Wasn't anyone going to do anything? She had long ago given up hope for most of the Dubliners, but it was hard to believe that no one was even saying a word.

Yet what was she doing herself?

Three years ago, she would, at the least, have shouted at the clerks and called them heretics. She'd gladly have let them arrest her. But since the failure of Silken Thomas's revolt, and her husband's return to his family in the tower, something had changed in Cecily Tidy. Perhaps it was that she was older, or her children were, or that she now had another on the way; perhaps it was that she did not want to upset her hardworking husband or that she simply could not face the stress of a quarrel with him anymore.

Whatever the cause, though her religious convictions had not changed in the least, something had died in Cecily Tidy. Even faced with the destruction of all that was holy, she wasn't going to make a scene. Not today.

Then she caught sight of Alderman Doyle. He was standing in the crowd with his son-in-law Richard Walsh, watching the proceedings with the greatest disgust.

They might have had their differences in the past, but at least he was a figure of authority. And he could not approve of what was happening now. She went over.

"Oh Alderman Doyle," she said.

"This is a terrible sacrilege. Cannot anything be done?"

She hardly knew what she expected him to say; but then, to her great surprise, as he looked down at her, it seemed to Cecily that in his eyes she saw a look of shame.

"Come," he said quietly, and taking her by the arm he led her towards the two clerks with Richard a few steps behind them. The gallowglasses looked as if they might intervene, but one of the clerks, recognising Doyle, said, "Good morning, Alderman," and the soldiers fell back.

"What have you here?" Doyle asked.

"Relics," one of the clerks said blandly. His colleague at that moment was chipping at a small gold reliquary encrusted with gems. "Some of them are tough to open," he remarked as the other, having successfully prized the lid off, threw a lock of saintly hair into the fire where it instantly flared up.

"The casket?" Doyle enquired, pointing to the gold reliquary that had just been so rudely opened.

"It's gold for the king." Even as he said so, Cecily observed that the fellow with the chisel had just detached one of the gems from the lid and calmly dropped it into a leather pouch that hung from his belt.

"The Church must be purified," the clerk remarked to the alderman. And if Cecily was astonished by the coolness of his effrontery, she need not have been. For it was thus in parishes all over England, too.

While the desire of many honest Protestants may have been to purify their religion and come into a closer communion with God, the Reformation was turning into one of the greatest campaigns of public and private looting that had been seen in many centuries.

"They desecrate the shrines, Cecily," Doyle quietly remarked, "but it's the gold they want, you see."

And white-faced Cecily for the first time had a new and more accurate insight into the true nature of King Henry VIII and his followers-not so much as heretics, however that might be, but as vulgar thieves.

"The king has come to rob Ireland," she burst out at the clerk. But he only laughed.

"Not at all." He grinned. "He'll rob anyone."

At just this moment, his friend had started to open another little silver box. This one had opened easily, since it contained a smaller, blackened box inside.

"What's that?" asked Doyle.

"Finger of Saint Kevin. Of Glendalough," said the clerk.

"Give it to me," said Doyle, pointing to the black box.

"There's a gemstone on it," the second clerk objected, reaching for his chisel.

"Enough," said Doyle in a voice of such authority that the clerk handed it to him quickly.

"I can't do more for you, Alderman," he said a little nervously.

Doyle held the little relic in his hand, gazing at it reverently.

"The Saint Kevin," he remarked quietly.

"They say it has great power, you know."

"You'll keep it safe?" Cecily asked anxiously.

Doyle paused before replying. His dark face seemed to be contemplating something strangely distant.

Then, to her great astonishment, he turned and, gazing down at her, placed the little relic in her hands.

"No," he said. "You will. I can't think of anyone in Dublin who will look after it better.

Go quickly, now," he told her, "and hide it."

Cecily had just crossed the street, and had paused to gaze one final time at the great fire, when she saw MacGowan arriving.

Doyle and Richard Walsh were greeting him. She saw MacGowan stare at the flames. Then he gestured towards the cathedral. She saw Doyle and Richard leaning towards him. MacGowan seemed to be saying something to them, urgently.

Just then, a soldier casually tossed a yellowed old skull, stripped of its gold rim, into the flames.

It was two hours later that the news began to spread through Dublin. At first, the thing was so shocking that people hardly believed it, but by evening there seemed to be no doubt.

