Wsim24B Ch 10

WSIM24B Chapter 10

I went back to see Elena three nights later. Once again she'd prepared me a meal, after which we made love. She was an eager student; I was the patient teacher. She was baffled by the concept of the cowgirl position, so that I had to coach her on how to move, how to pleasure herself and me.

- "I don't think I'm very good at this." she said.

- "For a first time? You're doing

very

well. And you'll get even better with practice."

- "I like the sound of

that

."

Once again I fell asleep with her, and returned to the Palace the next morning. Over the next few weeks, I saw her four more times. I was careful not to become too predictable, choosing different days of the week, arriving and leaving by different routes, at different times. I thought that I was being very clever.

The night after our sixth time together, I went to my own room, looking forward to a quiet cuddle with Gina. I was a little tired; I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.

I was surprised to see Gina sitting on the side of the bed, fully clothed and wide awake. She'd obviously been waiting for me.

- "Gina?"

- "Is there someone else who shares your room?"

I sat down beside her. "What is it?"

- "You have another woman." she said. It wasn't a question. She knew. I was nowhere near as clever as I'd thought I was.

- "Yes."

- "Who is she?"

- "A widow. Giulia Farnese sent me to see her." I told Gina the whole story. When you've been caught, dead to rights, honesty is the only policy that makes any sense.

- "Do you love her?"

- "I like her very much. But love?"

- "Do you love me?"

That was a potentially dangerous question. What shocked me, though, was that I knew the answer. I didn't have to think about it, or consider the best way to phrase my response.

- "Yes."

- "You do?"

- "Yes." As I said it again, I had no doubts at all that it was true. "You make me happy, Gina."

She seemed pleased to hear that. But she wasn't done with me.

- "Is this woman so different from me, then?"

This was not the time to tell Gina that she and Elena were, in fact, very similar. In terms of physique, they were almost identical; only their colouring was different. Both were kind, and eager to please. Elena's body was softer.

- "No. You have many things in common. That might have been part of what attracted me to her. Or it may just be that I have a weakness for variety. But..." I don't know what was wrong with me: I told Gina another great truth. "If you were to ask me to choose, I would choose you."

She didn't even try to hide it; she was delighted. She sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying what I'd just said. It seemed like a good time to ask a question of my own.

- "How did you know, Gina?"

She shook her head, as if she amazed by my stupidity. "You make love to me six times a week, without fail. Then, all of a sudden, it's three? Two nights a week you're not here, and the night after those, you're too tired?"

- "I didn't mean to deceive you. I just thought that... you'd rather not know."

- "I know who and what I am, Pilgrim. I'm a gardener. The daughter of a slave. I can be some man's 'piece of fluff', or I can marry a very poor, very humble man. And I may end up doing just that. But I saw a chance to be happy, with you - at least for a time."

- "I make you happy?"

- "Pssh... you know you do."

And that was all we said. That was the whole extent of it. After a while, I reached for her hand, and she let me hold it.

By unspoken agreement, we eventually stood and got ready for bed. We got under the covers together, and Gina let me hold her naked body close. Cuddling escalated to fondling, and soon enough, we were passionately making love.

Yes, you could say that I led a charmed life.

***

On January 27th, 1494, King Ferrante of Naples died. This was a serious blow to the Pope. Ferrante had an heir: Alfonso, Duke of Calabria, father of Sancia, who was betrothed to Joffre Borgia. But Alfonso had to be crowned, and with multiple claimants to the throne, the rightful heir had to be approved by the Pontiff.

The French immediately made their feelings known: if the Pope favoured Alfonso, France would move forward with plans for a Church Council, to choose a new Pope.

- "I'm stuck. I have to come out into the open, and choose a side." said the Holy Father, my boss.

We had discussed this several times. France, in control of Naples, would be too close, and far too powerful. It had to be Alfonso. The Pope delayed his decision as long as he could.

In early March, he made his decision public. Juan Borgia, Cardinal of Monreale, the Pope's great-nephew, was named Papal Legate, empowered to go to Naples and place the crown on Alfonso's head.

The opposition in the College of Cardinals had a fit. Ascanio Sforza of Milan was outraged, but della Rovere had a spectacularly violent tantrum. In April, della Rovere fled from Rome, and went to France.

