Young Bloods Part 19

Looking down,Arthur caught sight of his mother, still standing next to the army officer. She looked furious, but as she became aware of the people smiling around her, she nodded to her son and beamed, like any parent basking in the reflected glory of a child's public achievement. Arthur felt his heart surge with pride and waved back to her.Then he placed the violin on his chair and after a round of handshaking with the rest of the orchestra, and much slapping of his back, he quit the gallery and descended to the floor of the ballroom. Pa.s.sing through the crowd he acknowledged the odd comment of praise or grat.i.tude, until he joined Lady Mornington.

She smiled at him and, embracing him by the shoulders, whispered close to his ear, 'Oh, well done, Arthur! I imagine that everyone thinks we're the kind of family that has to sing for our supper. I've never been so ashamed in my life.'

She drew back from him with a frigid smile. He stared at her with a hurt and surprised expression that contrasted sharply with her look. Before Arthur could respond, the army officer stepped forward and grasped his hand.

'Well done, Wesley. That was brave of you. Not many boys of your age could have been cool-headed enough to carry that off.'

'Brave?'

'Yes.'The army officer was about to continue when he stopped himself with a self-deprecating smile. 'My profound apologies, I haven't introduced myself to you. Forgive me.' He raised his hand and grasped Arthur's hand firmly. 'Colonel William Ross. I'm an attache at the emba.s.sy. Delighted to make your acquaintance.'

'As am I, sir.' Arthur bowed his head.

'Fine piece of work, lad. No wonder your mother's so obviously proud of you.'

'Oh, fie!' Anne feigned embarra.s.sment. 'Colonel, you're making me blush!'

'Lady Mornington has told me all about you.'

'Has she, indeed?'

'Yes, my boy. Seems that you have no thoughts about a career at present.'

'That is true, sir. I am trying to improve my French while we are in Brussels, but beyond that I have only my music.'

'You have a rare talent for the violin, Wesley. That's clear enough, but I think that you will find that is not enough for someone of your background.' He leaned forward a fraction to fix Arthur with his piercing blue eyes.'And, I suspect that, despite the pleasure you obviously derive from your musical skills, you crave something a little more exciting, eh?'

'Yes, sir,' Arthur replied politely, even though he was not sure that he did really want to do anything more exciting than devote himself to his violin playing. But, as he stood in front of Colonel Ross, he drank in the fine style of the man and again felt that he would like to exude the same self-confidence by the time he reached a similar age.

As if reading Arthur's mind, the colonel smiled at him and spoke lightly. 'Ever considered a career in the army?'

'The army? No, sir. Not yet, at least.'

'Perhaps you should. Lady Mornington has explained that you are a younger son. I know from personal experience the burden of not having first call on the inheritance. The younger sons of aristocrats have a choice of drinking themselves to death, becoming priests or joining the army, or all three if they are gluttons for punishment, although not in that precise order, of course.' He laughed lightly, and Arthur laughed with him, before Colonel Ross continued,'I can't see you as a drunk or a priest so the army looks like the safest option.Your mother is of the same opinion.'

'Yes. She is good at making decisions for others,' Arthur said evenly.

Anne ignored her son's ironic tone. 'It's worth considering, Arthur. Richard' - she turned to the colonel to explain - 'that is my eldest son, the Earl of Mornington.' She turned back to Arthur. 'He should have some useful connections who can help find a position for you in the army. I'll write to him soon and see what he can do.'

'And if the Earl is unable to a.s.sist, then I should be only too happy to help,' the colonel added graciously.

'You are very kind, sir,' Arthur replied. The conversation was slipping out of his control. If he did not attempt to curb the direction it was taking his mother would have him in uniform and posted to some G.o.d-awful part of the world before the month was up. 'A career in the army might well be the best thing for me, but one should always consider choices carefully.'

'Indeed,' the colonel acknowledged. 'Spoken like a true soldier! Perhaps the best solution might be to spend some time at a military school. Get the feel for the military way of life, without being committed in any way. How does that sound?'

'Military school?' Anne sounded wary. 'Is that expensive?'

'No more so than any other kind of school.'

'Oh, I see.'

The colonel immediately sensed the delicacy of the situation. 'Of course, most students only attend such schools for a short period of time, no more than a year, I should think, and the fees vary a great deal.There are some bargains to be had in France, for example. If you like, Lady Mornington, I'll talk to some of my army contacts at the other emba.s.sies and see if they know of any likely spots for your son.'

Arthur's mother smiled. 'I'd be most grateful. Thank you.'

'Now, my lady, I'm afraid that I must leave you.'

Anne placed a hand on his sleeve. 'Surely you're not ending such a fine evening at this early hour?'

