“Your beauty and acuity,” he said, straightening up, a little overbearingly but aware he was making an impression, “are matched only by your humility, for I am certain that countless visitors come here, and not just for medical services. I see burning bush, and devil’s trumpets. And there’s squill, and there ragweed, an oracular herb, and henbane, which calls forth prophetic visions. And there is money to be made from predictions and prophesies, if I’m not mistaken?”

Jagna belched. The wench gave him a piercing look. The red-haired witch smiled enigmatically.

“You aren’t in error, O fellow adept,” she said finally. “There is great demand for fortune-telling and prophecies. A time of change and transformation approaches, and many would know what that time will bring. And you also want knowledge of what fate will bring you. Am I not right?”

The red-haired witch tossed some herbs into the cauldron and stirred them around. But it was the young wench with the face of a vixen and feverishly bright eyes who was to prophesy. Soon after drinking the decoction, her eyes grew cloudy, the dry skin on her cheeks tightened and her lower lip revealed her teeth.

“Columna veli aurei,” she suddenly mumbled. “The Column with the Golden Veil. Born in Genazzano, will depart this life in Rome. In six years. The place vacated will be taken by a she-wolf. On Oculi Sunday. In six years.”

The silence, only disturbed by the crackling of the fire and the cat’s purring, lasted so long that Reynevan began to doubt there was more to come. Wrongly.

“Before two days pass,” said the wench, holding out a trembling hand towards him, “before two days pass, he will be a renowned poet. His name will be celebrated far and wide.”

Scharley shook slightly with suppressed laughter, but quietened down at once under the harsh gaze of the red-haired witch.

“The Wanderer will come,” said the prophetess, exhaling loudly several times. “The Viator will come, the Wanderer, from the sunlit side. An exchange will occur. Someone leaves us and the Wanderer comes to us. The Wanderer says: Ego sum qui sum. Ask not the Wanderer his name, it is obscure. For who will guess what it is? Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness.”

The dead lion, the bees and the honey, thought Reynevan, the riddle that Samson gave the Philistines. Samson and the honey… What does it mean? What does it symbolise? Who is the Wanderer?

“Your brother calls,” came the soft voice of the medium, electrifying him. “Your brother calls: Go and come. Go, leaping across the mountains. Do not delay.”

He listened eagerly.