‘Settle your gibbering nerves or we begin to look guilty.’ Vincenzio could hear the pad of feet behind them as the congregation splintered. He fell to his knees and bent in prayer. Friar Bartolomeo followed suit. They stayed thus until the sound of movement dropped and a quiet settled on the church. Vincenzio felt his bones pinch as he heaved himself to stand. He would need one of Lucrezia’s poultices this night.

The two men walked to the outer doors of the church and stood in the sunlight. The square was busy now, with traders hawking their wares and people bustling into shopfronts. Vincenzio watched the familiar scene and when he spoke it was with a tone set to convince himself as much as Friar Bartolomeo.

‘Be assured we are working for the good of our city, and when Piero returns to take his rightful seat in the Signoria his favour will be our reward.’

The sun burned against his forehead. He dreaded the heat, for it brought drought and that would slow production and only add to his woes. He had not reckoned with losing more funds to the Medici cause so soon. He willed the panic broiling in his chest to settle as he looked out into the strangers’ faces, hoping not to see Luna’s amongst them. He had not the patience to deal with his daughter’s curiosity.

The people moved about their business, content as those who’d only ever tasted farro soup. It was his duty to aid in the return of justice and liberty to this great city, even if only a few of its citizens appreciated the value of what he aspired to restore. They were all of them at the mercy of the preacher Savonarola and his prejudice, from the peasants to the intellectuals. He’d heard Savonarola planned on issuing a decree that locked all women in their homes to save them from licentiousness.

‘Did you yourself see the portrait into the wagon?’ Vincenzio asked.

‘Yes, it is already on its way to Pistoia.’ Friar Bartolomeo was pleased to talk of something other than the Medicis.

‘Excellent,’ Vincenzio said. ‘I want to be rid of this Medici task as soon as possible, and a work journey gives me an excuse to visit the estates on Piero’s list. I will make arrangements for a few weeks hence; let us hope the painting arrives in time.’

‘Your decision will be hard on Luna,’ the friar said as he turned back to the grandeur of the church, but Vincenzio barely heard the words; he was already striding off down the stone steps.

*