The Abbot prided himself on being a student of the human condition. He could read people—understanding what moved them, what made them react, and why. He saw himself as a puppet master. Once he knew his puppets, inside and out, then he was in control of any situation. If he was to move forward in the Church towards a bishopric, then he must study the people around him, as they all might prove invaluable on his climb up the ladder.
Dafne had proven interesting. Considerably more intelligent and confident than her fellow nuns, and a willing sexual partner, he found her to be quite helpful when it came to controlling the younger postulates. She had considerable influence with them and they tended to look up to her so they were willing to do her bidding and in turn, his. Dafne’s family connections certainly were of value—a visit from the Earl and his entourage expressly to see Dafne some three years after her arrival had translated into a sizeable donation to the Abbey. But of late, she had become somewhat unpredictable in her mood swings and was given to playing games which he found a tiresome means of manipulation. Her usefulness seemed to be waning, as was his interest in her.
The new girl, Dominique, was intriguing. While a little on the shy side, she seemed to have an air of quiet confidence that he thought might be very useful. From what he had witnessed of her, she was not given to hysterics or drama, two traits that he detested. A germ of an idea had started for him during their conversation about books, an idea that would take some planning and groundwork but one that might provide him the de-facto leadership role of the Confraternity that was so necessary. He left her a book on Greek mythology in the hopes that she might be intrigued with the God-like grandiose characters. She was confident and hopefully not too willful. She definitely had potential and might very well play a role in his plan to heighten the paganistic rituals of the Confraternity, but he would have to take it slowly with her.
Right now, though, the ranks of the Confraternity held his full and complete attention. This brotherhood gave him such intimate access to some of the most powerful men in the region. The bond of secrecy they shared deepened those connections. These were liaisons that would serve him well in his upward climb. He needed to focus his attention on gleaning as much information as he could about these individuals.
Richard Collier had joined the brotherhood and might prove very influential, indeed. With familial connections to the royal family, one word from him and the Abbot could name his dream. In his own right, Richard was a well-connected salt merchant based in Loudun. Much of his time, however, was spent in La Rochelle at the seaport, where his business dealings centered. He had married well. Isabelle was closely related to the royal family. However, the poor woman was mentally unstable and had been committed years ago. It was his understanding that she had died in the asylum while giving birth to their son.
Henri Collier, Richard’s son, was one to watch. He had been raised in Chateau d ’Amboise, the palace which was part-time home to King Francis I. He was being schooled there alongside the royal children. Richard had mentioned that he was being groomed to lead one of the King’s Guard units based in Amboise. Having already extended an invitation to Richard for his son to join the Confraternity, the Abbot felt such an alliance with Henri would prove more valuable than gold.
Loudun’s Royal Scribe, Jean-Pierre Ducharme was an illustrious member of their brotherhood. A very influential member of their society, Monsieur Ducharme was to be kept close. He did, after all, have the ear of the King. He was married and seemingly devoted to his wife, Marie, a fact which the Abbot noted, could be construed as a potential weakness. From all that the Abbot had observed, Ducharme was a stickler for adherence to the letter of the law, something he would have to work around. While Ducharme did not outwardly seem especially bright, he was surprisingly adept at negotiating monies and favors from the King’s treasury. Ian realized that he must not take too much for granted in assessing his usefulness.
And then there was Oscar Hurnst, the town’s bailiff, who had little integrity or strict moral code, which for the Abbot’s purposes made him very interesting indeed. Oscar had attended seminary briefly but had washed out of the intellectually demanding program. It was rumored that it had been his mother’s fondest wish that her little Oscar become a priest. It was, however, not his father’s wish and shortly after his wife’s death withdrew funds for Oscar’s religious education forcing him to leave the seminary. But Ian was convinced Oscar had been too stupid to finish the course of study, regardless of funds. Oscar’s connection to the Church, however, gave him a sense of camaraderie with the Abbot, whom he idolized. He had become, in effect, the Abbot’s right-hand and given the fact that Oscar had few scruples, could be called upon to carry out much of the Abbot’s less savory bidding. His anger bore careful attention. Probably a result of his father’s abuse, Oscar had issues when it came to controlling his temper. Although somewhat volatile, Oscar presented nothing the Abbot could not handle.
He was, after all, the puppet-master.