----------------------------------
"I will not!"
"I‘m captain, and I‘m ordering you to do it!"
Sule snarled at William, who snarled right back at him, even as he kept one hand pressed tightly against the Dutchman‘s side, trying to stop the bleeding. The Dutchman‘s eyes jerked between the two angry men as they argued in English.
Sule felt the old rage bubbling up, burning through him like molten iron. He clenched his fists and tried to will it away, but just hearing Dutch brought back memories of the plantation, the life he thought he‘d escaped. "Bill…," he began, trying not to lose his head completely.
William sighed, the anger draining out of his eyes. He shook his head. "Do you know this man? Was he one of the men who beat you when you were a slave, or who fought with you the day we met?"
Sule looked away. "No," he muttered.
"Then he deserves none of your ill will."
"He‘s Dutch!" The words spat themselves out of his mouth, and he started to step forward but stopped at the icy look in his captain‘s eyes.
"Dutch bleeds the same as African. Right now, he needs our help, and we‘re going to give it to him. So you will kindly extend my invitation—in fact, you will persuade him to come aboard the ship, at least until we can stop the damned bleeding. Do you understand your orders, Mister Okonjo?"
"Yes, Captain." With a red haze in front of his eyes and a buzzing in his ears, Sule focused on the cut over the Dutchman‘s right eyebrow and said that Captain Shaughnessy would consider it an honor to welcome him on board as their guest, and that their surgeon would be happy to see to his injury.
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