'Indeed I am not, my lady. I have an engagement with some other officers at a club, and I regret to say I am already late to that appointment, thanks to your engaging conversation.'

She smiled. 'I can imagine that your excellent company will be missed, and I have been selfish. Perhaps, on another occasion . . .'

He nodded.'There is a ball at the Prussian Emba.s.sy later in the month. I'll have an invitation sent to your lodgings. Might I enquire where-'

'We have rooms at Monsieur Goubert's house on Rue de Poincon.'

'Rue de Poincon. Very well, I shall make arrangements.' He bowed.'Good night, my lady.And I'm sure I'll see you again soon, Arthur.'

'Yes, sir. I hope so.'

As soon as the colonel was out of earshot Anne turned on her son.While keeping her face devoid of expression, she lowered her voice and spoke in an angry undertone. 'Just what did you think you were doing?'

'Mother?' Arthur shrugged. 'I don't understand.'

'Don't play the fool with me. Other people might think you're a simpleton, but I know you better.What was the meaning of that shameful display up there in the gallery?'

'They were a man short. I could fill his place on the violin so I thought I'd help out.'

'You thought you'd help out . . .' she mimicked him spitefully. 'I see. So the next time someone's horse goes lame, you'll just pop yourself into its harness and just help out, I suppose?'

'Mother, you're not being fair.'

'No,' she snapped back at him, 'it's you who isn't being fair. I brought you to Brussels to improve your French. G.o.d knows, you've learned nothing else for the last few years. And I thought we were supposed to be spending some more time together. First chance you got this evening, and off you went. Abandoning your poor mother in the crowd.'

'You didn't seem that abandoned to me.'

'Don't be insolent.' She stared at him a moment and then continued in a hurt tone, 'I'd just like to have known where you had got to. That's all, Arthur. It would have been the considerate thing to do.'

Following his impromptu performance at the Chambre de Palais, Arthur and his mother were invited to many more social events. He adjusted to the attention he was paid very quickly and soon had a ready tongue for light conversation, and an easy, almost charming manner. Anne was surprised to discover that her son actually impressed other people, to the point where it was clear that a section of Brussels society preferred his company to hers. Even though, she consoled herself, he was hardly good-looking.

Colonel Ross made enquiries about the most reputable military schools in Europe, steering a fine line between quality and affordability. In the end he recommended the inst.i.tution of an old friend of his family, Marcel de Pignerolle. The Royal Academy of Equitation at Angers, despite the name, was no mere riding school, and offered a wide curriculum covering maths, the humanities and swordplay. The clientele was sufficiently exclusive to impress Lady Mornington and the reasonable fees would be much to her taste as well. A perfect combination for Arthur Wesley. Shortly before Christmas Anne announced that she had enrolled Arthur at the Academy in Angers. He would begin his training there in January. She would be returning to England. Brussels, she announced, was too small and too provincial to sustain her interest a moment longer. Besides, she was missing her family.

Arthur listened to all this with the same sad empty feeling that he had felt at Eton. He was being abandoned again.This time, he resolved, he was not going to grieve in the ill-humoured manner that he had adopted at Eton.Then he had hoped that if he seemed to be suffering enough he would provoke some guilt in his mother and she would give him the affection he deserved, and craved. But now, he concluded, it was quite clear how limited her affection for her third son was. In turn, he owed her nothing. Besides, he was on the cusp of a great change in his life. He could sense it. For the first time in his life Arthur could see a way ahead. No longer was music the only purpose in his life. He would dance to a different tune: the deep rolling drumbeat of the army and the shrill call of trumpets.

In January he would travel to Angers and begin his life as a soldier.

Chapter 31.

Angers, 1786 As the carriage pa.s.sed through the gatehouse, Napoleon shifted himself to the side and looked eagerly out of the window. The iron-shod hoofs of the horses clattered on the cobbles of the courtyard that opened out into a vast s.p.a.ce before the main entrance to the academy. A troop of riders was being instructed in the centre of the courtyard. Napoleon regarded them closely. They were, no doubt, the sons of various Prussian, Austrian and British aristocrats, dilettantes in their scarlet coats with yellow b.u.t.tons and light blue facings. Not real soldiers. Not professionals like himself, trained by the finest military minds in Europe. Even though he had received his commission and completed his probation there would be further training to undertake in the months to come before he could consider himself a fully fledged officer of artillery. And when he was off duty there would be manuals to digest and histories to read, aside from the works on philosophy and literature that he read for pleasure. Against that experience Napoleon was inclined to look upon this fashionable academy as no more than a finishing school, run by the cultivated Marcel de Pignerolle and his wife.

