by Maggie Anton
“That’s true,” Joheved said. How unhappy Papa must be, stuck here in Troyes teaching his daughters and little boys.
“Don’t worry about your father,” Isaac said as he helped Joheved close the cellar windows. “Already some of the best scholars in Europe are bringing their business to our fairs in order to study with him. I’m sure it won’t be long before they want their sons to study with him as well.”
Joheved wanted to believe him; he sounded so confident. She kissed his palm, the way children were taught to show gratitude to adults. “Thank you for telling me all this. I feel much better.” Her fears began to melt away as she contemplated this wonderful new possibility.
“If only it were always this easy to change a woman’s tears to smiles.” Isaac chuckled and headed for the stairs. “Come along now; we’d better see what has become of our new customer.”
Joheved wiped her nose and followed Isaac up the stairs. She came into the kitchen and learned that Rivka had invited the merchant to dine with them the first night of Hanukkah.
Because the Cold Fair began on All Saints’ Day and didn’t end until late December, Troyes was always full of Jewish travelers during the festival of Hanukkah. Each evening at sunset, Salomon’s family squeezed into the crowded synagogue and watched as the holiday lamps were lit with blessings and songs during the service. Then, like other local Jews, Salomon’s family shared their holiday soupers with guests. Before they ate, he kindled the family’s holiday lamp, a beautiful silver menorah that Leah had brought as part of her dowry. After the meal came more singing.
Women refrained from work while the lamp was lit, in memory of one woman’s heroism. Salomon explained that, in those days, a virgin about to be married was required to first submit to the king. So when the high priest’s daughter was betrothed, the Greek monarch demanded that she lie with him. She went to the king, fed him cheese until he was thirsty, and then gave him enough wine to make him drunk. Once he’d fallen asleep, she severed his head and brought it back to her father in Jerusalem. When the enemy general saw that his king was dead, he and his army fled.
Some women made the entire week a holiday, but Grandmama Leah regarded this as excessive and allowed her granddaughters to rest only on the first and last of the eight days. With all the pruning and digging that needed to be done in the vineyard, they couldn’t afford a whole week of idleness. But for Joheved and Miriam, who had helped their father move vineyard soil uphill the previous winter, that the onerous job was being done by somebody else was vacation enough.
As wonderful as the weekdays were during the Festival of Lights, its Sabbath was even better. During services, the Scroll of the Hasmoneans was read aloud, and the congregation listened raptly as the reader recounted the triumphs of Mattathias and his sons over the evil despot Antiochus, intent on destroying them. Grandmama Leah had read this part for so many years that she had no difficulty translating for the women, and Joheved thought she made it sound as if she’d lived through the time herself.
When the enemy was defeated, and the Hasmoneans entered the sanctuary in Jerusalem, they found only one flask of pure olive oil. Though its quantity seemed sufficient only for one day, it lasted eight days, owing to the blessing of the God of Heaven who established His Name there. Hence, the Jews instituted these eight days as a time of feasting and rejoicing, and of kindling lights to commemorate the victories the Holy One had given them.
On most Saturday nights, Jewish families prolonged their evening meal, reluctant to leave the Sabbath and reenter the regular week. But tonight Isaac’s family joined them for a brief souper, and when they went outside to light the Hanukkah lamp at the doorway to the courtyard, Joheved was surprised to see over a dozen people waiting, covered dishes in their hands.
“I see the celebrants have already started to arrive.” Isaac laughingly nudged his host. “I wonder how many more we’ll have by the time the Compline bells ring.”
Salomon and Joseph began to make tables by laying boards on some of the benches outside, and several men came over to assist them. More people continued to enter the courtyard, and Salomon eyed the growing crowd with anxiety. “I hope there’s still some of my wine left to sell tomorrow.”
“You mean our wine,” Isaac said, throwing his arm around Salomon’s shoulder. “Consider it an advertising expense. If this vintage is as good as everyone seems to expect, merchants will be lining up at your door, making exorbitant offers.”
Musicians soon arrived, and the strains of popular Hanukkah melodies filled the air. Joheved couldn’t see who was performing, but she could make out the sounds of string and wind instruments, as well as drums.
“We never used to have parties at our house before, and now we’ve had two in six months,” she said in awe.
“Papa said we’d have a lot of people here to taste the new wine tonight, since so many of them helped make it.” Miriam had to shout to be heard. “But I never expected such a mob.”
“Do we have to open up every barrel for tasting?” Joheved asked her father. “They won’t drink it all, will they?”
“Don’t worry,” Salomon said. “Most will only fill their cups a couple of times. They know the wine is our livelihood.”
“And we’ll only let them sample the pressed wine,” Isaac declared. “The free-run wine casks remain sealed.”
