The Dream Maker (12 page)

It was during the turbulence of war, on behalf of his captain, and no one held it against him. He had followed a gang leader and joined the army of King Charles. He was seen in Orléans when the Maid Joan reconquered the town, and he was present at the king's consecration in Reims. The very next day, as if he found it loathsome to serve a man who was now a legitimate monarch, as if he could only find his place in resistance and lost causes, he left the army. It was rumored that he had returned to our parts. He started a wine business and sent several convoys to his former companions-at-arms to quench their thirst. Then he disappeared. Guillaume, who had remained his friend—and this was one of the first instances where he would prove himself useful—had reason to believe that Jean had gone to work for a mad lord in the region of Lyon by the name of Villandrando. He had been wounded in the thigh and come back to the Berry to recover. He lived under the protection of the lords of Aubigny, for whom he rendered services too shameful to mention. I went there to meet him. Guillaume had warned him of my visit. I expected to find an
écorcheur
and, to be honest, I was afraid that the drink and debauchery so common to men of war would have ruined him.

To my great satisfaction, I found a man who was in perfect health. He was a head taller than I. His body, in his close-fitting smock, was slim and muscular. A life in the outdoors had tanned his skin and on his cheeks were the shining traces of a blond beard. The wound in his leg was almost healed and he limped only slightly. All that remained of the child I had known were his blue eyes, full of joy in that way of people who suffer and who are troubled in body or soul. I knew that the first minutes of our meeting would be decisive: either we would find we had become strangers, and I would have nothing to expect from him; or, as I had imagined, our former friendship would be intact, and he would be the right man for me.

A servant woman hovered nearby. Jean spoke to her gently and I saw this as a favorable omen. Nothing would have disturbed me more than to find him gruff in manner, the way soldiers can often be.

“So,” I said, “you have become a warrior?”

“It is what I wanted, Jacques, it is what I wanted,” he replied pensively, with a constant smile in his sad eyes.

He described at length his time fighting with the French troops. Only the noblemen had a role to play; they decided everything, even if it meant imposing their mistakes. The others were mere carcasses, fattened for the sacrifice.

Unlike other commoners, whom I would meet later in life, he had no liking for the art of war.

I understood that Jean had been looking for a leader and had never found one. He told me about the siege of Orléans, the only fray where he had been able to use his energy to the full. He had fought under Joan of Arc, about whom he knew nothing other than that she claimed to have been sent by a God in whom he did not believe. He had seen her in the camp when they were removing her armor; he had seen her thin, bare leg, and she had lowered her eyes. I understood that he would have been capable of following her to his death. He liked leaders who were weaker than him. With anyone else, sooner or later he would direct his violence against them; he left so as not to tear them to pieces.

I sat down opposite him, to seem even smaller, and spread my white hands on the table. My nails were always well groomed, and I had been told I had a woman's hands. Now I was disarmed, and as I sought to have a hold on him, these hands signified my weakness.

He came closer and grabbed them. His face lit up and I thought I could see tears welling from his eyes.

“Jacques,” he said, “Providence has brought you to me.”

Our childhood friendship was intact, the same friendship that had defined our roles once and for all. He was ready to follow me, now and forever. I had won him over.

 

*

 

The next two years were strange. Inside myself, I knew exactly where I was going, and never doubted the success of my undertaking. And yet, viewed from without, my situation was most precarious. I had been to prison. Then, with no explanation, I had left everything behind to go to the Levant. My only excuse might have been that I had gone there to make my fortune; I had come home penniless. I was over thirty years of age, and I had accomplished nothing on my own. It was not that anyone ever called me a “good for nothing” to my face, but I could sense that the words lingered in the thoughts of those around me—with the exception of Macé, who, in her silent and absent way, always trusted me. She sincerely hoped for my success, even if I suspect she had always known that success would take me away from her. She told the children marvelous stories where I played the hero. But my son Jean was already thirteen, and he could judge for himself. And when, in spite of his natural reserve, he asked me questions about my life, I had the distinct impression that he had his doubts about me.

My father-in-law was aging well. Although he complained incessantly, deep down he was happy that he was still—perhaps for a long time yet—the one on whom the family's survival depended. I was sufficiently sure of my ground not to fear his judgment. I just wanted him to agree one last time to lend me the money I needed to launch the enterprise I had in mind. I gave up trying to convince him of the legitimacy of my endeavor. No matter the argument I set forth, his mind was made up: he expected nothing but failure on my part. I asked Macé to intercede on my behalf, and at last he yielded.

We rented a warehouse in the tanners' district. Our first meeting was held in the middle of June on a day of extreme heat. The smell of the hides came in through the open casements and we understood why the rent we had obtained was so cheap. Around a cheap pinewood table, sitting far back for fear of splinters, Guillaume, Jean, and I surrounded the young notary who had drawn up our first contract. We signed it, and the lawyer, who had been holding his breath ever since he arrived in the room, hurried away, choking. Our meeting lasted until late at night. Jean went out to fetch some wine and supper. I did almost all the talking. All the notes, references, and ideas I had stored up during my months of travel now emerged all of a sudden. Time had put them in order and given them a shape. My companions adopted the project as it stood. Their only questions were of a practical nature. Who would do what? And how? And with what means? The complementary nature of their characters immediately guided the distribution of tasks: Guillaume would take care of the administration, paperwork, and accounts; Jean would be the one to take to the road, to convince our partners, and, if need be, to break down barriers.

What was the nature of our business? Quite simply, it was a trading house. It would specialize in the Levant, yet be open to all of Europe. At first glance, this was nothing original. After these years of war and insecurity, to want to buy and sell in faraway places was simply proof of honest optimism. I had taken notes all through my journey. I had recorded the names and addresses of all those who might be useful to us. The Corsican ruffian who had robbed us after the shipwreck had not found it worth his while to make off with my scribbling. In addition to the notes regarding the activities of Mediterranean ports, there was a vast amount of information I had collected during my less glorious years. Starting with my father-in-law, then Ravand, and even in the depths of the jails where I had been confined, I had been constantly listening, questioning, and learning.

