Napoleon pulled up a chair and sat close to Carlos, trying not to show the grief he felt for his father's condition. 'What do we need to talk about, Father?'
'It's Joseph.'
'What about him?'
'He says he wants to be a soldier.' Carlos looked into his son's eyes. 'Tell me, do you think he should become a soldier?'
'No,' Napoleon replied at once. 'He hasn't the temperament for it. Father, I love him – he's my big brother – but he's just too gentle, too thoughtful for such a career. I thought he wanted to join the Church.'
'He did. Now I think all the letters you wrote to him have changed his mind.' Carlos smiled. 'He wants to be like you.'
'Like me?' Napoleon was astonished. He had put up with so much hostility from most of the other cadets at Brienne over the years that the thought that anyone should want to be like him was a surprise. He was flattered by the idea that Joseph wanted to emulate him. But his brother would be a disaster as an army officer, Napoleon realised in a cold flash of reason. Joseph must be dissuaded.
'Napoleon, you may not be aware of this, but he has looked up to you from the time you could walk. He adores you, and he has the rare quality of never having resented you for being better than him. We must be careful how we speak to Joseph. I will visit him again in Autun before I go to Montpellier. I ask you to write to him. Persuade him to stay there and study for the Church. Failing that, he can always study law. He could make a success of that, I'm sure of it.'
'Yes, Father.'
Carlos placed a wavering hand on his son's shoulder. 'You're a good boy. But it pleases me that I can speak to you as an adult.'
'Thank you, Father.'
Carlos sagged back into his chair and sighed. 'Now, I'm tired. I need to rest before tomorrow's journey. Would you help an old man to his carriage? I have one waiting in the courtyard.'
'You're leaving?' Napoleon felt a stab of betrayal. 'So soon? I thought you might spend a few days here.'
Carlos looked down into his lap. 'I'm sorry. I can't stay. I must get treatment as soon as possible…'His eyes twinkled at his son. 'But when I have, when I've recovered, I'll come back to Brienne and take you up to Paris myself. Nothing would make me more proud than to watch you, in your fine new uniform, march in through the gates of the Royal Military School.'
'I'll look forward to it.'
'Now, help me up.'
Napoleon supported his father's arm as they walked down the corridor towards the courtyard and the boy felt how light the man had become – little more than a child, it seemed. At the carriage he helped his father up the steps. He slumped on to the seat, breathing heavily and perspiring.
'There! Thank you, son. I'll not keep you from your lessons a moment longer. Off you go.'
'In a moment.' Napoleon closed the door and fastened the catch. 'Let me wave.'
Carlos smiled. 'All right then. Driver! Move on.'
With a crack of the reins and a shout, the driver urged the horses into a walk. The carriage trundled down the side of the stables as Napoleon stood and watched.Then it turned and he saw his father at the window, waving to him. Napoleon quickly raised his arm and waved back, before the coach passed round the end of the stable building and was gone.
Chapter 27
It was late in October when Napoleon and the other four cadets from Brienne arrived at the Royal Military School of Paris. The school was situated in an elegant building off the Champ de Mars. As at Brienne, the student body was a mixture of fee-paying aristocrats and the holders of royal scholarships, living together under the same regime. Napoleon and his companions from Brienne were given a brief interview with the captain-commandant, an elegant man who had recently retired from a long career in the army. He congratulated them on winning places at the school and encouraged them to study hard, earn their commissions in the army and serve their King and country honourably. While they were at the school they would be treated as equals, whatever their origins, the captain- commandant stressed. The school was there to prepare them for life in the army. It was not some fancy gentleman's academy. They would be tested on their ability, and not their pedigree. Napoleon nodded with satisfaction at this. At last he would be able to demonstrate his innate talents and not be held back, or made to feel ashamed of his origins.
Once the interview was over the newcomers were shown to their rooms. After the Spartan furnishings of Brienne, Napoleon was surprised and delighted by the bright, neat room with a large window looking out on to the school's walled gardens. Filled with a heady mix of pride and delight, he threw himself on to the bed and rolled on to his back. He closed his eyes with a smile on his lips. It was almost too good to be true. A place in the most prestigious school in the land, with the prospect of a fine career before him. If only his family could see him now.They would be so proud of him. He would write to them as soon as possible, as soon as he had time to explore the school and, even better still, the great capital city that spread out on all sides around him. Soon, he would be an officer, giving orders and being responsible for the lives of the men under his command. A man in his own right, with his destiny in his own hands.
'Hello.'
Napoleon's eyes snapped open and he sat up in a hurry, swinging his boots off the bed. Leaning against the doorway was a cadet in the uniform of the school. He was a little taller than Napoleon, and broader. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and as he felt himself being quickly assessed by the new arrival he laughed, revealing a good set of teeth.
'Don't worry, I haven't been sent to spy on you. And I don't bite.'
Napoleon blushed, and then, angry that he had been made to feel awkward, his expression instantly switched to a frown. The boy eased himself off the doorframe and stepped into the room, holding out his hand.
'Alexander Des Mazis, at your service.'
Napoleon looked at him warily, before he reached out and shook hands briefly. 'Napoleon Buona Parte.'
'An unusual name. And accent. Where are you from?'
'Corsica.'
'Ah… Corsica. I see.'
'What does that mean?'
The boy shrugged. 'Nothing.'
Des Mazis noted the suspicious expression in the other's face and continued, 'No, really. It's nothing. I've never met a Corsican before. That's all.'
'Well, don't worry. We don't bite. Unless we have to.'
Des Mazis laughed. 'Well said! Come on, Corsican, I'll show you round the school, if you like.'
Napoleon did not reply immediately, still unsure if he liked, let alone trusted, this boy. But what harm could come of it? Besides, it would be good to know his way round the buildings and grounds as soon as possible. He nodded. 'Thank you.'
The school turned out to be even more impressive than had been Napoleon's first impression on walking through the main gate. There was a fine chapel, a library with more books than he had ever seen before, stables, a riding school, parade ground and gardens for recreation. In addition to the fine accommodation the school had the best teachers, and a full complement of cooks, nurses, grooms and other servants. The food, Des Mazis told him, was as good as could be found in any school in France.
'They'll soon feed you up,' Des Mazis smiled. 'Put some meat on your bones.'
'I eat well enough already,' Napoleon replied stiffly. 'I'm here to learn to be a soldier, not a glutton.'
'Maybe. But you can mix ambition with pleasure, you know.'
Des Mazis clapped him on the shoulder and steered the new boy towards a group of students walking down the path towards them.