It wasn't all bad for the Pope; Alfonso had to pay up for the Papal support. Joffre and Sancia were officially married, and Joffre was made Prince of Squillace, with an income of 40,000 ducats a year. Somehow, Juan Gandia also benefited: he was granted three counties in Naples.

He didn't deserve such a reward, of course. But then I wondered if I deserved what I had. The Pope was including me more and more in his meetings and audiences, and then asking me for my opinion afterwards. I also enjoyed a sort of leadership position among the Spaniards of the Pope's bodyguard that had nothing to do with rank.

Part of that, no doubt, was based on my height, and my looks. But everyone knew the story of how I had 'saved' Miguel and the Ramires brothers from the Orsinis. And then there was my return from a ride in the countryside, with the dead bandits and captured horses.

Best of all, though, I had two beautiful lovers. They weren't just fuck buddies, or friends with benefits. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot of simple fucking going on. Energetic lovemaking, yes. Long drawn-out, passionate encounters. Lengthy lessons, and exploration of new positions.

Gina knew about Elena, but didn't seem to mind, as long as she came first. Elena must have suspected that I had another partner, but she never asked about Gina, or even hinted that she knew. I couldn't tell if it was because she wasn't upset by it, or if it was simply good manners not to ask.

The Pope now wanted me nearby as often as possible, so I attended far more masses and religious festivals than I had up to this point. There were processions of choristers, including a suspicious number of young boys with extremely high voices, and a host of citizens dressed as angels and saints. There were decorated chariots and wagons, bearing sacred images and holy relics, with banners and canopies. The city neighbourhoods competed to put on the most splendid show.

Lent was more sombre: matins were held in the dark, with only a single candle on the altar. Then there was the re-enactment of Christ's funeral: the streets were hung with black cloth, and an actor (or a volunteer), wearing a crown of thorns and carrying a wooden cross, was escorted by a group of men in antique armour. Other citizens carried all of the other props, including a whip, a spear, a sponge, and even a hammer and nails.

May was a bad month for the Pope. A month earlier, he'd met with five of the Caetis, a prominent Roman family. In May, only two of them showed up - and they made excuses. Roman nobles were being bribed or suborned by the French, and we were finding that the loyalty of the Papal States - the Pope's vassals - was highly questionable.

We'd had no luck in forming an Italian alliance against the French. Milan was pro-French, and Venice was neutral. Florence was our ally, but they were militarily weak. Lorenzo the Magnificent was dead. His son Piero had his father's ruthlessness, but not his tact. He was unforgiving with enemies, but not very loyal with his friends. Piero de Medici was arrogant, had a violent temper, and quarrelled with his cousins. There was trouble brewing in Florence.

That left Naples and the Papacy. Naples had hired the best condottiere available, but the Pope had no military force to support them. Did they have a realistic chance of opposing the French?

May 29th held no specific significance for me, except that I was going for supper at Elena's. I had convinced her to bathe again, so I was looking forward to a long session of oral. I was finally going to introduce her to 69ing.

I never got there. I was perhaps twenty yards from her door when I heard someone shout my name. My ISEC training kicked in: I feinted, as if was going to turn my head to the left, to look over my shoulder. Then I immediately took a step forward, while spinning to my right. At the same time, I was trying to draw my sword.

I felt a blade strike my shoulder. Given the angle of my body, the point didn't sink very deep. Instead, it deflected - from my clothing - or from the bone - and cut the side of my head. Then something hard and heavy smashed into my skull.

I have no memory after that.

***

I've awoken in a wide variety of places, more or less unsure of where I was, or who I was with - the product of far too many one-night stands, with far too much alcohol and far too many forgettable females.

My eyes opened slowly. Thankfully, the light was dim. But I clearly made out the crucifix on the wall. Was I still in Rome? If it strikes you as odd that I should think that, let me remind you: I'd spent more time in Rome than I had at AFOTA, or in ISEC training.

There was also a warm body lying next to me, with her brown arm thrown across my chest. I knew it was a her, because I could feel the pressure of her breast against my side. I slowly turned my head a few degrees, hoping - or knowing - that I would find...

- "Gina?"

Her eyes fluttered open. Her immediate smile was the best welcome home I could have asked for.

- "

You're awake? How do you feel?

" she asked, whispering - as if she was afraid of hurting my eardrums.

- "

What a wonderful way to wake up.

" I said.

She beamed at me. Unfortunately, I fell back to sleep shortly after that.

The next time I woke up, it was to find Gina sitting by bedside, watching me.

