‘Good grief, husband, I do not wish to know such details. I merely inquire when the cloth will be delivered. It was, after all, on my recommendation that the order was placed. This could be very profitable for us if she is pleased. My dear, departed husband Signore Bartoletti,’ here she crossed herself and muttered a penance to the dead, ‘always said the Palagio family would outgrow Bologna, and he was right. The brother is a papal envoy in Rome now and I hear Tommaso commands the ear of the preacher Savonarola.’

‘Business is good, the factories are at capacity. The lady Palagio’s cloth will be ready when it is finished,’ Vincenzio answered drolly. ‘Your reputation will remain untarnished.’

He broke off the other leg. Luna watched him shake his head back to avoid the dripping fat. His wild curls were caught beneath the velvet cap he always wore, though he had not managed to contain all of his charcoal hair. He finished the leg, giving Mamma Lucrezia a nod of approval. Luna hoped the food would make its way across to where she sat beside Maria but her step-mamma did not move it from Papa’s reach just yet.

‘What of that other matter?’ Mamma Lucrezia asked.

‘It is arranged,’ Papa answered.

Luna saw the broad smile that lit up her step-mamma’s eyes but her father’s near enough mirrored little Filippo’s, who was becoming increasingly frustrated, sitting in front of an empty plate.

‘Are we any closer to knowing when the contract will be signed?’

‘What contract?’ Luna asked.

‘Nothing has been decided,’ Papa said.

‘But you just said it was arranged?’ Mamma Lucrezia crossed her arms tightly.

‘I have agreed to meet with Tommaso next week, nothing more, and mark me, mistress, I have no intention of seriously entertaining his offer. I do this to humour you, my dear, though even on that front I may yet change my mind.’

‘You wouldn’t be so rude.’

‘I may yet if you do not stop haranguing me.’ He picked up a wing and bit into the roasted skin.

‘Do you not want a good match for your daughter?’

Papa dropped the bone to his plate.

Luna sat quite still, listening now with ears attuned. A thud began in her chest.

‘Indeed I do, though my sights are set much higher than young Guido Palagio. The boy’s father is no patrician. He voted in favour of exiling Piero de’ Medici from our city and he now follows the ways of the preacher. He would have me destroy the work of young Sandro Botticelli hanging there,’ he pointed to the wall behind him, ‘and my books. You begin to see my reluctance, I hope?’ He licked his fingers, adding as an afterthought, ‘How much did you spend this month?’

‘Only a little over budget. Do you enjoy the pheasant?’ Luna saw her step-mamma rest a hand over the yellowish bruise on her upper arm.