Apollonius shied skittishly as the first clang of hammer against anvil came from the dark interior of a blacksmith’s shop. A figure crossed their path. Vincenzio recognised the familiar lope of a drunkard skulking home the moment the city gates reopened. There were always a few who chose to drink and gamble all night rather than risk a fine for violating the curfew. He’d enjoyed such nights in his youth and felt a stab of longing for the appetite of his younger self. Since Friar Savonarola’s preaching ways, he’d been careful to restrict his pleasures to the intimacy of his own private rooms, but he’d been forced to curtail even those evenings with so many of the preacher’s marauding boys sticking their long noses into the business of respectable households. Damn the puritanical preacher; Vincenzio sorely missed visiting his favourite brothel girls. He laid a hand on his horse’s neck, feeling his own raised heartbeat as he stroked the quivering skin. Keeping only to his wife’s bed was bearable if it was but a temporary stay, as would be the demands on his purse if he had not over extended. He’d not the coin to purchase the expensive silks all the ladies requested lately. They were fools for believing it superior to wool. He did not understand the fashion for it.

He pressed his knees more tightly against the horse’s flank. First they must free the city from the clutches of Friar Savonarola. He was mightily popular and had the whole city believing the Medicis were Devil-bred and their success a sin; all success a sin, in fact! So many families thought he truly was the mouthpiece of God. Vincenzio would laugh at their gullibility had not the preacher such a strong hold over his beloved city. The recently established Great Council was stacked with the preacher’s supporters. Tommaso Palagio, the puritanical fool, did Savonarola’s work amongst the gentlemen of the Signoria. Vincenzio had had the misfortune of being in the audience for one of Tommaso’s weak-lipped speeches in favour of Savonarola at the Platonic Academy. If that institution fell to the preacher’s honeyed ways, then they’d all be lost. For now though, he must appear to support Savonarola; he’d agreed to his own son joining the preacher’s fanciulli at Mass. It was distasteful, but he’d take the family and be loud in his praise. No doubt Tommaso Palagio would be there with his son, Guido, too.

A pigeon flew straight towards Vincenzio and he instinctively dipped his head to avoid the bird. He had no intention of accepting the Palagio marriage offer for his most valuable daughter, Maria. The man was a fool to think he had a chance. Vincenzio had his own plan in progress.