Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (18 page)

Mama and Anna were out shopping when Rachel heard the courtyard gate open. She peeked out the kitchen window and to her horror saw both Eudes and Raoul approaching the front door.

“Your Grace, what a pleasure to see you,” she lied.

Eudes’ words did nothing to reassure her. “Raoul, stay up here and let me know if anyone approaches.” Then he turned to Rachel. “Let’s see what delights await me in the cellar.”

Her throat tight with fear, Rachel led the count down the steps. No sooner did he reach the bottom than he closed the distance between them and took her hand. “My whole heart’s desire is directed toward you. Since you are worthy of a count’s love, you must not refrain from loving me in return.”

“But your deeds have proven you unworthy of my love. You have given your love elsewhere.”

Eudes face darkened and he squeezed her hand painfully. “I have only followed your wish that I behave in such a way that no one should suspect us of evil.”

“But you have not kept faith with me. You promised to wait until New Year’s Day.” Rachel’s throat was so choked with fright that she could barely speak, and for the first time in this pregnancy, nausea welled up inside her.

Eudes grabbed her shoulder and forced her to look at him. “Enough of this courtly love charade. It ceases to amuse me. If you cannot willingly render to your sovereign the services that please him, you should be careful not to offend him.”

Before Rachel could reply, he pulled her close and fastened his lips on hers. She tried to overcome her revulsion and respond enthusiastically, but Eudes had truly horrific smelling breath. In her queasy state, it was only a moment before she began to gag.

She was saved by Raoul calling down to them, “Your Grace, the vintner’s wife and maidservant have returned.”

Eudes backed away, while Rachel grasped the nearest cask to steady herself. She had no choice now, no matter how revolting she found his touch. “I have no wish to offend you, Your Grace. If you can be patient until New Year’s, when my sickness should subside, I will be your most willing and obedient servant.”

“Since I prefer an amenable lover as well as a healthy one, I will wait a few weeks more.” His voice hardened. “But willing or not, you will share my bed on New Year’s Day.”

Outside, crouching next to the half-open cellar window, Eliezer barely managed to restrain his impulse to race to the front door and murder the count. Rachel’s odd behavior, so jumpy and secretive, had sent Eliezer to Salomon and Miriam for the cause. What they told him would curdle any husband’s blood, and now he had the proof he needed.

Jewish Law permitted a man to kill someone pursuing him, or his family, with evil intent, and it mandated him to do so to prevent the rape of a married woman. So the decision for Eliezer wasn’t what to do, but how and, most importantly, when.

ten

It was impossible to shake the loathsome memory of Eudes’ lips on hers. That week, each time Rachel reveled in Eliezer’s arms she knew she couldn’t betray him with their sovereign. Should it come to that, she would rather die than share Eudes’ bed. But why should she die when he was the pursuer? Why should she die when, according to the Talmud, lying with the count wasn’t even considered a sin?

Papa had said that just as a murder victim should be saved by killing the would-be murderer, so too could a married woman be saved from rape by taking her assailant’s life. Hadn’t the high priest’s daughter killed the Greek commander in similar circumstances?

But how could she just snuff out the life of a man? All he wanted to do was lie with her, not hurt her.

When all her reasoning came to an end, Rachel reached her conclusion: If it was no sin to lie with Eudes, it was also no sin to kill him. And she would rather see the count dead than submit to his embraces. With that choice made, she decided to seek help from Moses haCohen.

She forced herself to wait until Judah’s monthly bloodletting, when Eliezer would be busy concluding business negotiations as the Cold Fair drew to a close. She fumed with frustration when the doctor stayed to bleed Salomon as well. Being older than fifty, Papa usually had his blood let every other month, as the Talmud recommended, but since the following month, Shevat, was considered inauspicious, he chose to undergo the procedure twice in two months rather than merely once in three. With all the food and wine he’d consumed over Hanukkah, he felt fortified for the procedure.

