Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (10 page)

“Busy with what?”

“Soon the ewes will begin dropping their lambs and some of them will need assistance. You’re a midwife, you ought to be a great help.”

“
Moi!
Be a midwife to sheep!” Miriam’s mouth dropped. “But I don’t know anything about sheep, except how to cook them.”

Marona smiled at her consternation. “Don’t worry, it’s not much different from what you already know about women, except that the ewes usually bear twins.”

“Twins?” The young midwife’s voice was hesitant. The last woman she’d attended was Muriel, and that had been a disaster. If sheep weren’t much different from women, staying here could become a nightmare.

“
Oui
. The first lambs usually come before the Edomite’s New Year, and nearly all of them are born by Purim. For two months we eat and sleep on the run, hurrying between the sheepfold and the barn. Believe me, by the time Purim comes our idea of a celebration is ten hours’ sleep in a row,” Marona said. “But the baby lambs are so adorable, and when it’s all over and you see them playing in the pasture ...” Marona sighed with contentment.

Miriam gulped.
How will I manage two months of ewes giving birth every night?
But Marona and the shepherds would be there to help. Surely she’d be an expert midwife by springtime, even if the mothers were all sheep.

The next day, however, all thoughts of ewes and lambs were driven from Miriam’s thoughts when the countess’s courier brought her an invitation to a hunt.

“Let me see,” Marona said as she propelled Miriam upstairs. “We’ve got to find you something suitable to wear.” She began rummaging through a chest of clothes.

“What’s wrong with what I’ve been wearing so far?”

“For the hunt you should wear something the ladies haven’t seen before.” Marona was talking to herself as much as to Miriam. “Something colorful and festive. My things are too large, but you could wear one of Hannah’s outfits. Where is that
bliaut
that always made me think of autumn leaves?”

“Here we are.” Marona held up a tawny gold tunic and matching deep yellow chemise. The orange and red embroidery at the neck and sleeves did give the impression of fall foliage.

“This is too beautiful to wear for riding a horse.”

But Marona waved Miriam’s objections aside. “It will reflect poorly on me and Samuel if you don’t dress as well as the court ladies, especially since you don’t have a hawk.”

 

As Miriam could see when she joined the crowd waiting for the hunt to start, nearly every highborn woman had her own hunting hawk. Whether a noble falcon or a poor sparrow hawk, carrying the bird on her wrist was a way of saying, “I am of gentle birth and need not do any disagreeable work with my hands.” Emeline was inordinately proud of her own small merlin and gladly let Miriam admire it up close.

Goshawks, gyrfalcons, lanners—more types of hunting birds than Miriam had ever imagined. With ladies along, only birds and hares would be the prey this fine morning, not large animals such as deer or boar. It was exhilarating to watch the knights and ladies on their horses, dressed in every color in the rainbow, each with a bird on their gauntlet. Dogs raced along to flush the game, horns blew, and then Count André gave the signal.

Away they ran—over fields and brooks, through thicket and countryside. When the quarry was sighted, a covey of partridges or a flock of ducks, then the hawks were all unhooded together. Immediately came shouts and wagers as the birds soared after their prey. Miriam was awed by the hawks’ graceful beauty in flight and amazed that such wild creatures allowed themselves to be lured back to their owners’ fists.

The banquet the servants laid out afterward was a lavish display of food. Much of it wasn’t kosher, but there were more than enough fish and egg dishes, plus several kinds of bread and plenty of preserved fruit.

She had just filled her plate when she noticed several children approaching through the trees. As they drew closer, Miriam took a step back in dismay. Large, pleading eyes stared at her out of black-streaked faces. Even among the beggars in Troyes she had never seen children so thin or so filthy, their matted hair and torn clothes covered with soot.

Before she could decide whether to hand them some food or just toss it in their direction, one of the count’s men raced past her, shouting, “Get away from here, you scum.”

The children slowly backed away, and when he yelled at them again, “If you’re not gone by the time I count to ten, I’ll set the dogs on you,” they turned and ran into the forest.

