Young Bloods

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Just what you wanted.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Napoleon’s smile faded as he glanced back at the letter and read it again, quickly. ‘He doesn’t mention you.’

  ‘No.’ Joseph’s voice wavered. ‘It seems I’m to stay here.’

  ‘We’re not going together? There must be some mistake.They can’t separate us.’ Napoleon gripped his brother’s hand. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’ The sudden thought of being so far from his home and his family, and even then denied the reassuring presence of his brother’s company, filled Napoleon with dread. ‘I don’t want to be alone,’ he repeated softly.

  Joseph opened his mouth to reply, but no words came at first. What comfort was there to offer? He tried to make himself sound persuasive. ‘I don’t want you to leave me either. But this is for the best. Father wants to give you a chance to become a soldier. Brienne’s the place for you. I . . . I’ll stay here and study for the Church.’

  Napoleon felt a lump in his throat as he refolded the letter and handed it back to his brother. He coughed and then tried to speak steadily. ‘You will write to me?’

  ‘Of course!’ Joseph put his arm round his brother’s shoulder again, and this time he felt Napoleon lean in towards him. Soon, Napoleon realised, there would be no human comfort for either of them to ease the pain of homesickness. Each would be forced to endure life as an outsider in an unfamiliar culture. He felt a surge of fondness for his older brother and reached for his hand.

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘I know. Me too.’

  ‘Do you think, if we wrote to Father, that we could persuade him to take us home?’

  Joseph was Corsican enough to wince at the prospect of being thought of as weak-spirited. ‘No. He won’t stand for it.’

  Napoleon struggled to hold back the tears. He knew his brother spoke the truth and he felt torn by hatred for his father’s cold determination and by the bitter contempt he felt for himself for being prey to such unworthy emotions. If only they had never left Ajaccio.

  ‘Joseph? What is to become of us?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ the older boy replied miserably. ‘I just don’t know.’

  Napoleon shut his eyes tightly and murmured, ‘I’m afraid.’

  Carlos Buona Parte came to visit his sons at the end of April. At first father and sons had been overjoyed to see each other again. Then, as it quickly became apparent how miserable Joseph and Napoleon were and how much they wanted to return home, Carlos’s manner towards them cooled, and became dismissive and angry. They were ungrateful, he said. Ungrateful of all the sacrifices that he and Letizia had made in order to make sure that the two boys had futures the family could be proud of. Given all that had been done for them, the least that Joseph and Napoleon could do was make something of the opportunities that they had been given.

  They stood before him, heads hung in shame and despair, and for a moment Carlos’s resolve weakened and he placed his hands on their shoulders.

  ‘Come now, it can’t be as bad as that.’ He forced himself to laugh. ‘When I was your age I’d have thought this would be an exciting adventure. A chance to travel, see more of the world, learn from the best teachers that can be found. You particularly, Naboleone.’

  ‘They call me Napoleon here,’ the small boy said softly.

  ‘Napoleon?’ Carlos frowned for an instant before he gave a shrug. ‘Well, why not? It sounds more French.’

  ‘But I’m Corsican, Father.’

  ‘Of course you are. And you should be proud of it.’

  ‘I am!’ the boy replied fiercely.

  ‘That’s fine. But don’t let it become an excuse for others to tease you,’ he added shrewdly. ‘I spoke to Abbot Chardon before I came to find you. He says there have been some . . . incidents.’

  ‘They started it! But I paid them back.’

  Carlos could not suppress a laugh. ‘I’m sure you did. As a Corsican, I applaud your spirit. But as a father, I worry for you. I don’t want you to make life hard for yourself. So behave.’ Carlos lifted his son’s chin so that their eyes met. ‘Promise me.’

  Napoleon kept his silence and merely nodded.

  ‘I’ll take that as a promise, then.’ Carlos ruffled the boy’s lank dark hair. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll appreciate the change of scene. Brienne’s one of the royal military colleges. That place will make a man of you, and if you do well you might win a place at the Royal Military School in Paris. Then one day you’ll be Colonel Buona Parte, with a regiment of fine soldiers to command. Wouldn’t that be grand?’

