Young bloods - Scarrow Simon (читать книги полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

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.'