There is a line of people outside the main gate in varying states of distress. One woman, naked-headed in the sun, howls and rends her clothes. Beside her, two thin children shake, moving from bare foot to bare foot, clutching her skirts. The cobbles here are well maintained, and hold heat ferociously as coals. After she dismounts the cart Lisbet searches her pockets, but they are empty, the last of her coin given to Hilde. Frederich approaches her.

‘That’s Peter,’ he says, indicating the head of the line. Lisbet cranes her neck and sees a guard standing there, blocking the main doors. ‘He doesn’t like me, but he’ll let us in if we give him something. What do you have?’

‘Flour,’ says Lisbet, indicating the cart. ‘And plenty of honey at the farm.’

‘He prefers beer,’ says Frederich, ‘but let me see what I can do. What is her full name?’

‘Ida Ilse Plater,’ says Lisbet, trying to block out the sound of the wailing woman, the sight of her clearly starving children. ‘She was arrested—’

‘This morning, yes.’

Frederich strolls to the guard, forcing through the throng with that easy way he has, like he has every right to be there though it is clear others have waited for hours on the baking street. Sophey nudges her hard in the ribs.

‘Does he know him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Been here before has he?’

‘It is not what you presume,’ she says. It is worse, she thinks.

Sophey sniffs, and eyes the woman with the two shivering children. She steps forward, unlooping from about her cheeks the swaddling cloth. Lisbet sees her wince as the comforting pressure is removed from her face, but Sophey rips the cloth into four neat strips.

Astonished, Lisbet watches as Sophey Wiler kneels on the blistering cobbles before the two children – girls or boys it is impossible to say. She indicates for them to rest their filthy hands on her shoulders so she can lift their feet, one by one, to bind them. Their mother does not notice, but the children’s faces loosen from anguish into relief as the cloth forms a shield between their feet and the burning cobbles. Sophey heaves herself up, and returns to Lisbet’s side.

Lisbet must try not to stare at her, focusing instead on the guard and Frederich, now gesticulating at the cart.

‘That was kind,’ she tells the air.

Sophey grunts. ‘I know you think me ice, Lisbet. But I am flesh and blood same as you. And I love my daughter. And I love the woman she loves. Do not look at me like that, like you expect me to be a monster. I hate their sin, I hate that we are here. But for Ida, for Nethe – I have always held nothing but love, and hurt that it was not enough. That they were so foolish to continue.’

Lisbet is saved from replying by Frederich, who gestures them forward. Sophey rolls her shoulders back and pulls Lisbet through the crowd after her.