year, but move to coast when France conquers. Zey change name to be more French, and, were always Catholique. End in ze quiet village Le Verdon sur Mer, away from trouble? And, even if Medoc an' Aquitaine is French, les Anglais come for wines, trade, ze claret, which you Anglais must 'ave, hein?' Brasseur said with a wry chuckle. 'We are trade wiz ships coming an' going, last-minute purchases. Enfin, take up ze fishing, wi {small trade in Medoc wines, which are ze bon marche, not like Bordeaux merchant.'
'A quiet little place, indeed,' Lewrie carefully began to ask, 'at least 'til the war began. And, your army began to build the battery on the point.'
'Ah, mais oui,' Brasseur grumbled, 'is no more ze nice, quiet. Noisy worker from Bordeaux, chip-chip-chip on stone, dawn to dark, an' ze mule 'orse, an' ox make so much stink an' merde, oh la!'
'You're quite a way from Le Verdon this morning, though, sir,' Lewrie pointed out (rather cagily, he thought to himself). 'Do you always fish this far from home waters? '
'Oh, we 'ave more zan enough, before worker and soldier comes,' Brasseur breezily dismissed, 'ze mussel, s'rimp an' lobster, ze clam? Wiz zo many now 'oo wish, ze beds grow thin, an' I must sail far out for big fish, an'…'ow you call, poach ze beds of La Palmyre for ze oyster, lobster, an' mussel. 'Ave you ever had ze mouclade, Capitaine, ze fresh mussel in white wine? Mmm, mag-nifiqueV Brasseur said, with a kiss of his bunched fingers as he made yummy sounds. 'O la, chatsl' he cried as he espied Toulon and Chalky, who had come to see the new cabin guest, slinking almost to scratching range. 'Boris amis, les chats. 'Ave some, moi. What fisherman does not, hein? Hawn hawn hawnf Id, minets… ici, venei,' Brasseur coaxed, puckering his lips and making 'kiss-kiss' enticements, even essaying a meow. And Toulon and Chalky got up enough courage to sniff at his trousers. After that, it was instant adoration, for the man's clothes did bear a faint reek of fish.
'The big black-and-white'un is Toulon. Where I got him,' Lewrie told his guest, to answer Brasseur's raised brow. 'In '94, at the siege. The littl'un, that's Chalky… Crayeux? Came off a French brig in the West Indies in '97.'
'When young man, I am in West Indies,' Brasseur declared with a broad grin of pleased surprise as he stroked both cats, who found the aromas on his fingers as tantalising as his trouser legs. 'Was in ze Navy wiz Admiral, Comte de Grasse. Battle of ze Chesapeake… zen at Yorktown. Malheureux… unfortunate, was axissi at ze Battle of ze Saintes, where you' Admiral Rodney defeat us.' '/was at Yorktown!' Lewrie exclaimed in like enthusiasm to meet a veteran from the opposite side of his early adventures. 'We got out the night before the surrender. So, you were French Navy,' Lewrie said, with an idle thought in the back of his mind that the man might still be.
'To end of Americain war, oui, Capitaine. Come 'ome, sail wiz merchant trade a few year, but… I visit Le Verdon, 'ave ze rencontre wiz jeune fille I know of old, we marry, an'… she wish zat I no more go away so long, so… give up sea, buy boat, an' fish wiz mon father.
'Brother a moi,' Brasseur said, turning sad, 'was Navy, aussi. Stay in, make…'ow you call.. .petty ojficier? Helas, at ze Battle of Nile, nous a quitte. .,'e is gone away from us.'
'My condolences for your loss, m'sieur,' Lewrie dutifully told Brasseur, topping off the man's brandy.
