Francesca’s lips twisted into a wry little grimace. “I wouldn’t have thought Orleans—anywhere in Aquitaine—would make a good breeding ground for the creation of brotherhoods and the forging of causes. Except those leading to personal advancement, which—” She gave all three of them a quick inspection. “—does not seem to be the case here.”
Pierre chuckled harshly. Diego’s chuckle was a softer and warmer thing. Eneko simply smiled, a bit grimly.
“To the contrary, Francesca, Aquitaine explains much. It was there that all of us finally realized—and accepted—the extent of the rot within the Church. By which I mean the Petrine branch.”
For a moment, Francesca’s jaws tightened. “Do tell,” she murmured. “I believe it took the Metropolitan of Orleans five seconds to decide to excommunicate my father. As much time as it took to fill both his hands with gold coin.”
Her ensuing chuckle was even harsher than Pierre’s. “I must say it’s refreshing to hear this from a Petrine cleric. At least, I assume you consider yourself such. Difficult to imagine the Grand Metropolitan of Rome sending a Pauline envoy to Venice.”
“Petrine through-and-through,” agreed Eneko. “In fact, we have a close relationship with the Hypatian Order.”
Hearing that, Francesca’s eyes widened. In the complex welter of Church institutions, the Hypatian Order was considered—certainly by Paulines—the most extreme of the organized Petrine currents. Although they were generally regarded as ineffective and relatively harmless—
“Oh, God,” she croaked. “Don’t tell me.” She sighed again, and this time far more deeply. “I was afraid you weren’t really all that interested in my personal identity.”
She rose abruptly, walked to the doors opening on to the balcony, and began to open them. She had a sudden need for fresh air.
“Don’t,” commanded Eneko. “Please, Francesca. We took great pains not to have our visit here noticed by anyone. If you open those doors—at night, with this room well lit—”
She closed her eyes, lowered her head, still clutching the door handles. “Please,” she whispered. “All of that is behind me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the Basque. “That’s simply cowardice speaking. You are not a coward—far from it. And you don’t even mean it, anyway.”
She turned her head, staring at him. “Yes, I do,” she insisted. In a very soft voice; which, she realized, didn’t sound as if she really meant it.
The Basque’s grin, when it came, was astonishing in its sheer charisma. Francesca got her first real glimpse of the personality which had forged this little band of . . . brothers.
“You adore the world of politics, Francesca,” continued Lopez, still grinning. “All this—” He made a little circling motion with his finger, indicating the plush surroundings. “—is really fraud and fakery. You enjoy wealth, I’m sure, but is that really why you chose this life?”
“I didn’t ‘choose’—”
“Of course, you did! A woman as beautiful and intelligent and charming as yourself could have easily—long since—settled yourself into a nice comfortable situation.”
“In fact, the Comte du Roure,” added Diego, “asked you to marry him—the night before you fled with your mother to Avignon.”
Francesca almost spat. “He was forty years old—and looked seventy—and almost as stupid as the hogs on his estates. He would have shut me up in that great ugly castle of his until he died. Which couldn’t possibly have been soon enough.”
Suddenly, she burst into laughter. “You’re a shrewd bastard, Eneko. Pardon the expression. The Saints know, I’ve met few enough priests in my life who can see past the harlotry.”
Again, she sighed heavily. But she found it easy enough to release the door handles and walk back to her chaise. “Yes, you’re right,” she admitted. “My fondest memories, as a girl, were the times I spent at the dinner table discussing the political affairs of the world with my father and his friends. I didn’t realize at the time, of course, how deadly those affairs could become.”
She plumped herself back in the chaise, making no effort to maintain her usual languid and seductive manner of sitting. “God help us all. You—that’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it? You intend to organize a new Petrine order. The equivalent of the Servants of the Holy Trinity—say better, a challenge to the Sots.”