Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel

by Anton, Maggie

  Rachel, however, was too occupied with wedding details to listen to gossip. Tradition called for the groom’s family to provide meals and entertainment, and, hoping that Eliezer would handle such things, she’d neglected planning them. In a panic, Rachel consulted her sisters, who, thank Heaven, had the combined experience of marrying off four sons.

  “I can provide all the lambs we need,” Joheved declared as they walked home from synagogue. “Once we find sufficient hearths in which to roast them.”

  “There are at least five hundred Jews living in Troyes, none of whom will be leaving town until after the Days of Awe.” Miriam began counting the potential guests. “In addition to the hundreds of merchants who will still be here when the fair closes.”

  Rachel stopped in the middle of the street. “Mon Dieu, do we have to feed a thousand people?”

  “Not only that, but we need benches for them to sit on, tables for all the food, plus people to prepare and serve it,” Joheved pointed out. Obviously the banquets must be held in the streets of the Jewish Quarter; not even the synagogue courtyard was large enough.

  “Maybe we should postpone the wedding a month?” Rachel asked in desperation. “Then the merchants will be gone and my husband might have arrived.”

  Miriam shook her head. “We can’t. It will be Rosh Hashanah. And if we wait two weeks, Glorietta might be niddah.”

  Joheved had the final word on the subject. “We can’t delay even a week or we risk interrupting the grape harvest.”

  Rachel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s going to be so much work.” And my husband won’t be there.

  “Shemiah’s wedding shouldn’t be any more difficult to arrange than Isaac’s.” Joheved’s voice was confident. “Moses and Francesca are delightful to work with.”

  Miriam took Rachel’s arm to get them moving again. “Don’t worry. Everyone in the community will provide a dish, so you’ll likely end up with more food than you need.”

  Rachel sighed with relief. At least she wouldn’t have to buy new clothes or a house for the newlyweds. She had traded Giuseppe a bolt of scarlet wool in exchange for his finest Palermo silk, for the wedding outfits, and offered Shemiah and his bride her own chamber.

  After all, she’d been sleeping in her old room at Papa’s house most nights since the demon first attacked him. And if Eliezer weren’t coming home, their four-poster marital bed would only be a painful reminder. But enough self-pity. She must hire musicians, caterers, and all the other professionals necessary. One thought cheered her: for his bridal gifts Shemiah would have his choice of the jewelry she and Miriam had taken in pawn.

  Joheved coughed delicately, sending Rachel out of her reverie. “Since Eliezer isn’t here to instruct Shemiah, shall I ask Meir to share a copy of Tractate Kallah and answer his questions? Or would your son prefer to talk to Isaac?”

  “Eliezer already gave Shemiah a copy,” Rachel replied. At least her husband hadn’t completely abandoned his paternal obligations. “But Isaac should probably talk to him anyway.”

  Tractate Kallah, the Jewish Sages’ treatise on marital relations, contained everything a bridegroom needed to know in order to provide carnal pleasure to his new wife. This was a necessity because, not only was a Jewish man obligated to fulfill his wife’s sexual needs, but to conceive a son she must emit her seed first. Meir’s father had given him a copy of Tractate Kallah shortly before he married Joheved, and Meir had done the same for his sons and nephews.

  “Shemiah should start sleeping with others in the room besides Elisha,” Miriam said. “I’ll ask Judah to send some of his most pious students down from the attic.”

  Rachel nodded. Normally two people together were sufficient protection against mazikim, but bridegrooms were particularly vulnerable as the wedding approached. Lillit considered them her special prey, attacking the young men at night and stealing their semen to spawn her demon offspring. Eliezer had admitted to visiting harlots before their wedding: a precaution against Lillit, he’d maintained.

  A pox on Eliezer. How could she plan this simcha without him intruding on her thoughts? And how could she possibly get through the wedding without his absence draining all the pleasure from it?

  As it turned out, Rachel was so busy during those two days that she barely had time to use the privy, which only reminded her to tell the servants to be sure to keep them restocked with fresh moss. The moment she heard the first rooster crow on Friday morning, long before the sky began to lighten, worries prevented her from going back to sleep.

