way they had come, as if searching for pursuers. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he ducked back down and they set off once more.
Even though it was not the most direct path to safety, Hawkwood knew that using the ditch as cover was the sensible thing to do. The land along this stretch of coast was so low lying that if they stood up they risked being seen by anyone aboard the hulks with a half-decent spyglass. Isaac's strategy prevented their heads from breaking the skyline. Better to be safe than sorry, Hawkwood reasoned. With good fortune looking over their shoulders, they'd be able to make up the time before too long.
The day was turning warm. He could hear Lasseur breathing hard and wondered how fit the man was and whether he could keep up the pace. In the army, Hawkwood had been used to route marches; and as a Rifleman he'd led his men on skirmishes over moor and mountain trails that would have defeated regular troops. Since returning to England and joining Bow Street, however, he was the first to admit that some muscles had grown soft through disuse. Runner by name, perhaps, but the number of times he'd had to pursue criminals for long distances over heath and hedgerow had been few and far between, which was to say never at all, as far as he could remember.
Ten paces ahead of them, Isaac held up his hand and laid a finger to his lips. When Hawkwood and Lasseur caught up with him, their guide raised his eyes above the edge of the dyke. Hawkwood and Lasseur followed suit.
The sheep were less than twenty paces away, hemmed inside a wicker pen. It was a small flock; perhaps thirty animals in total, black faced and long tailed. Some had small curved horns. It wasn't the sheep, however, that had caused Lasseur alarm.
Tied to the pen's gatepost were two wire-haired black-and-white dogs. At the sight of the men, both dogs stood, tongues lolling. Their ears were pricked. Their eyes were bright and alert.
Lasseur laid a warning hand on Hawkwood's arm.
'It's all right,' Isaac said. 'They know better than to bark. They do and they'll get a taste of my belt.'
Isaac climbed out of the ditch and trotted towards the dogs. He gave a curt word of command and the animals dropped to their bellies.
'You can come out now,' he said and waited for Hawkwood and Lasseur to join him. The dogs watched their approach with interest.
Isaac unhitched the dogs and swung the gate open. Immediately the dogs raced round to the back of the flock and began herding the sheep out of the gate into the open pasture.
Walking into the pen, Isaac dropped to his knees and used the edge of the spade to lift out a section of turf, exposing a knotted rope handle. Hooking his fingers under the rope, he leaned back and pulled. A larger section of turf came with him. The turf was bedded on top of a wooden trapdoor. Isaac pulled the trapdoor aside and Hawkwood found himself staring down into another pit.
The chamber had been well constructed. The floor was clay. The walls were lined with wooden slats. Half a dozen wooden kegs - half-ankers, Hawkwood guessed; each one capable of holding four gallons of spirits - were stacked against the wall. On the floor next to the kegs were several oilskin bags and a muslin sack. Isaac climbed into the hole and passed the sack out. 'There's some bread and cheese and apples and a little something to wet the whistle.' He mimed a drinking motion when Lasseur frowned. Then he held out his hand. 'Give me the body sacks. Take these and put them on.' He deposited the spade and the body sacks into the pit and passed out two coarse linen bundles.
Hawkwood and Lasseur opened them up. They were shepherds' smocks folded around two soft, wide- brimmed hats.
'These, too,' Isaac said and held out two short hazelwood crooks. Retrieving a third, longer, crook for himself, he closed the trap and replaced the turf over the rope handle. Then he tamped down the edges of the turf and, collecting up a handful of sheep droppings, scattered them over the area. Satisfied that the entrance to the underground chamber was again concealed, he looked up and indicated the smocks. 'I said put them on. Time we were leavin'.'
Hawkwood and Lasseur stared at him.
Even the dogs, who had returned to Isaac's side, looked doubtful.
Isaac gave an exasperated sigh. 'They'll be lookin' for two men on the run, not three shepherds movin' their flock to fresh pasture. But if you think you know better, then be my guest. Ferry's that way.' Isaac pointed a stubby finger towards the south. 'Make your bloody minds up.'
At that moment, a sharp report, not unlike a distant roll of thunder cut short, came from the direction of the estuary. It was followed by the faint ringing of a bell. The dogs' ears and muzzles flicked towards the sounds. Isaac's head swivelled. 'Shite!'
'That doesn't sound good,' Lasseur said.
Hawkwood laid the walking stick down, slipped his arms through the smock's sleeves and pulled the garment over his head. It occurred to him that it was like climbing into the burial sack from the opposite direction. He jammed the hat on his head and picked up the stick.
Isaac nodded his approval. Hawkwood had the feeling he'd just transformed himself into the village idiot.
Lasseur put on his smock and hat and threw Hawkwood a lop-sided grin.
The grin made it worse. Hawkwood wondered what the chances were of one village having two idiots. He picked up the muslin sack and slung it over his shoulder.
Isaac let out a series of short, sharp whistles. Obediently, the dogs hurtled off and in a pincer movement began to drive the sheep towards a wooden gate at the far corner of the field. Isaac pointed towards the nearest tree-topped crest. 'We'll take them round Furze Hill towards the East Church Road.'
Lasseur followed the pointing stick and then stared back towards the coast. Hawkwood knew the privateer was gauging the time factor.
'If they've let off the cannon it means they've searched the ship and found us gone,' Hawkwood said. 'They're bound to send a detail to check the burial pit. That'll take them a while.'
Retaining the burial sacks and filling in the pit had been a shrewd ploy. With obvious signs of disinterment removed, the only way to prove Hawkwood and Lasseur had been carried ashore would be to open the pit, exhume the full body bags and count the corpses, all of which would, hopefully, add to the confusion. Hawkwood didn't envy any of the men assigned to
The dogs were enjoying themselves; zig-zagging back and forth under Isaac's watchful eye. The sheep were obviously well used to the imposition, so much so that it looked as if they were the ones who were obeying Isaac's short sharp whistles rather than the dogs. Reaching the gate, the animals waited patiently for the men to catch up. Isaac pointed past the gate to a small wooden bridge that lay beyond it. 'The road's yonder.'
When they got there, it wasn't much of a road; more like a fifteen-foot-wide bridle path; narrow and pitted and rutted with cart and animal tracks. On the other side of the path, the land lifted in a gentle incline.
'This here's the Minster Road,' Isaac said. 'We want the one over the 'ill - it runs right the way across the Isle. We'll stay off it, but if we follow alongside it'll take us where we want to go. As long as we keep our eyes peeled, the dogs'll do all the work. You spot anyone comin', you sing out. Remember, all they'll see is three locals drivin' sheep, so no need to go runnin' off. Keep your 'ats on and your 'eads down and, whatever you do, don't open your bloody mouths. You can spit on their boots if you like. Militia are used to that. They stands for authority an' Sheppey folk ain't too partial to folk in authority - don't like being told what to do; goes against the grain.' Isaac grinned. He looked at Lasseur. 'You understand, Monsewer?'
Lasseur nodded. 'I think so.'
'Right then, gentlemen,' Isaac said. 'Let's take a walk, shall we?'
Sheep were not fast walkers, especially up hills, and as a disguise and an aid to flight, their steady perambulations didn't exactly instil confidence. Though it was, Hawkwood conceded inwardly, a pleasant enough way to travel if you didn't have a care in the world or the possibility of armed militia snapping at your heels.
Even allowing for the fact that pursuit could be drawing ever nearer, the sheer joy of being anywhere other than on board the hulk was a wondrous feeling. No wooden walls, no men crammed on top of one another in stinking darkness. There was only the wide blue sky and grass beneath their feet. The smell of the marshes didn't
