The monks of Saint Ambrose, not wishing to deny any man a meal, obligingly fed Alessandro a bowl of gruel. It contained more vegetables than usual and even a little meat, courtesy of the leftovers from a feast held at the Archbishop’s home to honour those patrons who had donated funds to the building of the Duomo. Feeling the need to rest, Alessandro took a blanket from a monk and curled up in a corner of the Duomo and fell asleep. Later that evening when he woke from his nap, the sky was filled with long wisps of pink clouds like outstretched tentacles that pointed towards the golden globe that dipped on the horizon. He watched the sun slip lazily out of sight, and the clouds turn at first to grey and then black.
It was a cool evening, one with few people about. Wandering the quiet stree
