‘I meant to tell you,’ he said. ‘I heard a prophecy of you. I had it from an old seeress who had left her temple and was wandering the fields giving fortunes.’
I was used to the swift movements of his mind and now I was grateful for them.
‘And you just happened to be passing when she was speaking of me?’
‘Of course not. I gave her an embossed gold cup to tell me all she knew of Circe, daughter of Helios, witch of Aiaia.’
‘She said that a man named Odysseus, born from my blood, will come one day to your island.’
‘That’s it,’ he said.
‘That’s the worst prophecy I’ve ever heard,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I know. I think I lost my cup.’
Who was the seeress? Sybill Trelawney?