Young bloods

Chapter 32

'Meath?' Napoleon frowned.

'It's in Ireland, sir.'

'Ah, I think I understand your sensitivity to my origins now.' Napoleon smiled warmly.'You have to suffer the same assumption of superiority from mainlanders.'

The cadet stiffened and tilted his head slightly to one side. 'That's their mistake. One day they'll see.'

Napoleon laughed and, reaching forward, he clapped the other on the shoulder.'You're a man after my own spirit. Good for you.'

The cadet glanced down at Napoleon's hand with a brief expression of distaste at the unwonted familiarity of the artillery officer and then recomposed his expression and nodded. 'Thank you, sir.'

Standing next to them, Alexander could not help but be amused by the contrast between them. His friend Napoleon was short and skinny, with long dark hair tied back to reveal a wide brow. His eyes were clear and sensual and his lips had a faint pout. This cadet, on the other hand, was tall and fair-complexioned with light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, a long nose and thin, expressionless lips. His skin had an unhealthy pallor. And yet there was a sense of bearing in both men that indicated a fierce pride.

The Englishman indicated some seats arranged either side of the nearest window. 'Shall we?'

They sat down and Wesley turned his attention back to the two artillery officers. 'I'm curious about the nature of your disagreement about our fencing classes.'

Alexander flashed a quick look of warning at his friend, but Napoleon ignored him, his concentration wholly focused on the cadet sitting opposite. He leaned forward a little. 'Tell me, what is the value of fencing lessons? In your opinion.'

The young Englishman looked down into the courtyard and pursed his lips thoughtfully before he replied, 'It teaches swift reflexes, poise and concentration. And in affairs of honour it might just save your life.'

'And there's no more to it than that?'

'Of course there is, sir!' Wesley answered at once. 'It's an essential part of the training to become a gentleman and an officer.'

Napoleon smiled. 'In that order?'

'Sir?'

'You said, "a gentleman and an officer".'

'Yes,' Wesley admitted. 'I meant, of course, an officer and a gentleman. In that order.'

Napoleon raised a hand. 'No. You were right the first time. That's the problem. Officers should spend their time learning the science of war and how to apply it in the field. There's no place on the battlefield for duellists.'

'Or gentlemen?' Wesley replied.

Napoleon shrugged. 'War is not a gentlemanly business.'

Wesley shook his head. 'On the contrary, sir, war is necessarily a gentlemanly business, or else it is mere barbarism. Without the leadership and example of gentlemen, the common soldiery is little more than an armed mob. As such it would constitute a threat to civilised order. Depend upon it, the aristocracy is the only guarantee of order on the battlefield, and off it.'

'Oh, really? Tell me, Cadet, why do you think they possess this exclusivity of talent?'

'Because they are born and bred to be leaders, sir. That's obvious. It's in our blood. It's been in our blood for centuries.You can train a monkey to be a soldier, sir, but only an aristocrat is born with the qualities needed to lead the common herd.'

Alexander breathed in sharply and waited for his friend to explode, but Napoleon was still for a moment, before an icy smile twisted his lips. 'An interesting thesis, sir. But I think you will find that there is a wealth of talent and ability amongst those who live beyond the walls of this academy. None of whom have one drop of aristocratic blood in their veins. They demand recognition. They demand change. You sense it in the streets of every city. I suspect they will have their day, and that day will come soon enough.'

Wesley stared back fixedly as he responded, 'When it comes, then that will be the beginning of the end of the civilised world, sir. Such men will be the leaders of the mob. They have little appreciation of order and the value of tradition. All they do have is naked ambition.'

'And ability. Let's not forget that. I'd sooner live in a world ruled by men who have won their leadership on merit, than a world where assumption of leadership rests upon which bed you were born in.'

His words were greeted with a frigid silence and Alexander feared that the confrontation might well spoil the atmosphere for the rest of the day unless he acted quickly. People were already looking in their direction. It would be quite intolerable if these two fools soured relations between the artillery officers and the cadets. A thought struck him.

'Surely you are arguing the same thing.'

Napoleon and Wesley turned to look at him with surprised expressions and Alexander's mind raced ahead as he framed an argument that might yet placate them both.

'It seems to me that you both accept the need for some form of leadership over the common people. Whether it's determined by birth and breeding, or by some measure of innate ability, it's an aristocracy either way. The lot of the common people will never change in the long run, Napoleon, even if your meritocrats replace the aristocrats. If they feel their time has come, they will only wrest control through violence, and the masses will die in the service of both sides before the matter is settled.Then all is as before…'

Napoleon frowned. 'So?'

'So the only course between the two positions is to accommodate each other. For the sake of the people.'

'I see. So those who nature has endowed with superior qualities are to feed off the scraps from the table of men that blind fate has placed in power?' Napoleon shook his head in contempt, while Wesley nodded his agreement.

'By all means reward them,' said the Englishman, 'as long as they know their place, and don't attempt to change things. My God! Can you imagine a nation run by a crowd of intellectuals?'

Napoleon gave him an arch look. 'I take it you were never an outstanding scholar?'

'Well, sir,' Wesley flushed, 'no. But there are far more important measures of a man.'

'Indeed,' Napoleon replied. 'And nothing quite so irrelevant as the matter of his origins.'

Wesley sat forward in his chair, drawing his feet back in preparation to stand. At that moment Fitzroy's voice boomed out from the far side of the room.

'Gentlemen! Please be upstanding for the director and his wife.'