Just when Rachel thought she’d have Moses to herself, he suggested that Rivka be bled as well, since she no longer rid herself of excess corrupt seed through her menses. Perhaps it would help relieve her dizziness. Rachel paced the courtyard until he stepped outside, and then fell in step with him.

“Moses, I need your advice on an urgent and private matter.” Her voice was shaking. “I cannot risk being overheard, and I probably shouldn’t be seen entering your house either.”

The doctor’s right eyebrow rose quizzically. “Nonsense. You have every right to consult me about your mother’s illness. We will have all the privacy we need in my salon.”

Moses no sooner closed his thick office door than Rachel blurted out, “I have need of a fast-acting, undetectable poison.”

The doctor paused and considered her. “Must the victim die immediately, or can he merely be incapacitated and allowed to die later?”

“It matters not, so long as long as he cannot name me his poisoner.”

“And when would you need this?”

“By New Year’s Day, maybe sooner.”

Moses stared up at the ceiling. “I assume this is a case of killing a pursuer who intends you harm. And I assume that you have given this decision very careful thought.”

Rachel nodded. “I have thought of little else. I may not need this poison, but I must have it available.”

“There are many questions to discuss and much I must explain to you first.” So far his face hadn’t betrayed the slightest apprehension.

“You will help me?” she whispered.

“Since your situation is so dire.”

Rachel sighed with relief. “I thought you might be an expert on poisons.”

“I have never assisted a poisoner before.” When her face fell he added, “However, while in Bavel I spent several years studying poisons’ effects and their antidotes. Poison is the preferred weapon of assassins in the Levant, and every court physician must be skilled on the subject. Luckily for you, very few people in France have this expertise.”

She was indeed fortunate. With the doctor’s skills, she stood a far better chance of poisoning Count Eudes without detection. She took a deep breath and began explaining the likely scenario. “I will be alone with a man and able to administer the poison to him personally, probably in the evening.”

“So there will be food and wine.”

“I will bring wine with me,” Rachel said.

“
Oui
, and if there’s the slightest inkling of poison, your wine will be the first thing they suspect.”

Rachel sighed. “But could we poison the wine and give me the antidote?”

“I would prefer not to,” he replied. “Francesca tells me that you’re expecting a child.”

She nodded. “In the spring.”

“It would be better to share your wine with his servants first and then poison his cup. If you poison his food, you’d have to clean the dishes afterward and that would look odd.”

“The poison must work right away. If he dies that night, nobody will likely discover the body until the morning.”

“We could use pennyroyal oil. Your sister is sure to have some for ending unwanted pregnancies. In that way, we wouldn’t need to involve an apothecary.” Moses paused to think. “But to kill in one dose causes a great deal of pain, and he might scream so loudly that the household may become alarmed.”

“What about arsenic?”

“It’s for chronic poisoning, not for what you want,” he said. “Let me see. Foxglove, monkshood, and belladonna work fast, but they cause hallucinations and convulsions. You don’t want him to injure you.”

Rachel thought a moment. “Do you have opium?” It was a common sleeping draught in Maghreb.

“Opium is a possibility. But people might have questions if a healthy young man just fell asleep and didn’t wake up.”

“Hemlock?”
Will any poison be acceptable to the doctor?

“
Non
. The arms and legs are paralyzed first, but not the mouth. He’d surely call for help.”

“So what else is there?”

“I have it—henbane.” Moses nodded in satisfaction. “It’s known to have an aphrodisiac effect when added to wine, so nobody would be surprised if a young man with a woman visitor accidentally took too much.”

“If I suggested he procure some, I could add a larger dose to his cup.” Relief coursed through her. “He’ll never suspect that I’m not eager to be with him.”

“I suggest you add some of your mother’s black hellebore as well,” Moses said. “The two together will surely kill him. But Rachel, you must be careful not to drink the wine yourself.”

“
Merci
,
merci
.” Rachel kissed the doctor’s palm before leaving. “You’re an angel.” The Angel of Death to be sure, she thought as she turned for the door, but still an angel.

