Excerpt from Disobedient by Elizabeth Fremantle, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"There's Reni! Over there in the stand." He is pointing and waving to someone, shouting the man's name.

And they are on the move again, pushing through towards the side where rows of benches are banked and filled with seated people in colourful clothes.

A man is calling to them: "Over here! I've kept you a place." Artemisia has seen him once or twice at her father's studio. He is a painter too.

When they manage to reach him, up a set of steep steps, Artemisia overhears him say quietly, "Isn't she a bit young for this kind of thing, Orazio?"

At that moment their conversation is drowned in a chant: "Bring out the girl, bring out the girl, bring out the girl."

More join in, and more, stamping their feet until the entire piazza is thundering with noise.

They sit, she on her father's lap. A large woman squeezes herself in beside them and they all shuffle up. She is glistening with sweat and waves a fan at her face, spreading a strongly perfumed scent that makes Artemisia feel vaguely sick.

Suddenly the place falls silent save for the rumble of a cart entering the square. The holy brothers break into song once more. Artemisia stands to see the girl better. She is not a small girl like her, but a grown­up girl being led from the cart and onto the stage close to where they are seated. She is very pretty but her costume is plain. Artemisia has only ever seen two plays and the players had worn gaudy outfits in both. They were all men or boys. She has never seen a girl player before, thought such a thing didn't exist, and it occurs to her that this may well be a pretty boy. She (or he) is wearing a sensible dun­coloured dress and is bare­headed, a skein of straight dark hair scraped up onto the top of her head. She seems to be murmuring quietly to herself in prayer and her brown eyes look mostly down at her small white hands, fingers threaded tightly together. Occasionally her gaze flicks up at her surroundings. A just­visible tic in her jaw says she is nervous. Artemisia supposes it must be the occasion, the multitude of people all looking her way. She tries to imagine herself in that position, skin bristling at the thought of so many eyes on her.

Gulls continue to circle above while the girl is walked to the centre of the stage beside a step. The holy brothers sing on, swaying in unison, the hems of their grey cassocks wafting gently as they move, rosaries swinging in time. A big man, bald with a bushy beard that looks as if his hair has slid from his head to his chin, approaches the girl.

Excerpted from Disobedient by Elizabeth Fremantle. Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Fremantle. Excerpted by permission of Pegasus Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.