"But who set the Casde afire?"

"We'll not be knowin' that for sure either. It was night, and the Castle was beset by a band of Volunteers, disguised to conceal their true identities, the Anglo cowards! They tried to burn us out, they did, howling 'Death to the Papists!' like bloody banshees while they looted and killed. We was taken asleep, you see, and afore we knew what was about they were upon us. They murdered the old lord, and many there were who saw it too, but not afore he was able to send his sons to safety. Likely they meant to kill the lads too, but there their evil plan went awry. His lordship was but a lad of twelve, but he took charge of his wee brothers that night and has had charge of them ever since. For thirteen years he's been father and mother both to 'em, and bonny lads they've grown to be, though they've known their share of troubles. Aye, and I'd like to see the man who could take Connor d'Arcy's land from his hold now!" This last was said under Mickeen's breath, with an air of almost gloating.

"But…"

"Eech, the pair of you chatter like squirrels. It's tired I be of answerin' your questions." It was a measure of the fury that Mickeen had worked himself up to in the telling that the snarl he sent Caitlyn's way was not meant for her. The expression of sheer hatred on his weathered face was directed at the anonymous Volunteers, the secret organization of Anglo bloodmongers who rode out at night, hooded and cloaked, in huge gangs to wreak bloody havoc upon the Irish Catholics. The Irish in turn had their own Straw Boys, so called because, since they were poorer, their disguises from hoods to cloaks were made of straw and they resembled nothing so much as walking haystacks. Caitlyn had seen an assembly of them just once, when they had marched on Dublin Castle. She had been no more than a wee bairn, but they had left an indelible impression on her. Like the city, the countryside was rife with violence, it seemed, as sectarian gangs warred on one another and the innocent.