It was not about the rising, but about friendship. It was Georgiana's face that haunted him. And she was quite right to be afraid. If young William had gone to join Emmet, then he was in great danger. When the conspiracy was discovered, or the rising failed, as it surely would, the authorities would be no more lenient towards him than they had been to Lord Edward Fitzgerald.

He thought he could predict how it would go. The rebels would need to secure Dublin first. A Saturday market day was always the best time for such a thing. But when? He'd no idea. If, as he suspected, the mysterious explosion in the Liberty had anything to do with it, the plans were probably far advanced. Time was not on young William's side, therefore.

Yet what was the boy to him? The son of a man he hated, and who hated him. True, but also the grandson of an old friend. And the cousin of Patrick, a man he had loved.

What could he do anyway? The only way to help the boy would be to talk to him, persuade him to cut and run. And how the devil could he find him? Only by joining the conspirators himself, for long enough to do so-and even then, he probably wouldn't be able to persuade the boy anyway. What would happen then? Would his grandmother come and kidnap him? Actually, he thought with a smile, she probably would.

And if he did such a thing, for her sake, he'd clearly be putting his own life at risk. He'd been lucky not to be arrested in '98. This time, he might not be so lucky. A nice present for his grandchildren-to see their grandfather swinging from a bridge. No, it was young William who'd have to swing. He sighed, and tried to put the matter out of his mind.

He argued with himself this way, every day, for almost a week.

On the evening of Friday, July 22, Smith the tobacconist was surprised to find a visitor waiting for him at his door. It was John MacGowan. He said he wanted to become active again. Smith gazed at him thoughtfully.

"Why have you changed your mind, John? Is this something to do with the Walsh boy you were asking about?"

MacGowan had prepared himself for this.

"In a way, yes. I thought to myself, if he's in it, then why is it that I am not?"

"And if he isn't?"

"If you're not in it," MacGowan grinned, "then I'll stay out, too."

"You'll risk death?"

"I did before. My children are all grown."

Smith nodded thoughtfully. Then he gave MacGowan a long look.

MacGowan knew what he was thinking: Was it possible, the tobacconist must be wondering, that his old comrade had turned into a double agent? Such things had happened. The silence was long. In the end, MacGowan spoke.

"If you don't trust me, it's better I go home. The fear of having a traitor beside you does more harm than any good I could possibly do you." He turned. He was sorry he'd failed, yet also relieved. At least he'd tried; his conscience was clear. He'd gone a dozen paces when he heard Smith's voice behind him.

"Thomas Street. Just past Marshalsea Lane. Tomorrow morning."

By late Saturday morning, the place was crowded and chaotic. Hundreds of men from Kildare had arrived. There were constant demands: "Where are the blunderbusses? We need more ammunition. Who emptied this powder keg?" William was constantly being sent on errands. Several hundred more men came in from Wexford. They had been persuaded to wait down at the storehouse at Coal Quay. Another group of Dublin men was going to congregate at a house in Plunkett Street. Finn O'Byrne had returned to say that the message was delivered, but he couldn't say at what hour the Wicklow men would arrive.

Amidst all the chaos, there was another welcome addition. John MacGowan had appeared early in the morning and been welcomed by several of the men. He was a calm presence, working at William's side.

"It's still set for ten o'clock tonight," Emmet confirmed. "We fire a rocket, then swing down to Coal Quay, collect the Wexford men, and march straight to the Castle."

Finn O'Byrne, who'd been travelling all night, said he was going to rest at his house, but promised to be back later in the day.

Georgiana was restless. The fact that she had dreamed about William was not surprising. But the sensation that afflicted her now was of a different order. She did not form mental pictures of William. Nor did she feel a sudden panic, like a mother who cannot find her child. The feeling that came to her was not a fear, but a knowledge, quiet but certain, that he was in danger. She had heard people speak of such hidden understandings between people who were close. But she didn't know what she could do about it.

Late in the morning, she ordered her carriage. First she drove to Grafton Street, because that was where she had seen William. Then she went to the house of John MacGowan, to be told that he'd be out all day. After that, to the bafflement of her coachman, who had no idea what she was doing, she drove aimlessly along Dame Street and round by the Castle. She hoped she might receive some sense of where he was, but nothing came. Reluctantly, she went home.

