Fenshaw shrugged. ‘Maybe, given how far their kings had moved away from the needs and desires of their subjects. The revolutionaries are simply shifting the balance of government back in favour of the people. That is why I do not think that they should be regarded as some elemental force of chaos and evil.’

Arthur shook his head in astonishment. ‘You can’t be serious, Fenshaw. Look at what they have been doing to their own countrymen. Sending them to the guillotine in their thousands. Waging war on their compatriots in the Vendée, in Normandy and in the south of the country. And what of the lands they have invaded? How is that proof of their good intentions to the common man?’

‘They are fighting to keep the revolution alive, Wesley. No monarchy in Europe dares to allow the French republic to succeed for fear of the precedent it would set. It is a beacon to oppressed people everywhere - that is why other powers are bent on destroying the revolution by waging war from without, and by spreading lies and insurrection from within. Faced with that, they do what they must to defend the revolution.’

‘So the end justifies the means?’ Arthur sniffed. ‘That’s been the excuse of tyrants through the ages. The means and end are indistinguishable and only fools and charlatans pretend that they aren’t.’

‘Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.’

‘Oh, come now, Fenshaw! You can’t really believe that. The scum who have risen to the top of the heap in France aren’t killing their own people, and those of other nations, for the sake of an ideal. They are doing it to protect themselves alone, and to extend their tyranny to other nations. A tyrant is a tyrant no matter what noble cause he may profess to serve. Revolution only breeds chaos, and chaos can only be resolved by a cruel and ruthless tyrant. That is not a fate I want for my country and my people, should the French invade.’

Fenshaw smiled slightly. ‘Wesley, you shouldn’t believe everything that you read in Edmund Burke’s vile pamphlets.’

‘And you should not be fooled by the wretched scribblings of Thomas Paine,’ Arthur snapped back.

There was a dangerous tension hanging over the picnic blanket and Kitty grabbed a small pot from the basket and thrust it between the two men. ‘Goose liver terrine? You really should try it. Our cook makes it. Quite delicious.’

Arthur turned to her with raised eyebrows, then took a deep breath and held out his plate. ‘That would be nice, Kitty. Thank you.’

Fenshaw continued to nibble at his chicken leg as he shifted to take in the view of Dublin, for once free of the usual brown haze of smoke, sprawling either side of the Liffey.