Free The Dream Maker by Jean-Christophe Rufin, Alison Anderson

its heat and stolen its secrets. With my in-laws the damage was much greater: from the start my father-in-law had viewed my alliance with a stranger as foolhardy. With my imprisonment foolhardiness had become sin. I was convinced that on leaving this place—if I ever left this place—it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find an honorable position in the town that had witnessed my dishonor and my fall. I could not conceive of any future other than flight.
    As for the discomfort of detention, I bore that more easily than the torment of moral scruples. I was taken to a cell in the Duke’s palace. It was, naturally, dark and damp. But I had had my fill from birth of darkness and dampness, and so the prison seemed no more than a simple extension of my gray, rainy destiny. I did not suffer from the destitution; on the contrary, I came to realize that comfort, a wealth of fine fare and clothing, the ministrations of numerous servants, and everything I had thought was important was, in fact, a needless burden. Prison, for me, was an experience of freedom.
    I was treated well, or not too badly. I was alone in my cell, and I had a table and chair at my disposition. I was allowed to write to Macé and even make arrangements for my business. Above all, I had a great deal of time to meditate, and I drew up a lucid evaluation of these early years of adulthood.
    I was already over thirty. There were not many moments that stood out from the ten years that had just passed, other than moments of happiness, such as the birth of our children, or certain hours spent in the countryside with Macé. On several occasions we had gone alone on horseback to the ring of villages that surrounded the town and which were known as La Septaine. It was rather unwise of us, because nowhere was safe in the kingdom. Gangs were known to go as far as the edge of town. But we enjoyed the risk, which, when all was said and done, was moderate. My father-in-law had bequeathed us a country house in the middle of a birch forest where we left a few guards. We went there to sleep and to share our love.
    The rest of those years did not leave any outstanding memories. This was cruel proof that my desires and deeds were hardly ambitious. I had undertaken, indeed hoped for, only minor affairs, on the scale of our small town. Capital by default of a king without a crown, the town acted as if it were important, and in that way I resembled it. Even my association with Ravand, in which I had placed such great hopes, was nothing but an illusion. Reality was far less colorful: we were petty crooks. We were obtaining personal profit through betrayal. We had been entrusted with a mission and we chose not to fulfill it as we should have. This meant we were despoiling not only our king, but the entire populace. I was acquainted with the work of a monk, Nicolas Oresme. He had shown that bad coinage enfeebles trade and ruins kingdoms. Thus, not only had we tried to serve ourselves by pilfering from the common wealth, we had also broken the wheels of the carriage we had been asked to drive. We were miserable wretches.
    Fortunately for me, Ravand was locked up in another cell and we were not in contact. This allowed me to think on my own and draw my conclusions before he was able to influence me. For when we were released, I found him smiling, full of optimism, and ready to start all over. According to him, the situation was far more complicated than I realized, and far better. He had obtained our release by paying the king’s men. To hear him talk, our only mistake had been to forget a few highly placed personalities when distributing our bribes. He tried again to convince me that adulterating the coinage was a profitable business for everyone. We were the first to benefit, but all those whom we paid to close their eyes, beginning with the princes, were eating at the same table. I would later have cause to remember this lesson.
    For the time being I remained