- "We were so worried about you." she said.

- "What happened?"

She wouldn't tell me. "Wait." she said.

I dozed for a while. Gina returned, accompanied by half of the Pope's Spanish bodyguard - or at least it seemed that way to me. Miguel, Pedro Ramires, and Vicente entered my little room. Pedro sat on my bed, at my feet, while Miguel stood beside me. Vicente retreated to the corner of the room.

- "How do you feel?" asked big Miguel.

- "Alive." I said. "Did you have something to do with that?"

- "In a small way." he admitted. Then he quickly glanced at Gina, and back to me.

- "She should hear it."

Miguel nodded. "The Holy Father has known about these..." he glanced at Gina again, who nodded. "These assignations of yours. With the number of French agents in Rome, and the disaffection of the Roman nobles, he was concerned for your safety. He asked de Lorqua to organize a watch on you."

- "Really?"

- "Yes. The other night, it was up to Vicente and me to follow you. Pedro just happened to be going our way, to visit... a friend. And you owe your life to that fortunate happenstance. We saw three men following you. As we drew near, the leader picked up his pace, and I shouted out a warning -"

- "I heard it."

- "I thought so." said Miguel. "I saw you twist about. Pedro and Vicente dealt with the two lackeys, while I rushed forward to attack the man who'd stabbed you. Well, I hate to say it: I was late getting there - and he spun about, and slammed an elbow into my head. I'm not quite sure how it happened. Nor do I know what happened thereafter. But Pedro does."

- "I do." said the younger Ramires. "He spun about, as you did, and felled Miguel. I... I didn't hesitate. I shouted a challenge, and rushed at him." Pedro shook his head. "He was so fast. I was on the defensive a moment later. He would have killed me - I'm sure of it. I was over-matched, Pilgrim. But then Vicente arrived, and... he stabbed the fellow."

Pedro looked back at Vicente. I followed suit.

- "I can't explain it all, Pilgrim." said Vicente. "He was

so

fast. But I don't believe that he'd fought more than one man before. He stepped back, and then lunged at me. I parried... and the Pedro stuck him between the ribs."

- "You both saved me, then."

- "And me." said Miguel.

- "But I owe you two my life." I had saved some 40 coins - twenty of them gold. I gave Pedro and Vicente five gold coins each. Pedro was embarrassed, and Vicente kept shaking his head, but I just insisted until they finally gave in and took them.

- "Your shoulder was only scratched, because his sword caught in the fabric of your jacket. "said Miguel. "That might have saved your life. His blade gashed the side of your head. The cut was deep, but we had the surgeon sew it up."

Thanks to my ISEC implant, I didn't have to worry about infection. In fact, I was immune to disease of any kind. Assuming, of course, that it still worked in this simulation. But why wouldn't it?

- "My head hurts here, too." I gingerly touched a spot just a bit to the side of the cut on my scalp.

- "He wasn't just trying to kill you, Pilgrim. He was trying to drive his sword right through you. You were spinning, remember? You partially avoided his thrust, but you turned towards him, and the cross guard of his sword slammed into your head."

Concussion. I'd managed to avoid one until now, but I knew the symptoms.

- "Gina - did I throw up?"

- "A few times." she said.

She'd had to clean up my vomit. She'd had to wash our sheets, and probably my clothes, too. Or even her own. I winced at the thought.

- "I'm sorry."

- "Don't be."

- "How do you feel now?" asked Miguel. "Are you up to a short walk?"

- "I could try. I probably should."

- "We thought that you might want to see the body of the man who tried to kill you." said Pedro. Miguel glared at him, as if he'd spoiled the surprise.

Their idea of a short walk was all the way to the Chapel of San Lazzaro. They took me down into the crypt, which was surprisingly cool and dry - perfect for preserving a body until it could be buried.

My assailant was a big man. It took me a moment to recognize him, because he'd grown a beard since the last time I saw him.

Will.

- "He was inside the Palace that day you saved the Pope, wasn't he?" asked Miguel. "He was one of that woman's accomplices."

- "Yes."

I'd never told Miguel the whole story of how I knew Anna and Will - and I never would. Never mind the idea of a simulation, or of time travel, if I tried to dress it up that way - we'd murdered his friend Cesare Borgia.

