Текст книги "Young bloods"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Chapter 7

Corsica, 1775

'I won't go! I won't go!'

Letizia shook the boy by his shoulders.'You will, and there's an end to it! Now get dressed.'

Outside, the first light of day was picking out the details in the houses across the street. Letizia led her son to the clothes laid out on his bed and pointed to them. 'Now!'

'No!' Naboleone shouted back and crossed his arms. 'I won't go!'

'You will.' Letizia slapped his cheek. 'You are going to school, my boy, and you will get dressed. You will come and eat your breakfast, and you will behave impeccably when you are introduced to the abbot. Or you will have the thrashing of your life. Do I make myself clear?'

Her son frowned at her, eyes blazing with defiance. Letizia crossed herself. 'Mary, Mother of God, give me patience. Why can't you be more like your brother there?' She nodded across the room to where Giuseppe was just tying his bootlaces. His clothes were neat and clean, and his hair gleamed from a fresh brushing.

'Him?' Naboleone laughed. 'Don't make me laugh, Mother. Who would want to be like him? The big sissy.'

Letizia slapped him again, much harder this time, leaving an imprint of her slender fingers on his cheek. 'Don't you dare talk that way about your brother.' She pointed to the clothes again. 'Now get dressed. If you're not ready by the time I come back you'll have hard bread for supper tonight.'

She stormed out of the room and made for the kitchen, where Lucien – her new child – was bawling for more food.

For a moment Naboleone stood quite still, arms folded, and glared at his clothes. On the other side of the room Giuseppe finished tying his laces and stood by his bed, gazing at his younger brother.

'Why do you do it, Naboleone?' he said softly.

'Sorry. Did you speak?'

'Why do you make her so angry at you? Just for once, can't you do as she says?'

'But I don't want to go to school. I want to go and play. I want to see the soldiers again.'

'Well, you can't!' Giuseppe hissed. 'You'll come to school with me. We must learn to read and write.'

'Why?'

The older boy shook his head. 'You cannot be a boy all your life.You cannot be so selfish. If you want to be a success when you grow up then you must have an education. Like Father.'

'Pah! And where's his fine education got him? Court assistant, that's where.'

'Father's job feeds us and clothes us, and now provides just enough to educate us.You should be grateful for that.'

'Well, I'm not!'

Giuseppe shook his head. 'Honestly, you are so ungrateful. Sometimes I can't believe that we are brothers.'

Naboleone smiled. 'Sometimes, neither can I. Look at you. Mother's boy.You make me laugh.'

Giuseppe clenched his fists and paced towards his brother, but Naboleone stood his ground and laughed contemptuously. 'What's this? You actually want to fight me? I misjudged you. Come on then.' He unfolded his arms and squared up to his older brother.

Giuseppe stopped, shook his head, and then walked out of the room towards the kitchen. He had fought his brother enough times to know that it was not worth it. Not that Naboleone bested him. It was just that he never knew when to give up and reduced almost every playful knockabout into a bloody scrap before an adult intervened to stop proceedings. Giuseppe could not help despairing over Naboleone's behaviour and wishing that his mother had given birth to a more kindly, less troublesome brother. At the same time, Giuseppe had a measure of admiration for Naboleone. No one was his master and those who tried to tame him often got as good as they gave. And he was nobody's fool, that boy. His mind was as sharp as one of those daggers the men carried around, and Naboleone was just as quick to use it. By contrast, Giuseppe felt himself to be a plodder, and too anxious to please. When his mother's friends complimented her on the politeness of her elder son, Letizia briefly brushed the praise aside and talked incessantly of the cleverness of the younger boy, even though his mischief drove her mad.

Back in their room Naboleone stood in silence for a moment, then glanced round to make sure that he was quite alone, before he pulled off his nightshirt and started getting dressed.

The boys started school soon after the sun had risen. Although Giuseppe had been taken immediately into the hall and commenced lessons with the other pupils, his brother was taken to the abbot, from whom he learned the basics of reading and writing for an hour each morning before Naboleone was allowed to join the main class. Then, after the midday meal, Naboleone would have another hour of elementary literacy exercises before he was free to return home.

