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and momentumas a battering ram against Sherwin’s boots, and nearly succeeding in knocking him down. As absurd as his situation was, and as worthy as it might be to provide amusement over beer for years to come, Sherwin was fully aware that the pig could take his life.
    He continued to keep his sword in hand and to back up with slow, steady steps until he reached the wall, where Sergeant Evenage gave him a hand up, over the jagged flint, and out into the peaceful security of the road.
    â€œDid you kill her?” was Tryce’s first question.
    â€œTryce, I spared the pig’s life,” said Sherwin.
    â€œI am unseamed, nearly, by a piggery bitch,” retorted Tryce, “and you grant her mercy!”
    â€œWhat our friend is trying to offer, sir,” said the sergeant with an approving smile toward Sherwin, “is his thanks for your efforts.”
    â€œI’ll thank him no thanks,” spat Tryce.
    But then they all fell silent.
    Â 
    THEY WERE NOT ALONE.
    Two men in high-gartered, mud-flecked leggings and farmers’ beige tunics approached from the direction of the cottage. In their hands they carried farming implements that could be put to easy use as weapons.
    The taller of the two carried a billhook, a long device, recently sharpened, Sherwin thought, judging by the gleam of the heavy iron hook-and-blade. The younger, stouter man brought a mower’s scythe, a large one, madefor felling grain during harvest, and for swiftly clearing briars during the spring’s first toil.
    The men were joined by dogs, three of them, good-sized, bristling animals with white teeth. The dogs were restrained by spoken commands as quiet and peremptory as any aboard the
Vixen
.
    â€œWhat men are you?” asked the tall man with a field man’s bluntness.
    â€œWe are the crew and wardens,” said Sergeant Evenage, “of Her Majesty’s Ship the
Swan
. Caulkers have left a leak along her keel, and we are making good the defect.”
    â€œThe
Swan
, out of Portsmouth,” inquired the tall farmer, “as is captained by Captain Hawkins?”
    â€œThat very ship, my good man,” said Evenage, with a smile that betrayed a trace of doubt.
    The tall man took a better grip on the shaft of his billhook. The dogs growled in unison, although they remained on their haunches near the younger man. Sherwin thought that he had never seen such intimidating beasts, nor any so eager to tear intruders to shreds.
    â€œAnd you prick pigs, do you, for pitch?” asked the tall farmer.
    â€œWe hear such praise of the livestock in this region,” replied Evenage, “that our shipmate could not restrain his curiosity regarding the quality and general merits of your piggery.”
    â€œThere is a sailing
Swan
,” said the farmer, speaking in the slightly impatient accent of a man who saved such argumentsfor market day. “But as to whether Hawkins captains her, or whether she berths in Plymouth, I have no knowledge.”
    Evenage let his shoulders rise and fall, and he lifted a gloved hand in helpless courtesy.
    â€œWe intend no harm,” interjected Sherwin, “to any living creature.”
    But Tryce’s quivering animosity gave the lie to the cordial fictions of Sherwin and the sergeant.
    â€œPercy,” said the landsman, in a voice empty of all fear, “hurry up to Fairleigh and tell Sir Anthony that his land is despoiled not by Spaniards, as we feared, but by English pirates.”

16
    W E ARE NOT PIRATES,” said Evenage.
    He made this protest in the affable, round tones of a lawyer addressing a magistrate.
    The farmer made no remark in response.
    â€œIf you will send word to your lord,” added Evenage, “be kind enough to give him the compliments and best wishes of Captain Brandon Fletcher, the strong right hand of our gracious Queen.”
    â€œDid you get that?” the farmer asked the youthful Percy, who turned back to catch these