Lord Mountwalsh was waiting in the shadows, half hidden by a pillar, when Finn O'Byrne reached the tomb of Strongbow. He was wearing a nondescript coat with the collar turned up, and a thin scarf covered the lower part of his face. His boots were hardly polished. The disguise was simple but effective. He might have been any Dublin tradesman.

"Tell me all," he commanded.

Finn gave him a brief account of all that he'd seen. "It will be ten o'clock," he said. "There will be a rocket." And he explained the route that Emmet meant to follow.

"Good. I shall tell the Castle to be ready at ten. Nothing will be done to alert the rebels. We want them to show their hand. I shall remain at my house, but at half past nine, I shall come in a plain carriage to the old Hospital of St. John. Meet me there and we shall walk along Thomas Street together. I think this will be sufficient disguise."

"Yes, my lord. But why do you want to come to Thomas Street?"

"So that you and I may witness Emmet and my son emerging. It might be hard to identify them afterwards, and there must be no question as to their guilt. There must be unimpeachable testimony at their trial." He drew himself up. "I intend to testify myself."

And now there could be no mistaking the terrible Earl of Mountwalsh.

It was during the afternoon that things started to go wrong.

At two o'clock, Emmet went out to a nearby inn with the leaders of the men from Kildare. They were gone a long time. When he returned, Emmet looked pale.

"We may have to do without the Kildare men," he told William quietly. "They aren't satisfied with the preparations." He sighed. "You know, we've had to do everything in such a devil of a hurry. But perhaps some of them will stay."

By late afternoon, though there were still hundreds of men there, the depot was quieter. But the doubts of the Kildare men had affected some of the Dublin commanders, too, and further groups of men were leaving. When Finn O'Byrne reappeared round seven, William explained what had happened. A few minutes later, Emmet called them together.

"With the men here and the Wexford boys, and the other groups who will surely come when the rocket is fired, we still have enough men to surprise the Castle," he announced.

A little before eight o'clock, O'Byrne went out.

"I'm going to see if I can't bring in some more men," he said.

"Be back by ten," said Emmet.

"Take a weapon," said William, and he gave him one of Emmet's folding pikes. "You can hide it under your coat."

"Thank you," said O'Byrne.

It was two hours since a carriage containing the Lord Lieutenant had rolled out of the gates of Dublin Castle and headed out towards the Liberty.

The Lord Lieutenant had been called in to the Castle that afternoon because of a report that a large insurrection was planned for that night. Both he and the Commander in Chief, General Fox, were sceptical.

"The Earl of Mountwalsh may say what he likes," he had said irritably, "but is there any corroboration? Does he say where these rebels are to be found? How are we to know them? Are we to go out and shoot every drunk on a Saturday night?"

"The signal will be a rocket, at ten o'clock."

General Fox spoke.

"On the last occasion, on Bastille Day, when that fool of a Town-Major stirred up a crowd for no reason, there were rockets."

All the same, the troops in the Castle and out at the nearby barracks were all put on alert. They would certainly be prepared. But by six o'clock, the Lord Lieutenant had had enough.

"Maintain the alert," he'd ordered. "If in doubt deploy, and lock the Castle gates. That's all. Let me know if the revolution starts. I'm going home."

It was one of the pleasant features of his job that it came with a splendid residence set in the magnificent spaces of Phoenix Park. As his carriage and outriders had clattered down from the Liberty and over the Liffey, he reflected upon what his predecessor had told him about the character of the Earl of Mountwalsh.

Lord Cornwallis had not minced his words. "The fellow's a damned nuisance." As usual, Cornwallis was right.

John MacGowan surveyed the scene. Less than two hours to go. How in the world was he to get the boy away?

This rising was going to be a catastrophe: he could feel it in his bones. He realized with a sudden shock that the Smith brothers were not there anymore. Emmet had taken off his coat, which lay on the back of his chair, and put on his green uniform. He looked very splendid in it; but MacGowan suspected that the uniform was serving another purpose also. It was helping Emmet to enter his role, so that there should be no turning back. It might have been a suit of armour.

And what was young William thinking? Had he realized that they were all going to die? At half past eight, he strolled over to William and suggested they should get a breath of air in the yard. Emmet was writing dispatches.

The air outside was warm. There were men resting round the edge of the yard. The rocket, with its eight-foot pole and its long fuse, stood in its heavy trestle launcher, pointing at the sky. Standing beside it, he spoke softly.

"The best men have all left."

"I know," said young William calmly.

