Should he be jealous of this cautious young prince?

Peter wondered? Probably. O'Byrne had all the wealth and position that he himself lacked. He was an excellent match for Fionnuala. If I've any decency at all, he thought, I ought to step aside and stop wasting this girl's time. You're nothing better, he angrily told himself, than a thief in the night. But then she had come to his lodgings again, and pressed up against him, and he had given way at once.

Besides her body, Fionnuala also brought him food. For food was getting scarcer in the city all the time. Even Gilpatrick was going hungry.

"My father's got plenty at the church," he explained. "And nobody stops me going to see him.

But the difficulty is the archbishop. He says we must suffer with the people in the city. The trouble is, he never eats more than a crust of bread anyway." Peter could hardly tell him that Fionnuala was smuggling food to him from her father's house almost every day.

He was coming in from his sentry duty on the walls one morning, having dismissed his men, and looking forward to the rendezvous he had with Fionnuala that afternoon, when passing Christ Church he saw Strongbow. The great lord was standing alone, staring down towards the river, apparently lost in thought; and Peter, supposing that Strongbow was unaware of him, was walking quietly past when he heard the magnate say his name. He turned.

The magnate's face was impassive, but it seemed to Peter that Strongbow looked depressed. It was hardly surprising. Though the besiegers were comfortably camped well back from the walls, they were keeping a sharp eye on the gates. It had been impossible to send out patrols. Two days ago, Strongbow had sent a boat under cover of darkness to see whether any supplies could be sneaked in by water; but the enemy had caught it opposite Clontarf and sent it back, on fire, on the incoming tide. Amongst the remaining Dublin inhabitants, and the English soldiers as well, the word was the same: "The High King's got him." But Strongbow was a seasoned commander; Peter didn't think he'd give up on him yet. Strongbow's eyes were surveying him as if he were considering something.

"Do you know what I need at the moment, Peter FitzDavid?" he asked quietly.

"Another fog," Peter suggested. "Then at least we could sneak out."

"Perhaps. But what I need more than that is information.

I need to know where the High King is and the exact disposition of his forces."

So, he's planning a breakout, Peter thought. There was no other option, really. But to have any hope of success, he'd need to take the besiegers by surprise.

"Do you want me to go out tonight and scout?" he asked.

If he came back successfully that would certainly put him in high favour.

"Perhaps. I'm not sure you'd get through." His eyes fixed on Peter's, then lowered. "The archbishop and the young priest probably know. What's his name?. Father Gilpatrick. But I can't ask them, of course."

"I know Gilpatrick, but he'd never tell me."

"No. You might ask his sister, though."

Strongbow's gaze moved back towards the river.

"Next time you see her."

He knew. Peter felt himself go pale. He and how many others? But worse than the fact that he knew about the illicit affair, was what he was asking him to do. To use Fionnuala as a spy, or at least dupe her into revealing information. She probably didn't even know anything, he thought; but that was hardly the point. If he wanted Strongbow's favour, he'd better discover something.

Amazingly, his chance came that very afternoon, and it turned out to be easier than he could have imagined. They had made love in the house. They had an hour before she had to leave. They were talking casually about the O'Byrnes, who were due to come again the next day, and about her life at home. "I think," he had remarked, "that Strongbow will have to give in to the High King soon. I can't see this going on another month, and there's no chance of anyone coming to help us."

He grinned. "I'll be glad when it's over. Then I can come and eat at your house as your father promised.

If you haven't already married Brendan O'Byrne by then, that is," he added uncertainly.

"Don't be silly." She laughed. "I shan't marry Brendan. And the siege is bound to end."

It was his opportunity.

"Really?" He seemed to be looking for reassurance. "Does Gilpatrick think so?"

"Oh, he does. I overheard him telling my father only yesterday that the High King has a camp only a short way upstream. He knows so well the English haven't a chance that his men go bathing in the Liffey, every day."

"They do?"

"With all the great chiefs. They haven't a care in the world."

Peter gasped. His face was just about to register his delight but he checked himself, looked glum, and murmured, "We haven't a chance then. It's as good as over." He paused. "You'd better not tell anyone I said that, Fionnuala. If Strongbow ever heard ita they'd doubt my loyalty."

"Don't worry," she said.

But already his mind was working fast.

