Chapter 5
By the time he had reached his home, night had
fallen and Naboleone’s bravado had seeped away as he faced the
prospect of sneaking back into his room without being caught. He
waited in the entrance hall for a moment, ears straining to pick up
any sounds in the house. From the first floor came the voices of
Naboleone’s parents. He crept towards the stairs and then, keeping
as close to the wall as possible to minimise any creaking of the
boards, the boy stole upstairs. His heart was pounding at the
tension in his body as he reached the top, squeezed through the
door to his family’s rooms and started down the darkened corridor
to the room he shared with Giuseppe. He never made it.The toy
sword, jammed into his belt, suddenly scraped across a
skirtingboard.
Before the boy could dive the last few feet to his
room, the door to the kitchen was wrenched open and a dim glow
spilled into the corridor.
‘Where on earth . . . ?’ his father began, then
there was a beat before his anger gave way to surprise. ‘What are
you wearing? Come here, boy!’
Naboleone warily made his way to the kitchen door,
paused to remove his tricorn and look up at his father towering
over him, then entered the room. His mother sat at the table. 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.’