He had begged the King to rid himself of this witch, who was always at his side. She lived behind the veil of darkness. So far his own skills had kept her at bay. But for how much longer? Heresy or witchcraft? Who would prevail?

It was God who permitted the devil to exist, cast down from heaven to test men and women, to allow them to choose whether to fight the demonic possession offered by the devil or succumb to its temptation. Garindo’s skills came from the great books of the East, from Sanskrit, Greek and the learned writing of the Arabs, the study of which was itself considered a sin, for it implied a forsaking of the belief that it was God who guided and determined men’s lives and the fortunes of kings.

The old man sighed, resigned to defying divine power. He would use his skill. He did not like what he saw in the chart that lay beneath his hand. Whom to fear the most? God, displeased that he tampered with men’s fate? Or the devil’s mistress, who vied for the King’s favour? He feared the threat of divine justice less than the magic of the practitioners of witchcraft, whose spells were so powerful they could kill a man. His terror of them overpowered his belief that God would protect him. There were times when God let the devil rampage through men’s hearts. Perhaps that was a test of faith.

He closed the thick wooden door behind him. The lock turned laboriously from the weight of the iron key. He wanted his bed. Sleep had eluded him these past days as he studied the charts. The candle he held spluttered and wax stung the back of his hand, but he ignored it. He was deep in thought, seeking the words he must use when he gave his findings to the King, knowing how the man’s rage could flare at bad tidings. His shoes scuffed the uneven tiled floor, his old knees complaining from sitting too long at his deliberations. His breath caught as the darkness ahead shifted. His heart tried to burst from his chest, its beats thudding in his ears. He rasped out a challenge: ‘Who is there? Show yourself.’

There was no response. He shivered and crossed himself, asking the Almighty to protect him. His spine crawled at the fear of what might lie ahead. Silence. Perhaps it had been a scurrying rat. He listened. The low-burning candle would soon plunge him into total darkness. If he did not move his fear might strangle him. He stepped forward, his hand stroking the wall to guide him and offer comfort.

A cool breeze brushed his face.

A door or window had been left open. Had it allowed night spirits to enter the palace?