The Brethren (3 page)

“Alas, it is too late now!” replied Étienne. But sensing his father’s impatience, he sighed, lowered his eyes and fell silent.

Sauveterre broke the silence: “If I may return to this rascal Fontenac, may I ask if his word has any weight with the bishop?”

“I know not,” replied La Boétie, who looked as if he knew all too well. “This scoundrel claims to be a good Catholic, although he’s a miserable excuse for a Christian. He pays for Masses, and makes many charitable contributions…”

“And the bishop accepts these payments?”

“Well, the problem is that we don’t have a bishop,” rejoined La Boétie with a smile, all the while stroking his goatee with the back of his hand. “Our bishop, Nicolas de Gadis, appointed by Catherine
de’ Medici, is a Florentine, like his patroness, and lives in Rome where he awaits his cardinal’s mitre.”

“In Rome!” replied Siorac. “The tithes extracted from the sweat of the Sarlat workers have a long way to go to reach him!” At this exclamation, Étienne burst out laughing, and his sudden gaiety infused his melancholy countenance with youth.

“We have, of course, a coadjutor,” La Boétie added, half seriously, half amusedly, “one Jean Fabri.”

“But he lives in Belvès,” noted Étienne, “since he finds the climate of Sarlat suffocating, especially in summer…”

“From Sarlat to Belvès,” Siorac rejoined in the spirit of the moment, “the Church tithes have less far to travel than to Rome.”

“But a few of these tithes must tarry in Sarlat,” said Étienne, “for we have here a tertium quid, the vicar general, Noailles, who pretends to govern in their place.”

This exchange had the effect of weaving a close complicity among these four men, barely masked by the apparent hilarity of their speech. La Boétie rose; as Étienne stood up, his father put his arm around his son’s shoulders and, smiling, looked at his visitors as they rose too—Sauveterre with some difficulty due to his infirm leg.

“Gentlemen, if you want Mespech,” he continued in that inimitable Périgordian jocular manner, which always masks some more serious or satirical intention, “you’ll have to make some concessions. It may be too much to ask of you to make a gift to Anthoine de Noailles in honour of the Holy Virgin, for whom you have so long felt a special devotion…”

Siorac smiled but refrained from any response; Sauveterre remained impassive.

“Or perhaps you could manage to attend High Mass this Sunday at Sarlat. The vicar general will be presiding and could not fail to notice your presence.”

“Indeed!” cried Siorac happily. “If Mespech is to our liking, we will not fail to be there!”

The king’s lieutenant and his archers, followed by the two Jeans, had only to appear; the drawbridge of Mespech was lowered before them. Maligou, infinitely relieved to escape with a scolding, was sent home and four of La Boétie’s men were stationed within the walls until the date of the sale. La Boétie obviously feared that a desperate Fontenac might try to set fire to the place, since, without the chateau itself, the vast acreage of Mespech would attract no buyer other than its powerful neighbour.

After La Boétie had taken his leave, Siorac and Sauveterre explored Mespech from top to bottom. The next day, Friday, they spent surveying the farmlands and woods belonging to the property. On Saturday they returned to Sarlat and there, in the presence of Ricou, the notary, they formally adopted each other and ceded each to the other all of his present and future worldly goods. From this moment on, the two Jeans became brothers, not only out of the mutual affection they had sworn, but now legally as well, heirs one of the other—and Mespech, should they acquire it, was to be their indissoluble property.

I have read this moving document. It is composed entirely in
langue d’oc
even though by this time all official acts were already written in French. But the notaries were the last to give in to this rule, since their clients more often than not could understand nothing of the northern tongue.

Word of the captains’ brothering had spread in Sarlat, and it was quickly bruited about that the two worthies would purchase Mespech right from under Fontenac’s nose. And this hypothesis was confirmed when they were sighted at High Mass the next morning.
Rumour also had it that after Mass they presented the vicar general, Anthoine de Noailles, with a gift of 500 livres “for the poor veterans of the king’s armies who live within the diocese in feeble and crippled condition”.