  Soon the shamash would be pounding on their courtyard gate to summon Shemiah and his attendants to synagogue. Who was responsible for providing the torches? Hopefully not her. What if the musicians she’d hired overslept? How would she find more at the last moment? Yesterday had been clear, but what if a sudden end-of-summer hailstorm arrived? Immediately she peered out the window, but it was still too dark to see any clouds.

  The windows of both houses across the courtyard were lit, and she watched with relief as Anna exited below her and headed to the well. Alvina and Rivka, who had given up their beds to cousins from Paris, were still asleep, snuggled up like kittens in the bed she’d once shared with Joheved and Miriam. Rachel tiptoed into the hall, nearly bumping into Meir and Isaac, already in their wedding finery.

  The comforting smell of stirabout wafted up from the kitchen, but Rachel’s stomach was too tight to eat, so she headed to Joheved’s room instead. Her sister was still in bed, and Judita was nursing the new baby, so Rachel quietly slipped out. She longed to cross the courtyard, to the room where Shemiah would be getting dressed, surrounded by his male relations, but it was no place for a woman. When it was time, they would bring him to her.

  She slowly descended the stairs, mulling over the details of the next two days and contemplating all the myriad ways in which things could go wrong. She took a deep breath before entering the kitchen, dreading the moment at which she would be swept into the whirlwind of her son’s wedding. But the room was empty except for Papa. The servants must be outside already, preparing for the first banquet.

  He smiled and patted the seat near him. “Don’t worry. Your sisters will make sure everything goes smoothly. This is your eldest child’s wedding—you should enjoy yourself.”

  “I don’t know if I can, Papa,” she replied, surprised at her honesty. “I know I’ll keep looking for Eliezer to walk in.”

  “Here, have some stirabout and fruit.” He ladled some into a dish. “And some of your sister’s excellent cheese.”

  He was trying to cheer her up, and to please him she took a spoonful of cereal. “I can’t eat all this. I’m not hungry.”

  “You must keep up your strength,” he insisted, pushing the bowl back toward her. “You won’t have time to eat later.”

  “Papa is right. You probably won’t get a chance to sit down again until bedtime, so take advantage of it now,” Joheved said as she and Judita bustled into the kitchen. Alvina and Rivka, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, soon followed.

  Rachel forced herself to swallow the food in front of her, but the pungent cheese and sweet preserves tasted as flavorless as matzah. Suddenly there was a commotion outside as a gaggle of men dressed, like peacocks, in every color of the rainbow poured into the courtyard and headed for the open kitchen door. In the center, she knew, was her son.

  Salomon stood up to welcome them. Each grandson, son-in-law, and grandson-in-law got a hearty hug as he passed him. By the time Shemiah finally entered, every piece of cheese was gone, as was nearly all the fruit. Miriam was the last to come in, carrying her sewing basket.

  The crowd divided so Shemiah could sit next to Rachel. One at a time, he held out his arms to her, so she could sew his chemise sleeves closed. He looked resplendent in his glowing yellow silk bliaut, which Giuseppe assured her had been dyed with pure saffron. His orange cotton chemise was beautifully decorated with autumn leaves whose outlines glittered with real gold thread. Rachel knew her mediocre embroi
dery skills could never do justice to such an expensive fiber, but Miriam had stitched the golden strands as fearlessly as if they were flax.

  Not expecting Rachel to have a steady hand at such an emotional moment, Miriam threaded the needle for her. These stitches didn’t need to be perfect; they would only last until sunset, after which Rachel would remove them so Shemiah could easily shed his clothes before bedding his bride.

  Rachel choked up as she gazed at her son. What had happened to the little boy she used to sing lullabies to at night? How had he suddenly turned into this good-looking young man? And today he was getting married. She sighed at memories of her own wedding night, before Eliezer’s absence stabbed at her once more.

