A group of men walked by and stopped in front of the statues. Luna moved along politely to the edge of the loggia. They were young and bright and they wore the white robes that the preacher Savonarola insisted his devoted followers adopt. Luna watched them discreetly. They were not afraid to attract attention as they spoke loudly and took up space with their gesticulating. There was something familiar about the group, and she realised they had the same wild camaraderie as the boys who’d accosted her outside the monastery the day before. She turned to go, but glanced back at the sound of one of their voices and saw it was indeed one of the same mischievous louts. It surprised her that the preacher should accept these boys as followers. They showed no sign of God’s spirit within them, at least in her experience.

She moved on before the group noticed her presence and hurried down Via dei Neri, turning into one of the tiny alleys that linked through to the Borgo dei Greci. She stopped at a tabernacle to pray for her father’s swift recovery. The chubby cheeks of the baby Jesus in Mother Mary’s arms reminded her of Pippo as a baby. An offering of fresh flowers had been placed against the terracotta base. Luna crossed herself; this would make up for missing morning prayers at home.

The laneway snaked between uneven shopfronts overhung by apartments. In the open space above, a tablecloth had been hung out to dry on a length of twine strung from one window across to an opposite one. It flapped cheerfully in the wind and made the day feel happy. She came out into Borgo dei Greci, pitching from side to side as she favoured her good leg, swinging the other forward with determination. Her walking stick clicked against the paved stones rhythmically. Finally there was the church. She pulled a sprig of rosemary from a wild bush and inhaled the sweet fragrance as she walked the final path. Her father had told her it was not so long ago that this part of the city was still marshland outside the walls. Luna tried to picture what it would have looked like. It was not so hard to imagine the smell, for the boggy waters still festered.