A tier of wooden stands framed each side of the pulpit, erected for the choir boys, but this day they were empty. The noise sank to a low whisper as the congregation settled. This was the time Luna enjoyed the most, just before Mass began, when the communal silence felt like a soothing blanket. She dropped her head and tried to clear her mind so that she might hear the grace of the Lord. Her laced-up boots stood out against the other ladies’ shoes. Then a sprinkling of light glittered on her arm. She looked up to where the sun’s beams shone through a pane of painted glass and was reminded of Giotto’s painting of St John Ascending. She accepted the warmth of the sun’s touch as a sign from the Lord that she was as welcome as any of the other ladies in church.

A gentle nudge to her waist made Luna turn. Maria pointed to a line of monks in the dark robes of the Dominican order moving slowly down the aisle, swinging their censers. The way they shuffled made Luna think they must be old and wearied but as they passed she saw smooth-skinned cheeks peeking from beneath their hoods. The incense floated a few moments around them, then disappeared into the air. Luna shifted her weight. A monk separated from the group and climbed the pulpit. He was small and gaunt, which surprised Luna, for she’d expected Friar Savonarola, so full of passion and fire, to be a big man.

At first he spoke calmly, in a loud voice, surveying his audience. His eyes flashed deep green beneath heavy black brows. Luna thought he sounded a little like her father. Spittle flew from his thick, fleshy lips and hit the faces of those standing closest to the pulpit.

‘The Lord has placed me here,’ he declared, ‘and He has said to me: “I have put you here as a watchman in the centre of Italy that you may hear my words and announce them to the people.”

‘The Lord has driven my ship into the open sea; the wind drives me forward. The Lord forbids my return. I spoke last night with the Lord and said, “Pity me, O Lord. Lead me back to my haven.” “It is impossible,” said the Lord. “See you not that the wind is contrary?” “I will preach, if so I must, but why need I meddle with the government of Florence?” “If you would make Florence a holy city, you must establish her on firm foundations and give her a government which favours virtue.”’