Young bloods

'Arthur.'

Garrett glanced up, frowning. 'What about him?'

'Please lower that quill before we continue this conversation.'

'What? Oh, very well. There.' He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together with a smile. 'I'm all yours.'

'Thank you. I was wondering what you thought about Arthur.'

'What I think of him?' Garrett turned to gaze at the children playing in the garden, as if he had only just realised they were there at all. 'Oh, he'll do well enough.'

'Really? And just what kind of future do you think he might have?'

'Oh, I don't know. Something in the clergy, I should think.'

'The clergy?'

'Yes. After all, he's displayed no signs of any intellectual mettle. Not like Richard and William. Even young Gerald there seems to have a more lively grasp of numbers and letters than Arthur.We'll do our best for him, of course, but I dare say he'll never go up to Oxford, or Cambridge.'

'Well, yes. Quite.'

Just then their conversation was interrupted by a piercing cry from the garden and their heads snapped round. Arthur had fallen to his knees and was clutching his head. A wooden sword lay on the ground beside him and William was staring at his younger brother angrily.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Arthur! It was just a tap. Anyway, I told you to defend yourself.'

Garrett shook his head and glanced down at his music. Then he looked up again, struck by a sudden notion. 'Arthur! Come here, my boy.' As Arthur toddled in from the garden Garrett smiled. 'I think it's time you learned to play a musical instrument. And what better than the violin? Come here, child. Let me show you.'

As Anne watched, her husband carefully handed his full-size violin to the young boy, and named each string for him.Then he reached for the bow and began to play some notes. In a few minutes Arthur had forgotten about his sore head, and his bright eyes eagerly soaked up every detail of the instrument as he concentrated on his father's instructions. At length Garrett drew up a chair and let the boy sit down with the violin in his lap and Arthur sawed happily away in a series of blood-curdling screeches and scrapes. Gerald was duly disturbed from his sleep on the cushions and rose quickly, alarmed by the discordant noise.

Anne smiled. 'Time for supper, I think. Run along, boys. Arthur, put that down and get along to the kitchen. Your father and I will follow directly.'

'Yes, Mother.'

Garrett held out his hands for the instrument. 'Thank you. Do you want me to teach you how to play this instrument properly?'

The boy's eyes sparkled. 'Oh yes, Father! I should like that.'

Garrett laughed. 'Good. And one day we shall compose music together.'

Arthur smiled brilliantly, then hurried round the table to help his brother up from the cushions. The two of them walked towards the kitchen with stiff little steps, still holding hands. Both parents watched their progress and then turned to each other and smiled.

'A musician, I think,' said Garrett.

'God help us,' Anne muttered. 'Your charity concerts will be the ruin of us yet.'

'Shame on you! We can afford it. Besides, it's my Christian duty to spread culture to the less advantaged.'

'I'd have thought your first Christian duty was to the wellbeing of your family.'

'It is, my dear.' He stared at her intently. 'Now, we were talking about young Arthur. Seriously, though, I think he might be suited to a musical career.'

'How wonderful,' Anne replied with acid-laced irony.

'Yes, well… Meanwhile we must find him a school. I have one in mind.'

'Oh, yes?'

Garrett nodded. 'The Diocesian School at Trim.You know the place. St Mary's Abbey.'

Anne stared after her son. 'Do you think he's old enough?'

'My dear, if we don't start preparing him for life now, when will we begin? If he is not to fall behind the achievements of Richard and William we must work him hard.'

'You're right, of course. It's just that he seems so… vulnerable. I fear for him.'

'He'll do well enough,' Garrett said comfortingly.

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.