The timing of this Medici agent’s arrival could not be worse. No doubt he was here to demand funds from loyal supporters such as he to begin to raise the army Piero should have summoned when first his rivals challenged him. Vincenzio shook his head at the thought of losing more coin to the cause of returning the Medici to power. Piero was draining the Fusili coffers faster than Vincenzio could fill them. The new shopfront in Prato was supposed to increase his income, but trade there had been disappointing. At least he’d be able to assess what was causing the slow trade in Prato when he visited the shop himself. He must finalise the date of his forthcoming work travels.

His head still ached monstrously so that he grimaced as he shouted to the stable boy to make haste. He was angry that Roberto had gone first to Friar Bartolomeo rather than directly to him, when it was Vincenzio who had Piero’s confidence. The man was unpredictable; who knew where else he might have stopped, a tavern even! If someone had recognised Roberto, then the attack in the alley last night may not have been as random as Vincenzio had led his wife to believe. It could very well have been a warning to him.

Vincenzio remembered the bolts of cloth in production for the mistress Palagio and his wife’s unsubtle questioning of the previous evening. He scribbled a note for his manager to push the progress of that order above all others and sent it off with a servant. If the order was late, Lucrezia would never serve him roast pheasant again and he did so love the fatty flesh on the bigger birds.

The dawn was just leaking into the sky as he rode out of the courtyard. He kicked hard against his horse’s flank and bent low to the reins. The throbbing in his head increased but he ignored it; he meant to reach the monastery before full daylight brought activity into the streets. They clattered across the piazza and he tilted sharply to the left as they swung into Via dei Neri. Apollonius reared and snorted as if to say give me my head, but Vincenzio held the reins short and hard, knees tight against the beast’s flank as their path narrowed and it became impossible to do more than walk. His brow dampened with the effort of keeping his horse in check as they weaved through the alleyways and it was with some relief he saw the road widen as they turned and the gates of the city prison came into view; only a short distance beyond was Piazza Santa Croce. Thankfully, it was still too early for the usual crowd of plaintiffs to have gathered outside the prison or even any dauntless bystanders hoping to see a fresh victim hanging from the rope.