Cover

Half Title

Dedication

All the quotes at the beginning of chapters are by the Roman writer and orator, Cicero, who lived between 106 BC and 43 BC.

Title Page

Contents

Contents

Chapter One: ‘The enemy is within the gates’

Chapter Two: ‘A traitor does not look like a traitor’

Chapter Three: ‘The life given us, by nature is short’

Chapter Four: ‘While there’s life, there’s hope’

Chapter Five: ‘Life is nothing without friendship’

Chapter Six: ‘The dead live on in the memory of the living’

Chapter Seven: ‘Laws are silent in times of war’

Chapter Eight: ‘Friendship is tested when bad luck strikes’

Chapter Nine: ‘The name of peace is sweet’

Chapter Ten: ‘Friendship increases happiness, and reduces misery’

Notes

Chapter One: ‘The enemy is within the gates’

Chapter One

‘The enemy is within the gates’

21 March 1918: Bray, Northern France

Aimee sped down the lane, her pigtail streaming out behind her. Dust clouds swirled up as her boots flew over the stony cart track and the cows near the hedges shied away. A mist hung over the fields and crept through the streets and wrapped itself around the chimneys like a scarf. The distant drumming of the thousands of guns to the east sounded louder and closer this morning.

Aimee skidded as she turned into the school gates and she tumbled through the door into the cool, dark hallway. The school cat, the colour of rust and ashes, jumped up from its seat outside the school office.

She threw open the classroom door and stood gasping to get her breath back. Master DuPont glared at her, his hand that held the chalk frozen in the air and his face as sour as green plums. ‘Aimee Fletcher, you are late.’

Aimee nodded and panted. ‘Yes, but...’

‘Again. What is it this time? Did your hen get its head stuck in the wire of the chicken shed? Or was it the cow today, kicking over the milk bucket? You have a different excuse every day. Maybe you found a mermaid in the horse trough and stopped for a chat?’

‘No, sir, but...’

‘You have been late three times this week and you must be punished.’ The teacher picked up a small book covered in green leather. ‘You will take this book by Cicero, the great Roman writer. You will stay behind after school and turn his wise Latin words into French.’

Aimee’s nut-brown face turned bright red. ‘Oh, I’ll like that.’

The teacher closed his tired eyes and sighed softly. ‘You will, too,’ he murmured.

‘I love Latin,’ Aimee went on. ‘I lie in bed at night and tell myself the old folk tales but I change the words into Latin for fun. The big bad wolf is lupus maximus malam...’

‘I know that,’ the teacher snapped. ‘Now sit at your desk. We have just started an English lesson.’

‘That’s not as much fun as Latin,’ Aimee argued.