Young bloods - Scarrow Simon - Страница 21

Around Napoleon the astonishment of the cadets was turning into a growing wave of laughter and muttered ridicule. Alexander's expression crumbled and tears glinted in the corners of his eyes as he rounded on his classmates.

'Stop laughing!' he shrieked. 'Stop it!'

But the laughter only increased in intensity and with a convulsive shudder of his chest, Napoleon joined in, for once on the side of the majority. So this was what it felt like to be part of the crowd. He winked at one of the other boys and nodded in Alexander's direction.The boy, who had exchanged no more than a few words with Napoleon since he had arrived at Brienne, nodded and smiled back.

'Who did this?' Alexander shouted, whirling round as his eyes swept over the other cadets, wildly searching out his enemy.'Who did this to me?'

Alexander stopped and thrust out his arm towards Napoleon. 'You! You did this! It must have been you!'

'Silence!' the duty teacher shouted as he hurried across the quadrangle towards their class. 'Get in line there! Hurry up!'

For a moment Napoleon watched as Alexander's hands closed into tight fists and he seemed on the verge of charging at him. Then the larger boy became aware of the duty teacher's approach and, taking control of his anger, he went to his position. Before the duty teacher could reach them the director emerged from his office.

'Get in line there!' the duty teacher yelled. 'All of you! Form up!'

The last of the cadets' laughter died away and they hastily moved to their positions as the director strode across the quadrangle towards them, an angry expression on his face.

'What is the meaning of this?' he shouted. 'What is this? A formal parade or a damned fishwives' market? Silence there! Stand still for inspection.'

When all stood stiffly to attention, staring straight ahead, the director nodded grimly and began the familiar routine of striding down the ranks of each class, scrutinising the appearance of every cadet. When he reached Napoleon's class he had taken no more than half a dozen paces before he stopped dead and grimaced.

'What is that stench? Which one of you is responsible?' He continued along the rank until he came to Alexander, and abruptly stopped.

'Cadet de Fontaine, what on earth are you doing in that state?'

'Sir, I – I,' Alexander stammered. 'I didn't-'

'You smell like shit!'The director's tone changed from anger to astonishment as he continued, 'My God! It is shit.You're covered in shit. What is the meaning of this, Cadet? Looks like you've been rolling in it. How dare you present yourself on parade in this condition? Are you a gentleman or a common swine? Well?'

Alexander opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and shook his head, as he stared straight ahead.

'Very well,' the director continued harshly. 'Three demerits for Cadet de Fontaine. And two months confined to college.'

He swept on, continuing the inspection, and Napoleon struggled to keep his face expressionless as the director turned the end of the line and strode towards him, pausing every so often for a closer glance at one of the cadets. When he reached Napoleon he paused, stared hard at the small Coriscan boy and nodded grudgingly. 'Much better, Cadet Buona Parte. It seems that you are learning the ways of your betters at long last. Keep it up.'

'Yes, sir.'

As soon as morning prayers were over and the cadets had been dismissed, Napoleon started towards his classroom, but a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. Napoleon stared into the white face of Alexander de Fontaine.

'You little bastard!' Alexander hissed. 'I don't know how you did this.'

'Me?'

'I know it was you. Don't pretend it wasn't.'

Napoleon smiled sweetly. 'Prove it.'

'I don't have to.Who else would stoop to something like this?'

'I don't know,' Napoleon scratched his chin, as if considering the question seriously.Then his eyes lit up.'Someone just like you perhaps?'

The other boy's lips parted in a snarl and he started to raise his fist to strike Napoleon, in full view of the duty teacher. In a moment of pure delight Napoleon waited for his enemy to strike, a blow that would result in far greater punishment than he had received a moment earlier. But at the last instant one of Alexander's friends caught his arm and held him back.

'Not now! Not here.' He glanced at Napoleon and continued softly. 'Later, when there are no witnesses. Come on, Alexander.'

De Fontaine allowed himself to be firmly steered away and he made himself smile at Napoleon. 'Later then, Corsican.'

'Of course.' Napoleon shrugged. 'If you are man enough.'

'Man enough?' Alexander chuckled. 'Oh, yes. I'll be man enough. The question is, will you?'

'I'll be ready.'

Napoleon woke from his sleep with a start. Just for an instant he registered the presence of several dark shapes surrounding his bed. Then something dark was thrust over his head and before he could attempt to snatch it off, hands grasped his body and a fist slammed into his stomach, driving the breath from his body. As he groaned he was rolled on to his stomach and held down while someone roughly tied his hands behind his back.

Then a voice whispered close to his ear, 'Keep your tongue still, if you don't want it cut out.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Napoleon gasped.

'Quiet! Not another word from you. Or else.'

Napoleon felt something jab into the small of his back, sharp enough to puncture his skin. He yelped and was rewarded with a hard slap to his covered head.

'Next time you make a sound the blade goes in all the way.'

Then he was lifted on to his feet, dragged to the door of his cell and outside into the corridor. They moved quickly and quietly and he guessed they must be barefoot. Down the corridor they went, to the top of the stairs and then down them at speed, Napoleon's feet scraping painfully on the edge of each step. A door opened and he felt a faint rush of chilly air. They were outside and heading along the side of the college buildings, then across some open grass.

'Inside with him,' a voice hissed, and a door squeaked faintly on old hinges. Napoleon brushed against a rough doorpost and then he was thrown to the ground. The tang of horseflesh and manure filled his nostrils. He must be in a stable. There was the sound of a flint being struck, then the faint crackle of kindling before the flame was transferred to a candle whose wan illumination was just visible through the coarse material of his hood. Napoleon felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his ears had to strain to pick up the sounds around him. He was terrified. For the first time since he had been wrenched from his bed he feared for his life. Who would hear him out in this stable, even if he did scream for help?

'You're to be taught a lesson tonight.You breathe one word of what happens and you'll pay for it. Do you understand?'

'Let me go.'

'In good time. After we've had our fun. Get him up, over that bench.'

He was seized again, dragged across the floor of the stable and thrust face first over a low bench. Hands held his shoulders down while someone raised the hem of his nightshirt and threw it up over his back to expose his buttocks. Napoleon kicked out his legs and felt his foot strike home.

'Ouch! Why, you little shit!' A moment later there was a sharp blow to the side of his head and the world went bright white for an instant. As he winced at the pain, Napoleon's chest convulsed.

'Tears won't save you now, Buona Parte… Shall we get started, gentlemen?'

'Wait. He's not here yet.'

'Too bad.'

'Someone's gone to wake him. He'll be here. He won't want to miss the entertainment.'

For a while no one else spoke and the only sound was the heavy breathing of the young Corsican. Then the door scraped open behind him.