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chestnut stakes. We also laid out below the palisade rows of caltrops to catch any marauders who might attempt to steal our fruits and vegetables by night. Alas, the poverty of our poor Périgord region is now so acute, and so great the number of homeless driven by hungerout of the mountains of the Auvergne, that not a summer passes without finding some poor beggar in our orchards, barefoot and bleeding, mouth agape and fists clenched in pain, doggedly limping towards our gardens, knowing full well that feudal law condemns him to be hanged if caught.
    My mother used to weep over these hangings, but the Brethren pointed out that, given the extreme weakness and hunger of these poor fellows, their trap wound would never heal, and that to allow them to wander off limping and bleeding merely condemned them to the agonies of a prolonged death. My mother finally got them to agree to knock these poor devils senseless before hanging them and not to leave their bodies to rot on the gallows as was the custom.
    Since her intervention, we have given a decent burial to an entire cemetery full of these tramps in a rocky corner of our land where not even dandelions would grow. My mother used to go there the first Sunday of every month to pray for their souls, escorted by Barberine, the wet nurse who carried me in her arms, little Hélix, her inseparable daughter, and Cabusse, fully armed, since neither spouse nor children were allowed outside the walls of Mespech without escort. Later on, when these rules were relaxed, I used to play with Hélix in the marauders’ field. These poor souls, who went so hungry throughout life, provided rich nourishment to our fields after their death. For now the grass there grows green, and in springtime the field is buried under a profusion of bright yellow daffodils which no one dares pick. It is said in these parts that when one of these flowers is picked it utters a baleful moan and that whoever picks it is condemned to a life of hunger.
    One year after the purchase of Mespech, my father married Isabelle de Caumont, whose blue eyes, blonde hair and medallion had made such a lively impression on him when he and Sauveterrehad visited Castelnau for the first time. At fifteen, Isabelle was in the flower of her youth, “tall in stature, with firm and sumptuous breasts, long legs and small feet”. My father composed this description on the first page of his
Book of Reason
, begun on his marriage day, 16th September 1546. He noted as well that he was thirty-two years old, his wife but fifteen, that she was of sweet temperament, healthy in body, very pleasing company, of a gay and even disposition (although strong-minded at times), and a good Christian, despite her penchant for idolatry. “The wedding, bridal clothes, gifts to the clergy, donations to the poor and the two dinners,” I read subsequently, “cost 500 livres, a modest sum,” my father concludes, “considering the noble customs of the day.” To which Sauveterre, in his tiny spidery handwriting, added in the margin, “Still too much. Five hundred livres is the price of a handsome piece of work.”
    Not that the Brethren, on this occasion, were divided. Since he was now too old to marry, Jean de Sauveterre was content that Jean de Siorac should continue his line, so that at least one branch of the Brethren should take root, flourish and bear heirs to whom Mespech could be willed. But Isabelle’s medallion disturbed him somewhat, as well as the sudden intrusion of so many women into Mespech. For Isabelle brought with her not only her chambermaid Cathau, but also, a year later, the wet nurse Barberine, with little Hélix, whom she nursed along with my mother’s first child, my elder brother, François de Siorac.
    Though very economical with the Brethren’s wealth and most desirous of increasing it, Sauveterre could hardly complain that Isabelle came empty-handed to Mespech. For, besides her connections to the Périgord nobility, she brought