  The boy stared at him, mind racing. It was true, he wanted everything his father had mentioned, and for a moment a small selfish part of him wanted to embrace it all. But then there was the awful prospect of being alone at Brienne. The past three months at Autun had been bad enough, so how much worse would it be without Joseph for company?

  He swallowed and looked at his father nervously. ‘Can Joseph come too?’

  Carlos shook his head. ‘Brienne only had one scholarship available and I was lucky to secure that for you.’

  The small boy turned back to him and met his gaze in silence for a moment, before nodding faintly. Carlos smiled and cupped his hand round Napoleon’s cheek. ‘There’s a good boy. Now you must go and pack your trunk, while I talk with your brother.’

  An hour later the hired cart rattled out of the school gate and on to the rutted track.While his father stared stiffly ahead Napoleon turned his head and looked back at the school, at once fixing his eyes on the solitary figure of Joseph standing to one side of the gatehouse. Joseph raised his hand and waved slowly. His younger brother returned the wave as Abbot Chardon stepped into view, laid a gentle hand on Joseph’s shoulder and led him back through the gatehouse and out of sight.

  Chapter 15

  The military college was on the outskirts of the small market town of Brienne. The college was comprised of functional buildings neatly laid out around a quadrangle. It was designed, Carlos told his son, to accommodate one hundred and twenty cadets, half of whom were scholarship boys like Napoleon. So he should not feel unduly out of place.As the cart passed through the quadrangle and made for the coach house and stables at the rear of the main building, Napoleon stared keenly about him.

  While one of the college grooms took charge of the cart, a porter scurried over to unload Napoleon’s trunk, then led Carlos and his son to the administrative section at the heart of the college. Inside, a hall stretched the length of the building and the varnished parquet gleamed in the light slanting through tall shuttered windows that stretched along the side of the hall opposite the offices.The tang of polish filled the air and the sound of their shoes echoed off smooth plastered walls.

  ‘Over here, sir.’ The porter indicated a door to one side. A neatly painted sign indicated that this was the office of the director of the institution. A plain bench ran along the wall beyond the door.

  Carlos bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll take the young gentleman’s trunk to his cell, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’

  As the porter, burdened down by the luggage, tramped off down the corridor, Carlos and his son exchanged brief looks. Carlos flashed a quick smile and whispered, ‘Well, here we are, Napoleon.’

  He raised his hand to knock on the polished wooden panel, paused to take a deep breath, then rapped sharply.

  There was a muffled cough from inside and then a thin, reedy voice called out, ‘Enter!’

  Carlos pressed the handle down and pushed the door open. It was heavier than he expected and resisted his efforts with a faint squeak from the hinges before it gave. Inside was a large office, lined with bookcases along which gleamed the gilded spines of books so regimented that it seemed that they were rarely, if ever, taken from their places.The office was bathed in light from a large window that looked out over the quadrangle. In front of the window was a modest walnut desk. Sitting behind it was a thin man in a plain black frock coat and powdered wig. H
e wore a pair of glasses that made his eyes look far larger than they really were, and Napoleon felt them bore into him as the man subjected him to intense scrutiny. There was a moment’s stillness before Carlos coughed nervously and gently pressed his son forward.

  ‘Carlos Buona Parte, at your service.’ He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘You must be the director, sir?’

  The man slowly swivelled his gaze away from Napoleon towards his father. He made a thin smile and replied in his weak strained tone, ‘Yes, I believe that’s what the sign outside the door says, Signor Buona Parte.’ His eyes flickered back to Napoleon. ‘And this is the new boy.’

  Carlos’s expression was frigid at being addressed in the Italian fashion, but he bit back on his irritation and bowed his head.‘Yes, sir. My son, Napoleon.’

  ‘We were expecting you two days ago.’

