‘We are racing the light,’ Muiris reminded his crew. ‘If dawn catches us on open water some fisherman is bound to see us.’ A pale glow was visible in the east as they approached a tiny, tree-covered island. It might have been the one where they met Muiris earlier, Tom could not tell. The men rowed into the shallows and then just sat, looking at one another. Within moments the second currach joined them. Fergal gave a great shout. ‘We’ve done it!’ he exulted. ‘By all the saints and sinners, we’ve taken the Great Earl’s gold!’ Seán said angrily, ‘This is not the Great Earl’s gold. Everything Richard Boyle has was stolen from the Irish, one way or another. We have just reclaimed a portion of it.’ ‘We have work to do,’ Muiris reminded them. They beached the currachs and unloaded the leather bags. The bags contained solid bars of pure gold. ‘These are called ingots,’ Muiris told Tom. They carried the bags to the centre of the island, where a number of holes had been dug in advance.
