The Rebels of Ireland (49 page)

When he got back to the house and found the letter from his cousin Maurice, he read it with curiosity. But also with a smile. Maurice Smith was a good man of business. He had done well enough during his time in France. And when the more easygoing rule of Charles II finally encouraged him to return with his family to Dublin, he had managed, despite being a Catholic, to prosper there. Yet there was something of the romantic in his cousin too. He'd be swept away by sudden enthusiasms.

The purchase of his estate was a case in point. When Brian
O'Byrne, along with most of the other Irish gentry, had been forced to flee from Cromwell, and the Rathconan estate had been granted to Barnaby Budge, it had been a sad thing, to be sure. Budge had taken over, and though the people up in the Wicklow Mountains hated him, there wasn't much they could do. Budge had lived in the old fortified house, called himself a gentleman, and obtained other property and leases whenever he could. He'd kept Rathconan through the restoration of Charles II, and lived there until he died a dozen years ago. But when his elder son had come into the place, he'd had trouble. His father and his younger brother Joshua were made of sterner stuff, but Mr. Benjamin Budge was a peaceable fellow, and it wasn't long before he'd been troubled by Tories.

It always amused Donatus that the two political camps in the English Parliament should be known by such curious names. The party that believed Parliament should control the King, and that was generally more Protestant, were known as the Whigs, which was a term of gentle scorn. A member of the King's party, on the other hand, was known as a Tory—which meant an Irish brigand.

And it was certainly Irish brigands—local men, mostly, who loved the freedom of the Wicklow Mountains and hated the Puritan settlers there—who had made the life of poor Mr. Benjamin Budge so miserable. By the latter part of the reign of Charles II, that genial monarch had eased the restrictions, so that a Catholic could once again buy land. So when Maurice Smith had made him a fair offer for the estate, Benjamin Budge had taken the money and been glad to be rid of the place. He resided in Dublin, at present, and seemed to have no desire to purchase another estate.

But why had his cousin Maurice been so anxious to go up into the mountains like that? Donatus had often wondered. He knew that Maurice had always had a liking for Brian O'Byrne, and felt an affinity for his mountain estate. Certainly, since living up there, he'd always claimed to be very happy; and since he was a Catholic, with some vague connections to the place, the local people seemed to have tolerated him well enough. But he'd put all his fortune into Rathco
nan, and Donatus doubted that he was getting much of a return. It was just like Maurice, after years of saving, to do such a thing.

So as he read the letter his cousin had sent from Rathconan once again, and considered the mysterious excitement of its language, he wondered what new idea Maurice might have got now.

Sunday, March 24. Palm Sunday: festival of the Saviour's entry into Jerusalem. Was the date, also, a sign from God? King James came in through Saint James's Gate, in the west.

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.