She stands in the square, before the Notre Dame. Her good shoes are in pieces, and she kicks them from her feet. Her hair is stringy and stinking. Ahead is a cluster of people though it is late and the church candles are no longer lit, and she pushes forward until she sees a woman. The woman is dancing to music no one else can hear, and her feet are two white comets in the dark, dragging deep tracks in the dust.

Her mother moves her closer, so she sees the woman’s hands fluttering and empty, gesturing her on. She reaches out and takes hold, and the woman’s pulse starts to beat in her wrist, her breath filling her chest. She hears the music lift and sweep them together, close as a kiss, and by the time the priests come to take the woman away, it is too late. The woman has already passed the music on to her, and she holds it, bright and burning as a fallen star, strewing its pieces to any who will take her hand.

Five

‘Was she a dancer?’

Lisbet looks at Agnethe, astonished. They have ridden in silence through the twisted streets of the city, Agnethe expert at the reins, and are now on the road home.

‘Who?’

‘The woman you did not want me to see,’ says Agnethe lightly. She glances at Lisbet and laughs, a surprisingly girlish sound. ‘I have a head or two on you in height. I could see well enough it was no simple madwoman in that crowd.’

‘It was,’ says Lisbet defensively. ‘A madwoman. She was dancing, maybe, but it was not a usual dance.’

‘I could see that much,’ says Agnethe. ‘But she moved as though to music.’

‘Yes,’ says Lisbet. She feels ashamed, oddly guilty. ‘I was not concealing it from you. I did feel unwell.’

‘I could see that, too.’

They are approaching the metal cage, and this time Agnethe has no need to avert her eyes. Her head tilts back as they ride beneath it.

Lisbet feels a desperate need to make amends, to offer some information. ‘Plater was watching her.’

Agnethe’s hands clench on the reins. ‘Poor woman, to have his attention.’

‘The Twenty-One ordered it. She has been there three days. That’s what Mathias said.’

Agnethe frowns. ‘Dancing all that time?’

‘What do you make of it?’ asks Lisbet.

Agnethe seems hesitant. ‘I have seen fevers, holy trances. Never dancing, but chanting, or else complete stillness.’

Lisbet feels a trill of excitement. ‘At the abbey?’

Agnethe gives a noncommittal grunt.

‘What does it mean?’

‘Any number of things. The sisters called them abandonments – whether to God or the Devil was a matter of opinion and rested much on their view of you. They cast judgements like stones, thrown without care or calculation.’

Lisbet is amazed to hear her speak in such a way about holy orders, and thrilled too. ‘Were they cruel to you?’

‘Cruel?’ Agnethe sounds amazed. ‘It is not so simple. As a penitent, pain is salvation. Perhaps it looks cruel, what was inflicted on me bodily, but they did it to save my soul.’