So there I was, buried under a sprawling, chaotic mass of thrashing arms and legs. Fury lent me a strength almost superhuman; with a mighty effort, I flung off the soldiers on top of me, rising to my feet.
I knew escape was hopeless, but that only goaded me into a greater rage. Like a bull I rushed at the head officer, Don Pedro Priego, only to be caught by a dozen of the bronzed veterans surrounding me.
For a second, I succeeded in flinging them off.
“No more!” I gasped, my anger almost choking me. “No more! Fleming though I am, I was a loyal servant of King Phillip, but I tell you no more! You take my money. Very well. I can earn more. You take my job. I can get another. You take my home. Yet I raise no protest. But you are not content! You are never content!” I spat each sentence out as though it were poisonous. Through narrow eyes I looked at him, and he met my stare with a gaze every bit as cold and icy. I tore myself out of the grip of a soldier who had seized my arm. “You are never content,” I repeated. “Now you want my life! Master-gunner on his Imperial Majesty’s Invincible Armada’s Rear Admiral’s flag ship! Slavery!”
Geneva D 