"Establifd?" Cesare chews energetically, manners shot down by a cannon as large as Alfonso d'Este's. "Donna Isabel has been so gracious as to take me under her wing, so I have a roof over my head, and-" he dips more bread in oil, bending forward so he doesn't dribble extra vergine on his trousers, "-I am re-establishing... relations with back home. In a manner of speaking." A big fat olive disappears in his mouth.