Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (11 page)

The vaulted ceiling was at least twelve cubits high, with arched balconies below and clerestory windows providing diffuse light. The floor was paved with multicolored marble tiles, each area displaying a unique pattern, and in the center stood a tall fountain that spilled into a shallow pool. Eliezer could have spent hours right there, listening to the fountain and admiring each section of floor, but Hasdai hurried him on.

They proceeded down another hall, lined with cubicles where men lounged about chatting with one another, before arriving at a closed wooden door. As soon as Hasdai opened it, a cloud of steam engulfed them, and once inside the hot room, they were surrounded by sweating naked men. The heat blasted up from steam pipes in the floor, making Eliezer glad for his wooden sandals.

Soon he too was covered in sweat, which was the signal for a heavyset man to begin his massage. Eliezer groaned with pleasure as the masseur expertly kneaded muscles he didn’t even realize were sore. Eventually the massage ceased and soapy water splashed over him, sending Eliezer reluctantly to one of the many bathtubs. There another attendant shampooed his hair and trimmed his beard.

When Eliezer returned to the warm room Hasdai was already there, deep in conversation with friends who were also preparing for the wine party. Not everyone was talking; several of the men were sleeping on their benches, and Eliezer lay down nearby.

“I have excellent news for you,” Hasdai announced. “One of the finest poets in the land will be entertaining us tonight, all the way from Granada.”

“You found Moses ibn Ezra?” The speaker sounded elated.

“Indeed.”

Eliezer had never heard of Moses ibn Ezra. Relaxing against the warm wood of the bench, he dropped into a dreamy doze as the men raved about the fellow’s poetry.

 

Eliezer could hear the music in the distance as they approached the riverbank, and his pulse quickened with anticipation. Finally, in the last glimmer of twilight, he saw the boat at the dock, the orchestra playing as the men boarded. The deck was covered with woven mats and plush silk cushions, with small tables scattered throughout. A handsome youth helped Eliezer find a place to sit, and almost immediately a wine pourer, even more attractive than the first servant, offered him a drink from a large cup.

The wine pourer flirtatiously pressed Eliezer’s hand as he drank, and then suggestively offered the cup to the next guest, who praised the youth’s beauty with a poem before drinking. With everyone’s applause the evening began. Poems exalting wine and love, some addressed to the young servants, flowed from the men’s lips. They challenged each other to compose verses on various aspects of wine—color, fragrance, taste, and the feelings, usually melancholy, drinking arouses. After each round, the orchestra played while fruits and cheeses were served.

Eliezer gazed up in appreciation as the sky gradually darkened and stars blinked into view. How different life was here in Córdoba, how urbane.

Before the guests grew too tired, Hasdai introduced his star, the poet Moses ibn Ezra, who was immediately provided with a cup by the most beautiful wine pourer. Moses, who had an air of sadness about him, took the youth’s hand and, gazing into his eyes, began to speak.

The young man blushed and preened in front of him as Moses continued his poem, which grew progressively darker with the fawn deceiving the poet and eventually leaving him for another. As if to bring the poem to life, the wine pourer turned to Eliezer and gazed at him with adoration. Luckily Eliezer was sober enough to remember an appropriate poem by Samuel haNagid and drunk enough to not care if the others disapproved.

But there were no frowns at Eliezer’s lack of originality, only applause. Thus the revelers passed the night, as they cultivated a state between sleep and waking, their poems flitting from the joys of wine to the grandeur of the night’s sky to the sadness at time’s passing. Gazing in awe at the vast darkness above him, Eliezer wondered if the stars were truly animate, the same species as angels.

Dawn was breaking when Moses composed a final poem, which brought tears to Eliezer’s eyes.

Along with the other intoxicated guests, Eliezer and Hasdai staggered home to their beds. Sadness born of too much wine overwhelmed Eliezer, and as he sank beneath the covers, he was haunted by another of ibn Ezra’s poems—about a woman.

He imagined Rachel, just rising from bed, dawn illuminating the dark curls that fell over her naked body. Was she as lonely as he was? Was she thinking of him? Thank Heaven he would soon be going home. He had been gone far too long. Next year he wouldn’t stay so long in Sepharad.

But despite his excellent intentions, the week before he left Eliezer realized his stay next spring in Córdoba would be an extended one. For there in Hasdai’s library were the collected works of Philo of Alexandria, a Jew.

six

A
thin stream of smoke rose in the distance, and with a sigh of relief, Eliezer urged his horse onward. He’d been fairly confident he could reach the
fondaco
, an inn and warehouse that catered to traveling merchants, before the Sabbath. The smoke ahead made it a certainty.

As he reached the stables, he was pleased to find them jostling with carts and pack animals, undoubtedly the property of other merchants headed for the Hot Fair. There were probably enough men here to make a minyan for Shabbat services, all waiting out the holy day when travel is forbidden. It would also be a time to exchange news.

But instead of a hubbub of gossiping merchants, Eliezer was alarmed to find the atmosphere inside the inn somber and tense. Men with serious expressions gathered at tables near the hearth, listening intently as a tall man addressed them.

Eliezer settled at a table and signaled for ale. “Why the grim faces?” he asked the serving wench.

“That big fellow talking just arrived from Troyes. There’s some kind of pestilence in the city.”

A pestilence in Troyes?
Eliezer’s heart leapt into his throat as he moved within earshot of the speaker.

“Normally I wouldn’t dream of leaving a wedding before all seven days of celebration, but I couldn’t bear another two days in that city.” The speaker grimaced. “Everywhere I went I passed a funeral procession, every coffin so small that it could only hold a child’s body.”

“The pox?”

