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in, followed by Siobhan. The cell was no bigger than Francesca’s although at least Maria Innocentia had been able to leave it. There were essentially the same furnishings, straw mattress, table and chair, small shelf. A tiny window looked down on a field and the nuns’ graveyard. As Diana watched, several nuns were even now hacking at the ground, digging a fresh hole, no doubt for none other than Maria Innocentia. At least she would be buried on consecrated ground. Whatever sins she had committed, she deserved at least that much.
    Across the walls and ceiling of the room, Maria Innocentia had drawn figures in chalk. Across the lowest levels, men and women danced and frolicked in fields of wheat and sunflowers. The nun had surprising skill at drawing; although the chalk figures were comparatively simple, the anatomy was precise and detailed. The figures were sensuous. A male figure bent a nude female back over his own arm, preparing to place a kiss on her throat. Another male reached out for a woman’s long tresses as she ran from him, laughing. Above these scenes, at eye level, kings and dukes sat on their thrones. Around them soldiers made war, gouging out each other’s eyes and intestines with military forks and swords. Above these kings and soldiers flew a host of angels with their gossamer wings and beautiful features. Yet if one looked closely one saw that the angels were mockeries. Each had an unholy imperfection; a cloven hoof, crosses instead of circles for pupils, fanged teeth. Above them still, across much of the breadth of the ceiling was drawn a great gaping maw with a dozen rows of sharp, inward facing teeth. A host of dead souls were drawn being sucked into this maw, clawing and screaming for their very survival, but ultimately swallowed into the dark oblivion at the center.
    “Oh, dearest God,” Siobhan whispered.
    “Does it make you think of anything?” Diana asked, staring at the images.
    “It makes me think the woman must certainly have been mad.”
    Diana shook her head. “It’s the inverse of the inferno painted inside the duomo at Saint Zenobius. There, the wicked are tortured in Hell around the base of the dome, but higher up the righteous enjoy the company of the saints until at last there is Christ upon his throne. Here, the contrary. The living enjoy the pleasures of life, disturbed only by the wicked designs of their worldly masters. Up higher the angels promise salvation but, in truth, they are devils and what awaits us is not heaven but oblivion.”
    There was silence for a moment. Then Siobhan said simply, “Well, I hope she’s wrong about that part at least.”
    Diana glanced around the rest of the room, but there clearly was no more. She had hoped to find a hidden manifesto with a clear explanation for Maria Innocentia’s accusations about her mother’s death. There was nothing though—only, indeed, the pain of a disturbed woman who had ultimately known too much about the evils of men.
    Diana stepped back out into the hall. She glanced at Sister Ophelia. “Thank you for letting me see how she lived. I would like to see that she is offered a proper burial stone. I will make arrangements for payment.”
    Sister Ophelia dropped her eyes and bowed. “Of course. I am sure she would be touched by your generosity.”
    With a look to Siobhan, Diana turned back to the stone stairs and found her own way out. Outside the first languid flakes of a late winter snowstorm were making their appearance, lazily drifting down from the sky above.
    Diana made her way back over to the anchoress’ cell. Francesca opened the little shutters wide when she saw that Diana had returned.
    “Diana,” she said, softly, “I didn’t mean to offend you with my prophesy. You didn’t ask for my intervention. I should not have forced it on you.” She looked down at her own hands, which quivered slightly.
    Diana remained silent for a moment, regarding the other woman. Even through the veil, Diana could see