Over the following months the new ensign became a source of considerable interest to the men and officers at the barracks as he wasted no opportunity to learn more about the men, the equipment and the organisation of the British Army. It was the latter that perplexed Arthur most. Rather than being left to run its own affairs the army was thoroughly caught up in a web of official hierarchies. The Treasury was responsible for the commissariat that supplied the 73rd's food and transport needs; the army's medical services were overseen by the Surgeon General's office; the troops were paid through the office of the Paymaster General; camp supplies were organised by the Storekeeper General and the Master General of Ordnance was responsible for the upkeep of the barracks. If ever the regiment should go on campaign then the officials of the Quartermaster General would be added to lines of records that caught the regiment in a tangle of bureaucracy that would have instantly broken the nerve of a more dedicated adjutant than Captain Braithwaite.

'Imagine what would happen if ever we went into battle, young Wesley,' he complained one day. 'Daren't fire a single volley for fear of unleashing an avalanche of paperwork. I sometimes wonder if those johnnies in Whitehall aren't secretly working for a foreign power intent on sabotaging our ability to fight.'

If the men of the regiment were impressed by the new officer, his behaviour came as a revelation to his family. So much so that Richard even provided his brother with a private income of one hundred and twenty-five pounds a year to subsidise his meagre pay. At the same time Richard continued to press his political friends to advance Arthur's career.

Then in November, a letter arrived at the officers' mess and was presented to Arthur as he sat down to lunch with the other officers of the regiment. Chewing on a small hunk of fresh-baked bread Arthur broke the wafer and opened the letter.

'Good Lord,' he mumbled.

Captain Braithwaite glanced up. 'What is it, Wesley?'

'Well, it seems I'm to be appointed an aide-de-camp to the new viceroy of Ireland, with the rank of lieutenant.'

'Lucky man. That'll mean an extra two shillings a day. And a new regiment.' Braithwaite crumpled his napkin. 'Confound it, man! That'll mean having to find another ensign for the 73rd.You might have told me about this before.'

Arthur raised the letter. 'Sir, this is the first I knew about it. My brother has arranged it.'

'Your brother? Can't have bloody relatives making a man's career for him. Does he do this sort of thing often?'

'You can't imagine,' Arthur smiled wearily.

'Still, eh? Ireland. Dublin Castle is where you'll be. But, of course, I was forgetting.' Braithwaite thrust his fork in Arthur's direction. 'You're from Ireland. An Irishman. I imagine it'll be just like going home, eh?'

Arthur stiffened. 'Sir, being born in Ireland no more makes me an Irishman than being born in a barn makes one a horse.' Then he smiled. 'But it is a home of sorts.'

Back to Ireland. It was over eight years since he had left. His mind filled with memories, flashes of images of Dangan, Dr Buckleby, his father awkwardly swiping at a shuttlecock in the great hall… So long ago, it seemed. When he returned to the island, it would be as a very different person from the boy who had left it so reluctantly all those years ago.

Chapter 36

France, 1786

The cannon trials at the arsenal at Nantes proved to be an interesting diversion for Napoleon. Nearly every other country in Europe was equipped with heavier calibre guns. One of the generals at the Ministry of War had decided that the army needed to investigate the possibility of re-equipping the artillery to match the wider standard. Of course, such an undertaking was expensive and a number of foundries had been asked to submit cannon for testing. For nearly two weeks Napoleon and over a hundred other officers of various ranks from across the army observed the submitted weapons being put through their paces.

The sampled weapons performed well enough, particularly a gun designed to be drawn by a team of horses for swift deployment on the battlefield. Napoleon was immediately intrigued by the possibilities of such a weapon. Even though the artillery officers were impressed by the weapons on offer, the cavalry and infantry officers were not. Any programme to replace the existing weapons would be bound to result in less expenditure on the other elements of the army.With no agreement possible, the trials were concluded and everyone returned to his unit.

Napoleon quickly grew accustomed to life in the garrison town of Valence. The daily round of duties became less onerous as he became more efficient in his dealings with the men and equipment.When he was off duty, the lack of any private income was a constant source of frustration. He simply could not afford to spend every evening drinking with Alexander and the other officers. This became something of a contentious issue between them, particularly following the promotion of an officer in another battalion. The man in question had no obvious military talent, but made up for it with an unparalleled pedigree that saw him rise to the rank of lieutenant colonel at an indecently young age.

'That's how it is,' Alexander shrugged, as they sat in the officers' mess of the regimental headquarters. 'There's no point in getting angry and bitter about it.'

'Why not?' Napoleon snapped back. 'It's absurd. And it's wrong.'

'Wrong?'

'Yes.' Napoleon leaned forward in his chair. 'And this is not about jealousy, before you throw that into the argument. It's about simple justice and – more importantly – it's about what's good for the army.'

'Really? Would Lieutenant Buona Parte care to explain why his judgement is superior to that of all the generals and ministers of His Majesty?'

Some of the officers in the mess were looking round at them and Napoleon was tempted to end the discussion there and then. But some devil within prompted him to continue, 'Mark my words, Alexander. This cannot be allowed to go on. And not just in the army. One day the aristocrats will have to renounce all their advantages and give other Frenchmen a chance to prove themselves.'

'And if they don't?'

'Then their powers will have to be taken from them.'

'Really?' Alexander laughed. 'Who by? The peasants? The factory owners? Or will it all come down to one Corsican with a particular zeal for reform, I wonder.'

Napoleon forced himself not to respond to the slight and returned to his original point. 'All I am saying is that the current situation is intolerable. It can't, and won't, continue. You have as much chance to read the news from Paris as I have. The people have had enough. All that matters for us is to decide which side we are on.'

'Side?' Alexander laughed.'You make it sound like this is going to lead to war.'

'It might.'

'In which case, which side will you take, Napoleon?'

It was a good question, and now that it had been asked Napoleon was not sure.True, his sympathies were with the people who aimed to modernise France; through them the dream of an independent Corsica might one day come true. On the other hand, he had sworn an oath to the King of France and saw that any fundamental change in the way France was governed might descend into chaos – or worse, the civil war that Alexander alluded to.

'Well, Napoleon?'

He shifted in his chair. 'I don't know. I'd have to wait and see what was at stake before I took sides.'

Alexander laughed again, and this time some of the other officers joined in.

'The regimental hothead has wilted!' someone called out, and the laughter intensified while a few others jeered. Napoleon flushed angrily. A year ago, he would have flown at them with clenched fists, but such behaviour was not tolerated in adult company. Besides, the risks of such a confrontation were far higher now. If he caused enough offence it was possible that one of the other officers might call him out. Napoleon was realistic enough to know that his chances of winning a duel by sword or pistol were not good. So he bit back on his anger, rose from his chair and thrust out his hand to Alexander.