 

Rachel’s good mood lasted only a week. In the final days of the Cold Fair, she and Eliezer met with Nissim the Clothier. Eliezer, while intrigued by his wife’s plan for them to become clothiers, did not share her enthusiasm. There were too many unanswered questions, too many potential pitfalls. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his visits to Sepharad. He was, however, willing to keep Rachel content by consulting an expert.

Nissim’s hair was more grey than auburn, but he was just as freckled as when Salomon traded him wine for the family’s first luxury woolens twenty years earlier. He had been buying the rabbi’s wine ever since and never lacked a ready market for it among the Jews of his native Flanders. So he was content to sacrifice a little time now to assist Salomon’s attractive youngest daughter.

“Nissim, can you please explain what makes some wool fabrics more valuable than others?” Rachel asked. She needed to understand this if her endeavor were to succeed.

“Let me start at the beginning,” Nissim said. “If I come to a subject you’re familiar with, we’ll move on to the next.”

Rachel and Eliezer nodded in agreement, with Rachel eager to hear Nissim’s explanation, no matter how familiar.

“Everyone agrees that the quality of the wool itself is paramount,” he began. “The best wool for felting comes from sheep with fine, short-fibered, curly hair, while coarser, long, straight fibers are better for worsteds.”

Nissim took in their confused expressions and realized he had already assumed too much knowledge. “There are two kinds of wool textiles—worsteds and true woolens, the latter being far more valuable,” he said. “All the fabrics I sell are woolens.”

“Go on.” Eliezer pursed his lips in annoyance. He’d expected Rachel to be more informed before she dragged him into this, and here it seemed she didn’t know the first thing about wool.

“In fineness Frankish sheep can’t compare to those in Angleterre, so your local product is already at a disadvantage,” Nissim continued. “But the spinsters and weavers in Troyes are so skilled that they quite nearly make up for it.”

“I thought Joheved’s sheep gave fine, short, curly wool.” Rachel was mortified at having her ignorance exposed to Eliezer. “At least it seems that way when I spin it.”

Nissim pulled out several bolts of cloth that his customers hadn’t yet picked up. “The scarlet is woven of pure English wool. These blues are from mixed English and Flemish wool, while those are mixed English and local wool.” He waited while they examined the fabrics. “And these red ones are completely local.”

“Amazing.” Rachel gently stroked the scarlet. “The texture is almost as fine as silk; yet the weight marks it as wool.”

Eliezer looked at Nissim skeptically. “But some of the red pieces are clearly superior to the poorer blues.”

“So you see that good wool is not the entire story,” he said. “I think it’s the skilled fuller who’s responsible for our finest woolens.”

Rachel hated to appear stupid again, but she had no choice. “The fuller?” she asked, ignoring Eliezer’s snort of exasperation.

“After woolen cloth is woven, it must be fulled before dyeing,” Nissim replied. “Without fulling, the material would soon tear and develop holes, while properly fulled woolens can last a lifetime.”

“And what exactly do these fullers do?” Eliezer asked.

“After the cloth comes off the loom, the fullers lower it into a large trough filled with a wash of hot water, fuller’s earth, and urine.”

“What?” Rachel and Eliezer exclaimed almost simultaneously.

“Fuller’s earth is a kind of clay that some call kaolin.” Nissim chuckled. “I have no idea why urine is necessary, but once the cloth is covered by the liquid, the fullers climb in and trample the cloth.”

Eliezer grimaced. “It sounds like how we make wine from grapes, only worse smelling.”

“The stomping part is similar, but luckily a fuller’s trough is only filled ankle deep,” Nissim said.

“I understand that fulling cleans the cloth, but how can it make it last longer?” Rachel asked.

“Cleaning the cloth is the least of what fulling does. All this stomping in the hot wash forces the fibers to interlock and mat, forming felt. Depending on how warm the weather is, the process can take three to five days, and by that time the cloth has shrunk to half its original size. Then the fulled cloth is attached by tenterhooks to a large frame to dry.”

Eliezer scratched his head. “So the fullers spend days shrinking the cloth only to stretch it out again?”