The Dream Maker Read Free Page B

understand the politics in detail, we thought we had at least grasped some of its inner workings.
    Rumor from the countryside had it that the Burgundians were coming closer. On her way to see her parents our serving girl happened upon a company of soldiers. Several villages around their own had been burned and pillaged. The poor girl wept as she told us of her family’s misfortune. She needed to confide in someone, so I let her talk.
    While these events had happened very near to us, they aroused in me not fear but rather intense curiosity. I wanted to know everything about the soldiers and, above all, the knights. Our serving girl’s stories were very disappointing in that respect. The plunder in the countryside had been committed by vulgar ruffians; at no time did her parents see any real soldiers of the kind I had imagined.
    My passion for the Levant meant I had heard many stories about the crusades. At the Sainte-Chapelle I got to know an old man who was a deacon, and who in his younger days had gone to the Holy Land to fight.
    Thus, I shared the passion of many of my companions, although it was on the basis of a deep misunderstanding. They were yielding to their interest in weapons, horses, jousts, and every sort of violent deed or exploit considered prestigious among young men. For me, chivalry was rather a vehicle to the enchanted world of the Levant. If I had known of any other way to be transported to Arabia, it would have been equally fascinating. At the time, I was convinced that the only way to get there and to vanquish all the obstacles on the way would be astride a leather-clad steed, wearing a suit of armor with a sword at my side.
    There were a dozen or so of us, all children of the same age, born in the same neighborhood of town-dwelling parents. The offspring of servants or peddlers occasionally joined us; the sons of noblemen ignored us. I was somewhat taller than the others but I had a fragile constitution. I spoke little and never really let myself go when playing. Part of me remained aloof. My detached attitude must surely have seemed superior to them. My presence in the group was tolerated. However, when the time came for secrets or naughty stories, my friends arranged to leave me out.
    We had a leader. He was a fat boy called Éloi, a baker’s son. His curly, coarse black hair made me think of sheep’s wool. His physical strength was already impressive, but his power over the group was principally due to the fear his verbal boldness and bragging inspired. He was sure of victory before even beginning to fight, simply by virtue of his reputation.
    At the end of June the Burgundians were at the walls of the town. We had to prepare for a siege. Herds were hastily brought within the walls. Every square was covered with barrels filled with salt meat, wine, flour, and oil.
    Summer came early and was miserable. At the beginning of July the storms began. Pounding rain caused the drainpipes to overflow, adding to the chaos and panic. To the delight of our gang of kids, the streets filled with armed men, who began to prepare our defense. The court of Duke John had always paid more attention to art and pleasure than to combat. Nobles never went around dressed for war. Now the threat hanging over the town changed everything. Noblemen once again adopted the accoutrements that, in a bygone era, had signaled that their ancestors were entitled to the rank of count or baron. And one day, for the first time in my life, I saw a knight up close.
    He was riding at a trot up the paved street leading to the cathedral. I ran to his side. It seemed to me that if I jumped up to ride pillion with him he would take me all the way to Arabia, to the land of eternal sun, with the vivid colors of the leopard. The horse was covered with a gilt-embroidered blanket, armor-clad feet in the stirrups. Inexplicably, I felt nothing for the man hiding beneath this carapace; what fascinated me more than anything was the way in