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farmers.”
    â€œThat’s what you’re doing, though,” answered Tryce, “isn’t it?”
    Tryce had adopted a tone of challenge, and Sherwin acknowledged to himself that his new companion would make a tough opponent. He was a big man, as sailors go, with broad shoulders and the rolling gait of a man used to the deck shifting under his stride. He had a broad-bladed sword in a worn scabbard, and a salt-stained, bruise-blue knit cap on his head, the end dangling over his ear.
    â€œBest we leave the actual thievery to Tryce, sir,” advised Sergeant Evenage. “He’s a rough-cut sort, as you can see, and he can’t easily tell right from not-right-at-all, if you catch my meaning.”
    Bartholomew put his hand on Sherwin’s arm and gave a nod of agreement.
    â€œBut what difference does it make,” protested Sherwin, “if we end up dining on a sow that Tryce has stuck with a knife?”
    â€œI am a soldier, sir,” said Evenage, “and not altogether accustomed to some of the ways of Captain Fletcher’s men myself.”
    â€œBut you profit from their plunder, I can easily imagine,” said Sherwin.
    He turned to advise Tryce to stay where he was.
    But it was too late.
    Â 
    TRYCE HAD LEAPED over the white wall, and judging by the sounds of sloppy footsteps, he was making his way through a sty.
    The musical, shrill gutturals of piglets greeted his entrance among them, and Tryce could be heard more than once calling “Hoi, you,” as—judging by the sounds—he groped and stumbled into puddles.
    â€œSir,” cried Bartholomew, “take care.”
    Sherwin climbed to the top of the wall, and overlooked a catastrophe.

15
    T RYCE WAS RUNNING fast, back toward Sherwin, pursued by a very large white-and-brown pig.
    Tryce stumbled and the sow was upon him.
    Sherwin leaped from his uncomfortable perch on the wall and was thankful for his tall boots, which allowed him to wade with a certain dignity and alacrity through the muck.
    The sow had torn a long slash into Tryce’s breeches and drawn blood as Sherwin hurried to help his companion. Breed sows, although not tusked or muscled as heavily as boars, were equipped to defend their young. As Tryce bawled for the help of Heaven, this huge, heavy creature was on him, trying to roll the trespasser onto his back where she could rip him open.
    Sherwin had enjoyed a variety of acquaintances along the river Thames in Chiswick. Reed-gatherers and plowmen, swineherds and squires took the time to wish each other good day. Sherwin had passed a piggery nearly everysummer afternoon on his way to fish for smelt in the river-island shallows, and he had enough knowledge of swine temperament to realize what danger Tryce was in, and to know exactly what had to be done.
    He drew his rapier.
    Â 
    ASIDE FROM DRAWING the sword briefly on board the ship, Sherwin had never put this blade to even experimental use before now. This was not a city dweller’s slender length of steel but a thicker, shorter, more deadly-looking weapon, made for use on a warship.
    He knew, however, that stabbing the attacking sow with this still-unfamiliar sword could well prove fatal to the pig, but would do little to save Tryce before she succumbed.
    Using the hilt of his sword, Sherwin struck the sow on the flat of her nose. He struck her very hard, and on the third clout the sow redirected the gaze from her small, dark eyes right at Sherwin.
    â€œFly, Tryce, fly,” came the sergeant’s urging from the top of the wall, and Tryce lost no time in plucking himself out of the muck, where a Tryce-shaped declivity remained, filling slowly with groundwater. He bounded, stride by stride, and threw himself over the wall.
    Several more strong blows against the wet snout of the sow were necessary to allow Sherwin space to back slowly, eyes on his adversary. The sow struck and retreated, backing off and surging forward, using her bulk