Virtual Bank Line: The Majestic Sweep of History

Since falling ill, my dreams have been restless and action-packed. I was worried at first that my boss's conjecture, that my creative spark resided in my gallbladder and might therefore have been entirely removed, might prove true. Last night's dream showed that the spark is still alive and well.

I was the sister of the village blacksmith, an enormous, hot-headed bull of a man well-known up and down the countryside as a political instigator. He was constantly agitating for political reform, criticizing the Earl who governed our village and a few of the villages to the south. He made no secret of the fact that he favored the policies of another man whose land holdings lay to the north of us, and he would be willing to join in open revolt against our current lord.

My brother, being the strong-headed personality he was, required a firm hand to run his household. His wife was a weak and feeble woman, sickly all of her life, but the daughter of a man who had been allotted a great deal of land and had no sons. I had never been allowed to marry (my brother had something against every suitor I'd had), but my brother's houseshold was the defacto center of our town's social life, and I was the defacto center of my brother's household.

After years of stirring up the local landed peasants and angering the Earl, war was finally at our doorstep. I came into the house one day to find my brother in the center of a gang of men sharpening spears and collecting stones. The lord to the north was coming, and they were planning to join him against our own lord.

I began grabbing small things of value - things sure to be looted once the fighting was over. My brother's wife had some jewelry, there was a bag of silver coins that represented my brother's savings, and a bolt of expensive cloth. At the last minute, I decided to leave the cloth behind. I ran into the woods and hid myself in a tiny cave.

Fighting is loud and unspecific. Nobody shouted "For our Earl!" as they went at each other. Unless you already knew whose men were whose, it was impossible to tell which side was winning. Men fought, screamed, died without declaring allegiance to anyone but God, and that was mostly in the form of supplication.

I came out from my hiding place and crept back to my house. I peeked in the kitchen window to see the room full of men I didn't know. That was all the answer I needed. I could see the bolt of cloth propped up in a corner and cursed myself for not having taken it.

It took me two days, but I walked all the way to the nearest village, about 25 miles north. I went to the home of a woman who was known as the best glass-blower in the kingdom. Her renown was such that she had been granted the right to say "Glassmaker to the King," and she was known as Frances of Athe. She knew my brother and agreed to take to take me on as a servant. I eventually learned the glass-blowing trade and the two of us did very well for ourselves.

For those of you who are concerned, I did see my brother's head on a spike at the gates to our village some weeks later, and I never heard anything of what became of his wife. I didn't really mourn either of them.