They almost fought their way through the crowd. The men cursed them because they pushed and the women flung themselves round their necks. Caleb drew his dagger and raised it threateningly. Other knives were drawn forthwith. There was a demoniacal yelling and din. But they succeeded in avoiding bloodshed.
“I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius repeated, panting and with his clenched fists pushing away two women who were hanging on to his arms.
Lucius and Caleb now hurried through a reek of wine past the open brothels and reeking taverns. Caleb stopped in front of a small, narrow door and knocked. It was opened by a little Greek girl, pretty and delicate as a Tanagra figurine, with very large black eyes.
“Is Herophila within?” asked Caleb. “A distinguished foreigner wishes to consult her.”
“I will tell her,” said the girl.
They entered a very narrow little chamber. A woman came from behind a curtain. She was shrouded in a white veil, like a phantom; she carried an earthenware lamp; and it was not possible to see if she was young or old.
“Do you wish to know the future?” she asked, in a hollow voice.
“No,” said Lucius, “I want to know the past and the present. I want to know where a girl named Ilia is and how she vanished from my house. Here is the sandal which she left behind: the only trace of her. If she ... is dead, can you make her appear before me, so that I may ask her?”
“Yes,” said the sibyl, “I can. For I am descended from the witch of En-dor.”
“Who was she?” asked Lucius.