Young Bloods

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘French officer on the outside, Corsican loyalist on the inside - right to the core,’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Don’t be fooled by the uniform.’

  ‘I might not be, but there are others who will take it at face value.’

  Letizia placed a hand on his arm. ‘You should be careful, Naboleone. There are many people in Corsica who have not accepted French rule.’

  ‘Including me.’

  ‘I doubt that will carry much weight if you are caught in that uniform even a small distance from Ajaccio.Things have changed a great deal in the last eight years. The Paolists have been stirring things up. It seems that some foreign power is providing them with gold to keep the spirit of resistance alive. The French may control the towns and the roads, but they have lost power in much of the heart of the island.Their troops and their officials are afraid to venture too far from the coast. And that’s given the rebels some confidence. There have even been ambushes of French patrols within earshot of Ajaccio. So, please, for me, take that uniform off while you are here.’

  Napoleon hid his anger. Despite his avowed support for Corsican independence, he was proud of his uniform. Now more than ever he was convinced that he had been born to be a soldier and he wore the dark blue coat with red trimming as if it was a second skin.Yet he could see that his mother was concerned and he needed to put her mind at ease.

  ‘I have some spare clothes in my valise. I’ll wear those.’

  Letizia relaxed a little and some of the strain left her face. ‘Thank you. I know it means a lot to you, but there’s your safety to consider, and ours. Please stay out of trouble.’

  Napoleon nodded. The island’s tradition of vendetta meant that the dishonour of the individual extended to the entire family. The irony was that Napoleon felt a burning desire in his heart for Corsican independence. But any rebel hiding in view of a mountain road to ambush one of the occupiers would certainly shoot him long before Napoleon had a chance to explain himself.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll keep to myself. Besides, I have in mind a few tasks that I must begin. I want to write a history of Corsica. That should keep me busy.’

  ‘A history?’ Letizia arched her eyebrows and muttered, ‘What is the point of that?’

  Joseph stared at his younger brother for a moment and then laughed.

  ‘What?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing really. It’s just that I haven’t seen you for so long, not since you were an ill-tempered little brat. Now you are, as you say, a man. And a serious-minded and driven one at that. It’s just taking me a little time to adjust to the changes in you.’

  ‘Joseph’s right,’ Letizia nodded. ‘You have changed. It seems I’ve lost my little boy for ever.’

  She stood up suddenly and walked hurriedly towards the door. Only when she was outside the room did she begin to cry.

  The next day, after the children had been sent to school, Joseph helped his brother to unpack the luggage. When the lid of the chest was lifted he gasped in surprise to see that it contained little else but books and a small writing set. As the books were taken out and found a home in an old crockery cupboard, Joseph marvelled at the range of his brother’s reading.

  ‘You can’t have read all of these, surely?’

  ‘All of them. I’ve only kept the books that interested me.That’s one of the advantages of living in France,’ Napoleon smiled. ‘You have the chance to read all that there is to read, and sort out what knowledge is worth retaining and what isn’t. This,’ he patted the chest, ‘this is the good stuff.’

  ‘One day, your history of Corisca will be in a chest just like this.’

  Napoleon laughed. ‘I hope so. It would be nice to leave some kind of a mark on the world. How about you, Joseph? What is your ambition?’

  ‘Me? I haven’t really thought about it. At the moment I’m studying to become a lawyer, but what do I want to do?’ He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose my ambition is to have a wife, children and a comfortable home.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Napoleon shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly in pity. Not that he would have said so to his brother. Joseph might not have much drive to achieve things, but beneath it all he was an innately good man; a quality that Napoleon recognised and valued.

  He selected a few books and placed them into a large knapsack, along with a change of clothes.Then he looked up at Joseph, who was still unpacking the books.

