The pirate, however, behaved in some respects in a chivalrous manner. If, for instance, all the fleet of boats which were accustomed to lie in the harbour of Anikief had come in (and frequently there would be more than a hundred of them), he would have all the men called together, and inquire of them whether there was any one of them who would risk himself in a duel with him. He declared himself willing to fight with anyone, and with any kind of weapon. If he were beaten, they should be free from any claim to pay him tribute; but if he proved to be the strongest, they would have to pay the blackmail. Anika was bigger-framed and physically stronger than most men, and none of the fishermen were willing to take the risk of an encounter with him. They had, therefore, no choice but to pay him the blackmail. For many years this torment is said to have continued, and the name of the pirate Anika was a terror to all the fishermen at Fiskerö. He did what he liked. He recognised neither law nor justice. Nobody was in a position to punish him or to withstand his demands. To the monks in the monastery at Petschenga there came intelligence respecting this pirate, but they had no power to help the fishermen to resist his demands. The spring after Ambrose entered the monastery, there came fresh news of the pirate, and of his violent conduct towards the fishermen. They themselves, indeed, came, and complained to the monks; and the head of the monastery, Gurij, suggested, in a conference with the senior Brethren (at which Ambrose was present, and at which he sat, as usual, a silent listener), that a message should be sent to Ostrogen, in Kola, or to Solowets, for a ship with cannons and an armed crew, which could chase the pirate away. The following day Ambrose approached the head of the monastery, and asked for leave of absence for a few days. ‘Where are you going, Brother?’ asked Gurij. ‘To Fiskerö.’ ‘To Anikief?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Perhaps you want to pay your respects to Anika?’ ‘I want to fight him.’ ‘To fight him?—you, a Brother, and a man of peace!’ exclaimed Gurij. ‘Yes; for the sake of making peace,’ replied Ambrose. ‘But can you wield a sword? You will never drive him away with spiritual weapons,’ said Gurij. ‘Yes, I know how to wield a sword. I was once a soldier, and I still know how to give a blow with a sword better than most men.’ ‘Will you not take some of our men with you?’ ‘No; I will go quite alone.’ ‘But you have neither sword nor armour.’ ‘You can let me have the sacred sword hanging in the church, and the coat of mail belonging to it,’ said Ambrose. ‘Let me have the sword and coat of mail, Father Gurij, and bless me, and let me go. I am ready for the fight—for a fight for life or death. If you hear no more of me, then I have been killed; but if I return, I shall bring you news of my victory.’