His companion heard but, contrary to his usual habit, did not fly into a rage. He shrugged and sat down on the ground, crushing the grass and the flowers. And he replied: “I have seen Others who shout that their power is from God: they observe the fasts, follow the Gospel, and go to church often. I don’t know what they say at confession—perhaps they have their own priests . . . I have seen Others who believe that it was Lucifer, the luminiferous Prince of Darkness, who granted them their mighty power. At night they burn black candles made from the fat of corpses—you should see how they smoke and stink! They kiss a severed goat’s head and commit obscenities too abominable for me to speak of. But one thing I can tell you for certain—I have not seen God, or his servants, and I have not met Satan, or his vassals. Perhaps they are simply not concerned with us. Perhaps our Power is simply a power, like a bird’s ability to soar through the sky or a fish’s ability to breathe water.”

“I don’t want to burn black candles or commit obscenities,” Erasmus said, just to be on the safe side.

“Then do not do either,” his companion replied indifferently.

“But I feel bored in church, teacher,” Erasmus confessed. “And . . . and I once stole a penny . . . and in the evenings, when Betty brings the warming-pan to my bed, I ask her to lie down beside me . . .”

“Maidservants are created to gladden their masters” hearts,” Erasmus’s companion replied magnanimously. “And you are more than just her master. You are an Other. Take your pleasure with Betty as you desire.”

The boy didn’t say anything. The man narrowed his eyes and peered at him. Erasmus moved his hand slowly above the crushed stalks of grass, and they straightened up, reaching for his fingers.

“You have an affinity for the kingdom of plants,” the man admitted reluctantly. “That is more fitting for a witch than a magician, but the Power always finds unexpected ways to manifest itself . . . Only do not forget that you are a Prophet. Who will be victorious in the battle on the hill?”

“The king,” Erasmus replied instantly. He blinked in bewilderment and looked up. “On what hill?”

“It matters not. You foretell the future, even though with little skill as yet. But tell me: in three or four hundred years, who will rule on the Capitol Hill?”

“A black man will ascend the throne and all will glorify him as a peacemaker. But he will send iron birds across the ocean to seize the treasures of the Libyans and the Persians, and by that shall be caused a great war and convulsions in the world . . .” the boy intoned slowly, as if he was sleepy.