The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [125]
“But you’d better believe what they tell you to believe, Devlin, isn’t that right? Or else the priest will send you to hellfire, eh?” O’Neill, barking with aggressive laughter, was somewhat drunk, the Major realized. “So you don’t think it’s mumbo-jumbo then?”
Well, of course, in such matters one would want to be careful, because there was perhaps more to it than met the eye, at least, to his way of thinking...
“To your way of thinking but not to mine. If you ask me it’s a plain case of hysteria.”
“Well now,” began Devlin helplessly, “I’m not sure about that...”
“If there’s hysteria it’s because innocent people are having their houses burned down,” burst out the Major suddenly.
Bolton said: “There are no innocent people in Ireland these days, Major. If you put on a uniform like this you’ll find that everyone’s your enemy.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Bolton added: “If any of you are brave enough to be seen with a man in the uniform of the Crown perhaps you’d care to come out to the seminary with me. I’m afraid that the Shinners are using your miracle to do some rabble-rousing with. It’s a strange feeling to be in the middle of a crowd of innocent people, Major, any of whom may instantly become a hero by pulling a gun from his pocket and shooting you in the back without fear of being caught...How about you, Mr O’Neill? Would you like to come with me?”
“I’d be delighted any other time, but I’ve arranged to meet my wife.”
“Too bad.” Bolton smiled faintly.
There was silence for a moment. Sarah had at last lifted her eyes and was looking with amusement from one face to another. Bolton’s eyelids drooped sleepily.
“Of course I’m probably exaggerating the danger,” he added indifferently. “There may not be a single person with a gun in the whole crowd.” He paused again and his eyes flicked towards Edward. “How about it, Mr Spencer?”
“I really can’t see the point in taking foolhardy risks,” Edward said harshly. “That’s the first thing they teach you in the army.”
“Of course. You’re perfectly right. All the same, the Major here is an army man and I’m sure he’ll want to come with me.” Bolton was smiling contemptuously once more. Without turning towards her the Major was aware of Sarah’s eyes on his face.
“Certainly,” he said. “I’m ready to go whenever you like.”
The wind that had been blowing since early morning continued without slackening throughout the afternoon, a solid rushing of air that kept the branches of the trees pinned back and combed the grass flat on the hill-slope where the Major was standing. The wind sifted through Captain Bolton’s short fair hair and ballooned the jacket of his tunic as he sat on a shooting-stick, peering through binoculars. His wind-swollen shoulders gave him the appearance of a hunchback. After a moment he dropped the binoculars, removed the leather thong from round his neck and, without a word, handed them to the Major. The Major raised them to his eyes and looked down the slope towards the sea.
“Funny thing,” Bolton mused. “I never cared much for the Irish even before all this. An uncouth lot. More like animals than human beings...used to make me sick sometimes, just watching them eat.”
The Major had by now focused the binoculars on the seminary, which stood beside a rocky promontory. The crowd had assembled in a meadow in front of the grey stone campanile, whose bell, moved by the wind, struck an irregular, querulous chime, scarcely audible at this distance.
“I hope they all get rheumatism from kneeling in the wet grass.”
“They’re standing up again now. A young man is making a speech by the look of it.”
“Let’s have a look.” Bolton took the glasses, looked through them briefly and handed them back.
Even though earlier in the afternoon he had seen the roads packed with people and carriages, the Major