“But why? I even put pieces of bacon in it.”
“I know. Anna, my faith forbids me to eat any pork.”
“You can’t eat pork ever?”
“No. Never. Every time I put something in my mouth here, I think about my God and his laws for my people. For me as a Jew. There are many rules I cannot follow here, or I would die. But I cannot eat this soup. Can you understand ? ”
“I think so. We have Lent. Forty days with no meat of any kind. Not even milk or an egg. But it isn’t forever.”
The next afternoon, after Anna ladled soup into a bowl for her father, she poured a bowl of buttermilk and cut some bread for Leah.
“Anna, why trouble yourself with that ungrateful child’s feeding?” said Gunther. “She won’t starve here unless she chooses. The Jews are impossibly stubborn.”
“There are rules for the foods she can eat.”
“The Jews think we are a backward and unclean people. Your fare is too poor for her. That’s all.”
“No father, you’re mistaken. She’s very grateful.”
“If she were grateful, she’d become a Christian. It would make your life easier, and she would be safer. Her people are so stubborn! You have no idea. Before Easter, I was in Cologne, in the market. One of the merchants heard that a certain cask of Jewish wine was better than any wine in the land. So he drew a small taste from the barrel, and drank it. When the Jew heard that a Christian had drunk a cup—mind you, not straight from the cask but from the Christian’s own cup, the Jew poured what remained of the cask into the gutter, saying it had been spoiled by Christian lips. And now I must have this stubborn Jewish child at my table.”
Leah answered, “Sir, I am grateful to you and to Anna. Especially to Anna. But I did not choose to come here.”
“But you are here, and you must live as we live,” said Gunther, stroking his chin and looking at the girl, who had never really spoken to him before.
“I cannot. I must honor my family. You do not understand.”
“Why should I understand anything about you or your people?”
“Because we are people. Not monsters or devils. You traded with my father.”
“Yes, a few times.”
“My father was a very good man. Was he ever less than fair? ”
“No,” said Gunther “Your father was fair.”
“And yet a Jew? ”
“Yes.”
“But because he was a Jew, and for no other reason, he and my mother were murdered in our home,” said Leah in a steady, hard voice. “How many people in Worms were slaughtered and destroyed because they were Jews? ” Then she added, “And only your daughter understood the evil of it.”
Leah left the table and went to sit in the garden doorway. Gunther said nothing. That afternoon he packed for a long journey to Cologne. Instead of waiting until morning, he said good-bye to Anna.
As he left he cautioned Anna, “There is talk in town about Leah. Be careful. Stay home. Lukas will bring you anything you need.”
Anna was unsure whether her father was angry or worried, but she saw that he was concerned about a week’s absence . Anna obeyed and stayed home with the doors barred, but the time in the house went quickly. Each day, Anna learned more about Leah.
“Lukas is a good man, isn’t he? ” said Leah one day. She was showing Anna how to make designs on a leather belt strip by heating a knife blade. The girls sat on the floor near the hearth, working and talking.
“The very best,” answered Anna.
“Do you talk to him about me? ”
“Yes, of course. He cares very much about you.”
“Can you make him understand that I cannot accept your faith? You understand that now don’t you? ”
“No. I wish you would become a Christian. I know you would be safer, and Lukas says you cannot enter heaven unless you are baptized.”
“It’s different for me. But you’re right. If I became a Christian, I might be safer. Perhaps my father could have made that same choice. Or my father’s father and his before that, all the way back to Abraham. No, we are Jews because that is who we are. It’s never been easy or safe. But baptism would be death to me, and all that I know.”
“I will talk to Lukas,” sighed Anna. Then she held up the strip of leather. “This belt is finer than anything I have ever worn. You had many beautiful things, didn’t you, Leah? ”
“Yes. But all that is gone now.”
