by Maggie Anton
“I must go downstairs,” I declared. “If we can discover where the slave has gone and tell Timonus before Father returns, maybe we can prevent most of the whippings.”
Timonus was already browbeating the other tutors outside the kitchen when I interrupted him. “I will question the female slaves, and if necessary, then the males. But first tell me what you know about this new slave.”
I feared that Timonus would reject my authority, but after only a minimal hesitation, he said, “Yes, Mistress.” Looking around the room, his gaze making it clear that anyone who knew more should speak up, Timonus began, “His name is Jacob, and he comes from Niblis. When his father died, his mother placed him with a Nazarene monastic community, where he learned scripture in both Hebrew and Aramaic.”
Another tutor, who evidently hoped that cooperation would lessen his punishment, spoke up. “It was one of those places for males only, where they took vows of poverty and chastity.” He shuddered and quickly added, “That’s why he was sold as a slave, because they couldn’t pay his karga.”
“You were educated at the same place?” I suggested.
“Not there, but one like it.” He added hastily, “I hated it.”
I decided he was being truthful. A few questions later, I learned that none of the tutors had known Jacob before or had come from Niblis. They agreed that he’d complained constantly about being forced into slavery, which is why they assumed that he’d run away. They were a fearful bunch, and I suspected that each would readily accuse another to save himself.
Suddenly I thought of Keshisha and drew Timonus aside. “These tutors are lusty young men. Find out if this Jacob had a favorite among the female slaves or if the others think he did.”
That left the females. “I intend to speak to them all together first, and then individually,” I told Nurse. “Watch carefully to see who appears guilty or sad, or if the others keep glancing at one of them in particular.”
I gathered the girls into the traklin. “You know what will happen when my father hears of this,” I said in a severe tone. “If anyone knows where Jacob went, or merely suspects where he has gone, you should tell me when we are alone.”
Next, trying to sound gentle and encouraging, I continued, “I understand how difficult it is for a female slave to resist a man’s attentions, even another slave’s. I will protect you, and not tell my father how I came by my information.”
Yehudit began to stir in Nurse’s arms, and the slaves waited nervously while I seated myself so I could suckle my child as we spoke.
Nurse handed the baby to me, at the same time whispering, “I think the kitchen slave with the mole on her chin is hiding something.”
I saved her for last, leaving her to worry as I spoke to the others. Imarta and the other nurses knew nothing. However, when I began questioning the laundresses, one of them had an answer for me.
“I can’t believe Jacob ran away,” she told me. “Believe me, if I’d had any idea what he was going to do, I never would have helped that kitchen slave meet him at night. I would have let Timonus know right away.”
“What’s your name, girl?” I asked. She seemed sincere, and if her information were helpful, I wanted to remember her loyalty.
“Leuton, Mistress.”
“Where do you think he’s gone, Leuton?” I didn’t care what the slaves did with one another at night as long as they fulfilled their duties. But running away was intolerable.
“I’m not certain, but he may have returned to the minim he used to live with.” She looked at me anxiously. “Please don’t tell the others that it was me who helped you find him.”
“Of course not,” I assured her. “I understand how that might make things difficult for you.”
When I questioned Cook, she admitted that the slave with a mole had seemed distracted recently and just this morning had scalded herself with a pot she’d grabbed off the fire too soon. Other kitchen slaves similarly accused her of acting strangely.
Before I was finished, Timonus strode in triumphantly and whispered that the escaped slave did occasionally leave his bed in the men’s sleeping quarters. But when he was caught, his explanation was that he preferred using the courtyard privy rather than the chamber pot at night.
It was time to confront the kitchen slave, who, if Leuton was right, had good reason to sulk.
“You know why I’ve saved you for last, don’t you?” I hoped that she would nod and we could finish this.
But the slave just stared at the floor.
“I know Jacob was coming to you at night. Did he promise to take you with him when he ran away?”
When she remained silent, I increased the pressure. “Father will be home soon. If you don’t tell me where Jacob went, he’ll have Timonus beat you until you do.”
“Timonus can’t make me talk. None of you can,” she spat out. “All I’ll tell you is that Jacob and I weren’t lying together. He wasn’t lustful at all.”
I shook my head sadly, giving her one last chance. “Father won’t keep a disloyal slave. You’ll be sold, likely into a brothel. But if you tell me where Jacob went, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” At least I would try.
Suddenly Timonus raced in and grabbed her arm. “The master has returned. I’ll leave the situation in his hands.”
“No matter what this slave says,” I said. “Father should still check with the minim in Niblis.”
The whole affair ended badly, except that I managed to prevent our other slaves from being punished for disloyalty. Father wrote to the Nazarene in Niblis, who readily admitted that a monastic community harbored his fugitive slave. However, to Father’s outrage, they refused to return Jacob.
The monks had the audacity to quote Torah in their defense, saying, “You shall not restore to his master a slave that seeks refuge with you.”
Since they had no respect for Father’s position on Sura’s beit din, he tried to convince them with another Torah verse: “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep go astray, you must take it back to your fellow,” he wrote. “So shall you do with anything that your fellow loses and you find.”
