sixthiterationlogs | Poison Is a Woman's Weapon

WHO: Lucrezia
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 7/15
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None

Despite her misgivings, she had ventured into the woods, keeping close to the path. There were a number of plants she recognized, many that knew there were uses for but couldn't quite remember. There had been a book in the Vatican that mentioned herbs and plants, as well as their medicinal uses, but she hadn't had the chance to study it or begin her own experiments, as she wished. But now...now there was time, even without the book.

Spreading out the leaves, roots and berries over one of the tables, she sniffed and inspected the plants studiously. There had been a few pieces of paper in the schoolhouse. Using a bit of charred wood, she sketched the plants to the best of her abilities. It was messy work, but she would at least have a record of what she collected.

A few were easy to guess, aloe, lavender, rosemary, but so many others were a mystery to her. But they were beautiful and delicate, entrancing her in her work. Someone took the seat across from her, stirring her from her thoughts as her blue eyes shot up in surprise. "Oh! Forgive me, I didn't see you."

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She smiled shyly, setting down her makeshift charcoal, her fingers aching. Her focus had blocked out any discomfort she felt in stooping over the table or tightly holding the charred wood. She flexed her fingers, trying to work out the cramp. "For all the good it did me." Her palm had smudged the lines, blotching her skin with soot.

"Please, sit with me." She was eager to meet the others in the village, but the earthquake had been distracting enough. "I'm Lucrezia Borgia."

He had a chiseled face, one made for marble and stone. If she had the skill of artisans, perhaps she would make a bust of him or later a proper sketch, but she had little skill and was already failing at capturing these leaves and plants. "I am sorry we haven't met until now."

So many things were done differently here than he was used to, like the fact that a well-spoken young woman could invite a stranger to sit with her in a tavern, but Gracchus was growing accustomed to the new ways of doing things. A politician, after all, always had to adapt to a situation if he were to be any good at what he did, and Gracchus had not always adapted as well as he should.

"Lucrezia," he repeated, testing the sound of the name, because it was very nearly familiar: a small difference in pronunciation between that and Lucretia, the name of the women of the famous family, whose ancestor had been one of the first consuls. She had the fair coloring, though, that was unusual in Rome, and she spoke English.

It was all more than interesting enough to make him happy to accept her invitation to join her.

"We can make amends for it now. I am Gaius Sempronius Gracchus. It is pleasing to meet you."

She was used to holding audiences of some sort, having hosted a few nobles alongside her mother when she was younger. There had always been a free and easy nature about her, which had later been a determent. But even if with those experiences, she didn't want to lose that friendliness that had been so much a part of her. Instead, she smiled and trusted that there was something kind about him.

His accent sounded harsher and rougher than those that she was used to in Rome. For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to pronounce her name differently, but she simply assumed she misheard him. There was no mistaking though that he had the same inflections and pronunciations of men common in the Italian kingdoms.

His name caused her to bleak in astonishment. The name was pure Roman, ancient and familiar to her. Quickly, she switched to Italian. "Gracchus? That name is one I think I have heard before. You are Roman?"

His family was an old one, not one of the first to hold the consulship, but distinguished, and consular, and his father had been a great of his time in the city of Rome. Tiberius the elder had been respected even by his enemies, which neither of his sons seemed to have managed. It had been more unusual to him that people her hadn't heard of him, or at least his family, than that someone should.

It had been so long since anybody had shown any sign of recognition, though, that he felt his heart give a wild leap of joy. Her questions weren't quite what he was used to: the pronunciation different, the words and formations not those of Latin, but he did recognize some of them, from the book Kate Kelly had given him and that he'd spent so long studying while he learned English, because it was the closest thing to a Latin reference he had.

"Roman, yes," he replied, the words simple because he hadn't yet actually had to speak Italian, and he wasn't certain how much facility with it his study of the dictionary had given him.

His face, though, showed his excitement clearly, and he'd leaned a little forward towards her, eyes alight.

Roman. How had she forgotten what the language of Rome was before the Empire had fallen? Perhaps it should be strange to her that there was a man from the Roman era speaking with her. But after meeting so many from different places and times, it was almost a relief to find someone that she was at least familiar with. Was it through Plutarch? It was hard to remember now, as her studies were less enthralling to her than the myths she was told.

Latin, thankfully, had received more attention. It wasn't difficult to switch to the language. "Are you familiar with Plutarch?" Her pronunciation was passing. Cesare was far better, but as a Cardinal, he had more reason to practice. "I think your family name was mentioned in his book."

She would never forget translating Parallel Lives from Latin to Italian and then to Spanish. Her fingers still instinctively cramped, the memory of the quill clutched tightly in her hand not far from her mind. "Rome is my home as well."

Poison Is a Woman's Weapon

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