I'm submitting a map of Renaissance Italy in the 'Illustrations' section. If you want, you can find a better map for yourself. It may help you to find places being mentioned in subsequent chapters.
***
Gina stayed with me the next night, too. The sex was wonderful, but so was the sense of closeness we shared when we fell asleep in each other's arms. It was also very pleasant to wake up and find my hand on her breast, and her ass pressed against my morning erection (there wasn't a lot of space in my little bed).
I'd never been one for cuddling much, but I couldn't deny that I wanted to with Gina. Part of it, I suppose, was that I was alone in a very strange world. The Pope - or the Admiral - talked to me, and I shared a bond with some of the Spanish swordsmen, but I was essentially on my own. Gina understood loneliness, too. In that sense, we were two of a kind, and found solace in each other.
She stayed with me on six of the next nine nights. I would go down to the gardens, where she waited for me, without fail, and then we would go up to my room.
- "Gina - would you like to stay with me
every
night?"
- "Is that what
you
want?"
- "It would save you having to wait for me - especially if it's a cold night, or raining. And you wouldn't have to wait for nothing, on those occasions when I can't come. But, yes... it would make me happy to know that you were in my room - or
our
room. I wouldn't even have to wake you, if I was especially late."
She smiled. "It would make me happy, too. But... aren't you worried that... everyone will know?"
- "I think they already know, the way gossip travels in these halls. I'm sorry I didn't think about it, though: are you worried about your reputation?"
- "I don't have a reputation. I'm not important enough to have one."
- "You are to me."
She liked that answer. She also enjoyed her introduction to bathing with me. I pulled some strings to get a large bath and plenty of hot water. Gina loved being lathered up with soap, with my hands all over her. She enjoyed the aftermath even more.
Gina had never imagined that a man could perform oral sex on a woman. It was so far beyond her experience that she actually tried to stop me. But I persisted, and she trusted me enough to finally give in. She was probably too unsettled and nervous to enjoy it - the first time.
It was my turn to be surprised when it turned out that Gina wasn't unfamiliar with fellatio. I would discover later that it was something performed primarily by prostitutes, by courtesans, or by slaves - and
not
by good wives (which partially explained the number of prostitutes).
Gina was happy to do it for me, especially so soon after our bath. I was able to convince her that I was happy to do it for her, for the same reasons. Her second experience was just about all that I could have wanted for her.
That was how I acquired a roommate - a very loving, very sexy roommate who brightened my life. Just the sight of her at the end of the day, sleeping or awake, was enough to lift my spirits.
She also opened my eyes. I considered Miguel and the Ramires brothers friends. But it was Gina who made me realize that it didn't matter if this world was a Sim - an artificial creation. Who actually knows for sure how the 'real' world was created? Gina was real. A real, flesh and blood human being that I never wanted to see suffer, either physically or emotionally.
***
By the New Year, I had been in this world - or this simulation - for almost five months. In some ways, I might never overcome the culture shock. There were still a host of unfamiliar sights and sounds, not to mention the powerful smells. But I was coming to terms with some aspects of my surroundings.
The food, for one, was diverse enough to satisfy me. In Renaissance Rome, man did not live by bread alone. Dinner was often a roast with pie - a pie that had virtually everything stuffed into it: pork, ham, eggs, dates, almonds. The cooks used garlic liberally, especially in their pastas. There was ravioli in broth, liver sausage, black pudding, goat cheese, and fruit. Meat was more prevalent on Sundays.
If special guests were being entertained, there would be melon, tortellini or lasagna, boiled capon, roast chicken or guinea fowl, and spiced veal, or even pike and trout. There were some dishes I'd never experienced (and still wish that I hadn't): pork jelly, thrushes, eels, boiled kid, pigeons, partridges, turtledoves, and peacock. I was happier with broad beans, onions, carrots and spinach, leeks, peas and beetroot, rice cooked in almond milk, and a veritable array of puddings and little jellies.
Everything was strongly flavoured. They had ginger, cinnamon, cloves, sugar, olive oil, oranges and lemons, pepper, nutmeg, saffron, bay leaves, and marjoram.
That variety and inventiveness made up for a few deficiencies: there was no coffee, no chocolate (or vanilla, for that matter), no potatoes, and no tomatoes. Yes, Italy - no tomatoes.
At least they had forks (an innovation that wouldn't reach the rest of Europe for many years). That vital utensil helped keep your neighbour's filthy fingers out of the common platters, especially after he'd just scratched his head, his nose, or even his crotch.
Everybody scratched. They had fleas, and lice; it was so common that no one ever remarked on it. Breaking wind at the table was considered rude, though; people left the room to let loose thunderous farts. I was probably the only one there who found that funny.
Meanwhile, I made significant progress in fencing, due to diligent practice. By the New Year, Miguel was the only man who was still a match for me. I had achieved a sort of ascendancy among the Spaniards; they knew that I had the Pope's ear, and that I was one of the foremost sword fighters they were likely to encounter.