  ‘Well, if your ambition is to be realised, we have to pay off Father’s debts. Once I’ve settled in I’m going to Mellili for a few days, to see what needs to be done to restore the place. I don’t like having to leave home so soon, but we need some income. If we’re in luck it might be possible to rent the farm out.While I’m there I’ll have a look at the plantation.’

  ‘I’d come with you, but I have to study for an exam.’ Joseph smiled at his brother. ‘As soon as it’s over, I’ll join you.’

  Chapter 40

  The approach of autumn was immediately evident as Napoleon strode up the road that led out of Ajaccio and into the hills. The air was cooler and the leaves on the trees were starting to turn rusty brown and yellow. But for Napoleon, the experience of walking into the hills he had not seen since childhood filled him with a pure joy he had not felt for years, and every sense drank in the details of the landscape about him. When he came to a bend in the road round a steep hill he stopped, sat on a flat slab of rock and gazed back down the slope to Ajaccio and the sparkling blue sea beyond. After Paris the town of his birth seemed small and provincial.

  For the first time he appreciated how his father must have felt. If he had allowed his boys to be educated in Ajaccio they would never have the chance to amount to much. Although the town was a nice quiet backwater in which to raise a family, it could become a trap if they were allowed to stay. But as he gazed down on the red-tiled roofs clustered around the harbour, in the shadow of the thick walls of the citadel, Napoleon could not help feeling that he belonged here, that his father had been wrong to send them away. Perhaps a quiet life of pastoral charm and beauty could be fulfilling enough.

  He stood up and took a last look down at Ajaccio, and his gaze fixed on the citadel, where the Bourbon flag gleamed in the clear sunlight. Tiny figures in white uniforms patrolled the walls. Napoleon frowned as he noted the artillery pieces evenly dispersed around the inner wall.They should have been mounted on the outer bastions where they could enfilade any attackers. He stopped that line of thinking with an amused smile. He was on leave. Military matters need not concern him for many months to come. Let the garrison commander place his guns where he liked. For the moment the world was at peace and there were no attackers to beware of. And certainly, there were better things to occupy Napoleon’s mind than textbook deployments of artillery pieces.

  With Ajaccio lost from sight behind the mass of the hillside, Napoleon strolled happily past small farms and olive groves he remembered from childhood. He exchanged greetings with the few people he met along the road, but whereas the child Naboleone had been known to most of them, the thin young man with long dark hair and peculiarly attractive grey eyes was not, and they responded to his smiles with typical Corsican reserve.

  It was just after noon before the road reached the junction with the track that led to the village of Alata. A short distance beyond stood the pillars at the entrance to the small estate that had been owned by his family for generations. Beyond the pillars the track leading up to the house was overgrown with weeds and grass, and was only defined by the line of poplars that grew alongside as the track wound up a hill of abandoned olive tree terraces. When he reached the top of the hill Napoleon could at last see the house, a low stone structure with outbuildings to one side.There was no sign of life as he approached and he noted the missing tiles on the roof, the cracks in the plaster on the walls and the faded and peeling paint on the window shutters. Clearly a great deal of work would be needed to make the place habita
ble enough for a tenant.

  Climbing up the short flight of stairs to the front door, he lifted the latch and pushed the heavy door open. Inside smelled damp and earthy, and there was a faint rustling on the tiled floor as a large lizard scurried for cover. Napoleon set his haversack down on a table and explored the house, opening the shutters as he went from room to room. Tiles were missing above most rooms and rain had leaked in and stained the floor. In one bedroom, a section of the roof had collapsed and crushed the child’s cot beneath. Ivy had grown across some of the windows and tough tendrils had even begun to force their way inside and spread along the walls.

  Outside, the courtyard was overgrown and the flowerbeds had all but vanished back into the wilderness.

  It would take time, but the estate could be brought back into decent enough condition to let.The house was the place to start, he decided, and went back inside.

