Cesare nods happily at the mention of spices. Oh what things the Portingales brought, and Aragon, all sides intent on securing father's goodwill over the settlement of La Raya, and who got to rule and plunder what. "Sì, sì. Spices," he blabbers. "Small angry peppers that explode in your mouth, saffron and cinnamon and clau d'espècia, mmmh... How to say in English, clove? Bellissimo."
"Oh, I have time. If you have little prosciutt' for me while I wait?" He leans forward to watch what Xellos is doing and sits on his hands like an eager boy. "Food poising, well. Funny you should mention that. Every time people of note in Roma fell sick, it was said we had them poisoned with Cantarella... when in reality it was just that, food poisoning. Or a tertiary fever from the swamps."