Outside the gate was set a stage, upon which played two Irish harpists. A chorus of friars gave joyous song; and a company of townswomen from the markets, all dressed in white, performed a charming dance before him. The mayor and corporation came out, with pipes and drums, and gave him the key of the city before he entered. Then, through the gate he came, with his gentlemen and cavalry, his footmen and fifes, and made his way along streets that, if not strewn with palms, had at least been freshly gravelled. King James II had come into his own again. At the gates of the castle, he wept.

He came modestly. He was not a bad-looking man: his complexion pale and reddish, where his brother's had been swarthy and dark; his face, once proud, now somewhat humbled by exile and disease. He thanked the good people of Dublin as he passed. He came, he seemed to wish to say, with friendship to all the people of his Irish kingdom, and enmity towards none. Yet as Donatus Walsh and Maurice Smith stood side by side and watched him pass, they knew, each of them, that it would not be easy. For the fact remained, the people of England had already kicked him out, and his rival for the kingdom might invade at any time.

As far as the Protestant people of England were concerned, they had never expected James to be King. His brother Charles II had always seemed to be in rude good health. There had been suspicions that Charles might be a secret Catholic. But if he was, he had been far too clever to be caught. Instead, he had kept his mistresses, attended the theatre, joked with the ordinary folk at the horse races, and generally applied common sense whenever the religious extremists seemed in danger of getting too excited. But if he tried to encourage his Protestant subjects to be more tolerant towards the Catholics, his task was not made easier when at the end of his reign, his cousin King Louis XIV of France had brutally kicked out the Huguenot Protestants from his kingdom, and forced them to flee-some two hundred thousand of them-to Holland, England, and anywhere else that would take them in. London received tens of thousands. But in doing so, the Londoners remembered the Inquisition, the Irish rebellion, and every other outrage, real or imagined, of Catholic against Protestant. So it was a great shock to all England when, quite suddenly, Charles II had died, and his younger brother, an open Catholic, unexpectedly came to the throne.

They were prepared to tolerate him, however, for a single reason. Catholic he might be, but his heir was his daughter, Mary; and she, thank God, was both a Protestant herself and married to another- Prince William of Orange, the ruler of the Dutch. They might have to put up with James for a while, therefore; but once he was gone they could look forward to William and Mary.

So when James started promoting Catholics to high positions, the English gritted their teeth. When he started placing Catholic officers in the army, they looked on in alarm. And when-despite the fact that he hadn't fathered a child in years, and rumour had it that venereal diseases would prevent him from doing so-the king suddenly had a son by his second, Catholic wife, the English exploded. Was it his? Had the queen even been pregnant? Was it a changeling? Was this another devious Catholic plot to steal the English throne for Rome? The rumours flew. Whatever the truth, the English weren't having it. With scarcely any loss of blood at all, they simply threw him out. William of Orange arrived, to be offered a kingdom. James fled to France.

But Ireland was another story. Both Protestants and Catholics in turn had been alarmed at the events across the water. But King James's favourite, the Catholic Lord Tyrconnell, had done well for his royal master. He'd managed to overawe the Protestants with his troops, but at the same time assured them: "King James means you no harm." The Presbyterians in Ulster were highly suspicious; the walled town of Derry was refusing to submit. But most of the Catholic island hoped that King James would come as a deliverer.

And now, with money and troops supplied by his cousin, King Louis of France, he had arrived to be welcomed by his Irish kingdom.

Once King James had gone into the Castle, Donatus and Maurice had gone to an inn to take some refreshment. Donatus had already gathered all the news.

"He's going to call a Parliament. It will meet here in Dublin early in May. They want the old Catholic gentry as members. Think of that, Maurice-a Catholic Parliament."

"And our religion?"

"He has been cautious, and wise, I think. This last ten days, all the way from Cork to Dublin, he has been meeting the Protestant clergy and assuring them that the Protestants will be free to practice their faith. All Christians are acceptable. That's the word. So long as they are loyal." He smiled. "But Ireland will be Catholic, of course."

Then Maurice told him about the Staff and was gratified that Donatus entirely agreed with him about the importance of his discovery.

"The power of such a thing would be great indeed, if we could just put the Staff and the Deposition together. A symbol for Ireland. And if it comes to a fight with King William, to have the true Staff upon the field of battle . . ."

"You will help me then?"

"Most certainly. We must find it."

It was not until early May, just as the Parliament was assembling, that Maurice set out upon his quest. He knew that he might be gone for some time. He left Rathconan in good hands. His son Thomas was not a man of business, but he loved the land and everything on it. Thomas would run the estate very well in his absence.

Donatus Walsh, in the meantime, had been busy. His enquiries in Dublin had yielded nothing. But some careful research had produced the names of numerous families who might have information about the Staff; and it was armed with this considerable list that Maurice went out, like a pilgrim or knight errant from olden times, in quest of his Grail.

