The Rebels of Ireland (51 page)

“Have you seen the Staff?” Donatus asked eagerly.

“I haven't. But a certain Father Jerome O'Neill, who died two years ago, told me that he had. Some time ago, he assured me, it was kept where you might expect it to be.”

“Expect?”

“In the centre of Saint Patrick's ministry. I think you might expect it to be there.”

“The centre of his ministry has always been held to be in the north. At Armagh.”

“Quite so. Well, that is where it was.”

“This is remarkable.”

“I cannot tell you more. I wish I could. But I haven't the least reason to suppose he was mistaken. He was a most precise and scholarly man. It is possible that it has been moved since, of course. But the likelihood would be, I should say, that you might find it there.”

Donatus had begged the priest to stay, but he had been anxious
to be gone. “I shall take a glass of brandy, if you will be so kind, but then I must return to Dublin. I leave tomorrow.”

That very evening, Donatus sent a message to Maurice. They met in Dublin three days later.

It seemed to Donatus that his cousin was a little feverish. He wondered if Maurice was sickening for something. But when he told him the details of what the priest had said, it was all he could do to stop Maurice leaving at once. “I was going to Connacht again very soon,” he cried. “But this…This…”

“The Staff may not be there. And even if it is, you may not find it.”

“It's more information than we've ever had before,” Maurice pointed out. And this could not be denied.

There was also the problem of geography. Armagh lay in enemy territory. King William's forces were spread all over that part of Ulster now, and there was every sign that they were getting ready for battle. “If you go up there at present, looking for the Staff of Saint Patrick,” Donatus warned him, “you are courting great danger.”

“Set against that the effect upon our own troops,” replied Maurice, “if I could bring the authentic Staff to them, before they go into battle.” He nodded with satisfaction. “I shall return to Rathconan to get ready. Then I shall go north.” It was quite evident that nothing would stop him.

“At least come by my house then, when you set out,” Donatus begged. “It's upon your road. Perhaps I shall come with you, part of the way.” This Maurice promised to do.

But in any event, his journey was delayed. Donatus had been right in thinking that his cousin was feverish. A message from Rathconan a few days later informed him that by the time Maurice got back home, his head was throbbing and his wife had to put him to bed. The next day he had a raging pain in his throat; by the sound of his sickness, it might be a week or two before he was ready to travel.

It was in the last week of May that Donatus chanced to meet Xavier O'Byrne in Dublin. He had gone into the city on some business, and was just walking by the Castle when he saw O'Byrne coming out. As they were both going eastwards, they walked together, and fell into such easy conversation that, passing an inn in Dame Street, they decided to continue their talk in there. As he took a glass of wine, O'Byrne was in a meditative mood. He expected to go north with King James before long. “For I've no doubt,” he told Donatus, “that the battle proper will begin within a month.” When Donatus told him about Maurice's plan to search for the Staff at Armagh, O'Byrne smiled.

“He is a well-meaning fellow, this cousin of yours,” he remarked. “I am sorry at the thought of taking Rathconan from him, you know, even if the place is rightfully mine.” Then he grimaced. “Though if King Billie beats James, there won't be any Catholics getting their estates back, we may be sure.”

“You think that William will win?” Donatus asked.

“It is hard to say. Last year, we had more men than we could use. Every Catholic gentleman and merchant in Ireland was turning up with recruits, none of them trained. We were turning them away. I dare say we'd take some of them now; for our numbers are down. But the troops that we have are professional. And so are King Billie's.” He sighed. “I am a mercenary, Donatus. I have fought for years for the King of France. But I could still end my life fighting for the Holy Roman Emperor or for Spain. I'd have to fight for a Catholic, I think. I'd not fight for a Protestant. But I'm still a mercenary. I've a son nearly grown. He'll probably do the same in his turn. We are mercenaries, and so are many of the professional troops in Ireland now. King Billie has Dutch and English troops, but also his Danes and Germans. We have Irish recruits, of course, but we have Frenchmen, Walloons, and our own Germans, too—who are mostly Protestants, God help us. It's a mercenary's war.”

“Maurice sees it as a Catholic crusade. Actually, I thought I did, too,” said Donatus.

O'Byrne took another sip of wine, stretched his legs, and gazed towards the window through half-closed eyes.

