Eneko shook his head. "If things continue as they have, you will eventually not have a choice. The Paulines have been gaining in strength for a century, at least. Soon enough--if nothing is done--they will dominate the entire Church." Seeing the courtesan's little frown of protest, he pressed on. "It is inevitable, Francesca. For centuries, now, the Paulines have been the shield of Christendom. Their power and influence ultimately derives from that simple fact. So long as the Petrine church is willing to loll about in comfort, here in the soft and summery south, and allow the Paulines to wage the battle against the Evil One, the Paulines will continue to wax in strength."
He shrugged. "And deserve to, in all truth. Or would, except . . . their own theological errors leave them prone to a different kind of corruption. One which is, in the end, far more dangerous than simple avarice and sloth." Eneko paused, for a moment. "Indeed, I fear they have already fallen into that pit. The Servants, at least--leading elements within them, I should say--if not yet the Knights. But the Knights have become, more and more, simply the tools of the Servants."
Francesca stared at him for a moment, her hands making little movements on her thighs. Like caresses, only firmer--as if she were drying her hands before lifting a heavy weight.
"What do you want from me?" she asked abruptly. "I'm a whore, Eneko, not a theologian or a paladin."
"I did not use that term," he said mildly.
"Use it, then!" she snapped. "If you want something from me, speak plainly."
"I will not use the term, Francesca, for the simple reason that if I believed it I would not be here at all. Neither that term nor the term 'harlot.' " He smiled thinly. "I can accept a 'lady of easy virtue.' Easy virtue is still virtue, after all."
Again, Francesca burst into laughter. "God, I'd hate to argue theology with you! The Grand Metropolitan must tremble at the sight of you coming."
Eneko winced. "It is true, I suspect, that the Grand Metropolitan . . . Well. I seem to make him a bit nervous."
"I can imagine!"
"Which is why he sent me here, of course," continued Eneko. "You might think of this as something of a test."
Diego cleared his throat. "Probably best not to ask whether the Grand Metropolitan hopes we succeed or fail. I'm not sure he knows himself."
Francesca smiled. "I could guess . . ." The smile went away and she sat up straight. "All right, Eneko. But the 'lady of easy virtue' still needs to know what you want from her."
"You must understand the severe limits we are working within, Francesca. There are only three of us here in Venice. The Grand Metropolitan has provided us with some funds, but . . . nothing extravagant, I assure you." For a moment, his face grew pinched. "Which is why, to my regret, I was at first forced to accept the hospitality of Casa Brunelli. Diego and Pierre were not invited, so they found lodgings in a poor hostel, as I have now."
"Not to my regret," growled Pierre. "The hostel stinks--but not half as bad as Brunelli. The evil in that house practically saturates the stones."
Eneko's lips were very thin. "Indeed. But let's not get side-tracked, for the moment. In addition to our financial constraints, Francesca, we are also--more and more every day, it seems--being watched by spies. It has become difficult for us to move about, outside of the Ghetto, without being observed."
He raised his hand in a little gesture of reassurance. "We managed well enough tonight, I assure you. But when the time comes--which it surely will, before too many more months have passed--when we need to contact certain critical persons, we will not be able to do so directly. We need you to serve as our conduit."
" 'Certain critical persons,' " husked Francesca. "Who?"
"Petro Dorma, for one."
Francesca tried to keep from smiling. Not entirely with success. "That should not be, ah, too difficult. Who else?"
Eneko was silent for a moment, studying her. "You know perfectly well 'who else,' Francesca. When the crisis comes, the actions of the Holy Roman Emperor will be decisive. My own contact with the Emperor is circuitous and would take far too long to set into motion when the time arrives. And besides, I suspect I will be preoccupied with other matters. Whereas you--you are but one step removed from Charles Fredrik."
Francesca froze. Diego coughed into his fist, discreetly. "The Hohenstauffen dynasty," he murmured, "has perhaps dipped too often into that well for the subterfuge to work as nicely as it did once. And the Earl of Carnac is a rather distinctive young man. And . . . well, as it happens, I met him once." Hastily: "I'm sure he doesn't remember. He was only sixteen at the time, visiting Orleans with his mother. And, ah, quite drunk. Sad to say, the lad fell into bad company--roistering students, the city's plagued with them--and, ah . . ."
Francesca rolled her eyes. "I can imagine," she muttered. She brought her eyes back to meet Eneko's. "He doesn't even know that I know who he is. I'm his whore, not his confidant."
The Basque priest's gaze remained level. He said nothing. After a moment, Francesca looked aside. "I suppose I'm being a bit disingenuous."
"More than a bit, I think. The earl trusts you, Francesca."