The friar nodded. ‘That is not what I am most concerned about, however. They asked if I knew of any of my family returning to the city.’

‘What did you tell them?’ Vincenzio kept his face empty of expression as he spoke; who knew where the preacher’s spies loitered.

Friar Bartolomeo wrung his hands.

‘Take control of yourself,’ Vincenzio snapped.

The friar shook his head. ‘I did not tell them anything, but I fair thought my tongue would slip from my throat.’

‘God’s teeth, that is a relief! The news is bad. Roberto is dead. I heard it said before Mass. More than likely there will be an investigation. So we must keep our mouths shut tight.’

‘God save his soul,’ the friar said and crossed himself. ‘What should I do? They will surely come for me next.’

‘Try to control yourself. Your face is red as a whore’s painted cheek.’ Then he spoke more reassuringly. ‘If the Great Council believed you’d colluded with Roberto then surely they would have arrested you when they searched the monastery this morn and you’d already be hanging from the prison wall.’

‘I may have condemned my brothers.’ Friar Bartolomeo spoke more evenly, but there was still an edge to his voice.

His friend could be right. Vincenzio thought quickly. The Medici trail still might lead the soldiers of the Great Council to the monastery as well as his own door. But what could he do? ‘Maintain your calm,’ was all he said, ‘and be careful, for the risk to us now is doubled. I will delay my journey to Pistoia.’

‘But what of your pledge to Piero, for the soldiers?’ Friar Bartolomeo hissed. ‘Would it not be better to get it done whilst attention is on the city and the Medici spy they uncovered?’

‘It is too risky right now.’

‘I don’t know which is worse: the ire of the Medicis or the Great Council? How verily I wish I were not related to that family!’