The Dream Maker Read Online Free

which his armor had been designed to make him invulnerable—the hammered steel that went to make up the suit, the shining paint on the shield, the thick fabric covering the horse. A man in simple clothing on an ordinary horse would not have had the fabulous powers I granted this knight.
    I was, alas, doomed to dream, for it seemed impossible that I might one day leave behind my station as a simple burgher, something I had only just begun to be aware of.
    My father took me more and more often to the Duke’s palace when he had business there. He did not hope to make a craftsman of me, because I was extremely clumsy. He saw me, rather, as a tradesman. I loved the atmosphere of these visits—the rooms with their high ceilings, the guards at every door, the luxurious wall hangings, the ladies in their brightly-colored gowns. I loved the jewels in their necklaces, the shine of the pommels on the gentlemen’s hips, the light-colored wood of the parquet floors. My interest increased still further when my father explained, during a long wait in the antechamber of one of the Duke’s relatives, that the very particular perfume in these halls derived from diluted essences from the Levant.
    These visits to the palace, however, had quashed for good any hope I might have of entering their world. My father was treated with despicable scorn, and he tried hard to teach me how to put up with it. In his opinion, it was an honor in itself to sell something to a prince. Nothing was too good for such a customer. Every gift, every effort, the nights spent stitching, cutting, designing models—none of it had any meaning or value until a rich customer voiced his satisfaction. I remembered the lesson and accepted our fate. I learned to find my courage in renunciation. When we left the palace, after a visit where my father had been coarsely treated, I was proud of him. I would take his hand as we walked home. He was trembling, and I now know it was from humiliation and rage. However, in my eyes, the patience he had shown was the only form of bravery allowed us, since we would never be called on to bear noble weapons.
    Among my mates I maintained a distant reserve, following my father’s example. I rarely spoke, I agreed with what they said, and I played a modest part in the adventures that others conceived. They tended to scorn me, until something happened that changed everything.
    In the month of August of the year I turned twelve, we had finished preparing for the siege of the town. We were indeed surrounded. The oldest residents recalled the English sacking half a century earlier. Stories of those ghastly deeds were making the rounds. Children in particular delighted in them. Éloi impressed us every day with horrible tales that customers left behind in his father’s shop along with their change. He had set himself up as our captain because, according to him, under these new circumstances we were now a body of troops like any other. He had great ambitions for this little army, starting with procuring weapons. In the utmost secrecy he organized an expedition. For several days he held clandestine meetings, sharing his knowledge and his orders with the members of the group, the better to keep control of it. Shortly before the great day, one of his muttered conversations must have been about me, because everyone but me took part. Éloi came at last to deliver the verdict: I could be one of them.
    Under normal circumstances, summer was a time of freedom for the schoolboys of the Sainte-Chapelle. The war was yet another reason to set us free. We spent our days together, idle, sitting outside our houses. We were not allowed out at night, and the soldiers on watch would arrest anyone wandering in the streets. Therefore we would have to carry off the exploit in broad daylight. Éloi chose a hot, stormless afternoon, conducive to siesta. He led us down into the tanners’ neighborhood, and from there, by crossing a