Young Bloods (32 page)

‘Does Pedro still work the fishing boats?’

‘Pedro?’ The man frowned.

‘Pedro Calca,’ Napoleon explained. ‘I’m certain that was his name.’

‘No. He died four years ago. Drowned.’

‘Oh …’ Napoleon was saddened. He had briefly hoped to impress the old man with his smart uniform.

The fisherman was looking at him closely. ‘Do I know you? Your face seems familiar.You don’t speak like a Frenchman.’

‘We met before, but it was a long time ago.’

The man stared at Napoleon a moment longer, then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember.’

Napoleon waved a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. Another time, maybe.’

He glanced back towards the brig and saw that the porter, helped by one of the sailors, was struggling ashore with the chest. When they reached the quay they heaved the chest into the handcart and set it down with a loud thud as Napoleon strode towards them.

‘What’s in that one, sir?’ The porter’s chest was heaving from the strain of lifting the chest. ‘Gold?’

‘Of a kind. Poor man’s gold.’ Napoleon laughed. ‘Books. Just books.’

‘Books?’The porter shook his head.‘What would a young man want a chest of books for?’

‘To read them, perhaps.’

The porter shrugged, not quite sure of the sanity of the young army officer. ‘So where are you lodging, sir?’

‘I’m not lodging. I’m going home.’

The valise on the cart, they set off, Napoleon leading the way. The sun was low in the sky and the streets were filled with shadows beneath the harsh light that silhouetted the tiled rooflines. From the harbour front they climbed the gentle slope that led into the heart of the old town, nestling by the massive irregular star shape of the citadel. Napoleon knew these streets and alleys intimately, but it seemed to him he was seeing them as a stranger might.

The handcart’s iron-rimmed wheels clattered along the cobbles as they approached the corner of his home. Outside the house, Napoleon gently lifted the latch on the front door, and helped the porter unload the chests and carry them into the hall on the ground floor.Then he paid the man off and quietly closed the door behind him. There was an unfamiliar odour. He smiled as he realised that this was how it had always smelled, but that he had never noticed it before. The sound of voices came from the floor above and he recognised his mother’s, sharp and authoritative. Then there was Joseph’s voice - low enough that his words were indistinct. The other voices were strange to him.

Napoleon took a deep breath, removed his bicorn hat and placed it on the couch by the door. Then he mounted the stairs, treading as softly as he could until he reached the landing on the first floor.The sounds of his family were just the other side of the door that opened on to the large salon in which he had played as a child. Placing a hand on the latch, he lifted it and pushed the door open. Inside, the large windows that ran along one wall were open and the last of the sunlight streamed in, bathing the interior in a warm orange glow. Running down the centre of the room were two large tables, end to end. Around the nearest table sat the family. His mother had her back to the door.To her left sat Joseph, Lucien and a young boy he did not recognise but he knew must be Louis.To his mother’s right sat two girls, either side of an infant boy: his sisters, Pauline and Caroline, and his youngest brother, Jérôme.

The older girl looked up and saw Napoleon in the doorway. Her eyes widened in alarm.

‘Mama!’ She pointed. ‘There’s a soldier!’

‘Pauline!’ His mother lashed out with a wooden spoon and caught the girl a sharp blow on the knuckles. ‘For the last time, none of your stupid games at the table!’

Joseph was looking towards the door now, his spoon poised over a bowl of stew. His look of surprise hardened into an expression of shock.

‘Napoleon?’ he murmured.

Napoleon saw his mother’s back stiffen for an instant, then she quickly turned and looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed. She stared, then there was a clatter as the wooden spoon dropped from the hand that she had clamped over her mouth. Then the chair scraped across the floor and fell back as she rose up and rushed towards him with a rustle of her black skirts. Napoleon’s face split into a wide smile of delight and he opened his arms as she rushed into his embrace. Slight as she was, there was strength in her arms and he felt himself crushed in her embrace. Then she thrust herself back and held him at arm’s length, drinking in the sight of him as her lips trembled.

‘Naboleone … What are you doing here?’

‘I applied for leave, Mother.’

‘Leave?’ Her expression became anxious. ‘How long have you got?’

‘A fine welcome that is!’ Napoleon teased her. ‘Hardly here a minute before you ask me when I’m leaving.’

‘Oh! I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s all right, Mother.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Only joking.’

‘You go away for eight years, and still you haven’t grown up. How long are you staying?’

‘Until April next year.’

Her tension drained away at his reply. ‘Seven months. That’s good.Very good … What am I saying?’ She turned round to the others still at the table. ‘This is your brother Naboleone, who Father took to France nearly eight years ago. Come, Naboleone or, as you call yourself these days, Napoleon.’

He smiled. ‘In my heart I will always be Naboleone.’

She led him to the table, picking up her chair. ‘Sit down.’

As he lowered himself into her place, Joseph set his spoon down and grasped Napoleon’s hand in both of his. ‘I can’t believe my eyes. It is you. After so many years. When you left Autun, I didn’t know when I would see you again. I never thought it would be for as long as this. God! It’s good to see you!’