"We should save Emmet from himself. The rising will fail, and we shall lose everything."

"The die is cast. He won't turn back. I know him."

"And you?"

"I do not desert my friends." It was said quite straightforwardly. That was how he chose to live; it would be how he chose to die. MacGowan looked at him with admiration.

"Quite right," he said, and went back inside.

So what the devil was he to do now?

Ten more minutes passed. Emmet was busy at his table, but MacGowan observed that he looked up nervously from time to time.

MacGowan wandered round the depot. Nobody took much notice of him. He inspected various weapons, but in the end chose a large and heavy pistol, which he stuffed into his belt. He picked up some wadding. In one room there were some ladders and coils of rope. He took a small coil and slung it over his shoulder. He saw a roll of bandage and took that, too.

He had formed a general plan. After that, he would have to improvise. Back in the main room, Emmet and about a hundred men were waiting. He went outside. It was four minutes to nine.

He continued into the street. There were quite a few people about. There were a couple of inns nearby. Dusk was falling now. A lamplighter was making his rounds. A strange, ambiguous time of the day, this borderland between day and night. He took a deep breath, turned, and ran back into the depot.

"Troops! There are troops coming," he cried. "From all sides. They'll surround us. Get out at once."

Emmet leaped up from the table. The men all round the depot were looking at each other. William also stood. He was pale.

"They have us," MacGowan cried.

Now was the moment. The men were faltering. He could see it in their eyes. That was all he needed: the opportunity of a moment's surrender. If Emmet would just say, "It's over boys-run if you can." Then he could get young William away to safety. But Emmet was doing no such thing. Damn his noble spirit.

"Pick up your arms, boys," Emmet was crying. "It's time to fight."

Some of the men were looking uncertain, others sent up a little cheer. Would they follow him?

"Light the rocket," cried Emmet.

"We'll do it," said MacGowan, and grabbing William by the arm, he dragged him into the yard with him. It took only an instant to strike the flint and light a taper. They lit the fuse of the rocket and stood back. After a few moments, the rocket went off with a burst of flame and a roar, climbing high into the sky, hundreds of feet, while they all looked after it as it exploded with a great shower of bright stars. All Dublin must have seen it.

"Come on, boys, let's take the Castle." Emmet's voice. He was leading the men out into the street. How splendid he looked in his green uniform. He was waving a sword in the air and heading along Thomas Street. Presumably, if he encountered troops, he hoped to break through them.

Young William was going to follow him. MacGowan had to think fast.

"Emmet," he called out. "Shall I fetch the Wexford men?"

"Do that," shouted Emmet.

"Can I take William?"

"Yes. William, go with him."

He was at William's side.

"Come, William. Quick, now," cried MacGowan. And they began to hurry down Marshalsea Lane in the direction of the quays.

Finn O'Byrne had taken his time. He'd decided to stay out of the depot until he met Lord Mountwalsh. If he'd started walking out closer to the hour, it might have looked suspicious.

The fact that many of the Kildare and Dublin men had left didn't concern him. It would just make it easier to see Emmet and William as they came out. It was possible, he supposed, that Emmet would call the whole thing off, but he didn't think that was in Emmet's character.

He had walked along to Christ Church and turned down Winetavern Street to an inn. He might as well drink a Guinness while he waited. The folding pike William had given him was quite heavy, but he could hardly take it out in public, and so he kept it concealed under his coat. He had to confess, the thing was ingenious. And you never knew, it might still come in useful if there was trouble during the evening. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he sat on a bench in the street, outside the door.

The church bell had just finished striking nine o'clock when he saw the great flash of light in the sky over Thomas Street, and watched the burst of stars as the huge firework exploded in the evening sky.

He stared in horror. Had he mistaken the hour? No. It was nine. The signal had been given an hour early. There was no mistaking it. The rising was starting. And Lord Mountwalsh wasn't even planning to leave his house for half an hour.

He raced up the street. What should he do? Should he wait for Mountwalsh? Might the earl have seen the rocket? Probably not if he was indoors. What the devil should he do?

As he emerged by the cathedral, he saw a hansom cab. He hailed it.

"Whip up your horse," he cried, "and take me to St. Stephen's Green. Fast as you can."

Behind iron railings, a huge rectangular garden ran down the centre of Merrion Square. Georgiana had been pacing there uneasily for over an hour when she saw the rocket rise and explode in a great starburst somewhere in the west behind the Castle.