The preacher held aloft a crucifix and the sun caught its gleam and sent a blinding light into the congregation. ‘God has called me to reform the city and the Church, and God’s will will be done. I urge you to put to death all those who desire the restoration of the Medici. Repent, O Florence, whilst there is still time,’ he called. ‘Clothe thyself in the white garments of purification. Wait no longer, for there may be no further time for repentance.’

Luna glanced anxiously at Papa but she couldn’t tell if the preacher’s words worried him. He listened as those around him did, his expression immutable as the marble face of the carved Virgin Mary looking down at the babe in her lap in the private chapel on the far aisle.

‘To preserve and strengthen your city now, Florentines, you must love one another. The citizens must drop feuds and forget all past offences. God will reward your benevolence. Go back, Florentines, to the spare, simple ways of Christ, and show others the way.’

Luna heard tenderness in his entreaties to the congregation and there was a murmur of agreement from the floor. The people swayed and gasped as one as the preacher grew ever more impassioned. Luna swayed just as the strangers around her did, and there was a warm fealty in doing so.

‘The Devil uses the great to oppress the poor so the poor can’t do good.’ The preacher pointed sharply into the crowd and Luna felt as though he was singling her out but then she noticed others’ faces in equal measure of rapture and remorse. No one uttered a sound; they were all beholden to the man in the pulpit. His voice rose, high-pitched in its condemnation. ‘Remove from amongst yourselves these poems and games and taverns, and the evil fashions of women’s clothes.’ His voice rose again, this time to a violent squeal, feeding off the congregation’s adoration like a sapling to water. ‘Throw out everything noxious to the health of the soul. Let everyone live for God and not for the world. Love all in simplicity and charity.’

Luna felt a stirring of rapture in her belly. She turned to her step-mamma and grasped her hand a moment, holding steady to her stick with the other. Then, noticing Friar Bartolomeo beside her, she nodded to him. Her father stood nearby and so, without thinking, she reached across and grasped his palm, warm in her own, before letting go. Luna felt this preacher had found the good in them all. She reached out and took Maria’s hand next. They were all here together.