  Thankfully Rachel had little time to indulge her emotions, for the sounds of musicians and men’s loud voices could be heard in the distance. She’d barely finished sewing when they were at the gate, and only had time for a quick buss to Shemiah’s cheek before he, along with the men, were gone. She raced to the gate to wave good-bye, but all she could see was a crowd of people holding torches and moving swiftly toward the synagogue.

  Now it was the women’s turn to dress, providing Rachel with another reminder of her missing husband. As long as she had hope of his appearance, Rachel had anticipated wearing her emerald silk wedding outfit. Now she couldn’t bear to look at it.

  “Miriam, may I borrow your red silk bliaut today?” she asked, as if by a whim. “I’m tired of always wearing green.”

  Miriam hadn’t worn her wedding clothes since Judah’s mother died, and she doubted they would fit her buxom sister. “Why don’t you wear that lovely bliaut Marona gave me, the one that used to belong to Meir’s sister?”

  “Its embroidery also resembles autumn leaves,” Joheved said. “So you’ll match the wedding party.”

  “Please wear it, Mama,” Rivka begged as Rachel tried it on. “Then our family will all be dressed the same.”

  Rachel thought yellow made her complexion look sallow, but she gave in to her daughter’s entreaties. Recalling how frustrated she’d felt at Miriam’s wedding, confined to wool while everyone else wore silk, Rachel had bought Rivka an outfit to go with Shemiah’s. Rivka was in her thirteenth year, so there was little risk of her outgrowing the expensive bliaut. Amazingly Alvina fit perfectly into the blue silk outfit that Joheved had become betrothed in.

  Next came the task Rachel had always enjoyed before, choosing which jewelry to wear. A family wedding, especially one on the Sabbath, called for the finest in a woman’s collection. Rivka and Alvina watched in awe as their elders unlocked the jewel case and sorted through its contents. Rachel rejected everything Eliezer had given her, and she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for the other sparkling baubles. To her sisters’ surprise, she let them choose first, contenting herself with gold and pearls rather than gemstones. Both Joheved and Miriam were wise enough to avoid anything with emeralds.

  The doctor’s house was on the way to the synagogue, so the women waited there for the musicians and torchbearers to escort Glorietta to morning services. From that point on, the day passed in a blur. Rachel accompanied Francesca and the bride to the synagogue courtyard, after which, Papa placed ashes on Shemiah’s forehead, where tefillin were worn, as a reminder of the destruction of Zion. Though she knew that Shemiah must have put the betrothal ring on Glorietta’s finger, said the erusin blessing and drank the first cup of wine, all she remembered was the cup shattering when he threw it against the wall and a crowd of girls, including Rivka, rushing to grab pieces to ensure happiness in their future marriages.

  That and the squawking chickens swinging over Shemiah and Glorietta’s heads—how did anyone find more poultry? Surely she’d bought every chicken in Troyes. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of receiving congratulations and checking regularly that they weren’t running out of food or wine.

  Saturday, the Day of Rest, was even more hectic. Dancing wasn’t supposed to resume until the Sabbath ended, but the Edomite musicians showed up after disner and people began dancing anyway. Finally it was time for Havdalah, the ceremony marking the official close of Shabbat, after which the witnesses signed the ketubah and Glorietta received it. Rachel frowned in confusion; where had she been when the ketubah was publicly read yesterday?

  Soon came the moment she’d been dreading—a couples dance started by the bridal pair and followed by their parents. Rachel’s impulse was to hide in the wine cellar, where she could claim to be verifying supplies, but when the music started it was too late. A wall of people surrounded the dancing area, and how would it look if she tried to force her way through them? Suddenly there was a hand on her elbow, leading her to the center, and she looked up into her father’s loving face.

  “Papa, I didn’t know you could dance,” was all she could say.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied with a grin. “Don’t you remember us dancing together at your wedding?”

  “Of course I do. I didn’t know you could still dance.”

  He paused and expertly spun her around, much to the crowd’s delight. “Apparently I still can.”

  “I love you, Papa.” She squeezed his hand as they rejoined the guests when the dance finished.

