The mercenary made a beeline for the recruiter's table, elbowing through the line, ignoring the complaints of the other hopeful recruits.

“My name is Lodovico Bianchi,” said the mercenary in Italian, breathing heavily, “formerly of the company of Ernst von Mansfeld. I have served faithfully at the Battle of Dessau Bridge, and I am experienced in the use of smallswords, daggers, and rapiers. I have also served as a bravo-for-hire for various Italian nobles. You will hire me.”

Captain Toscana looked at the colorfully dressed figure up and down and said, “What balls! Do you think I am an idiot, signora?”

She was desperately hoping for it, but this recruiter was no fool. He could tell that 'Lodovico Bianchi' was no man. Her long lashes, her small mouth, her delicately rounded and feminine jaw, her auburn shoulder-length hair, and a gentle pair of doe-like eyes that had clearly never seen battle before betrayed her for whom she really was – a teenage girl in a costume.

Don Alfonso looked on as ‘Lodovico’ desperately tried to plead her case with tales of bravado and her adventures with Ernst von Mansfeld, a German mercenary commander who was, a few years ago, considered the most dangerous enemy of the Catholic League. Von Mansfeld was known for his sharp wit and intelligence, as well as the uncanny ability to maintain unit cohesion even when the end seemed nigh. Such a man would never dare risk enlisting a girl into his ranks, let alone a girl like this... would he?

As her arguments caused Toscana to become more and more exasperated, to the point of the two beginning to shout at each other, the don decided that he had enough. Experienced mercenary or queen of shams, he would not allow this to continue. Seeing an opportunity to get into the good graces of the company, he resolved to challenge ‘Lodovico’ to a duel, demonstrating his weapons mastery and showing how clear of a fraud she was, if she was indeed a charlatan. This would, in turn, put Toscana at ease, and perhaps would earn him a position more suitable to his martial prowess among the ranks of this 'Talbot Company'. The don found it rather insulting to be enlisted as a mere pikeman. He had education, ambition, wealth… perhaps not wealth, but he was no one's cannon fodder. And if ‘Lodovico’ won the duel, then he would no longer have to worry about that massive debt he incurred, and she would be the one to worry about paying for his burial expenses.

Just as Don Alfonso rose from his seat, the tavern door swung open again. There was no fanfare this time. Three convincing-looking Italian bravos burst into the tavern, their eyes darting around the room. It took mere seconds for them to fix their eyes on their mark. ‘Lodovico’ stared back at them and immediately sprinted off, knocking down the recruiter's table as she went. The three bravos followed in hot pursuit.

The girl headed straight away for the stairs leading to the upper rooms and tried to run to the second floor, skipping three steps with her long legs every time she stepped up. However, she was soon stopped by a rather large man at the top of the stairs. It was the innkeeper.

Luigi Trotta, the owner of the Scimmia Ubriaca, had a keen eye for troublemakers, and that was what he saw in ‘Lodovico’. If a trio of mercenaries had been hired to dispatch her, surely she had wronged someone, and Luigi was not about to let her escape from the arms of justice.

‘Lodovico’ turned and faced her assailants. The stairwell was narrow, forcing them to come up to her one at a time. The first bravo approached her slowly, his glowering eyes fixed on hers. Both drew their swords simultaneously and clashed against each other.

‘Lodovico’ had the high ground, being five steps above her opponent. His thrusts could not touch her, but her wild swings could nick him. As she swung her sword over her head in wild, reckless overhand chops, something her rapier was never intended for, her unprepared opponent winced as he tried to block her strikes with his limited reach.

The bravo could simply not find time to attack. His opponent's blows were quick, careless, but aggressive. If he came any closer, it would be like approaching a giant whirling needle, but he had to try it – he would not be paid otherwise. As the bravo stepped forward, there was a splatter of red. He clutched the side of his head where his left ear used to be and screamed in agony.

With her opponent disoriented, off-balance, and in extreme pain, ‘Lodovico’ thrust her sword into his neck – the smooth straight blade of her rapier piercing into his throat like a fork piercing a tender, juicy lemon.

‘Lodovico’ froze for a fraction of a second, realizing she had just killed a man for the first time in her life, but her survival instinct took over and she kicked the bravo's lifeless corpse down the stairwell, causing it to crash into his two companions below with a loud sound, like the cracking of bones.

If ‘Lodovico’ had been a better fighter, this fight could have been over much sooner. She had not even known that fighting from the high ground would extend her reach, make her strikes more powerful and give her a better angle of attack. Neither did she know that by fighting in a staircase, she eliminated the risk of having to face three opponents at the same time. However, all the veteran fighters in the room saw this as a clear indication of her 'experience.'

Before the other two bravos could recover to continue the assault, Captain Toscana stood up and yelled for a halt. ‘Lodovico’ peered at him from her place on the staircase, trembling, her eyes as wide as saucers, with her blade still held in a stance of attack.

Captain Toscana motioned for the girl to come to him. Even as she tiptoed down the stairs, not making the slightest noise, the eyes of the entire inn were on her, especially Luigi's. Who would pay for this mess?

