6th August, 1809: Chaos breeds vagabonds

He ducked his head modestly.

"It is my profession, and I strive to do it well."

An unholy twinkle came into his eyes and he sat up straighter, moving away a bit and turning slightly.

"My dear, I can only applaud your decision. Since I am pretty sure you would not have clung to me even in the dark, this way I at least can still appreciate the beautiful picture you make."

"You are correct, and I would not wish to embarrass you by having you tremble in the dark as I know your pride would not allow you to scoot closer to make yourself feel safer." She said with her head held high and a smirk on her face.

"I doubt the state I find myself in appears at all beautiful unless you find twigs and dirt and a few leaves in the hair appealing, and smudges of grass and tree sap equally good looking." She dusted her coat as if to confirm that her clothes - which were rather uniform if far from flashy - needed a good scrub and a wash.

"Pride be hanged if I can get a beautiful woman to croon to me instead", the bandid answered roundly.

He slowly, as if he was dealing with a spooky horse, reached out to pull a leave out of her hair.

"Titania was clothed in leaves, and was still queen of fairies ..."

Estefania waited as motionless as she could, watching his hand approach, then at the very last moment she made a sudden jerk forward. She did not move far. At the same time as she moved she uttered a loud: "Boo!!" An exclamation worthy of a warrior. Then she withdrew as quickly and would look quite smug if her 'scare' had been successful.

Her scare certainly did work, though not neccesarily as she expected. Before she had finished, she was roughly shoved behind a broad back and her intented target had his pistol in his hand and was scanning the surroundings warily, his body tense and battle ready.

"Oh for..." Estefania rolled her eyes only once she was certain that she did not find herself with a knife in her back or belly. " You are beginning to make me think you have an unfounded fear of women." She said as she began to righten herself, as her balance had been thrown quite off thanks to the earlier shove.

"Considering the menance you are, there is nothing unfounded in it!"

With a last sweep around, he put the pistol down and seated himself again, growling and surly.

"The next time something happens, I will just let you be. If it is the French, they will go for you rather than me."

"Well, you should have thought about that, when you decided to shoot my men and take us all hostage." She answered with confidence and shifted a little. She did stiffen a bit (so slightly the poor light could conceal it) when he mentioned the French and what he would have rather done but, very quickly regained her composure. "If you leave me a knife, you need not worry. I'll make sure that it is the last thing they attempt to do."

"Well, how should I know? The last ladies I met were all perfectly nice and friendly. You should come with a warning sign!", the man defended himself indignantly. He seemed to have noticed her tensing, though, for suddenly he declared angrily (more at himself, truth be told, for making such a poor joke that he had to abandon his own bluff):

"Don't be silly, girl! A knife will do you no good against a musket or even a bajonet! If the French appear, you will do your best to get out of here and not look back, understood? The British picket lines are two miles in that direction, and if they hear shots, they will come towards you. Armando will help you - listen to him. He knows the terrain, and it's not the first time he had to run from the French."

"May I remind you that, other than that slip-up with you, which cost me my freedom, I have been fairly successful in the business of irregular warfare." She said simply, and though she knew that their first course of action would be to run, as no idiot would want to face down the whole French army alone, if she ran out of possibilities, she would rather have had a knife, than nothing on her.

"I am not a little girl who has decided she wants to play soldier." She held her head high and indignant. "Just as you've said you can't mistake me for the ladies you have met."

El Atracador threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Fine! Stay! Fight them and get killed if you want! What do I care anyway?"

With a fluid movement, faster than one could consciously follow, he drew his knife and threw it, embedding it deeply in the trunk of a tree not a foot away from Estefania's shoulder.

"There, I'll even give you the knife to do it! Just don't ever ask me again why I'm not fighting on the side of such idiotic heroes!"

Estefania tensed, jerking slightly to the side, because she certainly did not trust to find the knife imbedded in her chest and not the trunk beside her. She turned and tugged it free and held it in her hand, studying the blade.

"You're an idiot if you think that I would stay if I had a chance to flee. Not against the whole army, not even one against the whole regiment or a troop of the men. But if there was no longer a chance to run away I would have rather been dead, than their prisoner." She spoke sharply, her tone serious.

It was a very good blade, perfectly balanced and sharp to a fault. There was silver inlayed in the hilt, and decorative edgings on the metal parts; but there were also signs of heavy use, and a large chip in the wood where another blade had cut into it deeply.

The bandit huffed.

"Well, forgive me, but how was I to know you still have some sense? Not five minutes ago you raked me over the proverbial fire for suggesting just that!"

He pulled one of his pistols and held out his hand.

"Give me the knife."

His eyes had softened when she had brought up her desire not to be captured by the French.