At first he returned to his old haunts the moment that school was over, but now that his curiosity had been sparked by the abbot, Naboleone spent a good deal more time with the French soldiers and made every effort to pick up the language of the new rulers of Corsica. Given his mother's patriotic sentiment, Naboleone made sure that he did not breathe a word of the time spent with the men of the garrison, and told her that he went fishing and walking in the countryside around Ajaccio. Once in a while he actually did this, and returned home with a small catch of fish, or a snared rabbit. Even then, he had the chance to exchange a few words with the numerous French patrols still looking for any of the Paolist bands that might have ventured out of the maquis. Only once did he catch sight of the rebels; a shadowy group of men, armed with old muskets, creeping along a distant treeline. Shortly after they disappeared from view he heard the distant pop and crackle of gunfire, and considered going to have a look before his fear got the better of him and he ran home instead.

'Poor devils,' his father muttered after hearing the tale over the dinner table.

'Who do you mean?' asked Letizia. 'Your former comrades in arms, or your new friends?'

Carlos stared at her a moment before pushing his plate to one side and turning to his sons. 'How was school today? Giuseppe?'

While his older brother pedantically went through every detail of his timetable, Naboleone's thoughts went back to the men he had seen that afternoon. Many of the people living in Ajaccio had come to see them as simply brigands, or deluded idealistic nuisances at best.Yet they were Corsicans – they spoke the same language as Naboleone. The French still felt like foreigners, and that he had been born a French subject felt strange to Naboleone. So what was he? Corsican or French? Whenever he considered the question the answer was always the same. He was a Corsican.

'How about you?'

Naboleone realised his father was speaking to him and looked up quickly. 'It's going well, Father. In fact I have some good news for you. We've been reading about the Romans, and the Carthaginians, and I've really improved. In fact the abbot said that soon I could join the main class for the whole day.'

'Really?' Carlos beamed.'That is excellent! And in such a short space of time as well. I think we'll make a fine scholar of you yet, young man!' He reached over and ruffled his son's head as Naboleone tried to look pleased at the prospect of being a scholar. He already knew that he wanted to do something with his life, not spend his years studying the things that other men had done.

'Well, now it's my turn to be the bearer of good news,' Carlos smiled. His family turned to him expectantly, but Carlos nodded at the empty plate he had pushed to one side. 'That was a really good stew, my dear. Is there any more?'

Letizia lifted the heavy iron ladle from the cooking pot.'There is. But I'll brain you with this if you don't stop playing games and tell us the news.'

He laughed. 'Very well. The Royal Court in Paris has confirmed the governor's certificate of my title of nobility. Marbeuf told me today.'

'At last,' Letizia muttered. 'That's over then.'

'Better still, I've learned that we are now eligible to apply for an endowment to French schools for the boys.'

Letizia stared at him and Naboleone looked confused. 'What does that mean, Father?'

'It means that in a few years' time you and Giuseppe may be attending one of the best schools in France.You'll be getting the finest education available. Of course, you'll have to be fluent in French before you go, but there's plenty of time for that.'

'Go to school in France?' Giuseppe muttered. 'Mother, will you and Father be coming with us?'

She shook her head, and turned to her husband. 'I see. First they take our land. Now they've come for our children. They'll take them off and turn them into proper little Frenchmen.'

Carlos shook his head. 'It's not like that, my dear. It's an opportunity, a chance for them to better themselves. A chance they'll never have if they stay here. I hoped you'd be pleased.'

'I'm sure you did. I'll have to think about this.'

Carlos glanced away from her and said quietly,'I've already sent the petition to Paris. Marbeuf countersigned it the moment my eligibility was confirmed.'

'I see.' Letizia shook her head. 'Merci.'

Chapter 8

'I always knew he had it in him!' Letizia smiled in delight as she brandished the school report in front of her husband's eyes when he returned from the courthouse. Carlos took the report and read it through while his family sat round the table expectantly. The two years at Abbot Rocco's school appeared to have paid off.Two years and two more children, Carlos reflected. In addition to Giuseppe and Naboleone there were now three more mouths to feed: Lucien, Elisa and young Louis, who had yet to master the correct application of cutlery and was busy trying to stick the handle of a spoon up his nose.

Abbot Rocco was extremely complimentary about Naboleone's progress. The boy had excelled in maths and history but as ever, his performance in arts subjects and languages was lagging well behind. His behaviour had improved too – far fewer tantrums and fights with the other boys – and while he still tended to question authority from time to time, on the whole he was causing no problems. Carlos laid the sheet of paper down and nodded slowly at his son.

'Most respectable. Well done.'

Naboleone's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

'Father!' Giuseppe piped up. 'Read my report!'

