6th August, 1809: Chaos breeds vagabonds

With as much flourish as he could muster, he bowed from the waist, twirling his hand in an absurd parody of court etiquette.

"If you wish for it, Sehora, I will tell you tall tales of bandits and romantic tales of their exploits; tell you the truth I will not, but it will pass your time."

He leaned back and took another swig of wine. Consciously offering her a morsel of information, he added seriously:

"I take no sides but my own, and would have abducted you just as easily were you French. By now, it matters little which side finally gets to pronounce judgement over me. Both have enough to justify whatever sentence they will see fit. And I find I don't care."

"You do not care if you die?" Estefania asked somberly, though a laugh did escape her at his dramatic flourish of motion and poise earlier. While exaggerated it was some reflection of court etiquette.

"You have got no one to speak in your favor should you be captured." She took a small sip of the wine.

The man snorted.

"Then I better don't get captured, do I?"

He looked up as the guard called out and two men came to the camp. Jumping to his feet, he quickly went and talked to them quietly, keeping away from Manuel and Estefania.

Estefania observed the bandit as he left then turned to see how Manuel was doing. She needed to asses his injuries again and to see whether, should the need come, he could escape with her. While the war demanded sacrifices, she was not quite certain that she would want to make them without good cause or when there was no other option left to take.

She sighed. Hopefully he would come and if he did not, she would need to convince her captor that she could write another letter. She neither wanted to die, nor with his men.

After some time, el Atracador came back and sat down on his previous spot again. He turned his head and made an inviting gesture for Estefania to join him again, but did not press the matter, reaching for his abandoned bowl of stew instead.

Estefania slowly stood and then walked to the man taking a seat closer but still at arm's length. She has left her bowl and her spoon where she had finished eating. She arched a brow and inclined her head in the direction of the arrivals. "...They have succeed in bringing Agostinho to the British lines?" She recognised the men enough to know that they had been the ones who took one of her fellow irregulars.

The bandit nodded.

"And some officer shouted for a surgeon, so I guess his chances are pretty good. They say it took quite a while though before the British reacted, even though they fired shots. Needed a blue-coated guy to shout around to make them move."

"A blue coat?" Estefania's curiosity was peaked. "....what kind of coat, could they get a good look at it? Did it have something hanging off at the side like an additional coat ..or not?" If it had been a pelisse that the man also wore, then it could have been one of the cavalry, she did not know too many others with blue coats, but one of them was certainly Torrington.

Somewhat irritably, el Atracador replied:

"A blue uniform coat. They didn't recognize it and did not go closer then necessary. After all, we hardly care who finds him as long as he is found, and I don't think even the British are stupid enough to let Frenchmen behind their lines. It was not one of the green rifle officers, though."

"I see. Thank you." If it was whom she suspected, at least there was no fear whether the letter had reached its destination or not. If however it was some other officer, she could still hope that Agostinho had made his best effort to have it delivered and more so that he was going to live.

"How is my man?...When they left him what was his health like?" She inquired, this time sounding more concerned. He was her brother in arms and thus someone she did feel responsible for.

With almost brotherly sympathy, he reassured her:

"Not too bad. A bit in pain from being jolted around, of course, but quite alive. No telling what trying to get the soldiers' attention might have done to him, though. They put him in the shade, but even though ..."

The man shrugged, clearly quite unhappy with this turn of events himself. Feeling that he might have to defend his men, he added:

"They couldn't risk going back. Not after the shots were fired."

"I understand....if though they are certain that they have laid him at the feet of the right side, he should be fine." Her smile faded. "...I care for my men as much as you do for yours." She turned back to the fire.

"You promised me a story of your grand endevours and brave adventures...with a trace of truth in it at least...." She said after a little while. She could do no more for her men but hoped that the British could.

The man laughed but obediently began to tell a tale (all true, he claimed, or at least not too far off) about a mail courier who after an unfortunate incident around a woman took to the hills, lead a band of outlaws against the army and proceeded to accomplish such notable deeds as slipping into a heavily fortified town to cut down a tree or stealing 1200 sheep. Several of the bandits came to listen as well, laughing and commenting what was obviously a familiar tale.

