Master Cobham, standing on the aft deck, legs spread and his leather hat pulled low over his brow, swears. ‘God’s wounds!’ he bellows. ‘God’s holy wounds!’ On the deck the pardoner and Thomas crouch together, heads between their knees, clinging to the ship’s listing side with raw hands. ‘We shall be wrecked,’ the pardoner shouts over the wind. ‘We should have said a Mass. Should have said a hundred of them.’ He retches again and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. In the night he has pulled a muscle from all the vomiting and now his face is yellow, his eyeballs bloodshot, and his beard slimed with something not even the rain can wash away. By the evening he is too weak to sit and, with the help of Katherine and the ship’s boy, Thomas carries him back into the cabin and hoists him into a stained canvas hammock. ‘By all the saints,’ the old man murmurs when he is settled, ‘have I not suffered enough? They said take a medicinal bath. They said that would suffice.
What do You think about Kingmaker: Winter Pilgrims (2014)?