The menorah had nearly burned out, and torches were lit. Grandmama Leah took one look at the noisy bunch of strangers outside and announced that she was too tired to celebrate. Rivka jumped at the opportunity to withdraw, and asked Sarah to see to the guests so she could get Leah to bed. Joheved and Miriam held their breaths, afraid that Mama would make them come inside and miss this marvelous event. But she only admonished them not to make themselves sick by eating too many rich desserts.
The Hanukkah lamp’s going out seemed to be a signal. Salomon and Isaac strode to the cellar doors where several men helped them lay down planks for ramps. Cheers rang out each time a cask was rolled out and righted. Then Isaac climbed atop a bench, and those nearby immediately quieted. The hush spread like a ripple in a pond, and soon the courtyard was silent.
“Friends, my partner and I welcome you to our Hanukkah festivities,” Isaac boomed, his arms extended wide, and many in the crowd yelled back encouragements.
“We have wine from both Salomon’s and the abbey’s vineyards. Be sure that you have tasted both.” This comment drew more shouts of approval. “But please try to restrain your desire for seconds until everyone has had their first taste.” His emphasis on the word “try” brought more guffaws from his listeners. “Now let us fill our cups with new wine and toast the Festival of Lights!”
He jumped down from the bench to loud applause, and the musicians broke into spirited tunes. Circles of dancers began to move in time, their shadows wheeling in the torchlight. Isaac and Joseph stationed themselves at the abbey’s casks, while Salomon and his daughters stood behind those from their vineyard. Everyone waited for the owners and their families to have the first tastes.
Salomon took a few bites of bread. Then he filled his wine goblet and recited both the Shehecheyanu and the blessing over wine. When his daughters responded, “Amen,” he handed the cup to them. He had waited so long for this moment, but now he couldn’t bring himself to take the first taste.
Joheved took a sip and handed the cup to Miriam. The wine seemed quite good to her, but she knew she was no expert.
Miriam took her drink and passed it back to Salomon. It was now or never—Isaac and Joseph were waiting. He held up the goblet and proclaimed, “For life.” Then he closed his eyes and took a mouthful.
Salomon kept the liquid on his palate and breathed in the bouquet. He could scarcely believe it. The Holy One had blessed him with an excellent vintage, and this was the press wine! He savored the full-bodied flavor as he swallowed. The free-run wine must be truly sublime. He quickly took another taste to make sure he hadn’t imagined that wonderful sensation.
Isaac saw the
awe and pleasure in Salomon’s eyes and quickly filled his own cup. “For a good life,” he toasted his son.
Joseph returned the toast, “For a happy life.”
The wine from the abbey’s grapes was very good, but it did not merit the same exquisite expression as on Salomon’s face. Salomon refilled his goblet and handed it to them, each of whom took a slow swallow and breathed out a very contented “Ah.”
The revelers in the courtyard began to whisper excitedly. They could see the pleasure and pride on the vintner’s face and crushed forward to get their cups filled. A fine vintage was a blessing for the whole community. Everything Salomon’s family bought would be paid for with this wine, and soon it would grace every Jewish table in Troyes.
Salomon had Miriam take some wine inside for Rivka and Leah, while Joseph refilled his cup and asked Joheved to bring it to his wife. She found Johanna deep in conversation with Aunt Sarah, and offered them Joseph’s cup. Like the others, Johanna tasted the wine slowly to savor it; then she passed it to Aunt Sarah.
Suddenly Miriam ran up to them. “I need to talk to Papa and Isaac, but I can’t get through the crowd.” She was almost jumping up and down in her urgency to pull Johanna and Joheved towards the crush at the cellar door. She continued to talk rapidly, as if her speech could somehow propel them faster.
“I gave some wine to Mama and Grandmama, and she, that is Grandmama, got very excited. She said that with wine this good, we have to hide it or sell it right away. She said that the count’s men would be here any moment to take away his share, and we’d be left with nothing for all our work.” Miriam was almost crying with frustration. “I’ve got to tell Papa what she said, but I can’t even see him.”
“I doubt that tithes will be collected tonight,” Johanna reassured her. Then she stood up and announced loudly, “We need to speak with Salomon and Isaac at once!” A path opened for them, and they soon reached the men, where Miriam poured out her story.
“Do you think we really need to move the best wine out tonight?” Salomon asked the small group surrounding him. He had thought his worries about the vintage were finally over.
“Did your grandmother tell you that the count’s men had taken her best wine before?” Sarah asked Miriam. While Leah had become more distrustful as her memory declined, what she did remember was often accurate.
“Oui. She said that whenever she had a good vintage, the count’s tax collectors came right away.” In an aside to Joheved, Miriam whispered, “You wouldn’t believe the curses Grandmama used when she talked about the count and his tax collectors.”