‘Lodovico’ stepped over the bodies of her opponents as she approached Toscana, her sword still drawn.

“You can fight, signora,” he said.

“I... I am Lodovico Bianchi. I am a man.” she muttered, her senses slowly coming back to her, the realization dawning on her that she had taken a human life.

“And you have served under Ernst von Mansfeld?” he asked.

“Y...yes.” ‘Lodovico’ said, frantically nodding her head.

“Did you have a commission?”

“Y...ah... yes,” she said, not really understanding the question.

“Please understand that commissions granted in other armies do not carry over to the company. The price of a commission in the Talbot Company for a lieutenant of... swords, I believe your previous commission might have been in... is fifty florins.”

“I have the money, of course,” she said, quickly producing a bulging sack of coins from her belt. Again, ‘Lodovico’ did not fully understand what she was purchasing, she merely wished to keep up her quite transparent lie.

Captain Toscana grabbed the pouch and poured out about fifty gold coins. Frowning in suspicion, he bit one of them – the coin showed scarring from his teeth. It was real. With a shrug of apathetic resignation, he tossed a single coin to Luigi to pay for the damage to the inn, handed his roster over to ‘Lodovico’, had her sign it and said,

“Welcome to Talbot Company, lieutenant.”

Toscana could see, clear as the light of day, that this was not a man. Fifty florins was actually the price of a captain's commission, but if she could afford it without even bothering to question it, then by all means, she could join the company and be ignored by the swordsmen she was appointed over. Coin was the only thing that mattered in the company, and as long as she had plenty of it, no one would ask any questions. The recruiter gave her a curt nod and motioned for her to take a seat as the line of recruits slowly started to form up behind her again.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The two surviving bravos that had been sent after her did not want to take the risk of being ganged up on by every Talbot Company man in the building by attacking her again, so instead picked up their fallen comrade and carried him out of the tavern, cursing her as they went.

The others around her stared at the fat sack of coins that ‘Lodovico’ had given to Toscana. Why was someone with that much wealth joining up with them? And more importantly, why were three armed men sent to attack her? Dozens of eyes stared at ‘Lodovico’, some curious, but mostly suspicious.

Don Alfonso sat at his table, pondering, with his eyes cast downward and his chin on his knuckle. He noticed something that the others had not. While everyone knew that ‘Lodovico’ was in fact, a woman, the brawl by the stairs made it seem apparent that she at least knew how to handle herself and could hold her own on a battlefield. Don Alfonso, however, saw the truth. ‘Lodovico Bianchi’ was one of the clumsiest swordsmen he had ever seen. While she was aggressive and apparently brave, she exhibited the grace and skill of an ape with a fire poker. However, since Don Alfonso knew this, he could use it to his advantage.

Naturally ‘Lodovico’ gravitated towards the only person in the inn that was not staring at her and sat at the don’s table. She nervously clasped her small, soft hands together and decided to start a conversation… in Italian.

“So… I guess we are brothers in arms now, no?” she said with a fake chuckle. Luckily for her, Spanish and Italian shared so many words that they were mutually intelligible. Don Alfonso nodded and replied in his native Spanish,

“Yes, but you are no brother of mine, señorita. I have a few questions, if I may.”

“Ah, you are a Spaniard. I do not know what it is like in your language, but in Italian, we use the word signore when we refer to men, and I clearly am a man. You may ask your questions, but the clarity of my answers depends on what those questions are.”

“Why were those three men chasing you?”

“Well, this I can be honest about. Dead men cannot retort. I borrowed a very large sum of money from a bank here in Milan. I… may have gambled away three-quarters of it and spent much of the rest on these clothes and this weapon. By the time I realized what I had done I also realized that I needed to get out of this country. The money in my purse is all that remains.”

Don Alfonso suddenly felt a strong connection with the girl. Both of them had the same financial problem since both had dug themselves deep into debt. He hoped that they would be able to find a way out of it together.

“A fine outfit you have purchased for yourself indeed, señorita.” the don continued, insisting on using the feminine version of the word, “I would be terrified if the circus rose up in arms against us.” he joked, without so much as a smile.

She sighed. “Is the disguise that bad?”

Don Alfonso nodded. “Not only is the disguise bad, but I can tell that you are lying about many things. For example…”

“Signore. I did not come here to be chided. In case you haven’t heard, I am to be your lieutenant.”

“And that is exactly what I am ‘chiding’ you for, señorita.” Don Alfonso said, taking another sip of the wine he had almost forgotten about. Its bitterness was magnified now that he knew he probably could not afford it. “Señorita, hypothetically, how would you feel if you were put under the leadership of a person who was completely without skill, know-how or experience?”

“I would be embarrassed, perhaps more than a little resentful. I might even resign from this imaginary position.”

“And if this person was responsible for your well-being, your health, your very life, señorita? How would you feel?”

“I would feel terrified. I do not know what that question has to do with anything signore, because I know that I am a very capable leader and, as you have seen, quite a skilled fighter.”

