Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel

by Anton, Maggie

  “That’s just gossip.” Moses frowned. “What I know for certain is that his previous mistress died in childbirth a few weeks ago, and when someone suggested they call in the Jewish midwife, he categorically refused.”

  Rachel flinched. “So we don’t know if the count has actually forgotten about me, or if he’s just obeying my wishes.” Had Eudes let his lover die rather than risk Rachel learning of her? And how heartless to take a new mistress while his previous one was still warm in her grave.

  “It’s not mere gossip that he’s wooing another lady,” Francesca insisted. “He has not been faithful to you.”

  “I don’t think you should hold him to that,” Moses warned her.

  “Come on, you three. The sun has set already,” Eliezer called out from the salon. “We must light the Hanukkah lamp before the stars come out.”

  The family gathered by the front door, where Grandmamma Leah’s large silver menorah sat next to an ornate brass one that Moses had bought in Bavel while studying medicine. Determined to enjoy the time with her husband and children, Rachel beamed as Eliezer held little Rivka on his shoulders to watch as Papa measured out the olive oil and then poured some into four of the silver menorah’s little bowls, three next to each other in a line and the fourth above them. After Moses did the same, they said the blessings, lit the upper wick, and then the other three.

  Papa’s older grandchildren had studied about Hanukkah and waved their hands eagerly as he asked them questions, each appropriate to their age.

  For the adolescents—Isaac, Shmuel, and Yom Tov—there were questions whose answers came from Tractate Shabbat.

  “Why do we place the menorah near the door?”

  “Rava says that this is to publicize the miracle.”

  “Can we place it on either side of the doorway?”

  “Rav Shmuel says that we place it on the left side.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Since the mezuzah hangs on the right side, we will then be surrounded by mitzvot.”

  To five-year-old Elisha he asked, “How many flames does our menorah have? Count them with me.”

  “One, two, three, four,” Miriam’s youngest son counted. Alvina and little Rivka repeated the words after him.

  “But what night of Hanukkah is this?”

  “The third,” Leah and Shemiah, both in their seventh year, called out together.

  “So why the extra one?”

  Before one of older boys answered again, Hannah spoke up. Just on the cusp of puberty, she was taller than her brother Shmuel and almost as tall as Isaac. “The menorah’s flame is to publicize the miracle. We are not allowed to use it for reading or to light our house. So we add an extra flame, whose light we may use.”

  “We are also forbidden to light from one Hanukkah flame to another,” Shmuel added. “So we can use the extra one for this.”

  Salomon turned to Miriam’s middle son, Shimson. “Why is this festival called Hanukkah?”

  “Hanukkah is the Hebrew word for dedication,” the eight-year-old replied. “After the Hasmoneans defeated the Greeks, they had to rededicate the Temple in Jerusalem, which had been defiled by the enemy.”

  “And what happened when the Hasmoneans started to rededicate the Temple?” Salomon gestured to Leah and Shemiah.

  “There was only enough pure oil for one day,” Shemiah burst out, his dark curls bouncing in his excitement. “But a miracle happened and it lasted for eight days.”

  Leah’s face crumpled as her cousin usurped her reply, so Salomon lifted her up on his lap and asked her, “But why did they need the oil to last eight days?”

  She smiled up at him. “Because it took eight days to make more oil.”

  Shmuel was about to speak again, when Salomon interrupted him. “Enough questions. It’s time to eat.” The Rabbis of the Talmud discussed several reasons for the eight-day holiday, but he would ask about those on another night.

  Everyone eagerly headed for the dining table. “I have a question for Mama,” Rachel said as the servants began bringing out dishes of food. “Why do we always have goose or duck at Hanukkah? They’re so expensive at this time of year.”

  Despite her dizziness, Rivka had managed to rise from her sickbed to share the holiday meal with her family, and she frowned at her daughter’s question. “As you would know if you spent more time in the kitchen, geese and ducks are the fattest of birds, and from them we render the fat to fry with all winter.” Cold weather ensured that the stored fat would last until Passover.

  “When I was a poor yeshiva student, we couldn’t afford to eat goose during Hanukkah.” Salomon tried to take the sting out of his wife’s rebuke. “Now that our family is more prosperous, I wish to make up for all the good food we missed.”

  Eliezer chuckled. “If it weren’t for goose fat, how would we make all the fried foods we love to eat at this time of year, especially your mother’s excellent grimseli?” He picked up one of the fried strips of dough, dipped it into strawberry preserves, and licked his lips in anticipation.

  “Since we are celebrating the miracle of abundant oil, it is only fitting to enjoy those foods cooked with them.” Salomon smiled at Rachel, mumbled a short blessing, and helped himself from a dish containing a mound of walnuts fried with honey. “And I thank you for making the dessert I enjoy above all others.”

  “Rabbenu Salomon, why did you make a blessing over your dessert?” Moses’s daughter Judita asked. “I thought blessing bread is sufficient for everything we eat at a meal.”

  “You are correct. However, we also bless the wine because it brings us special happiness, and so I say a blessing over these fried nuts because they bring me special happiness.” He popped one in his mouth and grinned. “Now that you are betrothed to my Isaac, you must call me Grandpapa.”

  Judita blushed. “Oui . . . Grandpapa.”

  After the menorah had burned all its oil, the family remained at the table, singing Hanukkah songs and teasing each other with riddles. Rachel tucked her sleepy daughter into bed and hummed a few lullabies, recalling her last view of Eliezer and Shemiah, giggling as they played traditional Hanukkah gambling games with nuts. As she came downstairs to rejoin them, she realized that she had gone nearly a whole evening without worrying about Eudes.

  Rachel’s respite lasted until Raoul paid his usual post-Hanukkah visit to taste the new vintage. Expecting him on Monday after the festival ended, she left synagogue directly when services were done. The vintage had been a fine one and she anticipated that her current good standing with the count should ensure that Raoul tithed a minimum of it.

  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 sh
ould 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.

  Yet if I don’t kill him, I’ll have to lie with him—and not just once, but as often as he likes, no matter what horrible things he wants to do. And once people find out, my reputation, my husband’s, and even my father’s, will be ruined.

  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.”