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Thirteen men at one long table, and something has just been said that none of them can let pass. They break into little knots of three, leaning in, arguing, one hand going up, another spread flat on the cloth, while the figure at the centre keeps still with his arms open.
Behind them three windows look out onto pale blue hills. The plaster has worn thin over the centuries, and you can see it through the paint.
The muted, aged colour palette with extensive brown and beige tones across the wide panoramic format makes distinguishing regions difficult despite the figurative content.












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