“For Ireland, it is. I agree. For England, too, you might say. This little war will decide whether Ireland is to be Protestant or Catholic, that is certain. But a crusade?” He paused. “Consider the chief participants, Donatus. King Louis of France seeks to dominate Europe. Against him is ranged a grand alliance of countries: King William with his Protestant English and Dutch; Austria and Spain, both devoutly Catholic; even the Pope, do not forget. The Pope, in this conflict, is not on King James's side at all: he supports Protestant King Billie. This business in Ireland is just a little skirmish in that wider war. There will be
Te Deum
s sung in Catholic churches all over Europe if King Billie wins. I can't call that a crusade. Can you?”

“Well, at least we and King James are fighting for Ireland,” Donatus said.

“It would be comforting to think so.”

“You will not allow me even that?”

“Oh, the Irish are fighting for Ireland.” O'Byrne smiled. “The Old English like yourself included, of course. Perhaps I am fighting for Ireland too, Donatus. I think that I am. King James, however, has a different mind. He is Catholic, of course. But why is it that he has been so insistent on granting complete religious freedom to Protestants ever since he came here? He is courting the English. Even as we speak, there's a plan being considered for James to take part of the army to England as soon as King Billie arrives, while Tyrconnell keeps Billie at bay here in Ireland. I know it from Tyrconnell himself. The French think he's mad, and they'll stop it, I'm sure. But King James wants England, not Ireland. He can't wait to be gone.”

“So does nobody care about Ireland?”

“Nobody. Neither King Louis, nor King Billie, nor King James.” He nodded thoughtfully. “The fate of Ireland will be decided by
men not a single one of whom gives a damn about her. That is her tragedy.”

Donatus parted from O'Byrne an hour later, on the most friendly terms. But he returned to Fingal with a sense of sadness and misgiving. He hoped that the cynical soldier was wrong.

Maurice Smith arrived at his door at the end of the first week in June. He was fully recovered from his illness, and eager to go into Ulster. Proudly he showed Donatus the Deposition, which he kept in a special pocket he had made, hidden inside his coat. With his sword at his side, he had an almost martial air. His eyes glowed with enthusiasm and excitement. Donatus tried to persuade him to rest at his house for a day, but he wouldn't hear of it.

“I will ride with you, then,” Donatus said. They left early in the afternoon.

How happy Maurice looked as they rode along. His face was radiant with a sense of purpose. He truly believes, Donatus thought to himself, that he will find the Staff. His heart went out to him.

What was he to say? Had he hoped to dissuade Maurice from his quest? Most certainly, it was madness. With the armies gathering now, there wasn't a chance of Maurice getting safely through. He was sure of it. Was there even any point? He thought of his conversation with O'Byrne. Should he share that with Maurice? Would his cousin even pay attention if he did? Probably not.

And what if, by some miracle—and one should never turn one's face away from such a possibility—God should grant that Maurice found the Staff and brought it safely down to the army of King James? Would it make a difference? Yes. Whatever O'Byrne might say, it probably would. The conflict would become a crusade. Who knew what the effect upon Ireland might be? Not only the Staff itself, but the fact of its being brought forth, the fact of the Deposition being found at such a time, would be taken as signs. In his way, Maurice was right. Dreamers and visionaries had won battles before.
The chances were slim, the dangers obvious; but he had a feeling that Maurice did not really care about that.

“Your chances are not good, you know,” he did bring himself to say. “You are courting great danger.”

“No greater than my father faced,” Maurice replied, with contentment, “when he fought alongside Brian O'Byrne.”

Donatus nodded. He thought he understood. They rode all afternoon together and camped that evening within sight of the Hill of Tara. The night was warm. Early in the morning they continued, until they came in sight of the River Boyne. “I shall leave you now,” said Donatus. And he embraced his cousin warmly. He watched, for a short while, as Maurice rode northwards, then he abruptly turned his horse's head and made his way back. He had a strong presentiment that he would not see Maurice again.

In the second half of June, news came that William had arrived up in Belfast with a large fleet. James and his forces set out for the north at once. A week passed. Soon reports came that they had gone up into Ulster. Then, some time later, that they were being driven back, towards the River Boyne.

Donatus heard no word from Maurice. It was a July evening when the first men came riding past his house, heading south in a hurry.

“King William has broken through. At the Boyne. He's on his way down.”