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‘What is this place?’

‘This is the oratory, originally built more than two centuries ago for various ceremonies, and for devotion.’ Anticipating the question, he explained, ‘For quiet contemplation and prayer. Here, important pious people, members of this Order, paid huge sums to have their tombs embedded for all time. And through the artwork of their tombs, they speak to us in the present day. I can translate some…’

But Valentina had become still, her gaze locked in one direction, following a shaft of light coming from a window at the top of the cathedral to where a painting hung, bigger than anything she’d seen before. Finally, she found her voice. ‘That frightens me and yet excites me all at once.’

She heard him let out a breath he’d obviously been holding in anticipation of her reaction. ‘Tell me more. What else do you feel?’

She blinked, trying to pin down the emotions. ‘I feel anger as well as sadness.’

‘Good.’

‘Why is that good?’

‘Because art should provoke a response. It tells a story, whether of just one person, like a portrait, or many, as with a piece such as this. And the viewer should feel something.’

‘I could stare at this for a long time. There’s a lot to look at.’

Peter nodded. ‘Would you like to learn about this work?’

‘Yes, please,’ she murmured.

‘Firstly, a quick lesson about its artist, Caravaggio. I won’t fill your mind with his personal troubles, but he was Italian and found himself here, living in Valletta under the permission and patronage of the Grand Master, who offered him safety from those who pursued him. John, as you know, is the patron saint of the Knights of Malta, and Caravaggio painted this for the oratory of this cathedral in thanks. It is his largest piece of work.’

‘What story is it telling?’

‘It’s his rendition of the beheading of St John the Baptist.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘He’s stilled time, hasn’t he?’

She heard him sigh and cut him a glance.

‘You are a marvel,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘Why?’ She couldn’t help smiling back at him.

‘You’ve already grasped the point. There is so much going on in this painting, but yes, it is a single moment in time that Caravaggio has given us. Look at the eager face of the young woman. She can’t wait to have his head on that golden platter. This woman to her side’—he pointed—‘obviously feels this is all a terrible mistake; look at her expression. The jailer’s just keen to be done with this awful business, and the executioner… well, what do you see?’

She considered the question, staring hard at the enormous painting. ‘He’s already killed John,’ she began.

‘Good. What did he use?’

‘A blade… no, wait, there’s a sword on the ground – I think he used that.’

‘He probably did,’ Peter said. ‘What’s he doing in this moment, then?’

‘Er, he’s reaching for the blade and he’s going to finish his horrible task.’

‘That’s right. Caravaggio has captured this exact moment for each of his characters in this story. The executioner is caught in the moment of the grisly chore he’s been paid to do, which is not to kill John, but to what?’

‘Put his head on the plate.’

‘Brava! And so we see him reaching for his sharp blade.’

‘I feel like I’m holding my breath just looking at it,’ she said.

‘I know it’s ghastly, but do you see the exquisite detail of John’s blood gushing from the wound – presumably the first cut?’

She leaned closer, although the way the enormous framed canvas had been hung meant that she was still many feet away.