'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.'
Chapter 10
Ireland, 1776
The abbey stood on rising ground with views over the Boyne, and beyond the river stood the huge ruins of Trim Castle. The walls and towers stood within a moat, and still looked formidable to Arthur as he stared out of the carriage window.Then the castle was lost from view as the carriage passed through the abbey gate and into the courtyard.
His first impression of the austere setting was that it looked like a prison, and his heart ached with longing for his home and his family. The feeling swelled inside him as O'Shea unloaded his meagre trunk of clothing, books and other belongings and turned the carriage back towards the gate. Then O'Shea was gone and the sound of the wheels on gravel quickly faded away. Arthur stood alone before the main entrance. All was still, but not quite silent. From somewhere within the abbey a chorus of voices conjugated a Latin verb.
'New boy!' a voice called out.
Arthur turned and saw a lad not much older than himself crossing the courtyard from a side building. He had a thick crop of dark hair and a robust build. Arthur swallowed nervously. 'Me, sir?'
The boy stopped and looked round the courtyard with elaborate concentration. 'It appears there is no other to whom I might address my remarks.You idiot.'
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, lost his nerve and blushed instead. The other boy laughed.
'Never mind.You must be Wesley.'
'Y-yes, sir.'
'I'm not "sir". My name's Crosbie. Richard Crosbie. I've been told to look out for you. Here, let me help you with the trunk.'
They took hold of the straps at either end of the trunk and lifted it with some effort.
'This way,' Richard grunted. They heaved the chest across the courtyard, through a stone arch into a cloister beyond. A small flight of stairs led up from the far end into a low-ceilinged dormitory.
'This is your bed.' The older boy set the trunk down in front of a plain bed that seemed surprisingly wide to Arthur. 'You're sharing it with Piers Westlake. The near side is yours.Your trunk goes underneath.'
Arthur gazed at the bed. 'Shared beds?'
'Of course. This ain't a palace. It's a school.'
'Are all schools like this?' Arthur asked quietly.
'How should I know?' Richard shrugged. 'I've never been anywhere else. The housemaster wants to see you now. I'll show you the way. Come.'
He led Arthur to a short, dim corridor that ended in a thick studded oak door.
'There,' Richard said quietly. 'Just knock. He's expecting you.'
'What's he like?' Arthur whispered.
'Old Harcourt?' Richard stifled a grin. 'He eats new boys for breakfast. I'll see you later, if you live.'
Richard turned and hurried away, leaving the young boy standing in front of the big door. He felt his hand trembling as he raised it towards the dark wood.Then he paused, afraid and alone. For a moment he felt the urge to turn and run. Then his resolve stiffened a little and he leaned forward and rapped twice on the door.
'Enter!'
Arthur took a deep breath to steady his nerves, lifted the latch and pushed the door open a small way, squeezing round its thick edge. Beyond was a large room lit by light from a window high up on one wall.The fireplace was bare and the floor had no coverings on its worn flagstones. The room was dominated by a huge desk, and behind it, sitting on a high-backed chair, was a large figure in a cassock. His face was broad and ruddy, and dark eyes peered out at the newcomer from beneath bristling eyebrows.
'You're Wesley?'
Arthur nodded.
'Speak up, young man!'
'Yes, sir. I'm Arthur Wesley.'
'That's better.' Father Harcourt nodded. He looked the boy up and down and did not show any sign of approval, before he turned his attention to a letter lying open on his desk. 'It seems that your parents are concerned about your lack of academic progress. Well, we shall soon set that right. Do you do anything well, young Wesley?'
'Please, sir. I can read music. I'm learning the violin.'
'Really? Well, that's nice. But no use to you here. This is a school, boy, not a concert hall. Kindly bend your efforts to learning what we will attempt to teach you in the coming years.'
'Years?' Arthur replied bleakly.
Father Harcourt smiled coldly. 'Of course. How long do you imagine it takes to bring boys like you to an acceptable level of competence in all the basic subjects?'
Arthur had no idea, and could not even begin to guess, so he shrugged instead.
'The answer depends on how diligently you apply yourself to your studies, young Wesley. Work hard, be obedient and you will do well. Failure to do so will result in a thrashing. Understand?'
Arthur shuddered and nodded. 'Yes, sir.'
'Those are the most important rules here. The others you will pick up soon enough. Now you must go and wait in the main hall. It will be lunch soon. You'll be joining the class of Mr O'Hare. I'll be along directly to point you out to him. Now off you go.'
Arthur nodded and turned for the door.
'Young man!'
Arthur turned back with a start and saw Father Harcourt wagging a finger at him. 'When a member of staff gives you an instruction, you will reply "Yes, sir" in future. Or face the consequences.'
'Yes, sir.'
'That's better. Now go.'
'Yes, sir.'
The first days at the abbey were the hardest in Arthur's life. At first none of the other boys would speak to him except Richard Crosbie, but even then the older boy seemed to delight in giving him inaccurate information about the school and its rules, and very quickly Arthur grew to trust no one, and withdrew into quiet solitude as a means of staying out of trouble and not attracting the attention of those boys with a penchant for bullying. But, as the new boy, he was the prime object of their attention and fell victim to all manner of tricks and spiteful behaviour.
Each day they rose at first light.The boys washed in cold water drawn from the abbey's wells, and then dressed for the day. All meals were served in the hall and featured a steady diet of porridge, broth, salted meat and boiled vegetables, served with a hunk of bread. Meals were eaten in silence, and the teachers slowly patrolled the hall with short lengths of willow, ready to swish them down on any boy who spoke, or infringed any rules of precedence and propriety in the manner in which they took their places, or went up to collect their food.
Lessons were held in cells leading off the cloistered quadrangle, twenty boys to a room, seated on bare benches as they leaned across well-worn tabletops and struggled with dictation, basic maths, reading exercises and the rudiments of Latin and Greek. Failure to master tasks set by the teachers was rewarded with slashes of the willow canes across the back of the legs or the palm of the hand. At first Arthur cried out, but then received an extra three blows for not controlling his pain. He learned quickly to clench his teeth hard and stare over the shoulder of the teacher at a spot on the far wall, concentrating on containing the agony. Despite such incentives to excel at the tasks set for him, Arthur resolutely remained an average student, struggling with every subject. Misery piled upon misery and his longing to return home steadily became more intense, passing from mere homesickness into a kind of dark despair that this harsh and cruel life would never end.