The arrival of the captains in Sarlat, that Sunday, was no trivial event: they passed through the la Lendrevie gate, escorted by their three soldiers, all five (except Coulondre) with pistols and swords drawn and at the ready. They paraded through the streets, Siorac and Sauveterre, eyes on the windows above them, their soldiers scrutinizing every passer-by. They did not sheathe their weapons until they dismounted in front of La Boétie’s house. The lieutenant, alerted by the sound of horses’ hooves in the street, immediately emerged to greet them, smiling and extending a welcoming hand, a gesture intended to impress upon those gathered in the square (as was their custom in good weather before Mass), the consideration accorded these newcomers by a royal officer.

There was a great to-do when the “Brethren” had withdrawn into La Boétie’s house, much chatter and shaking of heads among the burghers, while the peasants crowded around the five purebred steeds tethered by the three soldiers, admiring their sweaty flanks and the military fittings, whose embroidered covers had been folded back to reveal the handles of their powerful firearms.

Fontenac was roundly detested by the burghers of Sarlat, as well as by the nobles in their chateaux, because of his many crimes and infinite excesses, yet the populace of the town favoured him since, with the profits of his various plunders, he occasionally paid for a religious procession supposedly to honour a saint, but which always ended up in a river of free wine and the usual street fight which La Boétie had to quell. Despite these all-too-frequent disruptions, many are of the opinion that the peasants, who must work from dawn to dusk for a pittance, cannot help loving the Church processions, since
they provide a day of rest—the innumerable saints revered by the Catholic cult providing fifty holidays, not counting Sundays, year in, year out. Thus it has always been easy to excite the populace against members of the reformed religion because they are suspected of wanting to do away with these holidays by suppressing the worship of the very saints which occasion them.

Although the dialects of Quercy and Gascony are quite different from their own, these gawkers soon discovered that our soldiers spoke the
langue d’oc
. And so, as they patted the horses, admiring the saddles and the iron hook Coulondre wore in place of his left hand, they rattled off innumerable questions which only Cabusse, with his quick wit and ready tongue, seemed inclined to answer.

“Are your masters going to purchase Mespech?”

“We don’t have masters. These gentlemen are our captains.”

“Are your captains going to purchase the chateau?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can they afford it?”

“I haven’t inspected their coffers.”

“It’s rumoured that Fontenac has 15,000 livres.”

“May God keep them for him.”

“Do your captains have more?”

“You’ll have to ask them.”

“Suppose your captains do acquire Mespech. We hear that Monsieur de Fontenac won’t stomach such an insult.”

“May God preserve his digestion.”

“You swear by God. Do you also swear by His saints?”

“Indeed so, by the saint of gawkers!”

“What religion are you?”

“The same as you.”

“They say your captains are afflicted with the scourge of heresy.”

“Only a fool would say such a thing.”

Whereupon Cabusse rose up and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Good people, get out from under our horses’ hooves and take your hands off our saddles!” And such is the authority of a large man with a loud voice that he was immediately obeyed.

As soon as the door closed behind La Boétie and his guests, the police lieutenant announced: “Gentlemen, I have just learnt from a spy that Fontenac intends to ambush you tonight at Taniès. If you wish, I will give you and your men lodging in my country house tonight and until the sale is completed.”

“I thank you infinitely for your offer, Monsieur de La Boétie,” replied Siorac, “but we cannot accept it. If Fontenac did not find us at Taniès, God knows what evil vengeance he would wreak on my uncle’s family and their poor villagers!”

“Siorac is right,” said Sauveterre, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that Siorac had spoken before consulting him. He added, “Thanks to you, Lieutenant, the surprise will not be ours tonight, but Fontenac’s.”

“Oh, he won’t be there,” cautioned La Boétie. “He’s too clever for that.”

“But if we eliminate his band,” countered Siorac, “we’ll dull his fangs a bit.”

Taniès, home to about ten families whose houses cluster around a squat church tower, is built on a hill from which a steep road descends to the banks of the les Beunes river. Now, the river gets its plural name by reason of the canals and millraces which seem to double its course. The name also designates the little valley watered by this river as far as the village of Ayzies. A fairly well-paved road runs the length of this river—the only means of access to the Château de Fontenac.