'Where is it?'

'Here.' Letizia lifted it up from the chopping board and handed it to her husband. 'No surprises there.'

It took far less time to read about the older boy's academic progress. Giuseppe was a kind, considerate and polite boy who was making good progress in every subject and seemed to show a particular interest in ecclesiastical matters. Carlos laid the report down on top of Naboleone's.

'Well done, boys. I'm proud of you both. Giuseppe, have you considered a career in the Church? It would seem to suit you.'

'I had thought of it, Father.'

Letizia nodded. 'A good career. You have the temperament for it.'

'Do I?'

'Oh, yes.'

As Giuseppe smiled at her, Carlos turned to his younger son. 'And you, Naboleone, what do you want to be when you grow up?'

'A soldier,' he said without an instant's hesitation.

Carlos smiled. 'That's an admirable aim, my son. I think you might make an excellent soldier, although you must realise that you will have to obey orders.'

'But, Father, I want to give orders, not obey them.'

'Well then, you must be prepared to do both if you are to be a good soldier.'

'Oh…'

Letizia began to serve up the evening meal: a rich stew of goat and stewed hazelnuts – a favourite recipe of the family. When every bowl was filled she took her place and the children fell silent, closed their eyes and pressed their hands together as Carlos said grace. As the children started eating she looked down the table at her husband.

'Has there been any word on the boys' scholarships?'

'No. I've heard nothing from the academy at Montpellier. It looks as if they'll be going to Autun after all.'

Letizia frowned. 'Autun?'

'Autun will do to start with,' Carlos said.'They have good links with some of the military schools. If Naboleone wants to join the army it would be a good start for him until I can find a better opening. I sent an application to Brienne this morning.'

'That's all very well,' Letizia said quietly, 'but even if the boys do get the scholarships, how can we afford to pay the balance of the fees?'

'We might not have to,' Carlos continued. 'The governor has promised to pay our share of the fees.'

Letizia froze for a moment, then shook her head. 'To think we have sunk so low as to accept common charity.'

'It's not charity, my dear,' Carlos said, forcing himself to keep his tone even. 'He places great value on our service to France.'

'Oh, I'm sure he does.'

'Besides, he can easily afford it and we can't. It would not be very gracious to refuse his offer.'

'Huh!'

Letizia continued eating for a while before she addressed her husband again. 'Do you really think it's for the best?'

'Yes. Their future is in France. That's their best hope for advancement. So, that's where they must be educated.'

'But they'll leave home. When will we see them again?'

'I don't know,' Carlos replied. 'When we can afford it, we can have the boys home for holidays, or travel to see them.'

'And how will they cope without me?'

'Ask them,' he said firmly. 'See what they think. Naboleone!'

'Father?'

'Do you want to go to school in France?'

The boy glanced quickly at his mother. 'If I must…'

Carlos looked at him, and smiled. 'Bravo! See, Letizia, he understands.'

'But I don't.' She shook her head sadly. 'I don't understand what I have done that my children should want to leave me before they have even grown up. Leave home and forget me.'

'Mother,' Naboleone spoke earnestly, 'I shall never forget you. I will come back as often as I can. I swear it. Giuseppe too.' He turned to his older brother. 'Swear it!'

'I promise, Mother.'

She shrugged her thin shoulders. 'We'll see.'

Chapter 9

The letter arrived in November. Giuseppe and Naboleone had been awarded places at the school in Autun in the new year, with generous scholarships from the French Government. The days passed in a state of nervous anticipation for Naboleone. He was eight years old, and despite his independent spirit and taste for adventure, he became more and more anxious about leaving his home.There would be no familiar shell to return to at the end of the day with the comfort of his family around him. Despite having a good command of French, his accent, he knew, would mark him as an outsider.

They set off early one morning in the middle of December. The entire family rose to bid the two boys farewell. Even Uncle Luciano, bedridden with gout, painfully made his way outside into the street and pressed a few coins into their hands for spending money. A cart and driver had been hired to drive Letizia and her two sons to the port of Bastia, where she would see them safely aboard a ship for Marseilles. With shouted farewells and much waving, the family watched the cart rumble up the street, turn the corner and disappear from view.

Carlos stayed a moment longer, feeling sick at the knowledge that he would not see his sons again for many months, and now at last doubting the decision to send them to France. It had always seemed the sensible thing to do through all the years that he had petitioned for his title of nobility and then for the scholarships, thinking only of their future. Now the time had come – the fruition of his plans – and it felt as if his heart were being torn from his body.

