Thank God war has come.

He walks away quickly into the trees, the three bags on his shoulders.

Scene Seven

The light changes. A sunset. Golden yellow light, O’Rourke walks out of the trees. Chichester opens his eyes, sees him and sits up.

O’Rourke Good evening to you.

Two Men with automatic weapons come out of the trees. The Woman walks quickly across.

So you’re a friend of the Republican cause, Mr Henwick.

Chichester stands. A silence.

You’re a strange and puzzling man to us, Mr Henwick. Here you are on an Irish farm, out of the goodness of your heart helping a bedridden old woman, her sons being scattered by British economic imperialism. You are heard singing in the pubs. Spreading it about that you are no friend of the British Government. Then sending us messages that you are a gun-runner, with communist weapons for sale.

Now as I see it, you’re either a madman, or an intelligence officer with the Special Air Services Regiment.

One way or the other.

So you’d better convince me quick that you’re stone crazy. See if he’s armed.

The two armed Men advance on Chichester.

Chichester I am –

I am a British Officer.

The two Men stop dead still.

A long silence.

My name is Thomas Edward Chichester.

Henwick was my cover.

I come from an old English Army family. My father was killed by a landmine in Cyprus, when I was a baby.

My mission was to assassinate you, O’Rourke.

A silence, then:

O’Rourke (slowly) Now why, in God’s name, do you tell me that?

A silence.

First Man Kill the bastard.

O’Rourke Be quiet.

Second Man This could be a set-up –

O’Rourke I don’t think so. What is your rank?

Chichester Captain.

O’Rourke You have just spoken your death warrant, Captain Chichester.

Why?

Chichester I keep on seeing the dead. A field in Ireland, a field in England. And faces like wood. Charred wood, set in the ground. Staring at me.

The faces of our forefathers.

Their eyes are sockets of rain-water, flickering with gnats. They stare are me in terror.

Because in my hand there’s a Roman spear. A Saxon axe. A British Army machine-gun.

The weapons of Rome, invaders, Empire.

O’Rourke This is one hell of a way to deny your Imperial heritage. That what you’re trying to do, Captain?

Chichester, gripping the writs of his right hand, shaking it.

Chichester The weapons. I want to throw them down.

And reach down. To the faces. Hold the burnt heads in my hands and pull them up. The bodies out of the earth. Hold them against me.

Their bones of peat and water and mud. And work them back to life.

Like King Arthur –

First Man Christ Almighty! He’s raving mad.

He laughs.

Second Man Let’s have done with him.

O’Rourke I think he may just be an honourable man, having a hard time of it. The assassin, humanised by his trade.

O’Rourke laughs.

Is that is Captain? The horrors of war?