The Soldier's Song Read Online Free Page A

seems to be smuggling guns these days, but still! Where is it now? Has he still got it?’
    ‘If he does, he’s moved it out of the house. And good riddance – it damn near ruined my suit with all the grease.’
    ‘But how did he get it? The National Volunteers brought in those guns. Your brother’s not in the Volunteers, is he?’
    ‘No, the Citizen Army.’
    ‘But I heard they didn’t get on with the Volunteers.’
    ‘Well, they didn’t before. But I dare say with the Unionists smuggling in their own guns and the war coming, they didn’t want to be left out. Anyway, according to Joe, his friend Connolly is the coming man in the Citizen Army, and he’s much more of the Volunteer way of thinking.’
    ‘God’s my life,’ Billy sighed. ‘All these guns. It’s bound to end in a fight!’

II
     
    The richness of the scene was overpowering: candlelight and the rustle of taffeta and the thump of dancing feet and the swish of dresses whirling past. The air was heavy with the smell of perfume and cologne and hummed with polite conversation. It was making him dizzy.
    ‘I suppose it hasn’t occurred to your brother,’ Billy was saying, ‘that you are striking a blow for the workers simply by being here.’ He paused to gesture as expansively as he could with a champagne flute in one hand and an overflowing plate in the other. ‘I mean, every morsel of food you eat comes directly from the coffers of old man D’Arcy. And since he’s usually as tight as the proverbial duck’s arse, the fact that our cups overfloweth at his expense makes it all the more tasty, if you ask me.’
    Stephen smiled and rocked back on his feet. He wasn’t terribly drunk, but he was drunk enough to feel his face flushed and his skin prickling. He should never have let Billy talk him into polishing off that bottle of Bushmills. Whiskey had never agreed with him and he’d felt a sullen heaviness settle on him after the first glass. When it finally came time to leave he felt muzzy and tired and it took an effort just to get up off the bed. Billy was still rattling away fourteen to the dozen about the war and Home Rule and how it was all such a mess, but Stephen could hardly hear him. When he got out onto the landing, a wave of nausea washed over him and he had to steady himself against the wall as Billy bent down to lock the door, taking an inordinately long time to insert the big iron key.
    The short walk up to Kildare Street had done little to clear his head. As they crossed the patio to the ballroom, the music blared out at him, unnaturally loud, and he stopped at the door, dazzled. The band was playing a waltz, the floor filled with whirling couples, and the golden light of hundreds of candles was reflected in a rolling sea of sequins and shining silk. He wasn’t ready for this, he thought; he was an impostor, a costumed fool who’d be found out the moment he opened his mouth. He felt his resolve failing, and he had to overcome the urge to turn around and walk away. It was all right for Billy – he was born to this. He was already inside, gazing around and laughing, completely in his element. But fearing Billy might slip away into the crowd, Stephen found himself hurrying after him, automatically straightening up and squaring his shoulders.
    ‘Sigh no more, ladies.’ He grinned, when he caught up.
    ‘Speak for yourself.’ Billy hardly looked at him. He had spotted the buffet table, which stretched the whole length of one wall, ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. What about a bite to eat before we start?’
    That was twenty minutes ago and they were still at the table. Billy was on his second plate of smoked salmon and vol-au-vents, but Stephen had no appetite. He had tried a single sliver of ham on brown bread, but found it turned to ashes in his mouth. Even the champagne tasted sour and fizzy. He was feeling more and more unwell, and all he wanted to do was to sit down somewhere quiet for a while.
    But the rhythmic