The following afternoon, the sentries at the Irish forward posts saw Fionnuala leave the hospital and walk back as usual to the city's western gate.

Since they could not see the southern gate they never knew how long she spent in Dublin before returning to her home, and so they had no idea that she had proceeded to Peter's lodgings and remained there until it was nearly dusk, at which time the lookout post near her father's house observed her leave the southern gate and walk home.

It was almost dark when the sentries on the west side observed Fionnuala, with her saffron shawl wrapped over her head, returning to the hospital. It was unusual for her to leave and return the same day, but they saw her go through into the hospital yard and thought no more about it. They were puzzled therefore the following evening, when they saw her going to the hospital yet again. "Did you see her go back into Dublin today?" one of the sentries asked his companion. Then he shrugged. "Must have missed her." At dawn the next morning, she flitted back from the hospital to the western gate. But then, an hour later, she made the same journey again. This was clearly impossible.

The sentries concluded that there was something odd. They decided to maintain a closer watch.

When Peter had reached the hospital the first evening, he had passed through the gateway and then sunk down with his back to the fence. Nobody could see him. The inmates were all inside at this hour. He unwrapped the shawl from his head and waited. The darkness fell slowly. At this time in the summer, there would be only about three hours of real darkness. The sky was full of passing clouds but there was a sliver of moon. That was good. He needed a little light but not too much. He waited until well after midnight before he made his move.

Outside the hospital ran the broad track of the ancient road, the Slige Mhor that led towards the west. There was a large contingent of men less than a mile along the road, blockading it. He intended to avoid the Slige Mhor entirely. He knew that on the river side of the hospital enclosure there was a small gate. Stealing round to this, he went out.

In front of him lay open ground, dotted with bushes, leading to the marshy banks of the river. With luck, in the darkness, he might be able to slip through there.

It took him an hour, working his way carefully, moving only when clouds covered the moon, to get past the Irish camp that straddled the road. After that he was able to move more quickly, but always with caution, following the line of the river until he came opposite the place where he guessed the High King's encampment might be. Then, finding concealment in some bushes on a slope I which made a little vantage point, he prepared to wait the rest of the night.

It turned out that he had been nearly right. The next morning he could see the High King's camp, only about half a mile farther upstream. Early in the morning he saw the patrols go out. A few hours later they returned. And soon afterwards, he saw at least a hundred men come down into the water.

They remained there quite a long time. They seemed to be throwing a ball between them in some sort of game. Then they all went up the bank again. He could see the sun glinting on their wet and naked bodies.

He spent the rest of the morning in his place of concealment. He had brought half a loaf of precious bread with him and a small leather flask of water. He also took good care to note the terrain around. That would be essential if he was to carry out the rest of his plan. In the early afternoon he realised that there was one more thing he would have to do that day, which was dangerous. An hour later he left his hiding place and very cautiously worked his way across some meadows to a patch of wooded higher ground. He did not return to his hiding place until evening; but by the time he did so, he was satisfied that his plan could work. Not until it was dark did he make his way back to the hospital again. It was strange waiting at the hospital gate because he knew that Fionnuala was working there that night, only yards away from him; but he remained there until dawn and then, wrapped in his shawl, returning past the Irish forward post at dawn where he was taken for Fionnuala by the sentries. By midmorning he had seen Strongbow.

He told Strongbow everything, how he had gone out scouting and discovered the High King bathing, with one small difference: he omitted all reference to Fionnuala. If Strongbow guessed the truth, he said nothing. When he had finished, Strongbow was thoughtful. "To get the best advantage from this information," the magnate said, "we need to catch them when they're bathing and their guard is down. But how can we know?"

"I have thought of that," said Peter. And he told Strongbow the rest of his plan.

"You can get out, past the sentries again?" Strongbow asked, and Peter nodded. "How?"

"Do not ask me," Peter replied. "It will be low tide tomorrow morning," he added, "so you could use the ford as well as the bridge to send the men across."

"And where should we station the man to receive your signal?"

"Ah." Peter smiled. "On the roof of Christ Church Cathedral."

"So," Strongbow summarised, "the plan is by no means without risk." He ran over the details, step by step. "But if it works, you will have done well. It is, however, contingent upon one other thing.

A clear and sunny morning."

"That is true," Peter admitted.

