It felt hypocritical of Cesare to ask for a priest in his last hours. God would forgive, Alexander had said, but their sins were many and the horrors they'd wrought went deep. He'd worry for Hell when Hell swallowed him up though, but confess his doings on the way no less. Assuming the woman found a priest. Perhaps it was more fitting to go into that place unforgiven and abandoned. Purgatory would be a welcome respite from this sickness.
A sickness the woman attempted to end. Or would, if he could focus long enough to give her the details she was asking for. Not the plague? What then? His brother had contracted disease. He'd not consumed a drink given by another. The food? Could he have been poisoned? Had the Borgia enemies come even this far in the world? The thoughts flooded through Cesare's mind, a whirling display of restlessness and confusion that left him unfocused and dazed.
"Cesare Borgia," he said, forcing open his heavy eyes to stare upward, blearily, at the woman. She was no angel, but he was certainly seeing a gentle face. One offering him a hand out of that darkness. He closed his eyes again and spoke slowly, with halting pauses between his sentences., "It began with a cough, and cold," the chills had settled in shortly after. "Aches." He moved a hand to his chest, his face contorting tightly then relaxing. "I sought a cure for the pain, they.. gave me only tiny tablets. Aspirin. There are no alchemists or apothecaries nearby."