Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (21 page)

Rachel, who’d been anticipating a pleasant holiday week in Ramerupt with Eliezer, burned with resentment. “So even though I’m pregnant, I have no choice but to ready my house for the festival too?”

“Joheved’s life depends on it,” Miriam said sternly. “And don’t expect much help from me or Mama. We’ll be busy doing the same thing at our homes.”

“But you’ve done this before, while I’ve gone to Ramerupt every Passover since I’ve been married.” Rachel grimaced at the enormous amount of work necessary to remove every trace of leaven that had accumulated in her home during those nine years.

Every dish had to be washed with soap, rinsed in boiling water then cold water, and finally dipped in hot water again. Every pot needed to be scrubbed with salt stone then rinsed in boiling water, all metal items (like spits and tripods) passed through fire in the hearth, and wooden boards for cutting and kneading cleaned until not a speck of
hametz
could be seen.

Rushes would have to be taken up and discarded—no easy task—then the floors carefully swept and freshly cut rushes put down. Papa’s students slept in the attic, and undoubtedly took bread or pastries up there on occasion, so all the old straw had to be removed and the floor cleaned before new straw was brought up.

“Stop acting like a spoiled child, Rachel,” Miriam hissed. “Passover will be here in a few weeks whether you like it or not, and our homes must be ready. Be thankful for all those years when Joheved did the work for you!”

Rachel had never seen Miriam so angry, and she blushed with shame.
Am I really such a spoiled child? I suppose I must be, to whine about doing the same work that every other Jewish woman in Troyes has to do, when the important thing is my sister’s health.
She looked over at Miriam, whose mask of fury had been replaced with one of sorrow.

“Miriam, do you really think Joheved is in danger?”

“I’m afraid so, although I pray that she is not.”

 

When they arrived home, Rachel joined her servants in thoroughly cleaning her house in preparation for Passover. The dung collector’s cart acquired a new purpose as he hauled the dirty straw and rushes to Papa’s vineyard for mulch. Along with other Jewish housewives in Troyes, Rachel anxiously awaited a rainy day when she could empty the waste pits in her kitchen. As soon as sufficient rain turned the Jewish Quarter’s streets into fast-flowing rivulets, every bit of garbage amassed in those pits would be dumped into the roads.

But before this happened, Mama suffered a relapse of dizziness and took to her bed, leaving her younger daughters responsible for cleaning her house as well as their own. With Miriam riding back and forth to Ramerupt several times a week to check on Joheved—who, may the Holy One protect her, was regaining her strength and would probably be well enough to attend Papa’s seder—this labor fell on Rachel’s shoulders, who seethed with resentment at the vagaries of life.

To make matters worse, they discovered that the privy’s cesspit was nearing its capacity. Lined with stones to let the liquid escape and so deep that a man who fell in would drown, a cesspit took years to fill—so many years that Rachel couldn’t remember when theirs had been emptied. Though the nausea of pregnancy was behind her, as the dung collector and his sons lowered buckets into the privy’s vile contents and dumped them into his cart, the stench that permeated the courtyard—nay, the entire block—was overpowering.

Her relief came only when the men carted the disgusting muck off to fertilize the vineyard. It took several days of effort before the cesspit was finally clean, during which Rachel swallowed her envy whenever Miriam rode off to Ramerupt. She wavered between sympathy and guilty satisfaction at the thought of Mama, who had bequeathed her all this extra work, confined to bed and thus suffering the evil smell even more than Rachel, who at least left home to attend synagogue. But mostly she was too busy and too tired to feel much of anything.

 

When Eliezer arrived in Troyes three days before the start of Passover, he entered through the rarely used Chapes Gate and made for a nearby tavern on the outskirts of town. The place was as disreputable as its clientele, and he waved off a couple of whores heading in his direction. As eager as Eliezer was to see his family again, he walked past the dice players to a table in the back, where he sat down and opened his accounts ledger.

