Her lips tightened as she saw the uniform.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘It - it was a present.’
‘Who from?’
‘The soldiers at the citadel.’
Letizia stood up and stabbed a finger at her son. ‘Take it off ! How dare you wear that?’
Naboleone was shocked by the venom in her voice. He hurriedly undid the belt and buttons, shuffled his arms out of the coat and laid it on the table. The gaiters followed, together with the tricorn and toy sword. All the time his parents stared at him. At length his father broke the silence.
‘Tell me you did not walk through the streets wearing that uniform.’
‘I did.’
Carlos rolled his eyes and clapped a hand to his forehead.
‘Did anyone see you?’ Letizia snapped. ‘Speak up! The truth, mind.’
Naboleone thought back. ‘It was growing dark. I passed a few people.’
‘Did they recognise you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then,’ Letizia said bitterly, ‘word will get round that our son has been seen in French uniform. That’s an end to any reputation our family once held in this town. It’s bad enough your father is employed by the French, Naboleone. And now our own son marches round the town in a French uniform. The Paolists will drag our family name through the gutters for this.’
Carlos stepped up to the table and examined the tiny uniform. ‘You exaggerate, Letizia. This is a toy, that’s all. Dressing-up clothes. They made them for him as a joke.’
‘They were a gift,’ Naboleone piped up. ‘They’re mine.’
‘Quiet, you little idiot,’ Letizia said coldly. ‘Can’t you understand what you’ve done? What fools you have made of us?’
The little boy shook his head, bewildered by her rage.
‘Well, try to understand, before you ruin our reputation any further. Do you know, there are still bands of Corsican patriots out there in the maquis, still fighting the French? Do you know what they do to any collaborators they capture?’
Naboleone shook his head.
‘They cut their throats and leave the bodies where others can see them, as a warning. Do you want that to happen to us?’
‘N-no, Mother.’
‘Stop it!’ Carlos raised his hand. ‘Letizia, you’re scaring the child.’
‘Good! He needs to be scared. For his own sake, as well as ours.’
‘But we’re not in the maquis. We’re in the town. The garrison is here to protect us. To restore order. The Paolists are little more than brigands. They’ll be finished off before the year’s out. The French are here to stay and the sooner people accept that, the better. I have.’
She sneered. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Don’t think it hasn’t disgusted me that we have had to sell our birthright as Corsicans to safeguard the future of our family.’
Naboleone watched the confrontation between his parents anxiously and now he almost choked as he interrupted their exchange. ‘Mother, I was only playing with them.’
‘Well, don’t! Never again, you understand?’
He nodded.
‘As for these,’ she bundled the uniform and hat up, ‘they must be disposed of.’
‘But, Mother!’
‘Quiet! They must go. And you must never mention this to anyone.’
The boy seethed inside, but he knew he must accept her word or face a beating he would not forget in a long time. He nodded.
‘In any case,’ Carlos said in a calming tone, ‘you’ve spent too long running around the town.You’re almost feral. Look at you. Your hair needs a comb. No, better still, a cut.You need a cleanup and some discipline. It’s time you started school.’
Naboleone’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. School? That was as bad as being sent to prison.
‘Your mother and I have talked this over. You need an education. Tomorrow I will speak with Abbot Rocco about admitting you and Giuseppe to his school. It’ll mean we have less money in the house but, given tonight’s events, I don’t think we can afford not to send you there.’
Chapter 6
Ireland, 1773
Anne poured herself a
‘Where did you get that?’
‘It - it was a present.’
‘Who from?’
‘The soldiers at the citadel.’
Letizia stood up and stabbed a finger at her son. ‘Take it off ! How dare you wear that?’
Naboleone was shocked by the venom in her voice. He hurriedly undid the belt and buttons, shuffled his arms out of the coat and laid it on the table. The gaiters followed, together with the tricorn and toy sword. All the time his parents stared at him. At length his father broke the silence.
‘Tell me you did not walk through the streets wearing that uniform.’
‘I did.’
Carlos rolled his eyes and clapped a hand to his forehead.
‘Did anyone see you?’ Letizia snapped. ‘Speak up! The truth, mind.’
Naboleone thought back. ‘It was growing dark. I passed a few people.’
‘Did they recognise you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then,’ Letizia said bitterly, ‘word will get round that our son has been seen in French uniform. That’s an end to any reputation our family once held in this town. It’s bad enough your father is employed by the French, Naboleone. And now our own son marches round the town in a French uniform. The Paolists will drag our family name through the gutters for this.’
Carlos stepped up to the table and examined the tiny uniform. ‘You exaggerate, Letizia. This is a toy, that’s all. Dressing-up clothes. They made them for him as a joke.’
‘They were a gift,’ Naboleone piped up. ‘They’re mine.’
‘Quiet, you little idiot,’ Letizia said coldly. ‘Can’t you understand what you’ve done? What fools you have made of us?’
The little boy shook his head, bewildered by her rage.
‘Well, try to understand, before you ruin our reputation any further. Do you know, there are still bands of Corsican patriots out there in the maquis, still fighting the French? Do you know what they do to any collaborators they capture?’
Naboleone shook his head.
‘They cut their throats and leave the bodies where others can see them, as a warning. Do you want that to happen to us?’
‘N-no, Mother.’
‘Stop it!’ Carlos raised his hand. ‘Letizia, you’re scaring the child.’
‘Good! He needs to be scared. For his own sake, as well as ours.’
‘But we’re not in the maquis. We’re in the town. The garrison is here to protect us. To restore order. The Paolists are little more than brigands. They’ll be finished off before the year’s out. The French are here to stay and the sooner people accept that, the better. I have.’
She sneered. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Don’t think it hasn’t disgusted me that we have had to sell our birthright as Corsicans to safeguard the future of our family.’
Naboleone watched the confrontation between his parents anxiously and now he almost choked as he interrupted their exchange. ‘Mother, I was only playing with them.’
‘Well, don’t! Never again, you understand?’
He nodded.
‘As for these,’ she bundled the uniform and hat up, ‘they must be disposed of.’
‘But, Mother!’
‘Quiet! They must go. And you must never mention this to anyone.’
The boy seethed inside, but he knew he must accept her word or face a beating he would not forget in a long time. He nodded.
‘In any case,’ Carlos said in a calming tone, ‘you’ve spent too long running around the town.You’re almost feral. Look at you. Your hair needs a comb. No, better still, a cut.You need a cleanup and some discipline. It’s time you started school.’
Naboleone’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. School? That was as bad as being sent to prison.
‘Your mother and I have talked this over. You need an education. Tomorrow I will speak with Abbot Rocco about admitting you and Giuseppe to his school. It’ll mean we have less money in the house but, given tonight’s events, I don’t think we can afford not to send you there.’
Chapter 6
Ireland, 1773
Anne poured herself a
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