The monks remained recalcitrant, reiterating the Torah verse they’d previously cited, that scripture forbade returning runaway slaves to their masters.
Father responded with a Baraita that taught, “This verse speaks only of a slave who fled to Eretz Israel from outside Eretz Israel.” But the monks would not release Jacob.
Plainly they neither accepted the Rabbis’ authority nor their interpretation of Torah. Father grumbled about the minim who ignored the Sages’ words and instead believed heresies that the Messiah had already come. But he was powerless against the monks who sheltered his escaped slave.
All he could do was sell the kitchen slave, which he did as soon as Sukkot was over. I told no one that Leuton had been my informant, and she seemed to suffer no repercussions from the other slaves.
Normally shortly after a baby girl has survived the first month, her name is announced in synagogue when her father is called to read Torah. I didn’t know whether Ukva or Father was supposed to do this, but I heard nothing from Ukva or Achti, and Father was so occupied with the holidays and Jacob’s escape that I was reluctant to ask him.
So when thirty days passed, I began calling my daughter Yehudit aloud instead of merely thinking of her with that name. She was not as easy a baby as Chama had been. She cried vigorously to be fed every two hours, whenever Nurse changed her swaddling, and sometimes for no reason at all that I could discern.
The previous night had been particularly difficult, and I was looking forward to resting during the brief time that Yehudit would sleep that afternoon. I was just starting up the stairs after the midday meal when Achti hailed me.
My sister’s visits always stirred up mixed feelings in me. On one hand, it was only from Achti that I could learn how Chama was doing, but hearing about him while being denied his presence never ceased to fill me with pain and jealousy.
Still I said,
“It’s good to see you. How is Chama?”
“The tutor says he’s eager to learn.” Before I could speak, Achti continued, “But I’m here to discuss your baby.”
“Yehudit,” I corrected her.
Achti frowned. “You named her without consulting us.”
“You can change her name to whatever you like—after she’s living in your house,” I declared, emphasizing the word “after.”
“That’s exactly what we need to decide, so I’ll have time to find a suitable wet nurse.”
Yehudit was my living remembrance of Rami. How dare Achti demand that I give her up so soon? “A wet nurse won’t be necessary. I intend to suckle her myself.”
Achti’s eyes narrowed. “Dada, she’ll need to come to us when you remarry. You’re only going to make it harder on yourself.”
My sister was probably right, but I couldn’t bear losing Yehudit so soon. Having lost Rami and Chama was bad enough. Angry tears came to my eyes. “I’ll only be keeping Yehudit a little while longer. She won’t know the difference.”
“As long as you continue to suckle her, we can’t force you to relinquish her,” Achti said. “But you won’t be able to remarry during that time either.”
“I’m in no hurry to remarry.” The mere thought of using the bed with someone other than Rami was repulsive.
“You’re being stubborn now, but some new suitor will change your mind.” Achti nodded confidently. “Then you’ll be glad that Ukva and I are here to raise the girl as our own.”
Suddenly Yehudit began to cry. Achti took advantage of this interruption to excuse herself, and I was relieved to see her go. While it might be good for Ukva and Achti to raise Rami’s children, I could not imagine I would ever be glad about it.
Yehudit was nearly three months old when Rav Huna, on his deathbed, requested that the tradition of immediate burial be set aside so he could be interred in the holy ground of Eretz Israel. Sequestered with my daughter, his funeral did not concern me. True, Father would likely become the head of Sura’s beit din, the highest-ranking rabbi in the district. But I didn’t see how that would affect me, other than to bring more unwanted suitors, whom I would refuse to meet.
So when Mother asked me to walk in the garden with her one afternoon, the serious expression on her face made me prepare for another battle over why I would not even consider a certain man as my next husband.
But she surprised me. “Hisdadukh, your father needs your help, so I want you to reflect carefully on what I am asking you to do.”
“Yes, Mother.” My curiosity piqued, I looked at her with interest.
“Rav Huna has asked that your father accompany his body to Eretz Israel and ensure that it is buried properly.”
“But Father is almost as old as Rav Huna,” I protested. “The journey will be difficult for him. Rabbah bar Huna should be the one to go.”
“Rav Huna’s son is going. But your father wants to see Eretz Israel before he dies, and I can do nothing to dissuade him.” Mother sighed heavily. “I want you to go with him.”
My jaw dropped and it took a few moments for me to declare, “I won’t be separated from Yehudit.”
“You do not need to be. She is the perfect age for traveling. And I think a change of climate, a new location, would be a good thing for you both.”
“Me, visit Eretz Israel?” I said in awe. This was the Holy Land, the land Elohim promised us. This was where most of Torah happened. No wonder Father wanted to go. Jews in Bavel spoke of the West with longing and devotion, but few made the journey. And very few of those were women.
“I see that I have intrigued you,” Mother said.
She was right. “What would I have to do?”
“I expect that you would see he is well fed and does not tire himself. Plus whatever else needs to be done to keep him safe.” Mother paused to cut off some rose hips and put them in her basket. “You will not be alone. Nurse will accompany you, to take care of Yehudit, plus you’ll need another slave for yourself. And Timonus will see to it that your caravan is well guarded.”
