More often than not, road tolls collected for road construction were not actually used to build roads.
Breathing in the scent of fresh paint, Georgiana looked away from the map.
Clearly, the ancient Romans had built their roads solidly, and the barracks in the stone castle were sturdy too, requiring no money for repairs. That was how this headquarters for gatherings of senior officers had come into being.
Bolbec was not Paris, with its glittering nightlife. There were no entertainment venues, no church, but there was a large cemetery, a market, carriage repair workshops, and blacksmiths' shops. Whatever the Middle Ages had looked like, this place looked much the same.
This area still used beacon towers, while northern France and Ghent were already using the telegraph.
Honestly, staying in this house was much more comfortable than last night. Here, she could feel the presence of civilization. The world outside reminded her of novels written by Lockhart; either Werewolves or vampires might appear at any time.
When Napoleon was in Egypt, he had even organized opera performances. She doubted these officers would do the same.
Last year, french troops stationed in Turin had attacked a battery guarded by italians, one flying the french flag. The whole of Europe knew about it.
They were already like this without drinking. Transporting alcohol and brewing equipment here was clearly a bad idea.
Brittany had only been peaceful for a short while. Though it was not completely peaceful, these people simply could not sit still.
The countryside might be peaceful, but it was peaceful enough to make one feel suffocated. Only when something happened did life feel fresh.
Bonaparte had once said that what he liked about the army was that at least they knew not to ride the general's horse.
"Damn bastard," she said,