Micaela peeped at the men from behind her grandmother's skirts as they tore greedily at the warm, fresh bread, swilling it down with long draughts of milk.She was surprised when her grandmother gave her a gentle push towards the kitchen door.

'Go across the lane, little one, and call Grandpapa and Uncle Ramon in from the workshop for something to eat. They must be hungry by now.'

Puzzled at her grandmother's forgetfulness, Micaela was about to remind her that Grandpapa and Uncle were away for the day, when one of the men jumped up from the table, grabbing the knife that Bernarda had used to cut the bread.

'Madre de Dios!' Bernarda exclaimed, crossing herself as she pushed her granddaughter behind her, trying to shield the little girl with her body.

The man lunged at them and held the knife against Bernarda's throat. 'Where do you keep the money?' he demanded.

'There is no money in the house. I swear. We never keep the money from the business here. Take anything else you want, but please - do not harm the child.'

'I don't believe you!' the man barked. 'Stay there and don't move or you will both be in trouble.' He pushed Bernarda down onto the nearest chair and Micaela clung to her, burying her face in the familiar, starched smell of her grandmother's apron, as the two men began their destructive search. They upended stone jars and pots, smashing them on the stone flags in frustration when they realised they were empty. Then they ransacked the drawers in the huge oak dresser. Micaela began to scream.

'We must silence the child before the neighbours come running,' growled the man with the knife. 'Here, help me with this.' Snatching the cotton cloth from the table, he began slashing it into strips. Hunks of bread formed islands in a milky sea as crockery was dashed to the stone-flagged floor. Micaela was becoming hysterical. While the men's attention was diverted, Bernarda eased herself quietly from the chair and tried to propel the child towards the door whispering, 'Run! Run!' But before they could get across the room, they were both grabbed firmly.

Micaela's screams were stifled as her mouth was bound. Pushing her roughly to the floor, the man bent over her, tying her wrists to the leg of the kitchen table, accidently nicking the child's delicate skin as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. The look of terror on Micaela's face as tiny droplets of blood began to form on her wrist gave Bernarda added strength to struggle against her own captor, but she too was soon overcome, gagged and tied down in her rocking chair. The bonds were cutting into her wrists and she knew if she kept on struggling she could push the men into more desperate measures. She slumped in the chair, limp and unresisting. Micaela was also still - she had fainted.