The director's invitation to Napoleon, and the four officers who shared the carriage, had been written in a fine hand. At first Napoleon had been tempted to reconsider the invitation. He was tired of being looked down upon by the sons of French n.o.bles because of his Corsican birth. To become an object of curiosity for the n.o.bles of other nations was even more of a burden. The colonel, who had taken something of a shine to his brilliant but awkward lieutenant, patiently advised him to join his comrades and visit Angers for no other reason than it would be useful to meet the men he might one day have to fight in battle. Find out what kind of men they were. Discern the strengths and weaknesses of their national character. It was a compelling argument, and at length Napoleon, with a small show of reluctance, gave his a.s.sent to the invitation, to the quiet amus.e.m.e.nt of his colonel.

'Now, Buona Parte, remember what I said, and keep a close eye on your hosts,' the colonel had concluded. 'You may learn something. At the same time, be mindful that you are a gentleman amongst gentlemen. It is not treasonable to enjoy yourself. Control that fiery streak of Coriscan pride and you may find you enjoy the experience. A man can use all the contacts he can make in this world.'

Napoleon smiled at the memory, and felt a stab of embarra.s.sment at the image of churlish youth he must have presented to his colonel. Well, he was here now, and there was no escaping the situation. He'd have to watch himself and make sure that he said nothing foolish. Whatever provocation might be offered.

The carriage drew up outside the main entrance to the academy and a footman ran forward with a footstool and opened the door for the young artillery officers. Napoleon ducked his head and was the first to emerge from the carriage, jumping down to one side of the footstool. He straightened up and quickly adjusted his uniform, easing out the creases that had gathered in the cloth during the journey. In front of him stood an imposing cla.s.sical facade: the polished wooden doors leading into the hall were surrounded by a lofty colonnade that reached up to the neat tiles of a handsome mansard roof. The academy was more like a palace than a military establishment and radiated an exclusivity born of two hundred years of training young gentlemen in the basic arts of war.

Alexander Des Mazis craned his head back to take in the decorative tops of the columns framing the entrance. 'Quite something, eh, Napoleon?'

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the entrance hall and then a young man strode out of the building and greeted them with an amiable smile. He was tall, with a broad face, dark hair tied back and brilliant blue eyes. He wore a cadet's uniform and bowed gracefully as he stood before the artillery officers. When he spoke the accent was unmistakably British, but with a peculiar lilting quality.

'Gentlemen, Madame de Pignerolle has sent me to bid you welcome, and convey you to our reception rooms. My name is Richard Fitzroy.'

Captain Des Mazis stepped forward, bowed his head and extended his hand. 'Captain Gabriel Des Mazis of the Regiment de la Fere. May I introduce lieutenants Alexander Des Mazis, Francois Duquesne, Philippe Foy and Napoleon Buona Parte.'

'Delighted,' Fitzroy smiled as he shook the hand of each man. 'If you would follow me, gentlemen . . .'

He turned and led them inside the academy. The floor had been laid with marble and, while polished, it bore the marks of the pa.s.sage of tens of thousands of cadets over the centuries. The hall was painted blue, picked out with gold leaf on the architrave. At regular intervals the walls were hung with large portraits of distinguished-looking men in uniform and, looking on these paintings, Napoleon felt a twinge of jealousy amid the burning ambition that filled his heart. One day a painting of Napoleon might adorn the wall of the Royal Military School of Paris, and all men who saw it would think twice about laughing down their sleeves at Corsica.

At the far end of the entrance hall the cadet led them up a wide staircase on to a gallery. Several rooms opened off it, and as the small party strode by, Napoleon saw that they were social rooms, each containing fine furnishings. In one he saw a tall, slender cadet who looked to be his own age reclining on a couch. The cadet, who had mousy brown hair, was reading a newspaper. A figure emerged from the last door along the gallery and, glancing up, Napoleon saw a slender woman of advanced years smiling at them as she gracefully stood aside and waved them forward.

The artillery officers instantly halted and bowed in the fashion that they had been taught by the Military School's dancing tutor. The lady inclined her head in acknowledgement, before turning to the cadet.

'Mr Fitzroy, be so good as to show these men inside. The formal introductions can be made when the director returns from the stables. I've organised some refreshments while they wait.'

'Yes, Madame.'

Madame de Pignerolle turned back to the artillery officers. 'Now, I regret I must attend to my wardrobe, gentlemen. Mr Fitzroy will look after you.'

Napoleon bowed again. 'Very well, Madame.'

As she glided away along the gallery, Fitzroy stood to one side to let his guests enter the room. Napoleon's boots fell softly on a thick blue carpet with an ornate fleur-de-lis pattern in white. A hatstand stood to one side and he slipped his c.o.c.ked hat on to one of the smoothly worn pegs.The room was large, with a high ceiling, and long windows that overlooked yet another vast courtyard. Around the sides of the room were arranged small cl.u.s.ters of upholstered chairs and ornate drinks tables. Beyond the hatstand was a long table covered with a buffet. Behind the table two footmen stood stiffly, waiting to serve the guests.