Her appetite gone, Miriam made her way to where the ladies sat, giggling and exchanging flirtatious glances with the knights. At a lull between courses, Rosaline was bold enough to meet one of the young men behind the hedge. When she eventually rejoined the others, her hair and clothing were mussed.

“I don’t know what to do.” Rosaline sighed. “Faubert begs me to meet him tonight after everyone has gone to bed. He swears he cannot live without me.” She continued breathlessly, “I want to be with him more than anything, but ...”

“You don’t want to end up enceinte,” interrupted one of her friends. The others tittered behind their hands.

“But I thought there were certain herbs you could take, rue or pennyroyal,” an older lady said. She turned to Miriam. “Isn’t that true?”

Miriam was already wondering how soon she could leave, and the last thing she wanted to discuss with a group of frivolous unmarried ladies was how to avoid pregnancy. Yet she couldn’t deny her knowledge. “There are, but unless you’re an expert, you have no idea how fresh they are or if the dealer is even selling the correct stuff. After all, what is the defrauded woman to do nine months later? Ask for her money back?”

“So I should consult an expert like you?” Rosaline asked.

“What if there’s no expert around?” a brunette interrupted. “Are there any herbs we can grow ourselves?”

The older woman lowered her voice and stared at Miriam. “I heard that Jewish women use something called a
mokh
.”

Miriam shot Emeline a pleading look.

“Miriam,” Emeline said. “I think I left my psalter at Ramerupt-sur-Aube. Could you ride back with me to get it?”

As they walked to where the horses were tethered, Miriam flinched when the servants tossed the leftover food to the dogs. Then, with great relief, she bid farewell to the countess and rode away with Emeline.

“
Merci beaucoup
for rescuing me.”

Emeline wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I could see that you were as distressed by the conversation as I was.”

Miriam was more distressed by the hungry children’s rejection, but she replied, “Knights have a reputation for lechery, but I didn’t realize the ladies at court were no better than the serving wenches at the Troyes fairs.”

“That’s one of the reasons I prefer your company,” Emeline said. “I’d forgotten that you live in Troyes. What’s it like in such a big city?”

How could she describe Troyes, its busy streets crowded with ten thousand inhabitants, to someone who was used to Ramerupt’s two hundred residents? “Troyes is so big that it takes an entire day to walk around the outer walls. Inside, there are so many houses built so close together that you can’t see the sun except at noontime. Everyone in Troyes is busy, either making, buying, or selling all sorts of goods, and sometimes it’s so noisy you can’t hear yourself think.”

Emeline surveyed the serene forest. “It sounds dreadful. You must be glad to be staying here.”

Miriam didn’t know what to say. Ramerupt was more peaceful than Troyes and Benjamin’s memory didn’t haunt her so much, but it wasn’t home.

 

That evening Miriam tried to remember the exhilaration of the hunt, but the pleasure of the morning’s ride had been tainted by what followed. When she asked about the black-faced children, Marona explained that they were charcoal burners, runaway serfs living in the forest, whose trade was producing charcoal from burned wood. Despite the estate’s self-sufficiency, she bought charcoal from them.

Lying in bed, keenly aware of the charcoal brazier heating her room, Miriam was haunted by those hungry children’s eyes. If only she could escape from this world of idleness and immorality and return to her pious home. Unable to sleep, Miriam remembered the Hanukkah gift that Joheved had brought her. Papa had finished writing a draft of his commentary on Psalms, and he wanted her to make sure his explanations were understandable, yet concise. Just what she needed to clear her mind.

She removed the manuscript from the chest that held her belongings and opened it to Psalm 1.

Miriam read the verses again and again, letting the comforting words flow over her. The text was speaking directly to her heavy heart, urging her to forsake the sinners whose company she had been keeping and return to the paths of righteousness.

When she turned to her father’s comments, she saw that first he explained how the psalmist praised the man who avoided the wicked. Because he did not even walk with sinners, he did not stand with them, and because he did not stand with sinners, he did not sit with them.

