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Arthur, put that down and get along to the kitchen. Your father and I will follow directly.’
    ‘Yes, Mother.’
    Garrett held out his hands for the instrument. ‘Thank you. Do you want me to teach you how to play this instrument properly?’
    The boy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh yes, Father! I should like that.’
    Garrett laughed. ‘Good. And one day we shall compose music together.’
    Arthur smiled brilliantly, then hurried round the table to help his brother up from the cushions. The two of them walked towards the kitchen with stiff little steps, still holding hands. Both parents watched their progress and then turned to each other and smiled.
    ‘A musician, I think,’ said Garrett.
    ‘God help us,’ Anne muttered. ‘Your charity concerts will be the ruin of us yet.’
    ‘Shame on you! We can afford it. Besides, it’s my Christian duty to spread culture to the less advantaged.’
    ‘I’d have thought your first Christian duty was to the wellbeing of your family.’
    ‘It is, my dear.’ He stared at her intently. ‘Now, we were talking about young Arthur. Seriously, though, I think he might be suited to a musical career.’
    ‘How wonderful,’ Anne replied with acid-laced irony.
    ‘Yes, well … Meanwhile we must find him a school. I have one in mind.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    Garrett nodded. ‘The Diocesian School at Trim.You know the place. St Mary’s Abbey.’
    Anne stared after her son. ‘Do you think he’s old enough?’
    ‘My dear, if we don’t start preparing him for life now, when will we begin? If he is not to fall behind the achievements of Richard and William we must work him hard.’
    ‘You’re right, of course. It’s just that he seems so … vulnerable. I fear for him.’
    ‘He’ll do well enough,’ Garrett said comfortingly.

Chapter 7
    Corsica, 1775
    ‘I won’t go! I won’t go!’
    Letizia shook the boy by his shoulders.‘You will, and there’s an end to it! Now get dressed.’
    Outside, the first light of day was picking out the details in the houses across the street. Letizia led her son to the clothes laid out on his bed and pointed to them. ‘Now!’
    ‘No!’ Naboleone shouted back and crossed his arms. ‘I won’t go!’
    ‘You will.’ Letizia slapped his cheek. ‘You are going to school, my boy, and you will get dressed. You will come and eat your breakfast, and you will behave impeccably when you are introduced to the abbot. Or you will have the thrashing of your life. Do I make myself clear?’
    Her son frowned at her, eyes blazing with defiance. Letizia crossed herself. ‘Mary, Mother of God, give me patience. Why can’t you be more like your brother there?’ She nodded across the room to where Giuseppe was just tying his bootlaces. His clothes were neat and clean, and his hair gleamed from a fresh brushing.
    ‘Him?’ Naboleone laughed. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Mother. Who would want to be like him? The big sissy.’
    Letizia slapped him again, much harder this time, leaving an imprint of her slender fingers on his cheek. ‘Don’t you dare talk that way about your brother.’ She pointed to the clothes again. ‘Now get dressed. If you’re not ready by the time I come back you’ll have hard bread for supper tonight.’
    She stormed out of the room and made for the kitchen, where Lucien - her new child - was bawling for more food.
    For a moment Naboleone stood quite still, arms folded, and glared at his clothes. On the other side of the room Giuseppe finished tying his laces and stood by his bed, gazing at his younger brother.
    ‘Why do you do it, Naboleone?’ he said softly.
    ‘Sorry. Did you speak?’
    ‘Why do you make her so angry at you? Just for once, can’t you do as she says?’
    ‘But I don’t want to go to school. I want to go and play. I want to see the soldiers again.’
    ‘Well, you can’t!’ Giuseppe hissed. ‘You’ll come to school with me. We must learn to read and write.’
    ‘Why?’
    The older boy shook his head. ‘You