The Bachall Iosa, one of the holiest, the most awesome relics in all Ireland-the great, gem-encrusted reliquary of the Staff of Saint Patrick himself-had gone.

Some said that it had been thrown on the fire in front of Christ Church. Others said that the ancient staff had been burned on another fire elsewhere. The archbishop, faced with a chorus of horror, denied that the sacred staff had been selected for destruction at all; but when people, English or Irish, inside or outside the Pale, considered the archbishop's contempt for what was cherished, and the gold and gems with which the Bachall Iosa was furnished, there seemed not the slightest reason to believe him.

Nor, in all the years that followed, was the Staff of Saint Patrick ever seen again.

Some, it is true, hinted that along with other relics, it might have been spirited away to a place of safekeeping-and it is to be hoped that it was. But nobody seemed to know. None of the clergy ever admitted to it. None of the Dublin aldermen, not even John Doyle, had any idea. And if, which is most unlikely, MacGowan knew anything, he remained, as always, silent as the grave.

AFTERWORD.

FAMILY NAMES.

The families whose fortunes this novel follows down the centuries are fictional. MacGowan and Doyle are both common names, and their probable derivations are given in the narrative. The O'Byrnes, of whom there are many branches, were prominent in the region, and their activities are correctly reflected. But the individual O'Byrnes in the narrative and the O'Byrnes of Rathconan are invented. The Norse family of Harold was also prominent and the name is still found in the region. Ailred the Palmer and his wife are historical, and founded the Hospital of Saint John the Baptist at approximately the date given in the story, though they are believed to have been childless. I have therefore allowed myself to invent a Viking ancestor for the Harolds, and to trace the line through Ailred the Palmer. Walsh is a common name, and the Walshes of Carrickmines were real. John Walsh of Carrickmines, his ancestor Peter FitzDavid, and all other Walshes in the story are fictional, however. The Ui Fergusa did exist, and are presumed to have been chiefs at Dublin until the coming of the Vikings, but their identity is shadowy. Their distant ancestor Fergus, his daughter, Deirdre, and her lover, Conall are all inventions. Tidy is an English name, but so far as I know, there was never a Tidy family settled in Ireland, and the Tidy family of Dalkey and Dublin is fictional.

In the spelling of personal and dynastic names, I have made use of the following convention. Where an ancient name has passed into modern use, it is given in the modern and easily recognizable form.

Thus Deirdre is used even in the time of Saint Patrick, rather than Deirdriu, and the Norse name of Harald is given as Harold. But where a name is only known in its ancient form-Goibniu, for example-then that ancient form is used.

Similarly, the archaic Ui Neill and Ua Tuathail are given as the more familiar O'neill and O'Toole; but the name Ui Fergusa is left, as it is always found in histories, in the ancient form.

Readers familiar with Ireland will know that the ancient family and tribal groupings are usually referred to as septs. However, there is scholarly doubt at present about what the most appropriate terminology should be for the various social groupings in historical Ireland. Occasionally I have referred to an extended ruling family by the general and nonspecific term of clan. places Except in the case of Dublin itself, I have chosen not to burden the reader with archaic place names and I have not hesitated to use familiar place names-Wicklow, Waterford, Munster, and so forth- at a much earlier date than they would have been in use.

Places are generally as described. The rath of Fergus is sited at Dublin Castle, and it is quite possible that there was a rath there, just as it is possible that the Viking Thingmount was raised over a preexisting burial mound. The walled garden at Malahide Castle has been added for narrative convenience. Harold's farmstead and Rathconan are inventions.

Historic events Wherever possible, I have tried to give the reader some account of the historical context, which has often been reevaluated by modern scholars, within the body of the text.

In particular, readers will have noticed a great degree of uncertainty surrounding the mission of Saint Patrick. I have not given the High King a name, for instance, because we are not sure who it would have been. Indeed, the dates given in the chapter headings for these first three chapters can only be taken as general guides to aid the reader. As to whether Saint Patrick ever came to Dublin, we do not know. But he could have done. The familiar legend of Cuchulainn may in fact have been formulated at a later period, but I have chosen to believe that it already existed then. As to the question of the sacrifice of Conall, there is clear evidence that human sacrifice was practiced, as described, by the druid priests of Celtic Europe. Whether such a ceremony might have taken place as late as this upon the pagan western island of Ireland is simply not known, but it is not impossible.

Readers familiar with the history of Brian Boru will be aware that the names of the various kings of Leinster and of the O'neill kings can become highly confusing.

