Usually Alethea could be found seated outside a certain wine shop on a little lane known as Bakers’ Alley. Sure enough, there she was, propped in her little box, wrapped up for midwinter even though the air was milder now. A cracked cup sat beside her, half-filled with cheap wine.

Gerutha called out to her.

‘Well now – what have we here?’ the beggar woman cried. ‘Didn’t I say to myself this morning, “Today will be a blessed day! You mark it, my girl – something fine will turn up.” And see, here you are!’ Gerutha clasped her filthy, mottled hand. Alethea’s knuckles were cold as a barrow stone. ‘And look now, His Holiness, Father Domnicus! A double pleasure.’

‘Bless you, sister,’ Domnicus said warmly.

‘No miracle for me today, have you, Father?’

‘God willing. In any case, I remember you in my prayers every night.’

‘Is that so? Seems you’re out of favour with the Almighty then, Father – since today I woke up with no legs, same as every day.’ She cackled long and hard at that. ‘Anyhows, I ain’t complaining. Old Red Nose in there has spared me a cup or two of charity so I’ve some fire in the grate, eh?’ She and the wineshop keeper, a man called Cornelius, had an understanding. He gave her the dregs of abandoned wine-jugs in return for her noting the face of any man entering his shop, in case there was trouble. ‘Usual piss, naturally.’

‘You look well,’ Gerutha lied. In truth, she looked wretched; the infection that was eating away the flesh across her face was livid and purple. ‘Here.’ She passed Alethea two small loaves of bread out of their basket.

‘Oh, God bless you for your kindness, girl. Now then – what’s been keeping you from visiting your dear old friend?’

‘Far too much to tell.’ Which was true. And she didn’t want to worry the old crone about Lilla.

‘You’re still keeping company with this firebrand, eh? You watch out, girl. He’ll bounce you into the Kingdom of God soon as look at you.’

Domnicus smiled. ‘Oh, sooner than that if I could. There’s room enough for all of us in God’s house. Even you. . . Especially you. Our Lord said that the last shall be the first.’

‘Well, he can keep my place for now, Father,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m happy right where I am.’ The beggar woman raised her broken cup and took a slurp, then leaned forward in her box with a conspiratorial glint in her glassy eye. ‘Interesting times round here, I tell you. I suppose you heard about that poor lampros fellow?’ Gerutha started at mention of the fire-maker. She had hardly been able to think of anything else. ‘A horrible business, that. Mother of God, the state he was in when they found him. . .’

‘They still haven’t caught the man who did it.’