She’d begun by riding with the wicked, Miriam reminded herself, and sure enough, she’d ended up sitting with them and listening to their evil talk.

To bridge the first and second verse, Papa concluded, “Hence we learn that the company of scorners brings one to neglect the study of Torah.” Then he pointed out that the pronoun “his” in the second verse meant the diligent student, not the Holy One. At first the Law is “the Torah of Adonai,” but after the student strives to understand it, it becomes his own. Papa emphasized that the diligent student doesn’t just utter words of Torah but meditates on them in his heart.

Miriam sighed.
How many days have passed since I’ve meditated on words of Torah? Too many.

With the final verses, he concluded, “Because the Holy One knows the ways of the righteous, He finds the ways of the wicked so despicable that on the Day of Judgment, the wicked will not be written in the congregation of the righteous.”

Miriam considered her father’s words. Even if the yeshiva still held memories of Benjamin, she needed and missed the intellectual and spiritual activity. If she wasted more time in the company of the Ramerupt court, she would end up just as morally empty. Studying this psalm had made her realize that she must leave for Troyes as soon as possible.

But once back in bed, her firm resolution wavered. Was her grief healed enough that places and activities she associated with Benjamin wouldn’t wound her anew? And what about her duty to those who had succored her? She’d promised Marona to help with the lambing. If she stayed, delivering all those lambs might be a way of atoning for Muriel’s stillborn, as well as enabling her to avoid Muriel altogether for several more months.

Miriam’s thoughts tumbled back and forth until she finally fell asleep, and she woke to find her decision made for her. Winter, which had teased the province all month with barely a hint of cold, had arrived with a vengeance. Hail was drumming on the roof, and by noon snow flurries were whipping through the courtyard.

She thanked the Almighty for the blizzard that solved her dilemma. Until spring, nobody would be riding for pleasure, saving her from further socializing with Count André’s court. Now she wouldn’t disappoint Marona by leaving early. Hopefully she wouldn’t disappoint her later by failing to midwife her sheep properly.

D
espite the bitter weather, Samuel’s shepherds kept a vigil over the sheepfold, and as soon as a ewe showed signs of impending birth, they moved her into the barn. Miriam tried to remain an observer, but one day she was the only one idle as a ewe struggled in vain to deliver its twins.

Marona shouted encouragement. “Just do as I told you and you’ll be fine.”

Miriam remembered her instructions. First, if any legs are out, determine if it’s a front leg or rear leg. Lambs are born either headfirst or back legs first. If a back leg was out but its mate was in, all she had to do was pull out the missing limb and the rest of the lamb would follow. If a foreleg came out, she’d have to push it back in and hope the proper leg appeared.

But there were no legs sticking out of this ewe.

Miriam slowly approached the miserable creature. She remembered Countess Adelaide’s difficult labor, and while one of the shepherds held the struggling ewe, she slipped her hand into the sheep’s womb. Groping through a tangle of limbs, she felt a wave of despair.
How can I possibly tell which leg belongs to which, let alone which ones are front or back?
In desperation she grabbed a leg and followed it to the body. Thank goodness, there was its rump, and, below it, the other hind leg. She managed to secure the two legs and began to pull, praying that the second lamb would stay out of its way. Luck was with her, for once she dragged out the first twin, the second one quickly emerged.

That first exhilarating week Miriam personally attended over a dozen ewes, and she lost count of how many deliveries she either helped with or watched. She almost cried with relief the first time she delivered a lamb whose cord was wrapped around its neck. When the lamb didn’t exit despite being headfirst, she checked for and then untangled its cord. Once it was born, it took all her restraint not to hug the little fellow.

A month later, after lambing daily in freezing weather, Miriam’s enthusiasm faded into steady persistence. She stayed up late into the night as long as there were laboring ewes to tend. Then she woke at dawn, had a quick breakfast of stirabout and warm ale, and returned to the barn. Still the lambs kept coming, and eventually Miriam found herself a proficient sheep midwife rather than merely a helper. She also found herself caring for a baby lamb whose mother refused to nurse it.