  ‘I was delayed in Bastia, by a storm. I made up some of the time before I could fetch my son from Autun. I apologise.’

  The director nodded his head briefly, as if to indicate that he could barely tolerate the apology.‘Very well, sir. I think it only fair to tell you that the boy’s entry in the college is allowed under sufferance.’

  ‘Sufferance, sir? What do you mean?’

  ‘Only that it is our custom to extend places to the sons of French nobility. This is our first application from Corsica.’

  ‘Which is now French, as you well know, sir.’

  The director shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘So it would seem. In any event, I would rather not dilute the quality of our student body by admitting someone from outside of France.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Mainland France, at any rate.’

  ‘Dilute?’ Carlos felt his chest tighten in rage. ‘Did you say, “dilute”?’

  ‘I did, sir. But I intend no slur on your island, nor your son, naturally. I am sure that in time the inhabitants of Corsica will acclimatise to their new nationality.To their new culture. Until such time, it is my opinion that the mixing of our respective cultures can only confuse the educational ethos of the college. It is as much a concern for the wellbeing of your son as it is for the rest of the students here. And were it not for the well-meaning but misplaced representations of the Comte de Marbeuf to the Royal Court, I would be able to prevent this unfortunate state of affairs.As it is . . .’ He shrugged again and opened out his pale white hands.

  Carlos placed a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze as he responded to the director.‘But as it is, you have been instructed to accept my son into this establishment.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I am sure you understand the sensitivity of the situation.’

  Carlos stared at the director a moment before he replied, ‘I understand.’

  The director smiled in relief. ‘I am certain that the boy Napoleon will find that the continuation of his studies at Autun will be for the best.’

  ‘The boy stays here,’ Carlos said firmly. ‘He has been awarded a royal scholarship.You will educate him, as arranged.’

  ‘I see. Well, if you are adamant that you wish him to be educated here . . .’

  ‘I am.’

  A sudden look of inspiration flickered across the director’s face. ‘And how does he feel about the situation, I wonder.’ He leaned forward, over the edge of the desk and fixed Napoleon with an intense stare. ‘Well, boy? Do you wish to stay here? Or return to your friends back in Autun?’

  ‘P-please, sir. I don’t know.’

  ‘Napoleon,’ his father said sternly, pulling him round so that their eyes met. ‘You will be educated here. It is your right. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Do you understand me?’

  Napoleon felt his insides churn with a mixture of injured pride and a desire to quit this place and be back with his brother. But he would not let his father down. He would not back away from this arrogant Frenchman. Napoleon swallowed nervously and nodded his head. ‘I understand, Father.’

  ‘Good.’ Carlos patted his shoulder, and turned back to the director. ‘It is settled, then.’

  ‘Very well.’ The director said in a resigned tone. ‘Now, I imagine you have a long journey to make back to your home in Corsica. Please don’t let me detain you a moment longer. I’ll see that your son’ - he made a thin smile at the boy - ‘I’ll see that young Napoleon here is taken care of.’

  Carlos stared at him for a moment, then nodded his head. ‘Then I’ll take my leave of you. With thanks for taking him into Brienne. I’m sure he will prove himself a worthy student.’

  ‘He looks like a determined enough boy. I’m sure he will try to prove himself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to complete his enrolment records. If you’ll be so kind as to take him to the quartermaster’s stores at the end of the hall he can be fitted with his uniform. Good day to you, sir.’

  Carlos steered his son towards the door and back into the corridor outside. As the heavy door closed behind them with a faint squeal from the hinges, father and son looked at each other in silence. Carlos still felt the anger surging through his veins, but the injured look in the eyes of his son pricked him with guilt.

  ‘Father, do I have to stay here?’

  ‘Yes. I know it will be difficult. But it is the best chance of a future you will ever get. Have courage, Napoleon.’

  Courage, the boy thought. Yes, courage. That’s all that would protect him now. For the first time he would be cut off from all his family. He would be alone. A Corsican amongst the haughty sons of French aristocrats. Only courage would save him.

