I sat on my horse, surveying the battlefield with General Canabarro as we directed other soldiers on where to deliver the supplies. The general’s black eyes examined the battlefield. From our vantage point we could see the full expanse of the battle laid out before us. His frown accentuated his features, making him look like a toad. He mumbled to himself as he oversaw his soldiers, the Black Lancers.

The Black Lancers were Canabarro’s pride and joy. A contingent made up of slaves who were promised freedom in exchange for their service in the rebellion, they were expert horsemen and fierce fighters. Canabarro assured José I would be safe with them during the battle.

Holding one hand to my stomach, while the other hand gripped my horse’s reins, I scanned the field below, directing supplies to various points in the battle. I was too distracted, too focused on the task at hand to notice that Imperial forces had set a trap and I was their prize.

I heard the heavy thumping of hooves in the distance. Turning, I watched in horror as the Black Lancers’ horses, devoid of their riders, charged past us. Weren’t the horses supposed to be with the soldiers? was all I could think until the shouting began: “It’s an ambush! The Imperials are here!”

Our men scattered. A large regiment stampeded toward me, their rifles drawn. Turning my horse in a circle, I could see that we were surrounded. There was nowhere for me to go. Panic clawed at my throat as my mind raced. There has to be a way out. Swallowing it down, I moved my gaze toward the cavalry in front of me.

I charged forward. If I couldn’t scare them out of my way, I could at the very least trample them. A single gunshot reverberated like a clap of thunder. My horse collapsed, taking me down with him.

I put my feet out, allowing me to tuck into a ball and roll away when I landed. I felt myself come to a stop at the roots of a tree. I realized it was no tree. I stared at a pair of muddied boots, the leather slightly worn along the soles. My eyes traveled up pristine green pants, past a chest covered in medals, finally resting on a skeletal face. The man smiled, making him look even more dangerous.

“Olá, Senhora Garibaldi. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

*  *  *

To the Imperial soldier’s credit, I was treated with more respect than a regular prisoner of war. I didn’t know if it was because of my condition or who I was married to. Two young soldiers helped me into the cart, not bothering to tie my hands behind my back. They knew as well as I did that at eight months pregnant, I wasn’t going anywhere.