For this reason, I have decided to avoid their names as far as possible, and to refer to the O'neill King Mael Sechnaill, quite properly, as the King of Tara.

The account of the siege of Dublin at the time of Strongbow is well documented. Some believe that the O'Connor king's men may have been surprised while bathing in the Tolka stream, rather than the River Lifrey, but I have chosen the latter as more likely.

As for the delightful idea that, while his men bathed in the stream, the king himself may have been sitting in a bathtub, I am indebted to Mr. Charles Doherty for sharing with me his note: "Ruaidhri Ua Conchobair's Bath."

The fourteenth-century story of the smuggling at Dalkey and the raid of the O'Byrnes at Carrickmines are a novelist's invention. But the activities of the O'Byrnes at this time are accurately given; there was undoubtedly an organized evasion of customs dues through Dalkey at this period, and a generation later, a Walsh of Carrickmines was accused by the Dublin authorities of withholding the customs dues he had collected at Dalkey for his own personal use.

I have allowed myself some very minor simplifications of the often complex chain of events during the years of tension between the Fitzgeralds and the Tudor kings of England.

It may surprise readers that I suggest that the pretender Lambert Simnel, in the time of Henry VII, may in fact have been the royal Earl of Warwick, as his supporters claimed. We shall never know for certain, but I have followed the arguments of the late Professor F. X. Martin, which show strong circumstantial evidence for this possibility. The version of the curious dispute between the Fitzgeralds and the Butlers at Saint Patrick's Cathedral is my own. And I am grateful to Dr. Raymond Gillespie for pointing out to me that despite the usual version of Archbishop Browne's burning of the relics in 1538, some of the relics, including the great Staff of Saint Patrick, may in fact have survived.

The guide that follows is designed to be helpful to the general reader. It in no sense represents a definitive, correct version of how to pronounce every word, and indeed, in many cases, no such correct rendering exists. For in modern Irish, there are often two different, regional pronunciations for a single word, and the spelling and pronunciation in Old Irish may be different yet again. Thus the May festival known to modern Irish as Bealtaine, and described during the ancient period in the novel, is in fact Beltaine in Old Irish, and would be pronounced Bell-ti-ne.

But since the modern form is widely familiar, it is that form which is given here. The following list, therefore, represents, it is hoped, a sensible compromise.

A.

comch indicates a soft sound, like that at the end of the Scottish word loch.

A final -h indicates a similar sound, but much softer, hardly sounded at all.

Each syllable is usually pronounced separately in Irish words, and this is clearly shown. The stressed syllable is in capital letters.

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Amairgen AV'-IRRGEN.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Armagh ArmAAH Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Ath Cliath Aw KLEE-AH Width1Width3Width1170Width 3Width1605 Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Bachall Iosa BO'-CHAL EE'-OSA.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Bealtaine Be-AL-TINE Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width brehon BRE-HON.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Brian Boru Brian BoROO Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width 1605.

Brigid BRIG'-ID.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Brodar BRU-DAR.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Caoilinn KAY-LIN.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Carmun KOR-MUN.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Cessair KE-SAR.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width 3Width1605 Chi-Rho KiyRow Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Clontarf KlonTARF Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width ColumCille KUL'-UM-KIH-LE.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Conall KON-ALSO.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Connacht KON-AHT.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width 1605.

Cormac KOR-MAK.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Cuailnge KOOL-NE.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Cuchulainn Koo-Hu-lang Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width currach KUR-AH.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width curragh KUR-AH.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Dagda DAG-THA.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Dal Cais Dal Gash Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Deirdre DARE-DRA.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width derbfine De-re-Vi-ne Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width 1605.

Diarmait DEER'-MAT.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Dubh Linn Doov Lin Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Dyflin DIF-LIN.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Eriu E-rioo Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Eva EE-FA.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width feis Fesh Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width fili FEE'-LEE.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width filidh FEE-LEEH.

Width1Width3Width1170Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Fingal FinGAWL Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width 3Width2265 Finn mac Cumaill Fiong mok KOOL Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Fionnuala Fin-Oo'-la Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Fir Bolg Fir BOL-UG Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Gaedhil and Gaill Gay-ill and Guy-ill Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width geissi GESH-EE.

Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Glendalough Glen-da-loch Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Glen Mama Glen MAA-MA Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Goibniu GOV'-NIOO.

Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Width1Width3Width1755Width3Width Imbolc IM-BOLG.