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 t
han 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.
Miriam had no choice but to confirm her sister’s fears. The baby had been dead at least a week, probably longer if the smell was there when Eliezer got home. Now its body must be removed as soon as possible.
“I want you to fast today,” Miriam told Rachel, who was still in shock. “Then tonight and tomorrow morning, I’ll give you a nasty-tasting drink to make your womb expel its contents.”
“Will it hurt?” Rachel’s eyes were wide with fright.
“Probably not as much as real labor.” Miriam wasn’t sure about someone as sensitive to pain as her little sister.
She had considered several potions that midwives used in these cases and decided that a mixture of rue, mugwort, wormwood, and iris, ground up and boiled in wine, might be the easiest to try first. There was another, one that the Edomite midwife Elizabeth recommended, which involved boiling a blind young puppy in vervain juice with mint and lady’s mantle, but it would take too long to prepare. And Miriam didn’t want to go searching for a newborn puppy when she already had the ingredients for the first potion, never mind that she found the procedure revolting.
But two days later, though Rachel complained of cramps and blood was draining from her womb, its contents remained inside. So Miriam consulted Elizabeth about using a pessary smeared with pennyroyal, hyssop, and dittany.
“These, and your previous potion, work well when there is a live child within,” the more experienced midwife said. “However, a dead one requires stronger medicine, since he lacks any motion to strengthen his mother’s labor.”
“A stronger potion could kill my sister. She’s already ill.”
Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “Then you must draw forth the child yourself, either with your hand or with hooks.”
Miriam gasped. “Aunt Sarah left me hooks in her midwife kit, but I’ve never used them.”
“Then I’ll come and explain what to do.” She looked down and added, “It’s a good thing you have small hands.”
Miriam didn’t mention the hooks, only telling Rachel that she would prefer to extract the child manually rather than use stronger medicine. She took advantage of her mother and Joheved’s illnesses to exclude them from the lying-in room, leaving her and Elizabeth alone with Rachel. Sure that the pain would be too much for her sensitive sister, Miriam took the precaution of dosing her with opium. The procedure would be difficult enough without Rachel screaming and thrashing about.
Recalling how she helped deliver many babies, including the current count of Champagne, Miriam dipped her hand in olive oil and then reached up into her sister’s womb. Her heart sank when she felt the opening blocked by the baby’s arm. Rachel, barely conscious, groaned softly but remained still as Miriam ascertained the child’s position.
“One arm and shoulder are in the birth canal, but the head is stuck inside.” There was silence while she tried some maneuvering and then, “I can’t push the arm back in to bring the baby into a better position.”
“Tie this ribbon around the hand and give the end to me,” Elizabeth said. “Then you know what to do.”
Miriam nodded. With Elizabeth grasping the ribbon in one hand and holding Rachel’s torso immobile with the other, Miriam grasped the knife she used for cutting a newborn’s chord. The blade was razor sharp; yet somehow Miriam had to insert it into Rachel’s womb and cut off the child’s arm without injuring her sister or herself. Seeing no other way, she shielded the blade with her palm as she pushed her hand back up the canal, trying not to flinch as it cut into her. Thank Heaven Rachel was too sedated to move.
She took a deep breath, reached up as far as she could, and with her mohelet’s speed and precision, sliced the arm from its shoulder. “You can pull now,” she told Elizabeth as she carefully slipped the knife back out.
Miriam examined her own minor wounds as she washed her hands, averting her eyes from the tiny decomposing arm that Elizabeth wrapped in linen cloth. Then she bathed Rachel’s birth canal with clean oil. “I don’t think I cut my sister much. I don’t see any fresh blood.” The child had been dead so long that severing its arm didn’t cause it to bleed.
“Good,” Elizabeth said. “Now let’s hope you can push the shoulder up so the head will come into position.”
Miriam was able to do this without difficulty and, repulsed by the feel of what she knew was the child’s rotting flesh, hurriedly pulled out her hand.
Elizabeth took in Miriam’s distressed visage. “Only a little longer and it will be over. I would do this next part myself if my hand would fit.”
Miriam straightened up tall. “Let’s get it over with then.”
Elizabeth handed her two hooks, each attached to the end of a silk cord. “Try for an eye socket or under the chin. If you can’t find those, use the roof of the mouth or one of the shoulders.”
