Napoleon nodded down at the courtyard. 'Who do they think they're fooling?'

'Pardon?'

'Fencing lessons… What use is a rapier on the battlefield? All that expensive training will stand for nothing when they come up against a musket.'

'Napoleon, mastering the sword is nothing to do with the battlefield. It is simply a requirement of being an officer and a gentleman,' Alexander said wearily. 'We've talked about this.'

'I still believe that if a man is trained for war, then he should be trained for war. This… this armed ballet is simply an affectation. It is out of date and serves no purpose.'

'Serves no purpose?' Alexander raised his eyebrows. 'Why, of course it does. It is one of the arts that marks us out from the common rabble.'

'Us?' Napoleon's dark eyes fixed on his. 'Does that include me?'

'Of course,' Alexander replied quickly, but not convincingly. 'You're an officer.'

'But not quite one of the gentry. Not the son of a count, like you and the others.'

Alexander stared at him for a moment, fighting back his irritation. 'When do you propose to desist with that line of thought, Napoleon? You cannot bear a grudge against the world you live in for ever. You have to change. Don't be so… sensitive.'

'Why should I change? Why can't the world change and let men of talent flourish? Regardless of their origins. I tell you, Alexander, the old order is strangling those with ability, while it hands out all the rewards to the witless sons of inbred aristocrats.' Napoleon stopped himself and forced a smile. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'Inbred aristocrats like me?' Alexander stood back a pace and lowered his plate on to a drinks table. 'Is that it?'

'Of course not, Alexander,' Napoleon laughed. 'Do you really think I would befriend an idiot?'

'No,' Alexander replied quietly. 'That would be beneath you.'

The two men stared at each other in strained silence, before Napoleon's lips curled into a faint smile. 'Now who's being sensitive?'

'Gentlemen!'

They turned and saw Fitzroy striding soundlessly across the carpet towards them. Behind him followed a dozen more cadets, including the languid youth with the newspaper that Napoleon had seen earlier. Fitzroy sensed the tension between the two artillery officers and a look of concern flickered on to his face.

'Gentlemen, I trust there's no problem. The food…?'

'The food is excellent,' Des Mazis smiled.

'Then?'

'We were watching your colleagues fencing and merely had a difference of opinion, that's all. Now, if we may be acquainted with your companions?'

'But of course.'

The artillery officers and the cadets faced each other and bowed as Fitzroy introduced each man. Napoleon's lips tightened as his surname was mispronounced. If he was to live the rest of his life amongst Frenchmen then he might have to change that; perhaps alter the spelling to render it easier for others to get their tongues round. The moment of preoccupation meant that he did not catch the names of his hosts and he cursed himself for the lapse of attention.

Once the introductions were over the cadets hurried over to the buffet and began to have their plates filled by the two footmen. Only the cadet with the newspaper remained, and he looked at Napoleon with a curious expression, then extended his spare hand.

'Lieutenant Buona Parte, wasn't it?'

Napoleon nodded and shook hands.

'Buona Parte,' the English cadet repeated the name accurately, then continued, 'An unusual name, sir. It's not French?'

'Corsican,' Napoleon smiled. 'But since I was born after the island was purchased by France, then I find I am French after all.'

'Quite. Though I dare say some narrow-minded people are inclined to use that as an excuse to look down on you,' the cadet responded with feeling.

Napoleon was surprised that there was only the faintest trace of an accent in the cadet's French. That, and the last comment sparked his curiosity. 'I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name.'

'It's Wesley, sir. Arthur Wesley. Of Dangan Castle in Meath.'

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.'