'Was time I think to go hack to Navy,' Brasseur said, 'when ze Revolution just begin, but…' He heaved a sigh and stuck his nose in his glass for a deep sip. 'Many good people 'ere in Medoc are for ze Assembly, end of King Louis's rule, an' become free Republicains like America, but zen…'
Brasseur laid out a litany of woe, as the initial high hopes of a reasoned, logical, and bloodless call for change had become a revolution, turning more violent and capriciously murderous with each passing month. Locals in the Medoc, in Saintonge cross the Gironde, were torn 'twixt monarchy or its complete eradication. The provinces of Vendee and Charente, not so far north of Medoc, had risen in counter-rebellion in favour of the King, in defence of the Catholic religion, which the revolutionaries had banned and stripped of its riches, which brought blood, murder, plunder, and no-quarter combat, and the people of Medoc had shivered in dread of their own neighbours as the armies of the Directory marched closer, with their drum-head courts and guillotines in tow like siege-artillery. After King Louis and Queen Marie Antoinette were executed in '93, and the madmen of the Terror had begun to lop the heads off anyone even slightly ennobled (or who had worked for the monarchy, even serving girls who had styled the hair of the rich and titled!), the Medoc had turned on its own, and long-term spites, grudges, envies, or debts had turned to accusations of being monarchist reactionaries. True enthusiasm for the Revolution had gone away, replaced by fear for one's own safety, and dread of neighbours!
Then had come conscription to raise the world's first enormous army of citizen- soldiers from every class, the levee en masse, so the frontiers could be defended against what had felt like all the rest of Europe.
The levee had swept up Brasseur's eldest son, his younger brother, and both his in- laws' sons. One died in Alsace under Kellerman, one died of the Black Plague near Gaza under Napoleon Bonaparte, one had come home half-blind and crippled from Bonaparte's first Italian Campaign, and… Brasseur had not heard from his son, posted on the Savoian border, in months, and feared the worst.
'May be good, zat zose fools in Paris 'ave been swept aside,' Brasseur morosely stated. 'All pomp an' silliness, ze men of ze Directory. Revolution counter-coup, fighting among zemselves? Ze new calendar, which make no sense. Centimetres, metres, an' kilometres, ze gram, centigram, an' kilogram bah! Still 'ave church in village, still 'ave priest, but, when fort is finish, an' garrison come, will zey allow notre church stay open? Or, turn it to Temple of Reason !' Brasseur sneered.
He thought it was good that General Napoleon Bonaparte was now First Consul, after his successful coup d'etat that had removed the tyrannical and illogical Directory. Maybe Bonaparte would abandon his military career and sue for peace, then concentrate on righting many wrongs to set France to rights. But Brasseur also thought that the crowned heads of Prussia, Austria, and Great Britain could not tolerate revolutionary, Republican, and successfully militant France… not for very long, if they wished to keep their own citizens in line and docile. Too many cast-iron Liberty Trees had been set up across Europe. With America, now France, to emulate…
'Peut-etre, Capitaine, what 'as 'appen in France will be good.'
'So long as France doesn't feel duty-bound to spread revolution round the globe,' Lewrie countered.
' Cork is out of bottle, peut-etre?' Brasseur rejoined, smiling in a world-weary manner. 'An', peut-etre, France must be beaten, for example, 'ow not to become ze Republic.'
Here now, that sounds intriguin'! Lewrie thought; what's this man offerin ?
'How so, Capitaine Brasseur?' he asked.
'Do ze Dutch need guillotines to be ze Batavian Republic? Or, ze Piedmon-tese, Venetians, ze ozzer states in Italy? Zey depose ze royalty, but not behead, or purge zeir peoples, m'sieur. If France is no more aggressive, if France 'as more care for things at home… if France 'as to look West to protect ze coast, au lieu de… uhm, 'ow you call…?'
'Instead of?' Lewrie supplied, wishing he could cross fingers, for his French was awful.
'Ah, oui, instead of, ah… looking to expand east, comprendre?'
'Perhaps a flea-bite along the Biscay coast, every now and then, a repeat of the Franco-British expedition on the Vendee coast,' Lewrie carefully posed, 'might keep Bonaparte looking over his shoulder, not looking for new
