On the surface of it, a 16th-century Italian convent might seem like a somewhat dry setting for an historical novel. In the hands of Sarah Dunant, however, the story of the sisters of the convent of Santa Caterina in Ferrara becomes a gripping tale of love, lust, jealousy and political intrigue.

Put aside all schoolboy fantasies about the febrile frustrations of young novices. Dunant touches lightly on such clichéd passions, but the meat of her story is far more straightforward: a young noblewoman, barely 16, taken from a life of luxury and delivered into the care of the Abbess, Madonna Chiara.

With the young Serafina comes a hefty dowry — but also a hefty price. The girl is enclosed against her will, and has no intention whatsoever of becoming a bride of Christ. She has a far more earthly passion: her music tutor, who serenades her nightly outside the high walls of the convent.

Her quest for freedom forms the framework for this story. But, like any Renaissance masterpiece, its true beauty lies in the detail: the light and shade, the flashes of colour, the different messages conveyed by the careful positioning of the various protagonists.

This is not just the story of one rebellious young nun; it’s an exploration of a particularly fraught avenue of female history — of prejudice, politics and patriarchy dressed up as piety.

Central to the narrative is the convent’s dispensary sister, Suora Zuana. The learned daughter of a famous physician, she is already a peculiarity in a society where most women cannot read, let alone prescribe a cure for the bishop’s haemorrhoids (figwort boiled in pork fat and mushrooms, in case you were wondering).

Like many women of her time, the death of her father and the absence of a large enough dowry left only one option: a nunnery. Charged with the care of the hysterical young novice, she understands only too clearly the agonies of leaving behind a life of freedom for an existence defined by privation.

Swirling around the two women are the internal forces of the convent: the ambitiously pious Suora Umiliana, fearful of all knowledge and full of reforming zeal; the mystical old Suora Magdalena, half starved and prone to visions; the Abbess herself, both protector and enforcer.

On the outside, Rome glowers, disapproving of the convent’s musical reputation and threatening to impose ever more draconian rules. Dunant even explores the mental health of the nuns: the depression and the loneliness, and the excessive fasting that leads to anorexia and the secretive masochism of extreme faith.

There are more petty concerns too. Who has the most beautiful singing voice? Who makes the best pastries? Familiar questions of female vanity.

The plot is plump with historical and cultural detail. Crucially, Dunant’s writing is fluid, vibrant and skilfully calibrated to carry the drama, unflagging, towards its thrilling conclusion.

Once again, Dunant delivers: Sacred Hearts is a compelling historical fantasy that manages to simultaneously entertain and illuminate the reader.

Sacred Hearts by Sarah Dunant (Virago, £14.99; Buy this book; 471pp)

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