  ‘Come now,’ his father smiled. ‘Let’s find the quartermaster. I can’t wait to see you in that fine new uniform!’

  ‘There!’ Carlos straightened up and took two paces back. ‘You’re quite the young gentleman.’

  Napoleon stiffened his back and smiled at his father. The uniform felt good on him. It made him feel older and wiser, and somehow a little braver. In this coat he was not so different from the other students who were passing in the hall outside the quartermaster’s door now that morning lessons had finished. At least, he would not look so different. But that, Napoleon knew, was where the similarity would end. As soon as he opened his mouth his origins would be painfully apparent. What then?

  His father was still examining him with a pleased expression. ‘It suits you. I’m sure you will be a fine soldier some day. One I can be proud of.’

  Napoleon felt his throat tighten and he could not trust himself to reply immediately, but nodded with a vague mumble that he would do his best.

  ‘I’m sure you will.’ The smile faded from Carlos’s lips. ‘Now, I must go.’

  He stared down at his son, and for a moment saw only the smooth-featured child whose birth seemed only a little while ago. So short a time. Perhaps too short a time, he reflected guiltily, and for an instant he felt the urge to bundle the boy into his arms and bear him back home to his family. Then he tried to dismiss the feeling. He could not shield the boy from this world for ever. It was better that Napoleon became acquainted with its challenges as soon as possible. And what better opportunity than a scholarship in one of the most prestigious colleges in France? Carlos had done everything in his power to secure advancement for his sons. It was all for them, he told himself, and this parting was just one of the many sacrifices he had made. Carlos extended his hand formally.

  ‘I’ll give your love to your mother. Be good and work hard.’

  Napoleon hesitated a moment before he reached out and pressed his hand into the palm of his father’s, feeling the warmth that briefly passed between their connected flesh, before his father loosened his grip.

  Napoleon swallowed. ‘When will I see you again?’

  Carlos frowned. He had not considered this, but he must reassure his son. ‘Soon. I’ll come and visit the moment the family affairs are in order.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Soon, Napoleon. Then I’ll see you and Joseph again. Perhaps your mother will come with me.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Napo
leon said quietly, wanting to commit his father to a definite time, but knowing it was impossible. ‘You will write to me?’

  ‘Of course I will! As often as possible.’ Carlos flashed one of his brilliant smiles.‘And I expect you to respond in kind, young man.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  ‘Very well . . . Then I must go.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carlos patted his son on the shoulder one last time and turned away towards the large doorway at the end of the hall that gave out on to the stables courtyard. As his father strode stiffly away Napoleon felt a desperate urge to reach out to him and his hand lifted from his side instinctively. But as soon as he was aware of the gesture he burned with shame and furiously forced the hand into a gap between the buttons of his uniform coat, trapping it against his stomach where it could not betray him.

  Ten paces away his father paused and turned back. With a reassuring nod of his head he called out, ‘Remember, Napoleon. Courage!’

  Napoleon nodded. Then his father strode off, amid the scurrying ranks of the other students.

  The boy watched until Carlos had passed through the doorway and out of sight. Part of him wanted to run down the hall, to catch one glimpse of his father, but then he became aware that some of the boys in the hall were watching him curiously. Napoleon took a deep breath, turned round and walked, unhurriedly, to his cell.

  Chapter 16

  Napoleon turned over in his bed and drew his knees up to his chest in an effort to keep warm. Even though it was June, the nights had been cold the last few days and the single blanket that cadets were permitted, all year round, was hardly enough to make sleep possible.The bed on which he lay was a crude affair: a straw-filled mattress resting on simple bedstraps that had sagged with the years and made the whole feel more like a hammock than a proper bed. Around the bed the plain plaster walls of the cell rose up to rafters, angling down from the tiled roof-pitch above. A single, narrow window high on the outside wall provided illumination during the day, and now, as the sun rose, a faint grey finger picked its way into the room, illuminating a slow swirl of dust motes.