Leah’s family had lived in Worms for centuries, for it was a city with a prosperous and ancient Jewish community. For more than twenty generations, Leah’s family had been merchants there, and though Leah’s father was a trader like Gunther, the Jewish trader covered immense distances and traded in goods of enormous value. His extended family had caravans and ships that carried goods from as far as the Holy Land and even beyond, from India, where he traded German furs, salt, and wine for exotic spices, silks, and gemstones. Leah’s family had accumulated great wealth and counted King Heinrich among their customers.
“Your life was very different from this. Wasn’t it? ”
“Yes, very. Our house was filled with people. We always had visitors,” said Leah. “My mother had a cousin who lived in Alexandria, and he came each fourth year. He traded with our people in Granada and then in the city of Paris. Every time he brought me delicious things to eat like tender dates and dried figs. There is a thick-skinned fruit that inside is the color of the sun. It’s so sweet and filled with juice!” Leah’s face was filled with longing. “After I ate it, he teased me when I refused to wash my hands, but the fragrance! This cousin told stories of white stone cities and palaces with windows of colored glass. In the harbor of Alexandria there’s a tower as old as the bible and as tall as a mountain, with a fire’s light that ships can see days before reaching the city. We had visitors from all sorts of distant places. I’ve seen a man with skin the color of a moonless night. My father had friends in many lands.”
“My father traded with your father.”
“Your father didn’t want you to bring me here.”
“He didn’t stop me.”
“He tried. When you found me, I wanted to die, but I didn’t know how. I was so scared. You, and only you, saved my life. You’ve been so good to me, but I can’t stay here. It has been awful for you. I want to live now but not here, not as a Christian. I want my own people. But where? Not in Worms.” Leah shook her head. “I’ll never return there.”
“No, I don’t want to go there ever again either.”
“For both of us, Anna, I must leave here. The others hate me, and they even hate you for bringing me here. I don’t feel safe here.”
“I know. But they don’t hate you—they hate your religion,” Anna said.
“My religion? They know nothing of my religion. They hate my people. And I despise them.” Leah looked hard at Anna. “You weren’t so eager to know me last fall.”
“You remember that?”
“Yes. You were unkind and rude.”
“I was scared,” said Anna, biting her lip.
“Of what?”
“I’d heard so much—”
“About the wicked Jews? You probably thought I had a tail!”
“And horns.”
Leah shook her head. “See?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? It’s not you, but your people, your church. They murdered my parents and my brothers. I can’t live here among them. How long before they come after me? Except for you, I am utterly alone. I’m not even a person, just some sort of horned monster. Everything here is against what I know. Your bloody meat. I would gag. You eat pigs and eels.”
“I hate eels.”
“I can’t bear the loneliness.”
“It’s lonely for both of us.”
“What did either ofus ever do? ” sighed Leah. “Nothing, and we both were undone. Sometimes I can barely breathe, it hurts so much.”
24
LEAH’S STORY
July 6, 109
6
Rain was falling as Anna returned from church. She found Leah sitting in her corner. The windows and doors were shuttered and closed, and the air was stale. Leah was holding a little cup, and Anna saw that she had been crying.
“What’s happened?” asked Anna with concern.
“Nothing. I was just remembering and feeling very sad. Yesterday was our Sabbath. I would have gone to the synagogue. See this?” she said as she held up a silver cup.
“That’s the cup the silversmith was making when I first saw you, isn’t it?”
Leah nodded. “Yes. It was my brother’s. On the eve of the Sabbath we would have gathered for a wonderful meal. My father would have said a blessing over the wine in this cup.”
“It’s lovely.”
“It’s all that I have left,” said Leah. But she did not cry. She would not let herself cry anymore.
Anna opened the shutters along the garden wall, and she sat down next to Leah on the floor.
“Tell me more,” said Anna.
