‘Here?’ Vale pointed to the ground beneath his feet. ‘This, right here, is your home?’

Juan looked uncertain. ‘I meant—’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you are claiming this land as your own?’

‘No, señor—’

Nene swallowed.

‘When will it end?’ Vale cried suddenly, throwing his arms up as he wheeled around to his brother and the conocedor. ‘The impertinence of these people to think they have some right to something that is not theirs! Up and down the country, landowners like us – fair people, decent people – are being coerced into relinquishing land that was rightfully gained by our ancestors through hard work, grit, determination. And yet now we must suffer the insolence of parasites like these who simply want it to be given over, just because they want it?’

‘Our children and wives are dying, señor.’

‘And that is my fault?’ Vale cried. ‘You place this at my door that you cannot keep and protect your own family?’

‘We ask only that we might work some land off which to live. The bulls do not need all the pastures. The long field has been unused now for nearly five years.’

There was a tense silence and Nene felt the anger in her brother begin to roll, like a distant thunder. ‘Because we are resting the land,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘What you see as unused we know to be part of a longer-term strategy. Do you think our bulls attract a premium for no better reason than that they are pretty?’

‘Of course not, señor.’ Nene saw how the other men behind him were standing slumped now, their weapons slack in their hands. One of them dropped his hoe, a literal throwing down of arms, and turned to leave. Juan turned fractionally, watching him go; they had come here on a wave of righteous anger but with all talk and no action their threat was nullified. Impotent.

‘Of course not,’ Vale repeated sarcastically, bringing Juan’s attention back to him again. ‘And yet you dare to demand something that is not yours on the mistaken belief that you know about matters far above your station. Or intellect.’

Nene saw how the old man’s mouth flattened into a grim line at the insult and he shifted slightly, as though prodded by something from within. Unlike her brothers, she knew that some how, through sheer force of will and pride, Juan Esperanza had taught himself to read and then taught his children too.

He straightened up, lifting his chin and expanding his chest. ‘Above my station, yes perhaps,’ he nodded, gripping tighter the cap in his hand as his voice hardened. ‘But above my intellect? No.’ He raised his head up, the word as sharp as a blade. ‘I may be a poor man, señor, but I am no fool. The long pasture is unused and I am here to fight for my family. These men with me here are mad with hunger, we cannot go on without change; our requests must be met. Nothing works with you – not legal decrees, nor negotia—’