by Maggie Anton
For the next two weeks Joheved and Miriam had unprecedented freedom to explore outside the Jewish Quarter. Troyes, with over ten thousand inhabitants, was one of the largest cities in France and there were lots of interesting avenues to investigate. The girls spent most mornings on the bustling Rue de l’Epicerie, home to the various food vendors.
They hurried past the butchers and poulterers, lingered at the pastry shops and bakeries and elbowed their way through the peddlers touting everything from fish and cheese to milk and honey. But they didn’t need to buy anything except staples. Thanks to the congregation’s generosity, an array of savory dishes awaited them each day when they returned from synagogue.
Today Joheved and Miriam had a different agenda; they were going to the parchment maker’s. Salomon used a great deal of parchment to write his kuntres, but full pages were expensive. Most tanneries sold scraps at reduced prices, and one tanner in particular had a daughter, Catharina, who enjoyed the sisters’ company and often set aside the best pieces for them. Catharina didn’t have any visitors her own age. The tanneries gave off such a dreadful smell that most people chose to stay as far away from their streets as possible.
When the girls arrived at the shop, Catharina jumped up from her work to greet them. “I’m so glad to see you. Foxes attacked the sheepfold at a manor near Ervy. The lord wants to salvage what he can, which means we’ll be getting a wagon load of sheepskins, and, wouldn’t you know it, my brother won’t be home for days.
“So here we are, with all these skins coming in together, and just me and my father to work them,” Catharina said as they collected the scraps she had set aside for them. “If you help us, you can have some of the parchment when it’s ready.”
“I suppose so,” Joheved said slowly. She had no idea what it took to make vellum, except that it was sure to be a smelly process. “Will it take long?”
“Oh no, only a few days. Especially if you both come.”
“We’ll have to ask Papa’s permission, of course,” Miriam added, a bit more enthusiastic than Joheved. “But I expect he’ll be eager for more parchment.”
“And you won’t be getting odds and ends,” Catharina called out as they began walking back. “You’ll have lots of full pages.”
“Just think of it. We’ll be able to bring home folios of parchment,” Joheved said, walking faster. Papa would be so surprised with their good luck.
But their news had to wait.
Papa was waiting for them when they got home. He put the parchment away without a glance and announced, “Isaac haParnas has offered me a business partnership, and he wants to discuss the details over disner. If your mother feels well enough, we’ll go a week from Thursday.”
Isaac haParnas was a widower who lived with his son’s family on Rue de Vielle-Rome. An invitation to dine with him was an honor; the prospect of a business partnership was incredible.
Before the girls could say anything, Grandmama Leah declared, “I’m too tired; you go without me.”
Salomon rolled his eyes in frustration. There was no point in telling his mother that the meal wasn’t today; she was stubborn as a mule when it came to doing anything beyond her usual routine. He sighed in resignation; it was probably best for her to stay home anyway.
Joheved and Miriam, so excited by thoughts of disner at the Parnas’s house that they forgot all about making parchment, wished they were going immediately. But Monday and Wednesday were unlucky for new undertakings, and Tuesday, under the influence of Mars, was associated with enmity and destruction.
Finally the day arrived. Rivka had changed clothes three times before finally settling on wearing her newest weekday bliaut, or tunic, over her embroidered Shabbat chemise. Miriam and Joheved, dressed in their best, were nervous too.
“Mama, are you sure it’s all right for you and the baby to go out?” Miriam asked as they passed the Old Synagogue. “It’s barely been two weeks since she was born.”
“I’m sure your new sister, Rachel, will be fine.” Rivka looked down at the sleeping baby and fingered the amulet around her neck. “I fed her before we left, and I’m perfectly capable of sitting and eating at somebody else’s house instead of my own.”
As they walked along Rue de Vielle-Rome, the breeze brought an occasional whiff of some mouth-watering odor. Joheved’s stomach growled, and she hugged her belly in embarrassment. She’d eaten a good breakfast, but now she was starving.
“I see that we are just in time,” Salomon said, giving her a quick hug. “Here is the house with the blue door, just as Isaac haParnas directed me.”
