringly as he kicked the footstool away to rest against the monastery wall and took hold of the mule’s lead, clicking his tongue in encouragement to start the animal walking.

There was naught Luna could do to speed up their progress so she settled as comfortably as she could into the side saddle, both legs bumping against the mule’s warm side. They moved apace through the dirty streets of cloth dyers and weavers, and even though her father had left this quarter before she was born, Luna felt a kinship with the locals. The houses were high and narrow with shopfronts at street level and private apartments above. Some were no wider than a wagon, but rising three or four storeys so they always cast a shadow and trapped the sewer stench in the air below. Owners were closing the shutters across the botteghe and tired shop assistants sidestepped the mule in their haste to get home.