Shouting could be heard from outside the city gates. When we tried to enter, we were greeted by chaos. My lieutenants gathered around me, our horses well trained enough to not balk at the noise and confusion and we pressed into the city.

The streets were overflowing with angry people, and seemed to be directed by small groups of youths clad in dirty white robes. I handed my captain an iron scroll case, sealed in wax. “Giovanni, get this to Ficino. He will know where the boy has gone.” The crowd parted as he urged his mount down the narrow streets and into the din.

The rest of us drew swords and moved into the crowd. One of the robed ones approached us. His once white cassock dragged through the mud as he stormed at us fearlessly. Eyebrows knitted with rage he screamed, “Come with us, brothers! The city of Florence is preparing to cast out the filth of the papal dogs! Renounce the sodomy and excesses of the past and join us in purging with fire!”

“Enough!” I said, “Come, men. we have work to do.”