  Immediately the empty area was filled with alternating circles, either male or female, dancing in opposite directions. Periodically the music would change and the circles would reverse direction, allowing a man to briefly bow to the woman in front of him, while she curtsied in response. If the couple happened to be related, they linked arms and twirled. Rachel, who hadn’t eaten souper, was growing dizzy from all the circling when the old tune abruptly stopped and a new one began. She paused to see who her partner would be, her eyes opening wide in astonishment at the attractive young man standing before her.

  Dovid the Fuller was dressed in a magnificent indigo wool bliaut, cut short enough to display an almost indecent length of leg encased in bright scarlet silk hose. He flashed her a wide grin, bowed deeply, and as the tempo increased he circled away from her into the shadows.

  thirty-one

  Seven months after Shemiah’s wedding, the two things Rachel remembered most clearly were dancing with Papa and standing for some time in shocked silence after discovering Dovid among the guests. Later he’d admitted to attending both days of celebration, but not the ceremony itself.

  Her family had barely recovered from the wedding when Count Hugues announced the grape harvest, sending them into a frenzy of winemaking to get the vintage finished before Rosh Hashanah. At first Dovid was eager to help out. But after Rachel explained the significance of this action—that because non-Jews were forbidden to handle kosher wine, his participation would affirm his Jewish status—Dovid withdrew his offer.

  Rachel told herself that this was nothing to feel so unhappy about, and then, one after another, things got worse. Though she had no reason to expect him, Rachel was bitterly disappointed when Eliezer not only failed to show up for the Cold Fair but didn’t even send a letter with the Spanish merchants. How could he not at least write to Shemiah after missing the wedding? So when Pesach left for Toledo with his usual load of furs and woolens, she made him promise to write immediately upon arrival.

  During the following two weeks, Rachel woke up each morning to the sounds of Zipporah vomiting into the chamber pot in the next room. A whispered talk with Miriam confirmed that Shmuel’s wife was pregnant again and, should the pregnancy continue, would give birth before Shavuot. To Rachel’s knowledge, Zipporah had miscarried twice already, both males, and it looked as if she were as cursed as Brunetta. Too late to pray for a girl, there was nothing to do but wait apprehensively until the birth.

  It was mid-January when Rachel heard the worst news. To encourage his vassals’ loyalty after Adelaide’s death, Hugues had embarked on a grand tour of Champagne, visiting every castle, abbey, and estate that owed him fealty. But what should have been an extravaganza turned into disaster instead.

  Joheved’s family was among the first to learn the deta
ils when Milo returned from visiting Emeline. Since Rachel was in Ramerupt at the time, she too became privy to his tale.

  “You’re back soon,” Meir exclaimed when Milo entered the manor’s great hall. “We thought you’d be gone at least a month.”

  Milo swallowed hard. “I did intend a longer visit, but circumstances prevented me.”

  “I hope you found Emeline well,” Joheved said anxiously.

  “My stepmother couldn’t be happier,” Milo replied in a voice that belied any happiness. “She’s been eager to return to the convent for some time and is grateful that my father gave her permission to enter Avenay during his lifetime.”

  “So what’s wrong, Milo?” Rachel couldn’t stand waiting through all the pleasantries. “Obviously some problem forced you home early.”

  Milo blanched and Joheved quickly poured him a cup of wine. “While I was visiting at Avenay, they brought Count Hugues into the infirmary, gravely injured.”

  Milo’s audience stood in shocked silence as he drained his cup and held it out for more. “One of his servants tried to slit his throat in the night.” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Mon Dieu.” Joheved covered her mouth in shock.

  “Lady Emeline, who tended his wounds, said the cuts were so deep it’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

  “Who could have done such a thing?” Rachel burst out.

  “The count’s entourage included Alexander, a young foreigner that Hugues had personally ransomed from captivity,” Milo replied. “Hugues was quite fond of the fellow, who often ate and slept in the count’s personal quarters. They were staying at Dontrien when guards heard this terrible cry from the count’s room, and, finding Alexander attempting murder, they killed him.”

  “So no one was able to question Alexander about his motives,” Meir said.