The Fifth chapter

He who would lead. The words were ringing in Michael Dunhill's mind as he awoke. The dream had not quite let go of him, and so he hung delicately between waking and sleeping while it played and re-played quickly in his head.

Without a word he rose from his mattress and went about the room, rousing his newly discovered mates from their own dreams. He called into the dark corner where the young Finn McCool lay. When he received no answer he stepped forward and jostled the cushion with his foot. A groan was his answer as young Finn slowly pushed himself up from the bed. As his head turned towards the light Michael gasped at the sight. The entire left side of the his face was black and blue, angry red lines carved their way through the sea of color where the skin had split.

Young Finn smiled with the undamaged side of his face, "If you're frightened by this, Michael, you'll not like what is to come." With a shake of his head to clear the cobwebs from his brain the young man bounded out of bed. As he pulled a shirt gingerly over his head Collins asked from behind him, "What's the script mean?"

Finn glanced at the back of his shoulder where text was tattooed into the skin. A devilish grin lit the good side of Finn's face, "That is an old, old song. It's the marching song of An Cead Sluagh, The First Company. 'Hark to the tramp of the young guard of Erin. Firm is each footstep and erect is each head.'"

Collins nodded his head, "It's an inspiring song to be sure."

With a nod Finn dismissed the subject. He turned to the rest of the room, "Are we clear on tonight then? Do not run from the police, do not engage them either. Turn yourselves at right angles and continue walking. We will not turn about and flee, nor shall we force a confrontation tonight. Tonight we must stir the people, to do this we must avoid fighting, instead, we will simply show our presence. People will join up thinking we are a mob bent of destruction, but they will follow along when we lead. Let's show these Black and Tans a night they won't forget, let them quake in terror at the sound of our boots, only to be disappointed our pacifism. With no easy outlet for their pent up aggression, they will be forced to resort to taking the offensive."

"This is where I come in. While you," Finn pointed at Dunhill, "are taking a group around to the North. And you," this time at the two bearded brothers, "are moving to the south. I shall be going quietly up the center. When I meet them they will have no alternative but to engage me. This is where you come in, Mr. Collins. You must gather the evidence of this, and with this evidence we will hang them in the morning."

With this last exhortation they gathered their things, and left the small apartment. As the door closed behind them the bearded brothers, Sean and James, crossed themselves and muttered a prayer. Finn dropped back a step from the company to walk beside the two. It was quite a picture the three of them walking. The young clean-shaven and battered Finn with his short, powerful frame strode easily next to the tall brothers. Both Sean and James wore a recently trimmed beard as if they had just arrived home from the sea the day before. The salt spray over the bow of their fishing vessel had started to play havoc with the exposed skin on their faces, fading youthful softness to tanned leather well beyond their years. Standing well over six feet tall the brothers careers were told plainly in their faces, the strength of their arms, the coarse hands that seemed to be formed from the very wood and rope they controlled. The faint swagger with which Finn walked rocked back and forth, almost bumping the brothers on either hand while they crept forward, feet soft against the floor, waiting for the pitch and roll of a wave.

"Can I count on the two of you tonight?" Finn asked softly once they were far enough behind the others to avoid being heard.

Sean, the older brother, nodded. James assured Finn, "We weren't praying because we didn't think we could handle it."

Finn raised a hand, "Perhaps you misunderstood me. I wasn't questioning your faith or strength. I was inquiring about your patience."

Sean smiled ruefully, "We watched our family house burn to the ground under English torches when we were scarce tall enough to throw a line. What do you think we were praying for?"

Finn nodded, "Patience is just another kind of strength. Gather what you can, mates. This will be a long night."