Armando, crouching behind dome greenery with his charge, sighed.

"What is the idiot doing now?", he asked exasperatedly.

"To return the knife now? Do you consider me stupid? I have just acquired it, even if through your own temper." Estefania held onto the weapon which seemed quite nice, even if small, and certainly sharp and ready to surprise and to slice a man should there be a need to. She glanced at El Atracador. "No. " She did not believe that the pistol just offered was actually offered and would not just be drawn away, once she had handed over the weapon. Nor did she believe that she had gunpowder for it, or that she would be given any balls. It was the case of better safe than sorry.

"Can you properly fight with it?", the bandit asked reasonably. He put the pistol back, studying how the woman opposite him held the blade.

"Otherwise it will do you no good and only give your enemy an additional weapon. And for quickly ending things, a bullet is better suited. It is only one shot, but as long as your aim is not truelly atrocious, it is bound to do a considerable amount of damage."

"My mother was Spanish, my father Portuguese, I have seen it used and I have been shown how to use it. Well enough that I shant cut myself, and yet cut the one who deserves it." Estefania answered straightening a little. She was far from bad with the knife. The practice that she had done with it, as an irregular, benefited her immensely.

"One shot at a dozen men, does less than one knife against the same number. It may not slay them all, but it injures more." She added holding the knife in a position that was quite correct for the style. "But, why do you care. You wished to kill me, should the lord not come."

El Atracador nodded, conceding the point. He pulled another knife from his boot and wrapped his cloak around his off-hand, circling her.

"You misunderstand - I wish for nothing more than for your lord to come and to exchange you safely and in one piece for the money. I am however prepared to face the consequences, should this not happen. Take the blanket, if you want ... you already made me put a hole in it anyway."

---------

From behind the bush, a soft, eaxsperated groan was heard, and Armando raked his knuckles over his eyes.

"What do you want of me... to fight you now..?" She inquired, surprised that he would stand up with his blade and challenge her, while they waited for her savours to arrive.

She did take the blanket however, much at first to defend herself, but then because she would oblige the man if he wished for a fight. She took her stance, eyeing him alertly.

"If you want to keep the blade, show me that I haven't handed you no more than a tool to harm yourself."

He considered for a moment, took a few steps back, then shouted to one of his men:

"Heya, Martinio - hand me your musket and the bayonet for a moment."

The man declared him quite audibly mad, but after a stern look and an imperious gesture, he threw the French musket, bayonet already fixed, to his leader.

"Very well. But if I draw blood, you have yourself to blame and you will not demand your men to shoot me for it. Deal?" She arched a brow, gazing questionably at the musket. Had he changed his mind now and meant to fight with that, or had he lost it, and this was the result? She stifled a laugh at the look the man gave his superior. It was bizzare indeed!

"This is practice, so don't try to kill me - otherwise ... if you manage to suceed against what I throw at you, you can keep the knife - or my boot knife. It is probably more suited to your weight and style."

He unloaded the musket and swiveled it around until he had it in the classic French attack position.

"Alright - I'm attacking you with a bayonet. Show me what you do!"

He advanced - a tad slower and more controlled than a real enemy would. He was clearly testing her strength and level of skill.

Estefania inclined her head in a nod then took the right stance again, her feet keeping her up and well balanced. They allowed her to be a little closer to the ground, but what was more important, to aid her in moving swiftly and changing direction more easily than if her feet had been planted stiffly on the ground.

As El Atracador approached she had first used the blanket, worn almost like a mantel, twisting it skillfully to have it wrap around the musket, while the knife was thrust from the position low to the ground, upwards towards his ribs and his chest.

As soon as it was clear how her move would have been finished in a real fight, the bandit stilled, held the pose for a moment, then relaxed and took a step back.

"Good. At least you will not be killed by a complete idiot!"

He had given her quite openly the chance to try to kill him, though, and although he had a few tricks up his sleeve yet, he wondered what that made him. Well, to make this whole exercise profitable, he needed to know whether he could trust her, he reasoned; it sounded much better than being curious whether she would try to kill him.

"Now for the not completely overweigth guy with the less steady hands ..."

He repeated the attack, this time with greater speed and a wildly weaving bayonet.

Her body moved quite elegantly in the next motion, as before it seemed to decide on how to defend itself first, then react. There was less force in her motion than there was something almost akin to harmony of it, with the attacker. While he waved the musket wildly, she seemed to settle for the opportune moment at which to strike and when she did it was precise and quick. First she went to deflect the offending weapon as before, but with greater edge and force, and then for the similar strike as before. The blade would not have gone through , but it would have rested against the fabric of El Atracadors shirt.