"Minchia! Cazzo! De La Cosa, what the hell have you been doing these past few days? Why did the ship first make for shore, then head back out to sea? West one moment, east the next, spinning in circles like a complete mess?..."
"Merda! And what's with the cannon fire? It keeps booming all over the place. Don't tell me we can run into Berber pirates even off the western coast of the peninsula?!..."
A dim oil lamp hung on the bulkhead of the lower hold. Its light was not bright, yet it stung the eyes of the man below deck until he shut them. The cramped cabin was a wreck, and a thick, pungent stench filled the air, making anyone want to cover their nose. This "commander's private room" converted from a storeroom truly was awful! And worse still was the man leaning against the filthy planks, his face pale and gaunt as a skinny donkey's. He had only one ear, and the clothes he had worn for three months were stained all over, giving off an even harder-to-describe odor...
"Diamine! De La Cosa, what's that look on your face? I don't need your pity! What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck is happening outside?..."
"...Ah!... Cough!... That smell... Cough!"
De La Cosa gave a long sigh. He did not go near Columbus, and his hand stayed pressed to his cutlass. The acrid stench made his eyes water a little, and he could not help coughing before he finally spoke in a low voice.
"Commander, our ship is too slow. We've been fleeing for days and still couldn't get away... They're going to catch up... This time, I'm afraid none of us will make it through..."
"What! What the hell are you people good for? A