The cart left Ajaccio and began to climb up through the surrounding countryside as the sun rose. Giuseppe and Naboleone leaned on the back of the rear seat and stared back at Ajaccio, a jumble of houses nestling next to the azure sea, until at last the cart crested a ridge and their home was lost from view. The driver joined the military road that the French had carved across the heart of the island in the early days of their occupation of Corsica. The route wound through the hills, passing through small villages, some still in ruins after being burned down by French soldiers in reprisal raids. Small, fortified outposts remained at key points along the road, evidence that some Paolists at least were keeping the cause of Coriscan independence alive.

When the road crossed the bridge at Ponte Nuovo, faded memories returned to Letizia of the brave Corsicans charging the ordered white lines of the French soldiers – just there, overlooking the meadow that ran down to the tumbling stream and trestle bridge. Now goats grazed on winter pasture as their shepherd warmed his hands over a small fire. This was where she had stood, with the other women and their children as the first terrible volley tore the ranks of their husbands, their sons, their lovers to bloody shreds.Volley after volley had echoed off the sides of the surrounding hills, drowning out the cries and screams of the wounded. Then finally the shooting ended, and out of the shrouds of gunpowder smoke came wails of fear and panic. Dim shapes of men flitted into view, running back up the slope, fleeing for their lives. Their cries were taken up by the women and children around Letizia, and with a dreadful fear tearing at her insides she waited for Carlos. Thanks be to God, he was with the men that escaped from the carnage of Ponte Nuovo. But not the same Carlos.Wild-eyed and shaking and spattered with the blood of his comrades. This was where the Corsican nation had died. Letizia shivered.

Giuseppe felt her flinch on the seat next to him and took her hand. 'Mother?'

'It's nothing. I'm just cold. Here, hold me for a moment.'

Bastia had greatly changed since she had last visited the port. Even then it had felt more Italian than Corsican, but now the stamp of French rule was apparent everywhere, from the off-duty soldiers milling in the streets, to the French warships in the harbour and the French names above many of the businesses in the centre of town.

Letizia made for the address of the shipping agent Carlos had told her about, and booked two berths for her sons on a cargo vessel leaving for Marseilles the next day. Then she took a room in an inn close to the harbour and had the driver of the cart unload their trunks before dismissing him for the night.

Even though it was winter the harbour was busy and it took a while to find the right ship. All the cargo was already aboard and the last few passengers were loading as Letizia and her sons carefully trod across the gangway and stepped down on to the deck. Behind them the porters struggled aboard with the trunks and were directed by a sailor to the cramped passenger quarters below. The captain checked off the names of the two boys on his manifest and turned to Letizia.

'We're casting off shortly, madam. I'd be obliged if you said your goodbyes quickly.'

She nodded and crouched down, opening her arms. The two boys stepped into her embrace and she could feel the shudder of sobs through the folds of their cloaks.

'There, there,' she managed in a strained voice. Inside Letizia felt more wretched than she had ever felt in her life, and even now wanted nothing more than to turn round, take them with her, and return home.

'Mother,' Naboleone mumbled into her ear, 'Mother, please, I don't want to go, I don't want to leave you.' He tightened his grip round her shoulder. 'Please.'

She did not trust herself to reply, and felt her throat tighten unbearably as she blinked away the first tears. A short distance away the captain looked at her for a moment, before turning and looking out to sea, granting her a last moment of privacy before parting. Letizia swallowed and forced herself to assume a calm expression. She loosened her grip on her sons and eased herself back until they were face to face.

'Hush now, Naboleone.You must be brave. Both of you. This is for the best, you'll see. Make sure that you write as often as you can. Now wipe your eyes.' She handed him a handkerchief and he scrunched it into his face.

'There… Now it's time.'

She stood up and both boys gripped her round the waist. The captain crossed the deck towards her and indicated the gangway.

'I'm sorry, madam, but…'

She nodded and gently eased herself away from Giuseppe and Naboleone.They held her for a moment, and then the captain put his hands on their shoulders.

'Come, lads, your mother needs to go now. She needs you to be brave for her. Don't let her down.'

Their arms reluctantly dropped to their sides as they stood, fighting back the tears. Letizia reached down to kiss Giuseppe on the head, then turned to Naboleone, and whispered softly in his ear, 'Coraggio.'