“Timonus will also be with us?”
“The household will manage without him, and it will give the tutors he’s training as stewards some practice.” Then she gave me a hug. “I am glad you agreed to go without me having to insist.”
I realized that by mentioning Timonus going with “us,” I had included myself among the travelers. Mother would not have needed to force me; indeed she had done me a favor. For as long as I was away in Eretz Israel, I would neither have to relinquish Yehudit to Achti, nor deal with importunate suitors. And when I came back, enough time should have passed that I would be able to visit Chama without upsetting him.
“I’d like to take Leuton as my maidservant. I don’t care so much about my hair and makeup, but someone to wash and mend clothes would be useful.” This would be a way to reward her.
Mother narrowed her eyes in curiosity but didn’t question my choice. “I have received good reports about Leuton, who is the daughter of Timonus and the head laundress, by the way. Nurse can always teach her how to do your hair.”
I was astonished, not only to hear that Timonus had a child, but that I hadn’t known it before. Until that moment, it had never occurred to me to wonder how Leuton, or any of our slaves, had come into our household. “Besides Leuton, have other slaves been born here?” I asked.
“She is the only one,” Mother said. “Father allowed her birth as a special favor to Timonus.”
Rav Huna died so abruptly that I was still writing our travelers’ amulets when we learned of his death. Fortunately I had time to finish them, but it was a rush to prepare for the journey. I kept packing Rami’s old tunic and then taking it out again. Only when the camels came to get us that afternoon did I finally make the decision to leave it behind.
Though I was expecting it, it was still disconcerting to see the camel with Rav Huna’s coffin on its back, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to ride near it. Despite the distance between our camels, I could distinctly smell the aromatic herbs that were packed in with the corpse.
“Father,” I called out a while later. “Are we going to meet the rest of our caravan in Nehardea?” To my surprise, in addition to Yehudit, Nurse, Leuton, and me, our party consisted of only Timonus, Father, Rabbah bar Huna, and their slave attendants. Two grizzled Saracens would be our guards and guides.
Father shook his head. “To reach Tiberias quickly, we must travel faster than a caravan of fully loaded camels can go.”
My throat tightened at how vulnerable our small company would appear, yet surely Father knew what he was doing.
“Since we aren’t bringing any merchandise,” Timonus said, “we will cross the desert directly, rather than taking barges up the Euphrates.” He pointed to the water bags hanging on the camels’ sides. “I don’t expect to need it all, but we carry enough water to last us three weeks.”
Timonus chuckled as I eyed the thin bags with skepticism. “Camels can go without water for fifty days in the winter,” he explained.
I adjusted my seat on the camel’s hump so I could best observe the changing scenery as we followed the riverbank. With only occasional breaks to relieve ourselves at the side of the road, we rode straight through to an inn at the outskirts of Nehardea. Yehudit had never been so content; all day she lay in my or Nurse’s arms, lulled by the camel’s gentle rolling gait, waking only to suckle. I loved her soft dark hair, and to my delight she graced me with her first smile on our journey.
The first few days, I was fascinated as the city gave way to orchards and fields, which turned into pastures where sheep and cattle grazed. Here and there a village interposed itself into the larger landscape, and if it were near midday, we would stop there to eat. The coffin we carried announced our mission more clearly than any words, and thus the Jewish farmers viewed us with awe while the Persians backed away in dread.
Father and Rabbah bar Huna spent nearly every waking hour discussing Mishna.
Either Father remembered that Rabbah had complained how he taught practical matters instead of Torah, or this was a good opportunity to discuss sections of Mishna that were not likely to apply to legal cases in Bavel. Whatever the reason, Father began teaching from the sections of Tractate Pesachim that dealt with the myriad details of how priests at the Holy Temple used to make the Pesach offering.
Soon the cultivated fields gave way to drier land suitable only for goats, and on Sixth Day we arrived at what looked like the last inhabited place we would encounter for some time. The track we’d been following continued to the west, until it disappeared into a vast desert. Surprisingly, the small village was crowded with travelers. Many, like us, were Jews stopping for Shabbat on their way to Eretz Israel.
But some were swarthy Saracen nomads who were plainly neither merchants nor innocuous travelers. With their swords displayed openly, they looked both fierce and disreputable. Recollected tales of women captured by Saracens assailed me, and I tried to hide myself behind the camels while simultaneously pulling my veil across my face so only my eyes remained uncovered. My fears only grew stronger, for two guards could not possibly protect us from a group of such bandits.
I waited anxiously as Father, Timonus, and our two Saracens spoke to one desert nomad after another. Suddenly broad smiles broke out on the men’s faces, hands were clasped in agreement, and Timonus casually passed a small purse to the nomad leader. Abruptly he clapped his hands, and men produced tents and other equipment that they efficiently set up as our camp. A goat was brought forward for Father to slaughter, and soon it was skinned and roasting over the fire.
While Rabbah went off to see if there were ten Jewish men to make a minyan for Shabbat prayers later, Father and Timonus explained how we would safely cross the desert.
“For desert Saracens, honor is everything,” Father said. “Once we’re under their protection, every man in the tribe is sworn to die defending us, if necessary.”