He went first to County Meath. That was where, if the reports were true, the Staff had last been seen. For two weeks he went from house to house, wherever there was a Catholic of any consequence or a priest. But though he made the most diligent enquiry, he could discover nothing definite. Several said that the Staff had been shown in a house or chapel. It seemed that it might have been brought there by someone from outside the area. But more than this he could not learn.

From Meath he passed into Kildare. The Deposition, after all, had made mention of Kildare. Again, he conducted his search in the same manner, for another two weeks. But in Kildare, he could find nothing at all.

There remained, however, an obvious possibility. There had been so much movement of people since the Deposition was made. In particular, almost every faithful gentry family had been transplanted into Connacht. From Kildare, therefore, he went westwards, and searched out any old Kildare families who might have been sent there. This was a larger and more difficult task; but he was a man on a mission, and the further he went, the more determined he became not to give up.

It was a distressing experience: to travel from farm to farm, even cottage to cottage, and see the ancient Catholic families reduced to poverty after the Transplanting. Many of them hoped that with the new Catholic Parliament, they might be restored to their former estates. Maurice hoped and prayed that it might be so. But none of them had any knowledge of the Staff. Week after week passed. Only when he had used all the money he had brought with him did he leave off his quest and return to his home, with the promise to himself that he would resume his search again, as soon as he could.

It was on a day early in July that he came over the pass in the Wicklow Mountains and descended towards the old house at Rathconan that he loved so well.

He was somewhat surprised, as he came towards the door, to see that he had a visitor. As a horse was tethered by the doorway, it was clear that the visitor must have arrived only just before him, coming up from the opposite direction. His wife was standing by the new arrival. So was his son, Thomas. They were looking at him strangely. He rode up and dismounted.

The visitor was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man. He had the air of a military captain. He was middle-aged, perhaps a decade younger than himself, but he looked fit and athletic. He gazed at Maurice, then moved towards him.

"So you are Mwirish, the son of Walter Smith?"

"That is so."

"I am Xavier O'Byrne. The son of Brian O'Byrne. I just came up to look at the place," he indicated the house and the land of Rathconan, "now that it's to be returned to me." He smiled. "I was about to ask your family here: where will you be going to live yourself?"

Maurice was to learn stranger things than that, as he sat at table with O'Byrne that evening. So engrossed had he been in his quest that he had hardly bothered to follow the detailed deliberations of the Dublin Parliament. He had known that land might be restored to those transplanted, but he was not aware of the mechanism by which such a thing might be accomplished. And to tell the truth, he had never thought of the O'Byrnes.

"King James is against the whole business," O'Byrne explained, "because he fears that it will stir up too much trouble, but the Catholic gentlemen in the Parliament are absolutely determined. They want all the lands confiscated and given to Protestants by Cromwell to be returned to their owners. Including those who left the country, if they wish to return. So you see, that includes Rathconan."

"But I am Catholic, and I bought the estate," Maurice pointed out.

"You are one of many. But you bought it from Budge, you see, who should never have had it in the first place." He smiled. "You aren't alone. There are numerous people in your position, and the latest idea is to pay compensation. There are quite a few Protestants who sent aid to King William when he came to England. Their lands will be taken, and you'll be paid out of that."

"But I love Rathconan."

"I'm glad to hear it. But my own family have been here for centuries."

Maurice sighed. He couldn't deny the justice of what O'Byrne said; but he wished it were otherwise.

"Nothing will happen for a long while," O'Byrne assured him. "The Parliament men will go on arguing about it for years, I dare say. And besides, we haven't secured Ireland yet."

When he discussed the military situation, O'Byrne was both interesting and cynical. "I am a soldier of fortune, Mwirish," he declared. "I look upon these things with a cold eye. The Irish troops that Tyrconnell has raised-and he has thousands of them-are poorly armed. Some of them haven't even got pikes. They've no training. Brave as lions, of course: it makes me proud to be Irish. But useless. There are Irish officers like myself, men whose families fled Ireland long ago, and who've come back to see what they can get. We train them as best we can. French troops are coming, too. They'll be tough professional soldiers. But if King Billie comes over, he'll bring an army that's fought in every major campaign in Europe." He sucked on his teeth. "Most of your boys have never seen anything like that."

"Will he come?"

"That's the question." O'Byrne shook his head. "I don't know. So far he doesn't seem to want to. That has to be the hope-that he'll leave King James to keep Ireland. It's a family business: James is his father-in-law, after all; and they were always on friendly terms as long as William and Mary were to inherit England. Perhaps they can come to a new agreement." He paused to reflect. "Mind you, whether the English Parliament could live with a Catholic Ireland on its doorstep I'm not so sure."

"At least we have secured Ireland itself," Maurice said.