"Well," Strongbow concluded, "it's worth a chance."

It was sunset that day when the sentries at the forward post saw a figure leave from the western gate and start walking towards the hospital. They had already stopped both Una that morning and Fionnuala an hour ago to make certain who they were. Once again, they decided to check, and one of them rode quickly forward. The figure was dressed as a priest, but the sentry was suspicious. It could be a disguise. The fellow wore a hood over his head.

"Who are you and where are you going?" The sentry addressed him in Irish.

"Father Peter is my name, my son." The answer was delivered in a comfortable Irish also. "On my way to visit a poor soul in the hospital there." He pulled back his hood, to reveal a tonsured head and gave the sentry a pleasant smile. "I am expected, I believe."

At this moment, the gate of the hospital opened and Fionnuala appeared. She gave a sign of recognition to the priest and waited respectfully by the entrance.

"Proceed, Father," said the sentry, a little embarrassed.

"Thank you. I do not expect to be returning until tomorrow. God be with you, my son." Pulling his hood on again, the priest continued on his way and the sentry saw Fionnuala usher him through the gate, which closed behind them.

"A priest," the sentry reported. "He'll be going back tomorrow." And no one thought any more about it.

Inside the hospital, meanwhile, Fionnuala was leading Peter to the room they were to use-a separate compartment, entered by an outside door, at the end of the men's dormitory, where kind, gullible Una had promised her they would not be disturbed.

As they got inside and Peter pulled back his hood again, Fionnuala could hardly restrain her laughter.

"You've got a tonsure," she whispered, "just like Gilpatrick."

"It's as well, or I might have been in trouble with that sentry."

So far, Peter congratulated himself, everything had worked out perfectly. His quick thinking and foresight two days ago had made everything possible. He was sorry that it had meant that he must deceive Fionnuala, as he was doing now, and make use of her; but he told himself that it was for a greater cause.

His calculations had been precise. Discovering that she was due to be in the hospital the next two evenings, he had decided it would be unwise to attempt the female disguise twice. On the assumption that, after his return from his scouting expedition, he would want to go straight back out again, he had hit upon this new device.

"The day after tomorrow, we'll spend the night together," he'd said.

"By the wharf?" She'd looked uncertain.

"No, in the hospital."

"The hospital? You're mad!" she had cried.

"Is there a quiet place there, somewhere?" he asked. She had thought and said there might be.

"Listen, then." He had grinned. "This is what we're going to do."

And now, as Fionnuala looked at him in wonderment, she decided this was the most daring thing she had ever done. Amazingly enough, it hadn't even been very difficult. Once she had told Una that she felt the need for spiritual counselling, her friend had been sympathetic.

"I want to make my confession to a priest, Una," she told her. "And then I need to have a long talk with him." She smiled apologetically.

"It's those O'Byrne boys. I don't know what to do." When Una asked how she could help, Fionnuala explained: "I don't want to be seen going to a priest's house. It always feels as if people are watching me in Dublin. So I asked the priest to come here." The Palmer and his wife always went to sleep early. The priest could visit, see her alone, and leave as late as necessary. To her relief, Una had agreed that this was a good idea.

It was Una who had suggested the room at the end of the men's dormitory. She had even offered: "If anyone asks, I'll say the priest came to see me." She had taken Fionnuala by the arm and murmured, "I do understand, Fionnuala." And Fionnuala had thought: it's as well you don't.

There was no one about. If Una was watching from somewhere, she had made herself scarce. They entered the room, in which Fionnuala had already lit two candles and placed a little food. She reached up and stroked his tonsured head. "Now I shall think," she said slyly, "that it's a priest I have for a lover." She gazed at him, puzzled. "How will you explain your bald head in the next few days?"

"I'll cover it," he said.

"And you did all this for me?"

"I did," he lied. "And I'd do it again."

They talked for a while. Before they made love, Peter removed his priest's robe. Fionnuala noticed that he also took off a stiff pad that was strapped round his lower back. "Backache," he explained sheepishly. "I'll massage it," she said.

It was nearly dawn when she awoke to find that he had gone.

