Read Online Ramage's Devil by Dudley Pope - Free Book Online Page B

You were discharged and were making your way home when you met a young lady in Caen and you both fell in love …”
    Gilbert tapped the paper which had the anchor symbol and the heading “Ministry of the Marine and Colonies” and, like the others, was a printed form with the blanks filled in. “You are of military age, so you will have to show this everywhere.”
    â€œAnd you? Have you the correct documents?” Ramage asked. “You aren’t taking any extra risks by coming with us?”
    Gilbert shook his head. “No, because I have all the necessary papers to go shopping in Brest. I am well known at the
barrières.
You have told madame about the difference between foreigners, and French people passing the
barrières?
”
    â€œNo. We’ve been busy making these clothes fit and I would prefer you to explain. My experience in Republican France is now several years old: I’m sure much has changed.”
    Gilbert sighed. “To leave the
ancien régime
and go to England … then to return to Republican France. Now it is the guillotine, the tree of liberty,
gendarmes
every few miles, documents signed and countersigned … no man can walk or ride to the next town to have a glass of wine with his brother without a
passeport
… few men dare quarrel with a neighbour for fear of being denounced out of spite, for here the courts listen to the charge, not the defence—”
    â€œThe
barrières,
” Ramage reminded him.
    â€œAh yes, sir. Well, first there is the curfew from sunset to sunrise: everyone must be in his own home during the hours of darkness. To travel—well, one has the documents you have seen. You need plenty of change—at every
barrière
there’s a toll. The amount varies, depending on the distance from the last
barrière,
because they are not at regular intervals.”
    â€œA large toll?” Ramage asked.
    â€œNo, usually between two and twenty
sous.
It wouldn’t matter if the money was spent on the repair of the roads—which is what it is supposed to be for—but no one empties even a bucket of earth into a pothole. But luckily we have our own gig because travelling by postchaise is very expensive. Before the Revolution a postchaise from here to Paris was about two hundred and fifty
livres;
now it is five hundred. No highwaymen, though; that’s one triumph of the Revolution!”
    â€œHighwaymen!” Sarah exclaimed. “You mean that France now has none?”
    â€œVery few, ma’am, and the reason is not particularly to our advantage. We now have many more mounted
gendarmes
stopping honest travellers, and instead of money and jewellery they demand documents. Truly ‘money or your life’ has now become ‘documents or your life.’ So as well as the
gendarmes
at the regular
barrières,
there are ones who appear unexpectedly on horseback, so no one dares move without papers. But,” he added, tapping the side of his nose, “there are so many different documents and so many signatures that forgery is not difficult and false papers unlikely to be discovered.”
    â€œHow many
barrières
are there between here and Brest?” Ramage asked.
    â€œThree on the road, and then one at the Porte de Landerneau, the city gate on the Paris road. We could avoid it by going in along the side roads, but it is risky: if we were caught we would be arrested at once.”
    â€œWhereas our documents are good enough to pass the Porte without trouble?”
    â€œExactly, sir. Now, if I may be allowed to remind you of a few things. As you know, the common form of address is ‘Citizen,’ or ‘Citizeness.’ Everyone is equal—at least in their lack of manners. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ are now relics of the
ancien régime.
Rudeness is usually a man’s (or woman’s) way of showing he or she is your equal—although they really mean