Now it all made sense. Instead of conceiving a modest activity which fortune, perhaps, might gradually enhance, my plan was to establish, right from the start, a network on the scale of France, the Mediterranean, and the Levant. If I wanted my catch to be miraculous, I must first spread my nets very wide, very quickly. This would require an enormous effort of organization, and my two comrades understood this. Unlike the ordinary merchants who had offered to go into business with me in hopes of gaining from my experience, Jean and Guil­laume were not prosperous burghers. They had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Above all, they were of a nature to be exalted by the sheer size of the task.

The only time I feared they might lose heart was when I revealed the exact amount I had at my disposal to start the business. But I had foreseen their objections. We would not proceed like other houses, opening branches or appointing representatives. We would only ever sign provisional contracts, contingent on a current transaction and terminating with that transaction. If there were people who wished to join us and act as agents in the towns where we traded, they were free to do so, but they must not count on us to pay them. They would find compensation in the business they brought to us. In short, the most important thing was to establish our name wherever we went, to inspire trust, to build a reputation that would, at first, be largely overrated. As the number of those willing to place their trust in us grew, our reputation would become solid. Jean was very enthusiastic about this aspect of the business. He was someone who loved to talk, charm, and show off, and this was a part made to measure for him. He began describing the wardrobe he would need and I commended all his suggestions. I had traveled humbly, the better to observe those around me, but I knew that when the time came to implement our system, we would often be required to forego modesty, and seek to impress by any means at our disposal.

Therefore we agreed that Guillaume would leave quickly to settle in Montpellier, where he would organize the expeditions to the Levant. To begin with, we would have to rely on those merchants already trading, and use their ships. As soon as Jean had his gentleman's wardrobe, he would head for Flanders, which belonged to the Duke of Burgundy. He would see if it was possible for us to import cloth. Part of his shipment would be sold there and then, in the king's territory, the profit of which would go to finance the transport of what remained to the east. As soon as he could, Jean would go to Germany and even to Rouen, the last region in France that still belonged to the English, in quest of the goods on the list we had drawn up together. Then he must head for Lyon without delay, where important fairs were held, in order to secure the cooperation of a local agent.

Jean emphasized the need to recruit an escort to assist him in these undertakings. A gentleman could not travel alone, still less if he was transporting goods. Guillaume, already acting the accountant, protested that we did not have the means to pay the wages of armed escorts. Jean rather scornfully demonstrated to him that he was better acquainted with such people than Guillaume was. To hire them, it was not necessary to pay them up front; the gangs that were ravaging the country on behalf of princes and noblemen of every stripe were only remunerated on the basis of future booty. Their members often waited for a long time before obtaining their share. But expectation sufficed, provided that when they went to sleep at night, drunk, soothed by a whore, they could dream about whatever Providence, always kind to simple hearts, might have in store for them.

“And what sort of spoils would you offer our men?” objected Guillaume.

“A share of our profit, once we have it.”

I felt that they had already established a rapport of emulation and jealousy, of brotherhood and mutual incomprehension, which would make them irreplaceable as a team. Without ever deliberately trying to divide and rule, I have always held the union of contraries to be the secret of every successful undertaking.

When it came time to define my role in the business, I simply declared that I intended to resume my trade as a minter. Our commerce, like all commerce in those days, would be perpetually hindered by the lack of precious metal within the realm. As long as we did not have enough goods in reserve, we could not resort to barter; we had to be able to control the circulation of coinage and dispose of credit with all the moneychangers in France. This would be my task.

That is what I told them, and they agreed. But they knew very well that there were other things I was not telling them. The first of these required no explanation because it was self-evident: I would be their leader. The establishment would bear my name. When dealing with others they would evoke it as if it were a sort of Open Sesame, a divine formula uttered respectfully in hushed tones. It went without saying that from that day on, in our shared interest, their task would be to contribute to the creation of my legend, to making my name a mark and a myth. They would be for me what Peter and Paul had been for Christ: the subservient creators of his universal glory. I fully appreciate how ridiculous and grandiloquent such a comparison is, and I would like to reassure anyone who might be tempted to think I was taking myself for a god that we were fully aware that the entire enterprise rested upon a fabrication. We knew better than anyone how weak, mortal, and fallible I was. However, our activity must be seen as more than mere trade, as something vital, but without glory or expectations. We wanted our business to be inspired, to have scope, to envision horizons in keeping with an entirely new purpose. To this end, our enterprise must not appear to be merely a merchant's property, but rather the sect of a prophet. And that prophet, since we must have one, would be me.

It was evening and we were still at work. We had rolled up our sleeves, our brows were pearled with sweat. Through the open casements we had heard the bells ringing vespers from two neighboring clock towers.

There could be no greater divide between our ideas and projects and our actual situation. What characterized us best at that time in our life was failure, and perhaps that was also what united us. Those who looked on us with the pity one reserves for losers would shrug their shoulders if they overheard us weaving our wild dreams. Because I knew that deep down they were aware of the ridicule we might inspire, I abstained from sharing with my associates the true dimension of the plan that haunted me. They knew me well enough, since the siege of Bourges, to realize that in addition to our practical measures, and the enterprise I shared with them, I certainly had other ideas, a loftier vision of the goal I sought to attain. They did not question me further. Perhaps that element of mystery was necessary for them to convince themselves I was truly the prophet whose message they would be carrying out into the world. Perhaps they knew, above all, that it was pointless to try and make me say any more about it than I was prepared to.