Miriam managed to attach the two hooks and, as she withdrew her hand, handed the silk cords to Elizabeth. Now her part was done, and she paced the room as her colleague gently tugged on the cords, slowly pulling the child’s body along with them.
When Rachel regained full consciousness, her womb was empty and Miriam was pressing her to drink some ale mixed with nutmeg and feverfew.
“She must drink a cup of this every hour, including during the night,” she told Eliezer.
“Was it a girl or a boy?” he asked.
“It was a boy, but even so you must not resume relations until two weeks after she’s stopped bleeding,” Miriam warned him. “It doesn’t matter that the blood of childbirth is pure. Rachel needs time to heal.”
Miriam hadn’t wanted to look at what remained of the baby, but she’d forced herself to check the gender. After seeing that it was male, she kept from gagging just long enough to circumcise him. Then she waited for Rachel to wake up.
As soon as the opium wore off, Rachel asked Miriam what causes a child to die in the womb.
“Many things, but usually we don’t know for sure.”
“What things?” Rachel insisted.
“Want of nutrients and a corrupt diet, as during a famine,” Miriam said. “Although that certainly can’t be the case here. Just as it doesn’t seem possible that your child died because you ate too much and choked him.”
“What do you see as a likely cause?” Rachel had to know.
“If the mother suffers from sudden fears, extreme joy, or sorrow, or much trouble of mind, these strong emotions can keep blood from reaching the womb to nourish the child.”
Rachel gulped. From the moment Eudes first approached her in the wine cellar, she’d been buffeted by strong emotions. Fear that he would seduce her, followed by anxiety that Eliezer would learn of their liaison, then terror as she plotted to kill him, followed by joy and relief when he died first.
“But I had strong emotions when Eliezer’s father and brother died before Shemiah was born.”
“Shemiah was fully formed by then, but with this one, your mind was troubled for much of the pregnancy.” Miriam took Rachel’s hand and lowered her voice. “What happened is probably for the best. I hate to imagine how the child would have been influenced by you thinking about that evil man so much.”
Sitting on her porch with her feet elevated, Rachel savored the last hour of warmth before the sun set; she’d felt so cold while she was ill. Everyone else was at synagogue on this eighth and final day of Passover. There were no seders to end Passover, but the last two days, like the first two, were holidays. Even Joheved and her new baby were attending afternoon services, while Rachel prayed at home.
Miriam had insisted that Rachel stay home and rest for seven days, exactly as she would have done following a normal birth. The feverfew had done its job, and each day Rachel felt her health improve. Yet she did not feel well: at times a heaviness in her heart and tightness in her chest made it difficult to b
reathe. Her emotions fluctuated randomly between listlessness, melancholy, and anger. Thank Heaven there were no important decisions she needed to make, as it was difficult to concentrate on what people were saying.
Eliezer was more solicitous than ever; yet she oddly felt little grief for their stillborn son, only emptiness. Definitely not the agony she’d experienced last year when baby Asher died.
Somehow this child’s demise was tied in with Eudes, and a part of her wanted to forget about both of them as soon as possible. Miriam said her emotional numbness could come from being dosed with opium, but Rachel still found her lack of overt sorrow bewildering.
Her reflections were interrupted by the gate squeaking open. Who could it be when everyone is supposed to be at services?
Guy de Dampierre who, of course, wouldn’t be in synagogue today, lumbered up the path with a smile. Too lethargic to stand up, Rachel waited for Guy to come to her. But before he reached the well, Mama stepped out of the kitchen door and waved to him.
Rachel’s contemplative mood evaporated. Mama must have had one of her dizzy spells again; that’s why she’s home on the holiday. Rachel knew it was wrong to feel this way, but her resentment bubbled up anyway. It couldn’t be coincidence that Mama always felt dizzy when it meant extra work for Rachel, the daughter Papa loved the most, maybe more than he loved Mama.
If it weren’t for Mama’s dizziness, I wouldn’t have been so busy cleaning two houses for Passover, and I might have noticed that my baby had stopped moving in time for Miriam to save it.
Immediately Rachel felt overwhelmed with guilt. A Jewish daughter should respect and honor her mother, be grateful for everything her mother does for her. Mama had born her and raised her, cared for her and her children when they were sick, worried ceaselessly over their health and welfare. Mama had never raised a hand against her.
Even so, Rachel found her bile rising whenever Mama complained of dizziness. But she had no time to dwell on this. Mama and Guy were approaching, and they looked upset.
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 16