He moved numbers from one column to another, added a little here and subtracted a little there. Finally, when the church bells chimed None, he was satisfied. True, if Rachel looked carefully she might notice some merchandise he’d sold for less than usual or bought for more, but he was confident that he had hidden the discrepancy of forty dinars. Twenty dinars to repay what he’d borrowed at the Cold Fair and twenty more now to complete payment to the man he was waiting for.

The short man entered as the echo of bells disappeared, his hat pulled low over his face, a cloak wrapped around his body. After a furtive glance around the room, he made a beeline toward Eliezer. When he sat down, Eliezer silently passed him a heavy purse under the table and then rose to leave.

But the man motioned Eliezer to sit down again. He seemed to struggle inwardly before finally speaking. “I don’t deserve this.” He slipped the purse back into Eliezer’s hand.

“Why not?” Eliezer whispered. “He’s dead, exactly as we planned.”

twelve

The man pulled out some cards and dealt a few to Eliezer. “I took the monkshood to the stables, but as I hid in the shadows to be sure no one was around, another man came in.” He paused and laid down a card. “I could tell immediately that he was up to no good, and sure enough, he snuck over to the horse’s feed trough and mixed something into the grain.”

Eliezer picked up the man’s card and randomly put one down from his hand. “Who was he? Did he see you?”

“He was another stable hand. I waited until he’d gone, and a little more time after that to be sure, and then left another way. I was careful that nobody saw me.”

“So you didn’t tamper with the horse’s fodder at all?”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t dare add your poison to what he’d put there; if the horse was obviously ill in the morning, Eudes would ride another.”

“You deserve to be paid. You took the same risk, did the same work.”

“I did nothing except watch another do the job instead of me, so what you paid me in December is more than enough.”

Eliezer’s mouth dropped in astonishment.
An honest criminal?
“So we each have an extra twenty dinars and a clear conscience.”

Their business concluded, the man collected his cards. “With any luck, we won’t meet again.”

By the time Eliezer stepped into the street, the stable hand had disappeared into one of the many alleys off rue du Cloître St.-Estienne. Whistling a merry tune, Eliezer headed toward the Jewish Quarter.

His pace quickened as he approached Salomon’s courtyard gate.
Don’t expect her to be there; she’s probably still in the vineyard.
But there she was, sitting under the apple tree with their son, Miriam’s two younger boys, Guy de Dampierre, and some strange monk. His heart swelled with pride to see Shemiah reading from a manuscript while the others listened intently.

He let the gate slam behind him, and as Rachel struggled to stand up, Shemiah thrust the book at his cousin and raced into Eliezer’s open arms. Rachel took longer to reach him, and clung to him fiercely as he embraced her.

Guy and the black-robed monk paused as they walked past. “I see our lesson for today is finished,” Guy said with a smile. “Shall we return when your festival is over?”

Rachel nodded. “
Oui
, after Passover would be best.”

The unknown monk looked disappointed, but he didn’t challenge this and the two men left together.

“Oh, Eliezer,” Rachel said breathlessly once they were inside. “I’m so glad you’re home. It’s been a nightmare since you left. Mama is sick again, Joheved is too ill to have Passover in Ramerupt, and I’ve had to do everything all by myself.”
Thank Heaven my worst nightmare died in January.

“But the children are well?”

“You can see for yourself how Shemiah is.” She didn’t dare tempt the Evil Eye again by praising the children. “When little Rivka wakes from her nap, you’ll see how she’s doing.”

“How’s the cloth business coming?” Eliezer asked, surprised that she hadn’t told him about it immediately.

“I’ve had no time to look for fullers.”

Rachel’s angry voice made him change the subject. “Where’s Judah? I have some information for him.”

“You found Aaron’s family?”

“
Oui
, but he won’t like what I learned.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Just before Eliezer left for Córdoba, Judah asked for help in locating his deceased study partner’s family there. Judah was particularly concerned that Aaron’s widow, without proof of her husband’s death, would become an
agunah
, chained to him and unable to remarry. That was why Rachel, like other Jewish women in Ashkenaz, received a conditional
get
when her husband began to travel. But Judah wasn’t sure that women in Córdoba had the same protection.

