day

sitting. “God

to the Sots.”
“I prefer to think of it as a challenge to the Petrines, Francesca.” All traces of humor left Eneko’s face. “Who have grown soft, lazy—even corrupt, and not just in Aquitaine. The accusations leveled by the Servants of the Holy Trinity have far too much truth in them, as you well know. I leave aside their frenzied gibberish about heathens. I speak of the rest.”
“I’ll still take the Petrines over the Paulines,” growled Francesca. “Any day of the month.”
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 s