‘Of course you are,’ says Ida, nudging Lisbet from her self-pity. ‘You must use this with your freshest water, and look – my father has given you a twist of salt.’

‘It is too much.’

‘Nothing is too much for you, Bet, for this baby. He will be here and safe and soon.’

Lisbet bites the insides of her cheeks hard. She hates when Ida says such things. She does not know so – no one but God does.

‘And you must make sure the bread is only for you,’ Ida chatters on. ‘Not for Henne or Sophey.’

‘Or Agnethe,’ says Lisbet. ‘I’ll have a job keeping it from all of them.’

Ida’s knuckles on the basket whiten. ‘She is home today?’ she asks lightly, though Lisbet knows she knows the answer.

‘This afternoon,’ says Lisbet. ‘Was it part of your purpose in coming so early? To see her?’

‘Of course not,’ says Ida, flushing prettily. ‘You know we are not friends.’

‘I do not know anything, for you will not tell me.’

‘There is nothing to tell.’

‘Is it so terrible?’ says Lisbet. She knows she sounds wanton but she doesn’t care. It is her last chance to know about Agnethe before she meets her. ‘What she did?’

‘I have told you a hundred times,’ says Ida, already in control of herself, her hands loosening on the wicker, her cheeks pale once more. ‘I know nothing of Ne— Agnethe’s sin. It is wiped clear now, anyway. Seven years’ penance – she is blameless once more. You must not ask her.’

Lisbet sighs and shifts. She doesn’t wish to fight with Ida, not with her gift beside her and the sun heating the wood beneath them as fast as her brow.

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘Please thank Matthias, and Herr Plater.’

Ida snorts. ‘You think my husband had anything to do with this? His duties keep him in Strasbourg most weeks.’

Ida is not sorry about this, and Lisbet cannot blame her. Plater was announced the council’s enforcer after the last revolt, responsible for the harsher sides of the Twenty-One’s dealings in the city and its surrounds. With their own eyes Ida and Lisbet have witnessed broken doors in the slums on their almsgivings, and the gaol beside the river is expanded twice over. Lisbet is not alone in noticing Plater takes pleasure in his dark work.

‘Which reminds me,’ says Ida. ‘He will call on you today.’

‘Plater?’

‘Yes,’ says Ida. ‘He told my father so.’

‘When?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Perhaps he wishes to see the penitent.’

Something flashes across Ida’s face. ‘She would do well to stay out of his way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tell Heinrich, won’t you? To expect him.’

‘Of course,’ says Lisbet. When Ida closes like this she is tight as a locked box. There is no budging her. Before her friend can rise, Lisbet seizes her hand as Ida had hers. ‘You know you can speak with me, about anything—’

‘This looks restful.’

Ida’s hand closes convulsively on Lisbet’s. They turn to squint into the light. Backed by brightness, Sophey Wiler’s narrow body slices into angles, nearly vanishing at her waist, at the place where her hands meet her hips. A frown line cleaves her face in two like a scar.