“Remember your manners, girls.” Rivka straightened their clothes and tidied their braids. “Don’t speak until you’re spoken to and don’t talk with your mouths full.”
The door was opened by a hulking manservant, as much a guard as a butler. Joheved scarcely noticed the man as she surveyed her surroundings. The linen wall hangings in the main room, or salle, were dyed a sunny golden yellow, unlike those at home, which were left in their natural undyed state. Everyone except peasants used wall hangings to shut out drafts, but how extravagant to expend costly dyes on them.
Several people at once could have walked through the massive fireplace at the far end of the salle. A large trestle table was set up on a raised floor in front of the hearth, all the better to show off the intricate carvings on its legs. Their hosts sat in matching high-back chairs. Joheved could not have described any of this elegance; she was overwhelmed by the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. Her stomach growled again, and she pressed her arms into her belly even harder to silence it.
Isaac haParnas and his son rose to greet them. Even with her small knowledge of clothes, Joheved could tell that they were as well dressed as they were well fed. Isaac’s bliaut fell nearly to the floor in luxurious blue velvet folds, while Joseph’s, made of similar material, was knee length. Despite the rich fabric and jeweled belts they wore, both men were so plump that Joheved was reminded of two bulging sacks of flour, each tied loosely in the middle. Both men had neatly trimmed beards and bushy eyebrows, so bushy that they appeared to be two fat caterpillars above their eyes. Each man had a large emerald ring on his left hand—the green stone of Zebulun was reputed to increase good will and bring success in trade to those who wore it.
“Length of days and years of life and well-being shall they bestow on you,” Salomon addressed his hosts with the traditional visitor’s greeting from Proverbs.
“Rav Salomon, I greatly enjoyed this morning’s Talmud lesson.” Isaac took Salomon’s arm and led his guests towards the table. “Your explanations brought out several points I hadn’t considered before.” He inclined his head to Rivka and continued, “I’m particularly honored that you, Mistress, would rise from your childbed to dine with us. My daughter-in-law will be delighted to have feminine companions at the table for a change.”
At that moment, an even stouter woman entered from the kitchen, followed by two young boys giggling and jostling each other. Joheved recognized Joseph’s wife, Johanna. If her husband’s torso resembled a sack of flour, Johanna’s ample hips and bosom made her look more like a sack of pumpkins tied in the middle. Her round face broke into a grin when she saw them and she hurried forward, her bulky frame moving with surprising grace.
“I’m so glad you could come. I apologize for not visiting yet, but I hope your family enjoyed the fish pies I sent over.” She embraced Rivka and cooed at the infant in her arms. “Your baby is adorable—may the Holy One protect her. I can’t wait to hear all about her.”
“These are my twin grandsons, Menachem and Ephraim, boys who never slow down, except when they’re asleep.” Isaac patted each of their heads affectionately. “I’m sure you’re all hungry. Come, let’s eat.”
He led them to a stand containing several wooden and metal basins, where they were to wash their hands. Joheved and Miriam hung back; they disliked the gooey soft soap made of mutton fat. Youngsters were always the last to wash, and at home the towe
l was inevitably clammy and slimy with leftover soap by the time the final girl used it. Joheved and Miriam constantly bickered over who got to go first.
Today, under their father’s stern gaze, they reluctantly made their way to the washbasin. But there was no greasy soap container in sight. Instead there was a small, cream-colored ball, sitting on a wooden tray. They watched, fascinated, as Mama turned the ball this way and that in her wetted hands, then rinsed them off and dried them on one of two large towels.
“It’s made in Italy, from olive oil,” Isaac haParnas explained proudly. “It’s called Jew’s soap.”
“Why do they call it that?” Salomon asked. “Do the Italian Jews make it?”
“I don’t know who makes it,” Isaac said. “But Jews in the south won’t use other soaps because they’re made from pork.”
“There’s perfume in it, too,” Johanna added, bringing her hand to her nose. “So your hands smell nice when they’re clean.”
