Young Bloods by Simon Scarrow Page A

is to improve your French we’ve decided to put you at opposite ends of the dormitory, beside a proper French boy, so you can correct your accent, which is still a bit thick, if I may say so.’
    Napoleon coloured the moment he heard this, but his brother took his hand and when Napoleon glanced sidelong at him Joseph shook his head in warning.
    The abbot wafted a hand. ‘As soon as your trunks arrive please unpack then, and then return to the staff room. I’ll take you to your teachers and introduce you to your classmates.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Joseph replied. ‘Thank you, sir.’
    The abbot smiled quickly, turned away and strode back down the corridor.
    When they were alone again Joseph turned to his younger brother. ‘Well, what do you think?’
    ‘Seems comfortable enough.’
    ‘I wasn’t talking about that. Napoleon - well? Makes you sound like a real Frenchman.’
    ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied unhappily. ‘Napoleon … and Joseph. What would Mother say if she could hear me now?’

Chapter 14
    Abbot Chardon was standing in his study overlooking the courtyard of the school at Autun. It was morning break and outside the boys were playing in the snow. Wrapped in coats, scarves and mittens, they were indulging in snowball fights as usual, shrill shrieks of excitement and surprise filling the air, and clearly audible even this side of the glass in the window.Then his attention fixed on a figure standing at the school gate and his smile faded.The stiff posture of the distant boy was unmistakable. Little Napoleon Buona Parte on his own once again.
    It was over a month since the two Corsican boys had joined the school, and while Joseph had begun to settle in and make some friends, the younger child resolutely held himself apart and only associated with his brother, and only then when the latter was not playing with his new friends. It surprised Chardon that the older brother seemed so timid and obviously in awe of Napoleon. But then the young boy had a fierce and forceful personality, such as the abbot had never before encountered. Despite coming to Autun to learn French and benefit from perhaps the best education that Europe had to offer, the boy was defiantly Corsican and was more than willing to resort to a shouted tirade, or fists, if anyone impugned his native land.Which, of course, had made him the prime target for all those boys predisposed to tease or bully any of their peers who stood out from the rest.
    Napoleon crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm. He had been still long enough for his toes to start feeling numb, and now he began to slowly pace up and down in front of the gateway. He hated this numbing cold, and the clinging damp on his face and bedclothes when he rose each morning. In Corsica at this time of year the air would be cool but dry, and the winds blowing off the Mediterranean kept the skies above Ajaccio clear and blue. Thoughts of home were never far from his mind, and they tormented him terribly, especially that last moment before the ship had set sail from Bastia. He could almost smell his mother, feel her touch and the warmth of her breath on his ear as she had whispered her final word of farewell.
    He clenched his hands and stiffened his lips. He would not give in to this homesickness. He would not be seen to be as weak and self-indulgent as other people.
    A snowball struck him on the back of his head and a chorus of cheers filled the air. They died instantly as Napoleon whirled round, eyes blazing and gloved fists snatched out from under his arms.
    ‘Who did that?’ he screamed. ‘Who did that?’
    Someone giggled at his fierce expression and then like a current it flowed through those boys who were staring at him until laughter rang in his ears.
    ‘Who did it?’ he shouted.‘Tell me! Tell me or I’ll fight you all!’
    But the laughing continued, so Napoleon charged forward towards the nearest knot of boys. At once, they broke up and ran away, still