‘And you, Joseph.’ He smiled fondly. ‘You have no idea how much I have missed you.’ He looked round at the other faces watching him intently. ‘Lucien’s almost a man already. Louis was only a baby when I left. Now look at him! Almost as old as I was when I left for France. But you three - Pauline and Caroline, and Jérôme there - you have only existed in letters … Have you no kisses for your brother?’

He opened his arms, but the girls blushed and felt too unsure of Napoleon to approach him. With an impatient click of her tongue his mother scurried round the table and pressed them towards their brother.They were still nervous and clung to her as Napoleon reached for their hands. He frowned, hurt and a little angry at their reticence, but it was only natural, he realised. They didn’t know him. He would have to give them time to grow accustomed to him.At the moment his heart filled with an aching sadness at the lost years. It seemed there were some sacrifices for the sake of a career that could never be justified. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. Napoleon cuffed them away and suddenly leaned forward to ruffle the girls’ hair, with a forced cheerfulness.

‘Never mind! We’ll soon get to know each other.Then there’s so many tales I can tell you about France!’

Chapter 39

Later, when the children had gone to bed, Napoleon sat with his mother and Joseph at the end of the table. Letizia had closed the shutters and the room was lit by a pair of candles that left the large space around them in deep shadow. She had brought up a bottle of wine from the cellar and filled three glasses.

‘Your father and I were saving this one to celebrate your becoming an officer.’ She smiled sadly, then lifted her chin. ‘To you, Lieutenant Napoleon Buona Parte.’

‘No,’ Napoleon shook his head, ‘let’s not toast me. To Father.’ He and the others raised their glasses together and then sipped the fine wine. Napoleon slid the stem of his glass between his fingers and cradled the bowl in the palm of his hand.‘Has it been difficult since Father died?’

Letizia shrugged. ‘We barely manage.’

‘Did he leave much money?’

‘Leave money? All he left me was his debts.’

‘It wasn’t really his fault,’ Joseph interrupted. ‘He was cheated.’

‘What happened?’ asked Napoleon. ‘Who cheated him?’

‘The government. Four years ago Father signed a contract with some officials sent from Paris to find ways of expanding the economy in Corsica.They said they had the power to subsidise all sort of agricultural projects, one of which involved our family. Father bought a mulberry plantation, with a view to growing the trees for sale in the fifth year. The officials gave a guarantee that the mature trees would be bought by the government for a premium price.’

Letizia shook her head. ‘I can hear him now. “How can we lose?”Well, we found out in the end exactly how we could lose.’

Napoleon nodded towards his brother. ‘So what happened next?’

‘Two years ago, when the first subsidy payment was due, the government cancelled the contract without any warning. Father just received notification that the trees were no longer required. He tried to find another buyer but there’s no market for mulberry at the moment - at least no market that will pay enough to cover the costs of setting up the plantation. Until his death he was trying to get the government to pay compensation, but nothing has come of it. Meanwhile we couldn’t afford to employ the men who were tending the trees. Since then no one has been maintaining the plantation.When Father died, the bank in Genoa, who loaned him the money to set up the plantation, called for the loan to be repaid.’

‘Which we can’t do,’ Letizia added with a shrug. ‘There’s no money.The rent we get from uncle Luciano isn’t even enough to feed the family and see that they get some proper schooling. If it wasn’t for the small gifts of money given to us by Luciano, we’d have to sell the house, sell our land and sell that wretched plantation. Even then, I doubt it would raise enough to pay off the bank loan.’

‘Can’t we just sell the land?’ Napoleon suggested. ‘Pay back some of the money and ask them to give us time to repay the balance?’

‘No.’ Joseph smiled faintly. ‘That’s the catch. In order for us to contest the government’s refusal to pay the subsidy we have to be in possession of the land to which the contract applies. We’re caught between the government and the bank. The only hope I have is that the market recovers and we find buyers for those trees.’

‘Is it likely to recover?’

‘Impossible to say,’ Joseph replied.‘But if we don’t start looking after the plantation soon it’ll be worthless.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon brooded silently for a moment. He looked up at his brother.‘Then we must put that plantation to rights, Joseph. You and me. Where is it?’

‘Not far from here. Near Mother’s house at Mellili.’

‘Good! We could live there while we restore the plantation.’

‘The house is almost derelict.’

‘Fine.Then we’ll make repairs to the house as well. Come on, Joseph! You’re not afraid of a little hard work?’

‘Of course not. But I can’t stay here for much longer. I need to get back to my legal training.’

‘Fair enough, but let’s do what we can before you leave. What do you say, brother?’

Joseph glanced at his mother but Letizia was staring at her hands and saying nothing. Joseph’s gaze flickered back towards his brother.‘Why not? Let’s do it. Maybe the market will recover after all.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Napoleon laughed and refilled both their glasses. ‘To the Buona Parte Brothers - sons of the soil.’

Joseph laughed back and tapped his glass against his brother’s. ‘Death to bankers!’

‘Death to the French Government!’ Napoleon replied and drained his glass as his mother and brother looked at him in surprise.

Joseph cleared his throat. ‘That’s hardly the sort of toast one expects from an officer of His Most Catholic Majesty, King Louis.’

‘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?’