Apollonius walked on unimpeded. A blur of grey and white wings passed overhead as the church bells began to peal, heralding the lauds prayers. The pigeons swooped and then scattered across the sky like a handful of thrown seed. Vincenzio thought of the open skies of the Medici villa at Careggi where he would normally remove with his family through the hottest summer months. The sooner the Medicis were returned to society, the better, but it must be done when they were assured of success. The Medicis were bankers, not soldiers, and till they had the numbers in the Signoria they should stay away. He blamed Piero for the family’s fate; Lorenzo’s son was weak and lacked his father’s tactical mind. Vincenzio cursed his old friend for raising a fool, then thought better and crossed himself in deference to the dead who might yet hear his thoughts. He needed the Medicis back in control of the city; their bank had always lent to him handsomely at attractive rates but only a fool would taunt the dragon that was Savonarola without enough armour to protect himself. Piero must be patient; now was too soon to raise his defence.

Vincenzio shifted in the saddle as they passed the prison’s open window, where a body swung on the hanging rope. He could not tell if the lost soul was young or old, for the man’s flesh moved with maggots and his eyes were no longer distinguishable in the sink of muscle and cheek. Beneath the window were the portraits of those sentenced for lesser crimes; traitors and sodomites, even debtors were pictured, their names and crimes writ large for all to see. Shame was almost worse than death in this city, now forever under the eye of the preacher Savonarola. Vincenzio crossed himself and spurred his horse into a canter once more.