1
The young man—he can't be much more than sixteen—greets you with a cock of his head. He introduces himself as Pierre Gonsoulin, of Toulouse. He is a transitory deacon—someone on the way to being a priest, you soon learn—attached to the bishop. You introduce yourself in turn.
"Were you in the battle?" he inquires.
"I was."
"I hope you have given thanks for surviving it."
You smirk at the irony of his statement. "I would have, had I."
Gonsoulin looks at you, unsure as to how to parse your statement. Before he can recover, you ask after his own well-being.
"The bishop has had some difficulties with a local rector. Not to mention the lack of ordained priests in the diocese! We will be departing for Europe shortly to raise funds and recruit more priests."
This seems like an opportune moment to flirt with—and feed from—the deacon.
I try to be as forgettable as possible. I can't imagine what the Catholic Church would think of my kind.
Next