'Gentlemen,' Fitzroy waved a hand towards the buffet, 'please help yourselves while I fetch the cadets who will make up the rest of our party.' He bowed, and left the room.

As the cadet's footsteps tapped back along the gallery, Napoleon and the other officers feasted their eyes on the buffet. The food at the Military School was by far the best cuisine the young Corsican had ever tasted, but the display spread across the table here put it to shame. There were large platters of finely cut meats; chilled slices of salmon; plates of cheese, and of cured sausage sliced as finely as sheets of paper; small, shaped loaves of bread, and cold pies with representations of sabres, muskets and cannon on the glazed pastry crusts. At the far end of the table stood several decanters of various wines and spirits.

'No desserts?' Napoleon commented drily, as he shot a quick wink at Des Mazis. He moved round and stood in front of the nearest footman. 'Well?'

'Sir, Madame de Pignerolle has arranged for a formal dinner to be served later on.' The tone was correct enough, but there was just a hint of disdain for an officer who had the bad grace to consider complaining about the service provided by his host.

'I see.' Napoleon raised his chin and looked down his nose at the footman. 'Well, in that case we'll have to wait for a proper meal. Meanwhile you may serve me a selection of meats for now.'

'Yes, sir.' The footman deftly picked up a pair of silver tongs and, taking up a heavily patterned plate, he began to cover it with a selection of the meats. Napoleon took the plate, picked up a fork and walked slowly towards the long windows on the far side of the room. Behind him the other artillery officers waited for their helpings. Through the gla.s.s Napoleon looked down on the second courtyard where scores of young cadets were being taken through fencing drills. They wore padded white tunics and were armed with slender rapiers. In long lines they stood poised before their instructors and then mirrored his movements; advancing, withdrawing, lunging forward, advancing and then dashing to make a fleche attack. Napoleon watched it all with a degree of bemus.e.m.e.nt as he worked his way through some delicious slices of smoked sausage. He had never excelled with the sword, a deficiency that had been noted in his reports at the Military School. Napoleon felt no need to try to master the art. Not in this day and age. He sensed a presence at his shoulder and Alexander joined him by the window.

Napoleon nodded down at the courtyard. 'Who do they think they're fooling?'

'Pardon?'

'Fencing lessons . . . What use is a rapier on the battlefield? All that expensive training will stand for nothing when they come up against a musket.'

'Napoleon, mastering the sword is nothing to do with the battlefield. It is simply a requirement of being an officer and a gentleman,' Alexander said wearily. 'We've talked about this.'

'I still believe that if a man is trained for war, then he should be trained for war. This . . . this armed ballet is simply an affectation. It is out of date and serves no purpose.'

'Serves no purpose?' Alexander raised his eyebrows. 'Why, of course it does. It is one of the arts that marks us out from the common rabble.'

'Us?' Napoleon's dark eyes fixed on his. 'Does that include me?'

'Of course,' Alexander replied quickly, but not convincingly. 'You're an officer.'

'But not quite one of the gentry. Not the son of a count, like you and the others.'

Alexander stared at him for a moment, fighting back his irritation. 'When do you propose to desist with that line of thought, Napoleon? You cannot bear a grudge against the world you live in for ever. You have to change. Don't be so . . . sensitive.'

'Why should I change? Why can't the world change and let men of talent flourish? Regardless of their origins. I tell you, Alexander, the old order is strangling those with ability, while it hands out all the rewards to the witless sons of inbred aristocrats.' Napoleon stopped himself and forced a smile. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'Inbred aristocrats like me?' Alexander stood back a pace and lowered his plate on to a drinks table. 'Is that it?'

'Of course not, Alexander,' Napoleon laughed. 'Do you really think I would befriend an idiot?'

'No,' Alexander replied quietly. 'That would be beneath you.'

The two men stared at each other in strained silence, before Napoleon's lips curled into a faint smile. 'Now who's being sensitive?'

'Gentlemen!'

They turned and saw Fitzroy striding soundlessly across the carpet towards them. Behind him followed a dozen more cadets, including the languid youth with the newspaper that Napoleon had seen earlier. Fitzroy sensed the tension between the two artillery officers and a look of concern flickered on to his face.

'Gentlemen, I trust there's no problem. The food . . . ?'

'The food is excellent,' Des Mazis smiled.

'Then?'

'We were watching your colleagues fencing and merely had a difference of opinion, that's all. Now, if we may be acquainted with your companions?'