"Probably, Mwirish. Probably. Those Protestant boys up in Ulster are still waiting for King Billie. It's a powder keg up there, in my opinion. And you know, we still haven't taken Derry." It was one of the most remarkable features of that summer. The obstinate defenders of Derry had closed their gates and refused to surrender to James's forces. They'd been trapped and blockaded inside their walls since April, but they still hadn't given up. "They must be eating the rats by now," said O'Byrne, with a soldier's admiration. "And even when the place does fall, it's very difficult to subdue people like that."

But the real surprise for Maurice Smith came when they turned to family matters. He had already ascertained that his old friend Brian O'Byrne had passed away-on a campaign, he'd learned, fighting for the King of France. It was only late in the evening, when he remarked sadly that he'd never known what had become of his own father, that O'Byrne said: "After he fought at Rathmines, you mean?"

"Rathmines? My father was never at the Battle of Rathmines."

"Oh, but he was," answered O'Byrne. "My father was with him and he told me the whole business." And he related all that had passed. "He was no soldier, you know," O'Byrne added with a smile. "But he fought like a hero, my father said. He never knew for certain, but my father always wondered if he'd gone up to Drogheda, and perished there."

For some moments Maurice digested this extraordinary piece of news. Then, suddenly overcome with a wave of affection for his vanished father, he felt his eyes fill with tears, and had to look away. "I had no idea he would do such a thing," he said at last.

"He was a true Irishman," O'Byrne said quietly.

Then Maurice told him about the Staff of Saint Patrick.

For Donatus Walsh, the autumn and winter of 1689 was a trying time. To everyone's astonishment, Derry had not only held out; late in the summer it had been relieved. To the Protestants of Ulster it was an inspiration; to King James, a bitter blow. Despite the fact that he was a Catholic King on a Catholic island, it showed his enemies that he could be beaten.

Not that King William had fared so much better. He sent over his long-time commander General Schomberg. But instead of sweeping down towards Dublin, the old veteran got stuck up near the Ulster border. Many of his men fell sick during the cold and damp of the Irish winter. The months that followed were, for the most part, a grim stalemate.

Grim for the troops, grim for the people. The winter was cold. The Irish, determined to do nothing to support the English across the water, gave orders that all English imports, including the usual coal for heating the houses of Dublin, should be turned back. They needn't have bothered. The English didn't send any. Shortly before Christmas, Donatus tore down two of the hedges on the estate, to provide fuel for his people. At the start of the new year, going into Dublin, he discovered that half the wooden posts and railings in the city had already been taken for firewood.

He saw Maurice Smith several times. His cousin also introduced him to O'Byrne. Nothing was being done about the land settlement for the time being, and it seemed that, whatever the outcome, the two men were quite resolved to remain friends. As for Donatus, he was intrigued to meet the soldier of fortune, and enjoyed the soldier's clever, worldly mind. As for the news that the soldier had brought to Maurice of his vanished father, it seemed to have had a strange effect. The solid, punctilious merchant of whom Donatus had always heard, evidently was a far more romantic soul than anyone had realised. Maurice never said so, but Donatus was sure that his cousin felt a new sense of closeness to the parent he had lost. There was a look of peace and joy in his eye when he spoke of Walter now. And Donatus was glad that Maurice should have found such a wellspring of unexpected emotion in the latter half of his life. If anything, the knowledge that his father had sacrificed himself for the Catholic cause seemed to have made Maurice more determined than ever to pursue his quest for the Staff. He spoke of returning to Connacht again in the spring.

But the military stalemate could not go on forever. By February, the rumour was that William, having given up on General Schomberg, might be coming over himself. In March, a force of several thousand Danish soldiers, hired from the King of Denmark, were landed in Ulster. "The Vikings are being used against us again," the Catholics of Dublin complained. Yet in a way, the forces sent to help them by the King of France were almost as bad. In the first place, they marched into Dublin with every sign of arrogance and contempt for the Dubliners. And they had no sooner arrived than another discovery was made. Several thousand of the mercenaries were Protestants!

Through the month of April, English, Dutch, and German troops were starting to arrive in the north. One of William's naval commanders even made a cheeky raid into Dublin Bay and took away one of James's ships. One way or the other, it seemed to Donatus that matters must come to a head that summer.

Only one piece of cheerful news came during this time. A little before Easter, Donatus learned from his wife that she was pregnant again.

The priest came to his door one day in the middle of May. He was an old man. The cloak he had wrapped around him was spattered with mud and torn in several places; but his blue eyes were keen.

"You were inquiring about the Staff?" In fact, during the winter, Donatus had not been inactive. It had occurred to him to write to the several Irish colleges on the continent, explaining the recently found authentication and asking whether they had any news concerning the Staff. So far, the replies he had received had been courteous and evinced every sign of interest; but sadly there had been no positive news. One never knew, however, what further conversations such an enquiry might provoke in the great Irish Catholic network of the European world. And it seemed that just such a thing had now occurred. "I had a letter," the priest said, "from a dear friend in Douai. So as I was passing through Dublin on my way overseas, I thought to call upon you."

"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 Te Deums 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.