At dusk, our captains posted Cabusse and Uncle Siorac’s two sons at the foot of this hill, for they figured that their assailants
would probably tether their horses there and creep on foot up the steepest and rockiest face of the hill leading to the village. Cabusse and his men were not to engage the enemy, but to let them pass by and, at the first sound of gunfire, to overpower anyone left on guard there and lead the horses to one of my uncle’s barns nearby. This done, they were to return and lie in wait for any of the assailants who might try to flee that way and to shoot them as they reached the bottom of the hill.

Cabusse, who later recounted this adventure (for the Brethren disdained any talk of their own exploits) laughingly told me that the hardest part of the whole affair was not to enter battle but to convince the villagers to join in, so terrified were they of Fontenac. However, once their minds were made up, nothing could stem their fury. After the battle, they coldly put to death all of the wounded and immediately set to stripping them of their clothes and boots, vociferously demanding their share of the plunder, not only arms but horses, despite the fact that it was Raymond Siorac’s two sons who, alone, had participated in their capture.

To each of these lads, the captains gave a horse and saddle, and to the village they presented another two horses to be shared by all in the fields. But the villagers, accustomed to the use of oxen, preferred to sell the horses and divide the money. The Brethren kept the rest, to wit, six handsome and powerful horses, as apt for working in the fields as for saddle riding and which would be useful when the time came to break ground at Mespech.

Without suffering a single casualty, they killed that night six of the outlaw baron’s band. And they took one prisoner: the horse guard, whom Cabusse had knocked unconscious along the les Beunes river. When he was returned to the village, it was extremely difficult to prevent the villagers from tearing him apart. But one prisoner had to be kept alive in order to have someone to bear witness against
Fontenac. To judge by the number of horses, two of the assailants must have slipped away on foot in the darkness, despite the full moon. Of course, it must be pointed out that, once past les Beunes, the forest of chestnut trees provides a deep, well-shaded cover for the full five leagues that separate Taniès from Fontenac.

The following Monday, the date of the sale of Mespech, the captains had the bloodied bodies piled in a cart and delivered to La Boétie along with the prisoner. This latter was sequestered in the city jail, but La Boétie displayed the bodies at the gibbet in Sarlat, which stood in those days opposite the la Rigaudie gate. The populace immediately crowded around. The gawkers apparently included several young women, although the six ruffians were stark naked.

La Boétie lingered awhile nearby with the captains, not so much to enjoy the spectacle as to listen to the townspeople and note which of them seemed to recognize friends among the hanged bodies of Fontenac’s men, with whom they had been drinking of late in the taverns of the town. And, indeed, as the winds began to shift against the robber baron, tongues began wagging.

As for the prisoner, the executioner began his inquisition an hour after arriving in Sarlat, and he told all and more than all. Indeed he revealed some well-nigh unbelievable atrocities committed two years previously, which weighed heavily on the conscience of this churl, clearly made of weaker stuff than his master.

In 1543, a rich burgher of Montignac, one Lagarrigue, had disappeared. A month later, his wife left the town alone on horseback never to reappear. The prisoner’s confession shed sinister light on these disappearances. Fontenac had kidnapped Lagarrigue on the way from Montignac to Sarlat at dusk one evening, killing his two servants and sequestering his captive in his chateau. Then, secretly, he alerted the wife to her husband’s plight. And, on condition that she breathe not a word of his whereabouts to a living soul, not even
to her confessor, he promised to release the man for a ransom of 8,000 livres. She was to deliver this sum alone, and without anyone’s knowledge.

This unfortunate lady, who nourished an extraordinary love for her husband and who trembled at the thought of losing him, was mad enough to believe the robber baron to be a man of his word. She obeyed him in all particulars. Once the great doors of the chateau had closed upon her, and the ransom money was counted and locked away in his coffers, Fontenac, a man of uncommonly good looks, education and manners, told the lady, in the sweetest of tones, to be patient and that she should soon be reunited with her husband. But no sooner was Lagarrigue dragged before him, bloodied and chained, than Fontenac changed his expression and his tune. He threw the lady down before his servingmen telling them to take their pleasure of her if they were so inclined. And so they did—within plain sight of Lagarrigue, who struggled in his bonds like a madman.