The potential of a life of clinical debauchery had its delectable merits, more so when one had the ear of The Pope. Better that than a lifetime of tedium, kneeling upon cold stone with glued palms and eyes closed tight dreaming only of forbidden celestial flesh. Given that hara-kiri was not of his fancy it was thus he had to deal with the pressing issue at hand.

Nuns, for the main part, had scant appeal, nor choirboys. Most definitely not the latter. That would never do. His reputation in a world of nosey clerics had to be maintained at any cost. Also, were it not for their foul language and a lack of that certain panache barmaids would suffice in a crisis yet could never be ideal. Decisions, decisions. At times like this he wished his sister were not his sister. She may well have sparkled like the midday sun…