“A new vicar will ascend to the Chair of Saint Peter,” began Reynevan cautiously. “Grand Duke Witold won’t live to see it, but will die in the penultimate year of Martin V’s papacy. Władysław Jagiełło, the King of Poland, will outlive both Witold and Martin. He will depart this life in the fourth year of the new Pope’s papacy.”

Prokop said nothing.

Finally, he said, “I suppose that the prophecies, as usual, are not absolutely clear, and don’t give specific dates.”

“They are not,” said Reynevan without blinking. “And do not.”

“Ah. But Martin V, whichever way you look at it, has passed sixty; twelve years have passed since the Council. He grows weak, reportedly, so is likely to turn up his toes any moment. Ha! And Witold, you say, will turn up his even before Pope Martin knocks on the pearly gates. Ha. Fascinating. Have you heard about the horoscope that Henryk of Brzeg made for Queen Sophia?”

“I have. And I hear it isn’t too auspicious for Jagiełło’s sons, Władysław and Kazimierz. Misfortunes will reportedly fall on the Kingdom of Poland during their reigns.”

“But they will reign,” Prokop said with emphasis. “They will both reign. At the Wawel. First one, then the other.”

“They are princes, so it is quite normal.”

“We speak of Poland,” Prokop reminded him. “Nothing is ever normal there. But never mind, horoscopes are known to be erroneous, not to mention prophecies. Ah well, nothing can hold back our curiosity about future events. While we’re on the subject, what about Duke Korybut? What do the stars predict for him?”

“The stars are fortuitous for him,” said Reynevan, shrugging. “At least, that’s what he believes. He is predicted to die by the holy river after squaring up to the wolf. The wolf, Korybut believes, is—according to Malachy’s prophecy—Martin V’s successor. And the holy river is the Jordan. The duke doesn’t plan to travel to Palestine, nor does he mean to square up to the Pope beside the Jordan. He believes that will ensure him a long life.”

“And what do you think?”

“The spirits occasionally mock men with prophecies. And Korybut’s reminds me too much of the legend of Gerbert of Aurillac, Pope Sylvester II. It was predicted that Pope Sylvester would die after celebrating Mass in Jerusalem, so he thought that if he didn’t go there, he would live for ever. He died in Rome, after celebrating Mass in Santa Croce Church. That church is also called ‘Gerusalemme.’”

“Did you tell Korybut that?”

“No.”

“Well don’t.”

The director operationum Thaboritarum stood up, walked across the chamber and opened the window. There was a scent of spring.

“On Monday you set off for Silesia. You have important matters to deal with there. I trust you, Reynevan. Don’t disappoint me. If you do, I shall tear your soul from you.”