  He began by breaking up some of the ruined pieces of furniture for firewood. By the end of the day he had swept most of the rooms clear of dirt, cut the ivy away from the windows and cleared the debris from the room in which the roof had collapsed. As darkness fell outside he lit the fire and took the sausage, bread and wineskin from his haversack. As he ate and drank by the wavering glare from the grate, the shrilling of the cicadas outside in the olive groves made him smile. As a boy he used to complain that they kept him awake. Now, they just seemed to be welcoming him home.

  For the next week Napoleon worked steadily and methodically, clearing room after room, replacing the missing tiles, repairing damaged shutters and doors. On the third day, as he was eating his evening meal by a small fire as dusk closed in outside, there was a loud knock on the door. Napoleon flinched at the noise. There had been no sound of approaching footsteps on the stony path or up the steps to the door. Putting his bread and sausage down on the small table, he wiped his hands, walked softly to the front door and opened it.

  Outside in the wan glow of the failing light stood a tall man in the greased wool cape of a sheepherder. Except that he wore soft leather boots and he carried a musket. It was no fowling piece, but a soldier’s weapon. Napoleon took all this in before he concentrated on the man’s face. He must have been in his mid-thirties, with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes.

  Disconcertingly he greeted Napoleon with a broad smile as he inclined his head and asked, ‘Signor Naboleone Buona Parte?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me. How can I be of service, Signor . . . ?’

  ‘People know me as Benito.’ He emphasised the name as if to imply that Napoleon should be familiar with it. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Why?’ Napoleon felt his heart begin to beat faster. ‘It is late.’

  ‘Alas, it is not easy for me to move around in daylight.’ Benito smiled again. ‘Let us say that my existence is not appreciated by the French. Besides, I cannot allow my business with you to wait.’

  Napoleon stared at him a moment, and realised that the man was far bigger than him, and armed.

  ‘Very well, then. Please come in.’

  In the kitchen he turned to face Benito and indicated the table.

  ‘Sit down there. I’ll get another chair. Help yourself to some food, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, Signor. I am hungry. The nature of my duties means that I go without food for days sometimes.’

  ‘I see.’ Napoleon fetched a stool and sat down opposite the man. Benito carefully leaned the musket against the wall behind him and flicked the cape back across his broad shoulders. From his belt he drew a long straight dagger and, keeping his eyes on Napoleon, he cut himself a length of sausage and gnawed a chunk off the end.

  Napoleon cleared his throat. ‘You said you had some business with me.’

  Benito nodded, chewing then swallowing the sausagemeat. ‘I was told that there was a man working here.When they got your name down in the village I had some enquiries made about you in Ajaccio.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it seems that you are a French artillery officer, supposedly here on leave.’

  ‘If your spy’s information was any good, you’ll also know that I am a son of Carlos Buona Parte, who fought with General Paoli at Ponte Nuovo.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. I knew your father,’ Benito smiled. ‘That is why you are still alive. For the moment.’

  Both men tensed up for a moment, and Napoleon’s heart was beating fast as he tried to think of some way of overwhelming the man. Benito laughed suddenly and cut himself another piece of sausage.

  ‘Relax, Lieutenant. I’m just interested in finding out more about the son of a Corsican patriot who has put on the uniform of our enemy.’

  ‘I am no traitor, nor a spy, if that’s what you are implying.’ Napoleon responded angrily. ‘I am a soldier on leave. I’m trying to help my family survive a crisis thrust on them by the French Government, as it happens. So I’ll thank you not to question my motives, nor my patriotism. And you?’ Napoleon stared back at him, as he recalled something his mother had said after his return. ‘I assume you are one of Paoli’s men.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then you will know that the general is being backed by a foreign power.’

  Benito pursed his lips. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Do you know which foreign power?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You claim to be a patriot, and yet you could be working for someone who might well turn out to be an enemy of Corsican independence. I can think of a few countries that might want to get the Corsican people to throw off French rule just so that they can have the island for themselves.’ He nodded at Benito. ‘I’d say that makes us about the same.’

