There was a grunting and squealing, a rustle and crash in the tangled undergrowth of the bog, and an immense black boar stumbled out into the open and charged straight at Eleanor’s horse.  The startled animal reared and sprang, Marcel and the squires spurred in toward the clearing and checked the great brute on that side, and Eleanor had all she could do to avoid being thrown directly into the path of the furious beast.  It seemed incredible that anything so heavy on such short legs and small hoofs could move so quickly.  The wild boar’s tusks, several inches long and sharp as razors through constant tearing and whetting, slashed viciously at the terrified horse, and in that cramped space his rage was as deadly as a lion’s.  Then a roughly-clad, wild-looking peasant dropped from a limb on the very back of the creature and sunk his knife to the hilt in its thick bristling neck.  With a snort it bolted into the marsh, just as Sir Walter and the Prior came out a little distance away and the falconer and the squires came up on the other side.  The peasant, who had swung himself up into another tree, slid to earth and stood staring sulkily, as if half minded to follow his late adversary to cover.

The knight and the Prior were pale as ghosts, Marcel was shaking from head to foot, and the lads gazed at Eleanor as if she had come back from the dead.  She almost had.  It was an exceedingly narrow escape.  Any one but a very good rider must have been thrown.  The wicked tusks of the wild boar will easily kill a strong hunting-dog, and the tough, hard hide was almost like armor.  Rarely did a boar-hunt end without the killing of at least one dog and the wounding of a hunter.  If there had been the slightest reason to think that such danger lurked in the swamp, the knight would never have left Eleanor where he did.  But the herd of wild hogs had evidently been living on the high ground in the middle, and not come out until this drought gave them foothold.

Sir Walter beckoned to Tammuz, and the man came like a half-tamed dog, eyeing his lord warily.  “You have given me more than mine own life this day, Tammuz of the Ford,” he said a trifle unsteadily.  “Kneel.”  And then and there Tammuz received his freedom and a hide of land for his own and his children’s after him.

In the following months many hidden things came to light.  Tammuz and his people had enjoyed many a good meal of the flesh of the wild hog, which is better than that of common swine.  They had not encouraged strangers to come about, partly from a natural dislike to company and partly because they did not wish to be held responsible for anything that might happen.  A boar-hunt, even with the big powerful mastiffs and the best of steel spears, was dangerous enough to be called the sport of kings, and it was only through long practice and unusual strength and agility that the marshmen had been able to kill any of the herd at all.