He took her arm and guided her to the nearest bench. “Judah was right to have me search them out. Aaron’s family had no idea he was dead. They thought he’d remained in Ashkenaz to study Talmud.” He hesitated a moment. “Apparently there were rumors about him and other men, so they weren’t surprised that he’d decided against returning home, especially with travel around Córdoba becoming so dangerous.”

Rachel’s throat tightened. “You’ve been going there for two years and never mentioned any danger.”

“Until this year I thought merchants were safe, but then the Berbers returned, captured Seville, and threatened Córdoba. Many Jews are heading north for Toledo, where King Alfonso has promised that all Jewish persons and property will be secure.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Berbers attack their fellow Saracens instead of the Spaniards?” And after years of the opposite situation, Rachel wondered, how could Jews in Sepharad be persecuted by the Moors and find refuge with the Notzrim?

“The Berbers are fanatics.” Eliezer frowned in disapproval. “Who oppose the Moors’ lack of religious fervor, which they say causes the Moors to tolerate synagogues and churches in their cities, share bathhouses with infidels, and marry Jewish and Edomite women—along with other objectionable behavior. They razed Granada’s entire Jewish Quarter.”

“What are you going to do?” Rachel asked anxiously. Until they became clothiers, Eliezer would have to keep traveling.

“I’ve had enough of southern Sepharad. I’m moving my operations to Toledo.”

“Will you be safe there?”

“Alfonso has promised to respect Toledo’s diverse communities, and other than his new bishop transforming the main mosque into a cathedral, things remain as they were under the Moors.” He smiled. “Toledo is a city with very cold winters. Now that it houses the court of the wealthiest king in Sepharad, its inhabitants will be in need of fine furs and luxury woolens.”

“Despite the danger, I’m glad you went to Córdoba and gave Aaron’s family the news. Now his wife can remarry.”

“She already has.” Eliezer’s tone was heavy with disgust.

“But Judah was so sure that Aaron hadn’t given her a conditional
get
.”

“He hadn’t.” He held up his hand to stop Rachel’s question. “Aaron’s wife converted to Islam and obtained a divorce from their court.”

Rachel stared in shocked silence as his words sunk in. “In order to marry a Moor, of course.” She shivered.

“You’re ill.” He put his arm around her.

“I’m fine.” She squeezed his arm in return. “And definitely better for seeing you again.” She had been feeling unwell but put it down to all the work and worry she’d suffered. Now that Eliezer was home, she’d be back to normal in no time—undoubtedly that very night.

 

But Rachel felt worse as the days passed, with a chill in her bones that never dissipated and a growing discomfort beneath her navel. After the second seder, when she realized that she had not felt her child move recently, she consulted Miriam.

“Think carefully,” her sister asked. “When was the last time you felt life?”

The fear welled up and threatened to choke her. “I don’t remember exactly . . . I was so busy getting ready for Passover that I didn’t notice.”

“A few days?” Miriam asked. “A week? A month?”

“Possibly one week.”
Surely not a whole month.

“Have you had any evil dreams, especially of dead people?”

Rachel shuddered. “
Oui
.” She had dreamt of Eudes the night before Eliezer came home.

“Lie on your back and let me examine you.” Miriam knew it was useless to pray that the child be alive; if it were dead she couldn’t bring it back to life, and if it were alive her prayers were unnecessary. Yet she prayed anyway.

But Rachel’s breasts were slack rather than swollen, and the putrid smell that emanated from between her legs served only to confirm the dread diagnosis. Even so, Miriam wet her hand in warm water and rubbed it over her sister’s belly, feeling in vain for the slightest stirring within. As she did, she could smell in Rachel’s breath the same foul odor as below.

There could be no doubt—the baby was dead. Now she needed to learn how long ago it had succumbed, for a woman carrying a dead child in her womb was in grave danger herself. And the longer the corpse remained there, the greater that danger.

“Eliezer,” she asked him in private after giving them the sad news. “When you first . . . uh, returned, did Rachel smell different than usual?” Surely they couldn’t have had relations without him noticing the stink.

He nodded. “I thought she’d been too busy to bathe.” And he’d been too eager to use the bed to care.