They were shown into a chamber hacked out of the rock, lit by flickering torches, a place reeking of bat droppings as well as human and animal waste, that mingled with a heady smell of incense. The detritus of dead creatures littered the space between them and the Sybil, sat on a high stone pedestal, staring straight ahead with what seemed like sightless eyes. Neither youngster was willing to examine the bleached bones at their feet to see from what source they came, but the impression, very firmly imparted, told them that to trifle with the gods was to end up like these, mere skeletons lying at the feet of the oracle. In a voice much deeper than his natural tone, Lucius calmly asked for a prediction of their future.

The answer was a hiss from the Sybil, an aged crone with a face more deeply lined than the bark of an ancient olive tree. Staring straight ahead, she demanded their own names as well as those of their ancestors. Both boys, well versed in the histories of their respective families, named noble progenitors who had helped not only to found the Roman Republic, but had acted to make her the greatest power in the known world. What followed was a silence that seemed to last for a half-glass of sand, one that deepened the air of mystery.

‘You are but youths,’ the Sybil finally wheezed, running her uncut, ragged-edged fingernails through matted grey hair. ‘It is for men to plead the oracle, not boys.’

‘We have made an offering,’ Lucius replied. ‘If it is forbidden for boys to plead, why was that not rejected?’

‘You will be the Falerii.’

‘I am,’ Lucius replied, his voice almost defiant.

‘You think beyond your years. The Cornelii is pious, you are not.’