Joheved followed their mother’s lead, using a separate towel from Miriam, and sniffed her hands appreciatively when she was done. This fancy Jew’s soap had to be very expensive.
The men and women sat down at opposite ends of the table. Joheved’s mouth watered with anticipation to see each place set with a trencher, a thick slice of day-old bread; this meant sliced meats were sure to be served upon it. Once everyone was seated, Isaac led the blessings, which the servants recognized as their signal to begin serving the meal.
First came a poultry and vegetable stew, served in small two-handled bowls. Joheved knew her mother was watching, so, despite her hunger, she broke off some bread, then slowly and deliberately mopped up her stew from the bowl she shared with Miriam. The twins were fidgeting, tearing up their bread into small pieces, but not eating much of the stew.
As Johanna admonished them to stop playing with their food, Miriam whispered to her sister, “They can’t be full already; maybe they’re waiting for something better…”
Her voice trailed off in awe as a servant brought a roasted leg of lamb, still on the spit, before their host, who began slicing pieces onto the trencher in front of Salomon. Another servant laid a tray of roasted onions and turnips on the table, while a third refilled the adults’ wine goblets from a large jug.
All except Rivka’s, who indicated that she preferred the well-watered wine that the children were drinking. At the women’s end of the table, Johanna was eager to hear Rivka’s description of her recent confinement, and retell, in turn, the difficulties she had experienced with the birth of her twin sons. Miriam plied Johanna with questions, while Joheved, who had begun salivating the moment she smelled the roast lamb, was losing her appetite.
Not babies again. Ever since Rachel’s birth, they’d been inundated with female visitors who brought gifts of food and a great desire to share their own childbirth experiences. All she’d ever hear about was babies if it weren’t for Papa teaching her Talmud. Maybe that’s what the men were discussing now. Without taking her eyes off her mother, Joheved turned her attention to the head of the table, but the men were talking politics.
“I don’t understand how can you trust Count Thibault, Papa.” Joseph’s black caterpillars creased together in exasperation. “Look how he stole Champagne away from Eudes, his own nephew.”
Isaac turned to face his son. “I never said that I trusted Thibault. If Eudes was fool enough to fall into his uncle’s trap, then it’s just as well that he’s not Count of Troyes anymore.”
Salomon held up his hands to interrupt them. “Please, gentlemen, I was in Mayence when Thibault took over Champagne, and I only heard rumors about what happened. Please enlighten me.”
When she heard her father’s request, Joheved gave up even the pretence of listening to the women. Isaac allowed a sly smile to play on his lips and Joheved thought he looked exactly like the women in synagogue before they shared a choice piece of gossip.
“Very well,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “After Count Etienne died, his brother, Thibault of Blois, became young Eudes’ guardian. There was trouble from the beginning. Thibault tried to keep his nephew under his thumb once the boy reached majority, so what did Eudes do? When Thibault allied himself with the Duke of Aquitane, Eudes supported King Philippe instead.”
Joseph waved his knife to get Salomon’s attention. “Somehow Eudes arranged for Thibault to be captured, and I can tell you it cost the Jews of Blois a pretty penny in taxes to pay his ransom.”
Joheved couldn’t believe her ears. Eudes had betrayed his own uncle. Despite her mother’s warning, she spoke up. “But why did he…?” She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Isaac’s eyes twinkled as he encouraged her to continue. Joheved looked nervously in Rivka’s direction, but her mother was completely engrossed in Johanna’s description of the twins’ birth. She cleared her throat and asked, “Why did they have to fight so much? Why couldn’t Thibault be content in Blois and let Eudes rule in Troyes?”
Salomon shook his head and said, “Such men are never content when others have something they want.”
Isaac sliced another round of lamb onto the men’s trenchers, then winked at Joheved and gave her one as well. Thank heaven nobody was chastising her for interrupting their conversation.
“Of course Thibault harbored a grudge,” Isaac’s words were directed at Papa, but he was looking at her. “And a few years ago, he saw his chance for revenge. He accused Eudes of murdering one of his vassals and ordered his nephew to appear at his high court at Blois.” Isaac stabbed his knife into a roasted onion for emphasis. “Where he was sure to be convicted.”
