I thought of them – both from Geneva, both cousins of Robert the Bishop. I hadn’t considered that such obvious enemies would be travelling with us – fighting beside us. I entertained Fra Peter for a quarter of an hour with my thoughts on the alignment of that bishop and the party in the church that had been Talleyrand’s. I thought of having d’Herblay with us and something in me just … broke.
Fra Peter tugged his beard, sent for wine, and heard me out.
‘This is all your own?’ he asked. I suppose my tirade was emotional.
It is a great pleasure to be flattered by your mentor, and his response was flattering. He was taking me seriously.
I shook my head. ‘A great deal of it is from Fra Juan di Heredia.’
Fra Peter’s face altered. His pleasure in my explanation evaporated, and he frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You like him?’
I shrugged. ‘Yes, my lord, I do like him, although he is a difficult man. He helped me in a – a personal matter. And he is absolutely loyal to Father Pierre.’
I heard his sandals before I saw him, and suddenly Father Pierre was there, gliding into another of the beautiful camp chairs. ‘But William, I need no man’s loyalty. I am not a secular lord. I do not request or require your commitment or Fra di Heredia’s to anyone but the Saviour and the Church. The rest is mere vanity.’
I understood what he said, and yet, in a way that is difficult to explain, I thought it was likely that Fra Peter and Father Pierre, two of the men I loved and trusted most in the world, were fools, and Fra Juan, who I suspected was as venal and ambitious as the Bishop of Geneva, was a man like me: a man who could accomplish a goal. For good or ill.
Father Pierre was still talking, explaining to Fra Peter that the Venetians would not rent a single ship, by last year’s terms or any others, to the King of Cyprus while Genoa threatened war.
Fra Peter stretched his booted feet towards the fire and leaned back. ‘William has just favoured me with an explanation of events which would stretch to fit the Genoese business.’
For the second time in an hour, I found myself explaining Robert of Geneva’s role in Avignon, and his family stake in the bishopric of Geneva and the papacy and the crusade.
‘Genoa is a pawn of France,’ Fra Peter said.
‘France and Egypt,’ Father Pierre said. He looked at me, and his eyes told me that he had read my thought, and that his love of man included an understanding of how much the animal man could be. ‘Imagine: a hundred years ago, Saint Louis led a crusade to Cairo, but now the King of France conspires with the Sultan in Cairo to stop a crusade.’
I looked at my feet and ran my fingers though my hair. ‘Does the King of France even know what’s afoot?’ I asked.
Fra Peter looked at me, then the fire. ‘Probably not; it is enough for him to get a Frenchman as the next Pope. He won’t trouble himself about the ways and means.’
‘Fra di Heredia said you might be the next Pope,’ I said. I knew it was bold.
Father Pierre’s wide eyes met mine. ‘If they make me Pope, I will fling the moneylenders from the temple,’ he said. ‘I will burn their fingers on their own ingots of gold.’ He smiled.
Fra Peter laughed. ‘I pray I may live to see the moment you receive Saint Peter’s crown,’ he said. ‘I for one would like to see what you will make of Mother Church.’
Father Pierre raised an eyebrow. ‘Enough. I will go to Genoa.’
Fra Peter nodded to me. ‘After complete impasse, and some very underhanded dealing, suddenly Genoa invites Father Pierre to address her great council and make a case for peace.’