“In the early spring, we began to hear from other Jewish communities, from kinsmen south along the river, that armies of Christians were assembling throughout the land. Our elders hoped that gifts of silver would protect us, but then the news grew more and more threatening. There were the murders in Speyer. My father was frightened, and then the mob arrived in Worms. Father was sure there’d be no mercy. His worst fear was that he would be killed first, and his children would fall into the enemy’s hand. We would be slaughtered or tortured and forced to give up our God—to worship the false hanged one.”
“Leah! You can’t say that!” Anna was shocked.
“Why? My father was a gentle man with a wonderful laugh. But as your Count Emich marched into Worms, my father gathered my mother and his three children. He said it was time to give up this dark world. Then he took his sharpest knife and cut the throats of my young brothers. My brothers were so brave. I watched and prayed, but as he turned to me, I pulled away. I was crying. I was so afraid. Soldiers burst into our house, and he was overpowered. They murdered him and my mother.” Leah’s voice almost broke, and Anna’s eyes filled with tears.
“I saw it all, and then I ran. The mobs were more interested in what they could steal from our house, so I ran and ran, and I hid. I hid that night and all the next day. Fires burned, and everything I loved was turned to ash. I didn’t even know if I was still alive.”
As she listened, Anna was troubled by one thought especially: What if Martin took part in all this?
Leah continued, “Just before dawn on the third day, I crept through the city to the only Christian house I knew, where Lise, one of our servants, lived. Lise had taken care of my father as a boy, and she had worked for my family always. We loved her. But as I stood in the doorway, I saw her with her family. They were celebrating with my parent’s things. Her husband was dressed in the very bloodstained clothing that my father had last worn! So I ran into the room and snatched my brother’s silver cup, and I ran. Perhaps they thought I was a ghost. No one chased me. That afternoon you and your father came to Worms. I planned to fill my dress with stones and jump into the river. But I was too afraid. I hated myself, I hated my fear. I knew I should be dead. Now Lukas, with his talk of baptism, makes it worse. Can you understand?”
“Your father must have loved you very much,” said Anna.
For a moment Leah could not answer. Then she said, “Yes, more than life.”
The girls shared a quiet meal and sat on stools by the garden window to catch the afternoon breeze. Leah was braiding Anna’s hair into a pattern of twists and coils when Anna began to cry. Leah put her arm around her friend.
“What is it, Anna? ”
“I don’t know. I was thinking about your life, about all you’ve lost. You are so alone.”
“Except for you.”
“I want you to stay here always.”
“But, Anna, I cannot.”
“There’s nowhere for you to go. Lukas says there aren’t any of your people left in Worms, nor in the next town north along the River. After Worms, Emich attacked Mainz, and even more Jews were killed. Lukas says all the Jews along the river have been murdered or fled. He says there’s nowhere for you that’s safe. Except here as one of us.”
“Lukas seems to worry about me a lot, doesn’t he? Perhaps too much.”
“Lukas means well, Leah. He’s trying to save you.”
“Anna, what did my family die for? I would rather be dead than be baptized.”
“I know,” said Anna sadly. “Lukas walked me home after church this morning. I think he is beginning to understand. But where can you go?”
“How many days do you think are we from Strasbourg?”
“Strasbourg?”
“There is a family in Strasbourg.” Leah said, “That is, if the Jews in that city were spared. Four springs ago I was betrothed to their son—”
“Betrothed?”
“I wouldn’t have married for several more years. I’ve never even met him. His father and mine were trading partners. They must think I’m dead.”
“You are betrothed?” asked Anna, shocked.
“Yes. If I can get to his family, I can live as my father wanted me to live. I can have children, Jewish children. A son I will name for my father.”
Anna’s throat tightened, and she felt very sad. “You will leave me. I have no one, and I never will. I’ll never be betrothed.”
“Because of me?”
“No. No, I just think I’ll always be alone. Lukas keeps saying not to worry.”
Anna thought of her conversation with Lukas that morning.
“Anna, stop worrying,” Lukas had reassured her. “Your father is becoming a rich man, and your blood is half noble. I promise you’ll find a husband.”