  ‘Not the same . . . but near enough. Very well, Naboleone, I accept that you’re a patriot, but what would happen if you were called upon by the French to fight Corsicans?’

  Napoleon was silent for a moment. ‘I pray that day never comes.’

  ‘It may well do, sooner than you think.’

  ‘Maybe. But in the meantime I will continue to persuade every Frenchman I meet to support Corsican independence. If they only give us that, then we would be their staunchest ally.’

  Benito laughed. ‘We will just have to keep working on the French.You keep on trying to talk them round and I’ll just keep on killing the ones who won’t listen. Between us we should get what we want in the end.’ Then the amusement faded from his face like a candle being snuffed out. ‘But if I ever see you in uniform leading troops against us, I’ll kill you and I’ll kill your family. Do you understand?’

  Napoleon nodded.

  Benito picked up the wineskin.‘A toast then, to Corsica, proud and free.’ He removed the stopper and took a large mouthful, before holding the wineskin out to Napoleon.

  ‘Corisca, proud and free,’ Napoleon repeated and took a swig.

  ‘There! Now I’m tired. I have to go.’

  Napoleon showed him out of the kitchen and back to the front door. As he opened the door he was aware of movement in the shadows outside. A short distance from the house, bathed in moonlight, stood four men armed with muskets. Napoleon’s eyebrows rose at the sight and Benito laughed heartily.‘You didn’t really expect me to put myself at your mercy? I just needed to put you to the test, that’s all. No point in risking my life into the bargain. I’ll see you again one day. Meanwhile, consider yourself warned. As long as you are here to see your family you are safe. But if you ever return to Corsica as a serving French officer, then I’ll gut you without a single regret.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Then farewell, Naboleone Buona Parte. Until we meet in a free Corsica.’

  ‘Until then.’ Napoleon held out his hand and they shook.Then Benito turned away, strode across to his men and led them off into the darkness of the olive trees.

  Napoleon returned to Ajaccio at the end of the week and told his mother and Joseph of the progress he had made. After some reflection he had decided not to tell them about his encounter with Benito. It would only worry them needlessly. H
e picked up some tools from a local ironmonger and persuaded Joseph to return to Mellili with him to help with the repairs.

  ‘But I need to study my law books,’ Joseph complained.

  ‘You can do that each evening, after the work’s finished.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Joseph considered the prospect for a moment and then nodded his agreement. ‘And it’ll give us more time together.’

  ‘True, but this isn’t a holiday, Joseph. We must get the house repaired as soon as we can if it is to generate some income for Mother.’

  As autumn gave way to winter the two brothers laboured hard to make good the repairs to the house and by the time cold rains lashed down over the hills they were able to shelter inside in comfort. There were no more visits from Benito, and after a month Napoleon stopped looking for him or his men amongst the olive groves and devoted his full attention to renovating the estate.

  With the biting cold of the new year and more rain, Napoleon and Joseph retreated to Ajaccio to prepare the paperwork for their claims for compensation. The local administration claimed that it had no authority in the matter and that the only hope of a decision for their case was to pursue the matter directly with the government in Paris.

  As the winter came to an end Napoleon realised that he needed far more time to ensure that his family’s financial difficulties were resolved. He applied for an extension to his leave, saying that his health was poor and that he had been advised to rest and fully recuperate before returning to duties.The leave was duly granted and while work continued at Mellili Napoleon completed the documents supporting their claim and sent them off to Paris.While the family waited for the reply, Joseph returned to Italy to resume his legal training and Napoleon spent the evenings working on the opening of his history of Corsica, writing late into the night to make up for the time he had lost renovating the house and its land.

  Finally a reply came from Paris and Letizia joined him in the salon of the house in Ajaccio as Napoleon read through the letter. It was brief, polite and to the point.The clerk at the Treasury who dealt with contractual disputes thanked the family for their documents but regretted to say that no further action could be taken unless the plaintiff sent a representative to Paris to pursue the case in person.