Peter had moved carefully, but swiftly. After letting himself out of the hospital's northern gate, he had followed the same route as before. By dawn, he was approaching the little wooded rise he had marked out the day before. His vantage point was already chosen: a tall tree with a commanding view. In the early light of the day, he climbed up to the branch he had selected. From there, parting the leaves, he could see the opposite riverbank, down which the Irish king's men would come; he also had a clear view eastwards towards Dublin. In the distance, he could see the southern headland of the bay. The city's low ridge was mostly obscured by the intervening woods. But it was possible to make out, quite clearly, the roof of Christ Church Cathedral. Slowly now, he loosened the straps round his waist and pulled the pad from his back. Taking his time, he unwrapped the cloth covering and extracted the thin, hard object from its centre. He inspected it carefully. Not a mark or a blemish.

It was a metal plate of polished steel.

Strongbow had given it to him. It was so highly polished that you could see every pore of skin on your face in its reflection. The magnate used it as a mirror. Peter held it, keeping its polished surface towards him. He did not want to risk giving his position away. He looked eastwards and smiled. The sky was clear. Time passed. The eastern sky grew lighter, then red, then gold: it began to shimmer. And then, over the distant bay, he saw the fiery orb of the rising sun.

Everything was ready. There was a risk, of course, that when he sent the signal he would give himself away.

If the Irish besiegers caught him, they would surely kill him. He'd have done the same in their place. But that was a small risk compared to the favours he could expect from Strongbow if the operation succeeded. He was excited, but he waited patiently. It grew warmer. The sun was rising over the bay.

The High King's patrols would be out now. He had seen some of them leaving the royal camp. Midmorning passed and there was no sign of activity. The patrols were out later than yesterday. Perhaps they would not bathe after all. He cursed under his breath.

Another hour went by; it was nearly noon. Then, at last, he saw that something was happening at the camp. Above the riverbank, he saw a group of men appear, bearing a large object; but he couldn't decide what it was. They set their burden down at the top of the slope. Now more men were coming. It looked as if they were carrying buckets. They kept coming and going, swarming round the big object. And now he understood what they were doing. It was a huge tub they were filling. He knew that the Irish liked to have a bath in a tub whose water had been heated with hot stones.

The setting up of this great tub, therefore, could only mean one thing.

The High King of Ireland was about to take a ceremonial bath.

So it proved. Before they had finished filling the tub, the first patrols started to return. There seemed to be even more of them this time. Peter guessed that at least two hundred were going down into the river, and others were still arriving. And as soon as everything at the top of the slope was ready, he saw a single figure emerge from the camp, accompanied by about a dozen men, who lifted the figure into the great bathtub. While his men splashed about in the river below, the O'Connor king, surrounded by his companions, was performing the royal ablutions.

It was perfect. Peter couldn't believe his luck.

He turned the steel reflector over, carefully judging the angle. He started to rotate it, back and forth.

On the roof of Christ Church, the waiting sentry saw the tiny flash of light, greenish from the tree, reflecting the brightness of the burning sun. And moments later, the southern and western city gates burst open; a hundred lightly armed horsemen, with five hundred more foot soldiers running behind them, made for the ford, while two hundred armoured knights thundered at a gallop across the wooden bridge.

The sudden breakout of the English from their trap in Dublin that summer's day proved to be the pivotal event in the history of England and Ireland. The Irish besiegers, perhaps complacent after the weeks of inaction, were caught completely off guard.

As the English forces burst through the Irish lines and stormed along the Liffey towards where the High King was bathing, the O'Connor king had only time to gather his clothes and make a dash for safety to avoid them. The Irish foot soldiers round his encampment were slaughtered.

Within hours, all the besieging forces knew that the High King had been humiliated and that Strongbow's army was out in the open. The English war veterans now moved with the utmost speed. The approaches to the city were secured. Spearhead attacks by the armoured cavalry devastated each of the various encampments.

The Irish were unable to cope with the highly trained European fighting machine once it was free to operate in the open field. Opposition melted away. For the time being at least, the High King wisely withdrew. Leinster, its rich farmland, its cattle, and its great harvest lay in Strongbow's ruthless and capable hands.

For Peter FitzDavid, it seemed the future would be bright. That very night, Strongbow had rewarded him with a small bag of gold. No doubt still better things would follow. He was not a public hero. After all, he had only been a secret scout. It was the bold breakout of Strongbow and the humiliation of the High King caught bathing in the Liffey that would be everywhere reported and engage the attention of the chroniclers.