“Who would want me now?” Anna said with a sigh.
“Cousin, you’re fair enough, and besides,” he had laughed, “your dowry will entice many.”
“So Father will have to buy my husband?” Anna shook her head. “Do you think I was wrong to bring Leah here?”
“No. You were brave.”
“I wouldn’t have been so brave if I had known how others would treat me. Leah is the one who is brave.”
“Is she brave or stubborn? I wish she would just accept our Lord.”
“She won’t Lukas. Not ever.”
“I think you are right, Anna. And yet, I don’t really think she is stubborn. She is resolute. I’m very confused. I ask myself, how is Leah evil? She’s but a girl and the victim of a terrible crime. Then I think of this holy war that Our Pope has unleashed. How can those soldiers be doing the Lord’s work? They will be rewarded with a place in heaven? I’m not sure I’ll ever be much of a priest; I don’t even know if I am a good Christian.” said Lukas sadly.
“I’m not sure of anything anymore. But sometimes I think there must be two heavens, like two cities. One for Christians and one for Leah’s people,” answered Anna.
25
FLIES AND CURSES
July 17, 1096
A swift whistled. Robins and meadow pipits twittered. But no one woke up cheerfully in Anna’s household. A nighttime rainstorm had brought little relief, and the hot summer morning found their world steamy and limp. Anna paddled her arms like mill wheels to keep the flies from her face and hair, as she coughed and gagged in the airless privy. Still swatting, she returned to the house and found that Leah had begun to open the doors and shutters. The smoky oak rafters fouled the house with the bitter smell of past fires, but Leah smiled brightly at her friend.
Since Gunther had returned from Cologne a few days earlier, he had been weary and slept a lot. He had awakened early on this stifling morning, and now he came from the garden with wet matted hair and a rare smile. He held a full basket of wild blackberries, and both girls were cheered. They circled stools in the shade of the pear tree and shared the sour berries and some hard bread softened with sweet butter. The garden hummed with bees. Leah flicked a stick w
ith a horse hair switch to keep the breakfast free of flies.
“You see, Leah? Even you can enjoy yourself here with us in the shade of this tree.”
“This is a breakfast even an infidel can enjoy, sir.”
Anna laughed.
“You girls get on well,” said Gunther. “It’s already too hot today. I think I’ll hunt in the forest. Perhaps I can snare some birds.”
Anna was surprised by the change in her father. Since his return, he had been more talkative and easier, especially with Leah.
“Father, there’s a market this morning, in front of the church. May I take Leah?”
“I think not, Anna.”
“But—”
“No, Anna. Stay home.”
So the girls worked in the house, and after they noticed Agnes departing with her ample market basket slung over arm, they went to the garden, where they pulled onions and picked young peas. By mid morning the heat from the sun was visible, and the girls were damp and tired of the flies. Anna cooked the onions and peas and made oat-and-wheat-flour flat bread. When the sun had passed its high point, Gunther reappeared with a string of small wood doves that he plucked and gutted and set on a spit over the fire.
“Well, Anna, I had luck this morning. And we’ll live as well as King Heinrich if Karl and I are lucky tonight.”
“Uncle Karl?”
“Yes. I saw Karl this morning,” said Gunther, clearly happy. “Agnes is staying at the mill with Elisabeth, so he and I will fish together tonight. Leah can eat fish, yes? ”
“Fish with scales, Master Gunther,” answered Leah.
“Scales? Tch, tch. So many rules for such a small girl.”
Anna saw that her father was smiling as he helped carry the table boards and trestles to the shade of the garden. When the doves were well roasted, Anna and Leah served them with the vegetables in two wooden bowls. Using spoons and pieces of flat bread, they sopped up the happy summer meal.
“Father, may we to go to the stream to pick pudding grass? ”
“Pudding grass? For what? ” asked Gunther.
“Leah knows how to make a salve to keep off flies.”
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