Young Bloods by Simon Scarrow

this.’
    ‘I’m not surprised. Come, let us see how you cope with it.’
    After an hour of struggling with the composition Dr Buckleby finally relented and permitted his student to set down his instrument.
    ‘It would seem that there’s still much to learn.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur felt he had let the man down.
    ‘And now our time is up. Pack up your instrument.’
    Arthur placed it back in its case in silence as Dr Buckleby retrieved the new piece from the stand and stood by the door. He escorted Arthur from the room and then held the front door open. Arthur stepped outside of the cottage, then hesitantly turned round and offered Dr Buckleby his hand.
    ‘Farewell then, sir.’
    ‘Goodbye, young Wesley.’ The teacher pumped his hand. ‘Remember, keep your back straight and your scroll up.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘And, er, this is for you.’ Dr Buckleby’s heavy cheeks coloured as he held the new piece of music out to his student. Arthur received it with a nod of thanks.
    ‘You’re very kind. May I ask who composed it, sir?’
    ‘I did.’ Dr Buckleby smiled. ‘I wrote it for you. Perhaps one day, when you have mastered it, you might come and play it for me.’
    Arthur’s heart ached with gratitude for the man’s kindness. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
    ‘Then I’ll bid you good day, sir. I must prepare for my next student.’
    Both knew it was a deceit.There were no other students today. Arthur took his leave and turned down the path, hearing the door close gently behind him.

Chapter 13
    France, 1779
    The school at Autun was a far larger institution than Abbot Rocco’s establishment in Ajaccio, and Giuseppe and Naboleone regarded it with a mixture of awe and fear as they walked through the gateway, followed by a porter carrying their trunks. He directed them to the staff room to one side of the imposing entrance hall.
    Naboleone stepped up to the door and rapped sharply on the gleaming varnish. The door opened and the boy was confronted by a tall, severe-looking man in a dark suit and stockings.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I am Naboleone Buona Parte,’ Naboleone said in his best French. ‘This is my brother Giuseppe.’
    The man frowned at the grating accent. ‘I beg your pardon?’
    Naboleone repeated his introduction and the man seemed to understand a bit better on the second attempt. He turned back into the staff room.‘Monsieur Chardon? I think these must be the two boys you were expecting. From Corsica?’
    ‘Yes,’ Naboleone nodded. ‘From Corsica.’
    The man stood aside and a moment later a stocky man in a cassock was smiling down at them.‘Welcome to Autun. My name is Abbot Chardon.’ He glanced from boy to boy and nodded at the smaller, darker-featured one. ‘You must be, let me think … yes, I have it, Napoleone.’
    ‘Naboleone, sir.’
    ‘Yes, well, since your father was so adamant that the first priority was to get you speaking French like a Frenchman, we might as well start now, with the French version of your names. Giuseppe will be Joseph, and you, young man, have caused me a bit of a problem.’ He smiled kindly.‘The best approximation I can do is Napoleon.’
    ‘Napoleon?’The boy repeated. He was not sure he cared for a French version of his name, but the first teacher had evidently struggled with the Corsican name and so, inevitably, would everyone else at the school. He already felt like enough of an outsider. He looked up at the abbot and shrugged. ‘As you wish, sir. I shall be Napoleon.’
    ‘Good! Then that’s settled. Let me take you to your dormitory.’
    He led them towards a staircase at the rear of the hall and they climbed three flights to reach a corridor that stretched out under the eaves on both sides. Napoleon saw that it was lined with beds with a chest at the foot of each.
    ‘There’s no one about at the moment,’ the abbot explained. ‘The rest of the boys will be in lessons until supper.You will have a chance to meet them then. Since the first task