Their leader was a decent story teller, and he seemed to delight in offering his tale in the most absurd fashion to Estefania.

"Wonderful. You might consider a new career, segnor. One that is not of thieving but of storytelling. Perhaps write a book. If you find a man that might print it, it would be quite the most popular thing in Spain." Estefania spoke, half in jest and part serious too. She had enjoyed the story though it made her wonder how much of it was true and how much was a lie or a complete fabrication. Perhaps in time and thanks to some of the men's reactions, she could make a few educated guesses.

"May I just ask of one thing?....what good were these 1200 sheep to the man? You can hardly hide them and feeding them takes effort.. even feeding off of them might make one a terribly heavy man!" She smiled softly, knowing that it was quite absurd, more so now that she had tried to make reason with absurdity.

The man suddenly seemed somewhat uncomfortable, then pulled himself together and shrugged.

"Well, perhaps it was only 12? But you have to admit that 1200 sound much more heroic and impressive, and in fairy tales, you should never ask why the hero does these deeds."

"True. Though 12 are no less heroic, if he had them feed his people." Estefania agreed and then tilting her head slightly, looked at the men that gathered closer around them. She could not identify any of them and was quite unsurprised by that, but she would try remember them never the less.

Glancing back at their leader she smiled."Will he ever see his lady again? Perhaps in the future where his deeds are no longer needed and .. live the proverbial happily ever after.. as all these stories go?"

"Who knows? It might well be ... here or in another life."

The robber laughed.

"They say they shot him once, and he fell down a cliff - only to appear later on another one, laughing at his enemies. Does that sound like the story of a man who would have a less than happy ending?"

He made an expressive gesture.

"Even if he were hanged, and his side beaten ... his deeds, or the story of his deeds will always be needed. ... Even if it was just to entertain lovely ladies at the campfire.

"Ah yes... the legends , the stories of heroes that are told decades later each time grander, more complicated, different." She smiled and leaned back a little.

"Would you not want that one day such stories are sang about you?"

"Well, I would prefer if they would sing them as long as I can actually hear them. And as long as they have a catchy tune, they don't even need to be marginally true!"

He gestured for one of his men to throw over a brightly coloured woven blanket and tossed it into her lap.

"Here ... we have about two hours before we have to set out again. You might want to sleep a bit."

"I will not sleep with them around." Estefania answered gazing at the men. While they seemed unthreatening now she still remembered how eager one of them had been to 'pat her down'. She did not want to risk waking up with a situation that she should have been able to avoid if only she had been more careful.

She tugged at the blanket to spread it over her knees better. It could get colder still, and a blanket could not go amiss.

"Emanuel is injured...do we really need to move?"

"No, of course not. If you prefer to stay here, you sure can."

The man shrugged.

"We'll just take the money and tell your lord that you have decided to stay with us. I might even give him half off. Or would you prefer I take all and buy you something nice from it? Or give you your fair share?"

He said it teasingly, but with a surprisingly serious undercurrent.

Estefania looked startled at his response. It only later downed on her that the intention of them moving in a few hours was to head to the meeting spot, where they might see or might not see the officer. She had thought that they were moving location so they would not be too long in one place.

"I am not the sort of creature that would steal from a well meaning person... or, from anyone." She answered studying the man. Perhaps the French were the sort that were less than anyone and from them taking anything would be excused and justified.

"We will move then and I beg you to be careful and accommodating to Emanuel. I do not wish for his injury to be his death." The serious note in his answer was not missed by her though she did not know what to make of it.

"Pity."

The man stood up, brushing the tree bark off his legs.

"He'll survive a short ride well enough. Just tell him not to try anything. The next bullet he will most certainly not survive."

He collected their bowls and cutlery, obviously intending to simply leave her to sit by the fire until they had to leave.

"Pity?" She arched a brow amused. "Surely you would like to be rid of us as soon as possible. A woman that does not speak of embroidery and lace, and a man who...is rather quiet and injured but both eating your food." She smiled observing him.

"Well, the offer never was for the man ... and it's for you only as long as you do not speak of embroidery and lace. If you can't restrain yourself completely, you can mend our stuff and talk about that, but the first time I hear something like raised rose stich or silk ribbon, you'll get kicked out without horse."