If Will was in Rome, then it was possible, or even probable, that Captain Teck, Faraz and Tasha were, too. Were they looking for me? No - that was unlikely. If even one of the others had been present when Will attacked me, then I'd be dead, and so would Miguel, Pedro and Vicente. The most probable scenario was that Will had seen me, all alone, and couldn't resist the temptation to kill me by himself.

I'd had a lucky escape.

Gina though so, too. "You should make an offering to Saint Bona of Pisa." she said.

- "Oh? Who is Saint Bona of Pisa?"

- "May 29th is her feast day." said Gina. That was day I was attacked. "She is also the patron saint of couriers, guides, and

pilgrims

."

- "Seriously?"

- "Yes. You should also make an effort to see your other woman as soon as you can. Pedro was good enough to take a message to her, letting her know that you were hurt, but still alive. She must be terribly worried."

Gina was absolutely incredible. She not only accepted me having another lover, but she was concerned that Elena might be worried. That was after tending to me while I recovered, including cleaning up my vomit.

- "I don't deserve you, Gina." I said.

- "Well, you must, because I'm still here."

- "Could I ask you one more small favour?"

- "Yes. What do you need?"

- "Could you ask Luisa to prepare a bath?"

- "You don't need a bath. I just washed you this morning."

- "The bath is for you." I said. "I want you squeaky clean before I lick you all over."

Gina smiled, showing her teeth. She knew what that meant.

***

That summer was ridiculously hot and humid. Rome sweltered, and sweated. There was a fever of apprehension in the city, as well. Would the French come? If they did, could they be stopped? The Pope's partisans were understandably worried; his enemies counted the days.

Meanwhile, the number of bodies appearing in the Tiber increased. There were frequent brawls and even murders in broad daylight. There was also a wave of anti-Spanish sentiment, as many blamed the Spanish Pope for their present predicament.

Diego Ramires was furious when someone in the street called him a marrano, and then spat on the ground.

- "A what?" I had to ask for an explanation.

Marranos, it turned out, were Spanish Jews who had converted (or been forced to convert) to Christianity, but still practiced their religion in secret. Spanish Catholics took it as a deadly insult.

In September, we received the news that Charles VIII had crossed the Alps, with the largest army seen in Europe for more than a century. Italians might scoff at the French King's small stature and his physical ugliness, but they were certainly impressed by his army.

- "Thirty thousand men." said the Pope. "Forty heavy cannon, larger than anything ever seen in Italy."

- "More mobile, too." I said. As a student of military history, I was curious to actually see one of the French gun carriages.

- "You're not helping."

- "I think that we have to face facts, Admiral." I called him that whenever we were speaking in English. "The Neapolitan army doesn't want to meet them in battle. Italian Princes are flocking to Charles, to do homage."

- "To kiss his ass!"

- "Yes. And we can't count on the Papal States, or even the city of Rome. At this stage, our solution isn't going to be a military one."

- "No. We can't expect anything from Florence, either. Piero is vacillating. And then there's that damned Savonarola."

My ears perked up at that one. For some reason, the name was vaguely familiar.

- "Who?"

- "A Dominican friar, an itinerant preacher. You know the type: repent, repent, reform the Church. Blah, blah, blah. For some godforsaken reason, it was Pico della Mirandola who invited him to Florence."

That name I knew. Mirandola was a noted philosopher who was often in trouble with the Church. He'd lived under the protection of Lorenzo the Magnificent.

The Admiral was still talking. "So this friar starts preaching, drawing crowds with his Robin Hood crap: tyrants are usurping the people's freedom, and their allies, the rich and powerful, are exploiting the poor. The clergy are corrupt, etcetera. But then he started making prophesies: a divine scourge was coming, a new Cyrus, from over the mountains."

- "Shit."

- "Exactly. So here comes Charles, and now this Savonarola looks like a prophet."

- "That could be dangerous."

- "He's an over-excited zealot, preaching to the desperate folk. Do you know what his followers are called? Piagnoni - the Weepers. Or the Wailers."

The news didn't get any better after that. A Neapolitan fleet was defeated by the French at Rapallo. King Charles reached Milan, and stopped to visit Duke Gian Galeazzo, who was ill. Isabella, his wife, begged Charles to protect the Duke's rights, and those of his young heir. Ten days later, Gian Galeazzo was dead.

Ludovico Sforza, Il Moro, took over the title, amid rumours that he had poisoned his nephew. He arrested and imprisoned Isabella and her four children.