“
Non
.” The tall man shook his head. “They say that one of Lillit’s minions is abroad in the town.”

“Oy,” another man muttered. “Business at the Hot Fair will be terrible this year.”

The other merchants began discussing strategies for making a profit despite the plague, allowing Eliezer to question the wedding guest privately.

“Quickly.” Eliezer took him by the arm. “Tell me everything you know about this baby-killing demon.”

The man looked down in alarm, and Eliezer quickly added, “Please, my family lives in Troyes and I’ve been away since the Cold Fair.”

The tall man’s expression changed to one of pity. “From what I heard—and believe me, guests at a wedding are not eager to discuss such an evil subject—the pestilence has been in the city for over a month.”

“What kind of pestilence?”

The man shrugged. “All I know is that the demon does her worst during the night. Adults aren’t affected, and while many children have been attacked, only the youngest have succumbed.”

“I have two young children, and my wife was pregnant when I left.” Eliezer’s voice was shaking.

The man leaned down and dropped his already low voice to a whisper. “Are you thinking of violating the Sabbath? I won’t tell anyone if you leave.”

“What good would it do me to ride for Troyes now? Whatever happened to my family has already happened.” Eliezer held his head in his hands. “And should my child’s life hang in the balance, committing such an
averah
might condemn him.”

“Come you two, the sun is setting,” a voice with a Provençal accent called out. “Enough of death and evil spirits. On the Sabbath we should speak of pleasant subjects.”

Eliezer joined the men in prayers that welcomed the day of rest, but although he drank more wine than usual at
souper
, it was not enough to let him sleep peacefully. After morning services, his mind was so unsettled that, instead of leading a Talmud discussion, he sat back and listened to the men’s idle gossip. Two textile dealers from Tours were eagerly sharing the latest news about King Philip and Bertrade de Montford, for whom Count Fulk of Anjou had divorced the mother of his heir. Eliezer only half listened as the men chortled over how, while visiting the Count of Anjou, King Philip had suffered a lecherous attraction to the beautiful new countess.

“Within four days, the king abducted Bertrade, divorced the queen, arranged for Fulk’s divorce from Bertrade, and then married her.”

Eliezer felt utterly helpless. Leaving could mean a death sentence for one of his children—that, he could not risk. But he could think of nothing but Shemiah, Rivka, and the baby he’d never even seen, suffering in Troyes. His colleagues continued to debate how even a king could arrange two divorces so quickly without the Church objecting.

Eliezer was so sick with worry and frustration that he barely noticed when a man from Provence asked, “Have you seen this Bertrade? Is she truly as beautiful as all that?”

“
Oui
, she is indeed lovely . . . although I’ve only viewed her from a distance,” one of the Tours merchants replied.

“Bertrade has something else about her,” his companion said. “Nobody can see her without wanting to tear her clothes off.”

“There’s a woman in Troyes like that, a Jewess.” A raspy voice grew low and confidential. “The rosh yeshiva’s daughter.”

Eliezer’s jaw dropped as the merchants began to discuss his wife. He was seething with fury and curiosity; yet he forced his expression into a mask of indifference.

“Where is the best place to see her?” someone asked.

“Her family attends the Old Synagogue, so you might catch a glimpse of her there. But it’s better to go to their house, where they sell wine. In the summer, when women don’t always wear veils at home, you may closely observe her fairness.”

“What does she look like?”

“She has black curly hair, skin like cream, and eyes like emeralds.” He sighed. “Of course she’s married, with a few children as well, but her husband often travels on business.”

Eliezer’s blood was boiling, and he clenched his seat with both hands to keep from jumping up and assaulting the speaker.
How dare he speak of Rachel as though she were a harlot?

“I’ve purchased wine from the rosh yeshiva several times,” one of the Tours merchants said. “The women I saw there were quite ordinary.”

“Perhaps her hair was covered.” Eliezer tried to lean in, desperate to hear more about Rachel’s conduct. Did she encourage strange men while he was away? Had she been unfaithful?

“None of them had green eyes. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not surprised you haven’t seen her.” The raspy voiced man chuckled. “This beauty of Troyes is careful not to be alone with a man . . . unless he’s a Ganymede.”

“How did you manage it?”

“I never said I was alone with her. I was buying wine with my aunt.”

“I must admit that I too had heard of this woman’s beauty,” the man from Chartres said. “So I attempted to procure some wine before I left Troyes. But the family was gone; the servants said they were sitting shiva somewhere in the country.”

Eliezer gasped. Joheved and Meir must have lost a child.
And what of my children?
Surely Rachel wouldn’t have gone to Ramerupt if they were ill? But perhaps Rachel and Miriam had taken the children away to avoid the pestilence in town. After all, Miriam sent her boys to Paris when the pox struck Troyes.

 

The walls of Troyes loomed in the distance, but instead of the happy eagerness that viewing them usually brought, Eliezer was filled with dread. His trepidation only increased when he passed a funeral just outside the city, the tiny coffin confirming what he’d heard at the
fondaco
.

The streets of the Broce aux Juifs, the Jewish Quarter, were eerily quiet. The few peddlers on the road offered their goods without shouting, and no merchants called out for customers from those shops with open shutters. Nearly choking with fear, Eliezer reached his courtyard gate and braced himself for what he would find within.

A cat stretched out on a bench and a few chickens lazily pecking at the ground were the only inhabitants. He was washing his hands at the well when Salomon’s kitchen door opened and Anna, the maidservant, poked her head out. She and her husband, Baruch, had come to Salomon from Romania as slaves years ago, payment for Eliezer and his brother Asher’s yeshiva educations. Salomon freed the couple soon after, before the birth of their son, Pesach, and the family had worked for him ever since.