“Rumors of that accusation were rather vague,” Salomon said.
“Vague? They were completely imaginary.” Joseph threw his knife down and wiped his hands on the tablecloth. “Nobody in Troyes could even find out the name of the murdered man, and believe me, we tried. Frankly, I doubt there was a murder.”
Joheved was caught up in the tale. “So what happened? What did Thibault do to him?”
“Nothing.” Joseph grinned at her. “Instead of showing up in Blois, Eudes joined his cousin, Guillaume the Bastard, when the Normans invaded Angleterre. In gratitude, Guillaume, now the Conqueror instead of the Bastard, made Eudes a duke and gave him his sister in marriage.”
Salomon chuckled softly. “So on the other side of the channel, the new Duke Eudes is doing well indeed, and naturally decides to remain there and avoid his troubles in France. Thibault then takes over the lands his nephew has abandoned and gets what he wanted in the first place, lordship over both Blois and Champagne. Surely everybody is happy with this arrangement.”
Father and son nodded in agreement, then Isaac smiled wickedly and added, “Not everybody is happy. King Philippe is certainly not happy with Thibault in control of territory on both sides of Paris.”
The meal was nearly over but no one appeared in any hurry to get up. Johanna smiled proudly as two servants entered, one with a tray piled high with small pies and the other with bowls of raspberry preserves. Joheved watched as Papa and Mama each dipped a pie in the preserves, and then eagerly followed suit. The flaky pastry was filled with a mixture of spiced meat and raisins in a sweet wine sauce. It was even more delicious than the lamb.
Everyone was wiping their hands on the tablecloth when Isaac got down to business. “Tell me, Salomon the winemaker, what did you think of the wine we had today? Don’t worry about hurting my feelings.”
Salomon picked up his wine goblet, as if examining its workmanship. “Frankly, the wine was adequate, but by no means up to the high quality of your food. The first wine was inferior to the wine served later, probably made with grapes that had not completely ripened before harvest. The second wine may have been excellent a few seasons ago, but it has aged poorly.”
“You know wine as well as you know Talmud,” Isaac said, slapping his hand down on the table. “The first wine was from Rheims, the best I could find from last year’s harvest. The second was fr
om your own vineyard, a few years back.”
Isaac leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Salomon. “A week ago, I asked you how much good wine you could make if you had unlimited resources. It was not an idle question.”
The whole table waited in expectant silence, and Joheved suddenly realized that she needed to use the privy. But she couldn’t leave the table now and miss Papa’s answer.
Salomon didn’t need time to consider his reply. “I have often asked myself this very question,” he said. “Much of a successful harvest is in the hands of the Almighty. The weather, after all, is not in my control. But to increase the yield of my vineyard, I need people to help me. My family and I were not able to prune the entire property last winter, yet only those vines that were well pruned will produce useful grapes this summer.” He shook his head sadly.
“These pruning helpers needn’t be Jewish,” Salomon began to speak louder and faster. “Anyone can work in the vineyard and the grapes still be made into kosher wine. But once the grapes are harvested, the wine production itself must be done by Jews.”
“What about this year?” Isaac raised his voice as well, and he pointed his finger at Salomon. “If you are telling me that you can do nothing to boost your current harvest, then how about getting grapes from another vineyard, perhaps an Edomite’s?”
Edom was the name used in Genesis to describe descendants of Esau, and the Talmudic rabbis adopted that name for the Roman rulers of Israel. It was one of the more benign names that Jews called the Christians they lived amongst.
Joheved squirmed in her seat. She desperately wanted to excuse herself from the table, but she had to see if Papa and Isaac could reach an agreement.
“I could doubtless make more wine this fall if I had more grapes and more Jewish workers. But not just anybody’s grapes will do!” Salomon shook his finger back at Isaac. “I must first inspect the vineyard. And I will not accept any grapes I haven’t tasted.” He finished the wine in his cup and set it down firmly on the table.