Even though the 'chaise's wheels were large and reasonably well sprung they could do little to disguise the big potholes which jarred each man's spine; soon Ramage was just staring numbly at the countryside until, at Montreuil, they rattled over a bridge across a river which Louis said was the Canche. The name was vaguely familiar and Louis tried to provide clues. It flowed through Hesdin to its source somewhere near St Pol, he said. Hesdin? And then Ramage remembered: Agincourt was ten miles or so to the north-east and Crécy the same distance to the south-west. Crécy-en-Ponthieu, to give it the full name. Had the great forest nearby —which they would soon pass - fallen to the axe to supply the boatyards along the coast? Bonaparte would have no reason to be sentimental about Crécy, where the English longbow-men defeated the French cavalry in 1346 ...
At Nampont the horses were changed again and later, as they skirted the old forest, Ramage noticed that only slender saplings and undergrowth stretched as far as he could see. From Nouvion - barely five miles from the actual battlefield of Crécy, Louis told him - the land was flat and uninteresting until the Frenchman pointed to the outskirts of a small town ahead: Abbeville, he said, his voice flat and expressionless.
There were three gendarmes at the guardhouse covering the roads from Montreuil and Hesdin and, with pistols tucked in their belts, unshaven and cocked hats askew, they slouched over to the 'chaise. Two stood back while the third held out his hand for the documents, which Louis handed him with a polite greeting, answered by a non-committal grunt.
After a cursory look at the papers he muttered something to the other two men and went back to the guardhouse. Louis glanced at Ramage and nodded his head slightly, then climbed out of the carriage, followed by Ramage, who signalled to Stafford to stay where he was.
Almost at once there was a peremptory shout from the guardhouse. 'He wants all three of us,' Louis growled, and beckoned to Stafford. Inside the guardhouse there was a small, high desk behind which the gendarme was perched on a stool, his cocked hat now on a hook behind him and the papers spread open across the top of the desk, each held down by a small stone.
'Which of you is Citizen Peyrachon?'
Louis reached across to fold his two papers, jerking his head as if Ramage should not see them. 'I am Citizen Peyrachon, and you know better than to leave Committee papers lying around like that,' he snapped.
The effect on the gendarme was startling, and Ramage saw that even he lived in terror of the Committee of Public Safety. The man slid off the stool as though it had been kicked from under him, and with what seemed to be one single movement he had his hat on his head and was offering Louis his papers, placating a member of the secret police.
'Of course, Citizen!' he said hastily. 'I have not checked the papers of the other two but...'
'I vouch for them, but check their papers; you have your duty to perform,' Louis said sternly.
The man snatched the first passport. 'Citizen di Stefano?'
'I am Signor di Stefano,' Ramage said pompously.
The gendarme slid a piece of paper across the desk towards him and dipped a quill in a bottle of ink. 'Would you please sign your name?'
With a flourish Ramage wrote 'Gianfranco di Stefano,' and passed the pen to Stafford, who wrote his assumed name beneath with all the assurance of a skilled actor.
The gendarme straightened his hat and compared the signatures with those on the two remaining passports. He ran a finger down the travel documents, folded them all and handed them back to Louis. 'Cela suffit, Citoyen' he said, 'have a good journey.' Louis took the documents and with a curt grunt turned on his heel and walked back to the carriage, as if he had bestowed a favour on the gendarme.
The coachman whipped up the horses and the 'chaise clattered through the cobbled streets of Abbeville. It was a wretched and gloomy town, depressing in its squalor. Many of the houses were wooden and bare of paint, with planks hanging down loose and obviously too rotten to hold any more nails. A number of houses had their windows and doors boarded up. The whole town looked as though half its inhabitants had fled several years ago at the rumour of an approaching invader and never returned. And that, Ramage realized, remembering Joseph Le Bon, was almost what happened; except that the enemy had been their own people, and Abbeville had been ravaged by fratricide, not war.
As they reached the square Louis pointed up at a long balcony which ran the length of the first floor of a house, and then imitated a woman primping her hair and adjusting her hat, and Ramage knew that it was from there that the women of the town had watched the execution which had been delayed for their benefit by Joseph Le Bon. Louis stared ahead as the carriage passed the place where his wife had been beheaded.
Once through the square the 'chaise swung inland after running parallel with the coast for eighty kilometres and followed the valley of the River Somme. Nine miles beyond Abbeville they reached Ailly, and while the horses were being changed Louis pointed out the Red Cap of Liberty perched on top of the weathercock, which swung in the wind a point either side of south-west, reminding Ramage of a patient schoolmaster shaking his head in reproof.
A few miles farther on Ramage and Stafford saw their second symbol of the Revolution: Flixecourt, a village otherwise indistinguishable from most of the others on the Paris road, boasted its own Tree of Liberty. The damp air - probably helped by night mists from the River Somme - had rusted the metal trunk and branches, as though Liberty at Flixecourt had passed the autumn of its days and was now well into winter. Louis laughed bitterly at Ramage's comment and said: 'It began rusting the day the blacksmith finished making it!'
The coachman reined in at Picquigny for the last change of horses before Amiens and, to Ramage's surprise, began cursing the postmaster, swearing he would never reach Amiens before the curfew with such spavined and broken-winded beasts. Louis climbed out to add his voice to the protest. Two gendarmes strolled over to listen and were promptly involved by Louis, who invited them to note that the postmaster's villainy would be the cause of them reaching Amiens after the curfew, but they refused to become involved. With that Louis reached inside the 'chaise and took out his papers, beckoning to the gendarmes. There was a whispered conversation, with much nodding towards Ramage, who caught the phrase 'Committee of Public Safety,' and a few moments later both men walked over to the postmaster and told him peremptorily to provide good horses. The postmaster nodded sullenly and went back to the stable, signalling the coachman to follow him. 'Choose for yourself,' he mumbled, 'I cannot help it if the horses they provide are broken-winded. It happens to all of us at a certain age, and these horses are no exception.'
An hour later, with the sun setting behind them, they saw Amiens Cathedral high above the city, the sun's last rays turning the stone of the tall spires into pinnacles of pink marble. And then, with an almost startling suddenness as the sun dropped below the horizon, the city was in shadow; the Cathedral spires became menacing and stark grey fingers towering over narrow streets. Somewhere below them would be jail cells and police headquarters, guillotines and Trees of Liberty. Although France was at war, Ramage knew by now that the enemy the French people were still incited to fight in almost daily exhortations was not the English but almost every aspect of their lives before the Revolution: anything connected with the ancien régime, and a lot more besides.