“Of course, of course, and you were put in charge of the swordsmen, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Then tell me, what is the purpose of a swordsman in modern warfare?”

“Why, they are there to fight of course.”

“Señorita, everyone fights. Everyone from the dumbest pikeman to the haughtiest cavalier has a part to play in battle. My question is what role do your men, swordsmen specifically, play?”

“Well, I would say that the swordsman is responsible for fighting with the sword of course. Stop this nonsense; I know what I am talking about. I do not need to explain it to you!”

The don smiled, silently confident in himself and his judge of character. The girl did not understand the concept of a pike and shot formation – the most basic battlefield formation of any modern European army, and she was going to command one of its most critical elements.

“Hija,” said the don, talking to her as if he were talking to a small child, “admit it. You know nothing about war or warfare. If you reveal this truth about yourself to your men, they will mutiny, and they will kill you. Soldiers do not like irresponsible, foolish leaders. Do you want to be killed by your own men?”

‘Lodovico’ quickly realized that the Spaniard was right, and she shook her head frantically, her eyes wide in fear from the realization of what she had gotten herself into.

“You are in luck, hija. I was once a commander of soldiers myself. I can teach you what to do, what to say, and how to act. I can turn you into a fearless leader of men and you can stand tall as a soldier instead of… whatever you are now.”

“I suppose you are not doing this out of compassion for me, are you?” she said. The Italians were all naturally suspicious of the Spanish. The Spanish king was, after all, their distant, foreign master; and every proud son of Italy considered the Spanish as invaders.

“You read me well, hija. All I ask is one small favor. Give me enough coin to buy my own commission and my way out of this city, and I will take you under my wing and spare you from an embarrassing mutiny… and possibly death.”

‘Lodovico’ looked around. Many were still staring at her, but the majority had gone back to whatever they were doing before she entered the inn. The air was still thick with suspicious murmuring, however.

“I accept, but if you are to train me, we must first trust each other,” said ‘Lodovico’ as she narrowed her eyes. “You tell me who you are and I will tell you who I am.”

“These life stories take many weeks to tell, hija. Let us save that for when we are on the road. Let us start with names. I am Don Alfonso Villanueva y Santiago. Who are you?”

“My name… my real name... is Sophia Fortezza di Milano.”

The don smiled; content that he had finally been able to wrestle some truth out of this stranger. If he ever experienced a painful and horrible death because of her mistakes, he would know what name to curse in the afterlife.

“A pleasure to meet you, Señorita Fortezza.” he said with a twirl of his hand and a slight bow of his head. “Now, as I said, you will never pass for a war veteran if you do not know the first thing about war. I ask you again – what is the purpose of a swordsman?”

“They are the first into the fray, the bravest and fiercest…”

Don Alfonso raised his hand, motioning for her to stop. “Hija, no. This is not how modern war on is waged on the continent. This is how you would fight if you were an infidel, a savage, or a Turk. When was the last time you heard of any of them winning a victory against a proper European army?”

“Well, the Turks have been winning major victories in Hungary…”

“My dear, the question was rhetorical.” Don Alfonso interrupted. “Now, in modern warfare, the pikemen and musketeers, in the formation of a pike square, make up the most basic unit of a battle. It is strong from the front, but vulnerable to the sides. Your swordsmen are there to protect its flanks.”

“I see, and how am I to do that exactly?”

“It would be best to demonstrate that in a marshaling field, hija. If you wish for the lesson to continue, I graciously ask for you to purchase my officer’s commission for me so that I may have a company of men to demonstrate with.”

Sophia made a slight bow with her head and took out her coin purse. It still bulged quite a bit, even after she gave Don Alfonso his fifty florins. The don smiled politely, barely containing his excitement, as he took the cash and presented it to Toscana.

“Señor.” he said to Toscana, “My name is Don Alfonso Villanueva y Santiago – I previously served under his majesty’s…”

“Yes, yes, do you have the means to pay for your commission?”

The don dropped the pouch on the table, continuing.

“I previously served under his majesty’s forces in the East Indies, as the commander of a halberdier company. I wish to offer my expertise to the company, as I believe that I would be wasted as a common foot soldier.”

The recruiter looked at the don and could see that, unlike Sophia, he actually looked like he was telling the truth. Toscana saw the fine, well-kept clothing characteristic of the Spanish gentry, as well as the physical build that one might expect from a soldier. There was no need to bite the coin this time. He handed Don Alfonso the roster and instructed the don to write down his name and sign it. Don Alfonso was now a captain of the halberdiers.

Returning to Sophia, his smile as wide as ever, Don Alfonso sat beside her and gave her a brotherly pat on the back, saying,

“We are either returning to the bank with chests full of coin or returning to our Heavenly Father. It is time for Sophia Fortezza the maiden to die and for Lodovico Bianchi the bravo to be born!”

Sophia had never really thought of death as a factor in the life of adventure she had made up in her head, but now there was no way to back out of her decision. So far though, she was falling in with the right crowd, and it looked like an auspicious start. She managed a fake, nervous smile and took a large gulp of Alfonso’s wine, thinking, What have I gotten myself into?