Isaac was used to making decisions quickly when necessary. “I don’t think we can take the risk. Let’s at least try to remove as much of the free-run wine as possible tonight. We can leave the pressed wine in the cellar to avoid suspicion.”
Salomon gave up all thoughts of celebration and turned his mind towards the problem at hand. “We must find all the merchants who sold me goods in return for wine. They can take their shares tonight, and we’ll tally accounts when the fair closes.”
“That will be a perfect job for me and the girls,” Johanna said. She took Joheved and Miriam by the hand and pointed them into the crowd. “First look for Nissim and Hiyya’s agent, but if you recognize any of the others, send them over here too.”
Sarah offered to take as many barrels as her small cellar would hold. Joseph made the same offer and went off in search of his servants. Joheved found Nissim almost immediately; he had been one of the first in line and had not moved far after his cup was filled. Once he heard enough to understand the gist of the problem, he rushed off to the fairground, promising that he would be right back with his cart and horses. Soon other buyers were located, and if anyone doubted the basis for Leah’s fears, the merchants’ hasty actions were all the confirmation they needed.
The night wore on. The revelers danced, sang, ate and drank heartily, while against this festive background, men stealthily filled carts with wine barrels and slipped away into the darkness. Salomon instructed Joheved to keep a careful record of how much wine was taken away and by whom.
A few streets away in the palace, Count Thibault and his advisors crowded around one end of a long table. Warmed by fires blazing in the great hearth nearby, the men sat discussing His Grace’s upcoming nuptials. Much planning was involved—after all, the uniting of two prominent noble houses was of great political importance. Whom to invite, where to lodge them, what foods should be served, should he have hunts or a tourney for entertainment, or perhaps both? Soon their talk grew tedious, and during a lull in the proceedings, the merrymaking and music from Salomon’s courtyard became noticeable.
“I’m glad to hear my fairgoers having a good time.” Count Thibault’s eyes took on a calculating look. “If they are happy, their business is profitable, which means that mine is as well.”
“We can certainly use a successful fair this year, Your Grace,” Guy, his chamberlain, said. “The wedding costs will make a large dent in your treasury.” Thibault shot his chamberlain a dark look, and the man quickly replied, “I have been saving for the occasion for some time, and in any case, we can always tax the Jews if more is needed.”
Girard, the seneschal, sat up and listened alertly, a frown on his face. “They certainly are loud down there. I hope I don’t have to send my men over later to break up any fights.”
Thibault rejected this idea with a wave of his hand. “As long as we hear music, I’m sure your intervention is unnecessary.” He cupped his hand behind his ear to hear better. “It’s quite loud to be coming from the fairgrounds. It sounds closer.”
“Your Grace is correct about the closeness,” Bernard, the cellarer, spoke in obsequious tones. “I believe the music is coming from the Jewish Quarter, where they are celebrating their winter festival.”
“Well, if it’s the Jews making noise, I probably don’t have to worry about fighting.” Girard relaxed back into his chair.
“And if the Jews are celebrating with that much enthusiasm,” Guy rubbed his hands greedily, “then they are doing very well at the Cold Fair, and we can expect substantial tithes from them.”
“Pardon me,” Bernard interrupted politely. “One of the things they celebrate at this time of year is tasting the new wine. It has come to my attention that this year’s vintage is expected to be one of the finest in years.”
“If that’s true, don’t you worry that they will sell or hide the best of it before you can claim our share?” Guy asked.
Bernard stared at the chamberlain in disdain. “The Jews are His Grace’s loyal subjects, who would undoubtedly be honored to provide wine for his table, particularly if it is very good wine and they are acknowledged as the vintners.”
Girard was inclined to agree with the chamberlain and view the Jews as potential tax evaders. “I think it might be prudent for me to visit the Jewish winemaker first thing tomorrow morning and inventory his cellar.”
“You shall do no such thing.” The usually cool and civil cellarer was starting to show just a bit of pique. “If anybody is to go, it will be myself. And I am not going tomorrow!”
Count Thibault had heard enough. “None of my retainers is going to the Jewish Quarter tomorrow.” He looked sternly at Girard and Guy. “The Jews take their Sabbath very seriously, and I will not have them or anyone else thinking that my men do not observe our Sunday rest with proper reverence.
“However,” Thibault nodded in the cellarer’s direction, “on Monday morning, Bernard will present himself at their winemaker’s home to sample their new wine and decide how much to tithe for my use. I have no doubt that my Jews will cooperate with him fully.”
As Count Thibault ordered, his punctilious cellarer arrived at Salomon’s door late Monday morning. Joheved answered it, and was not surprised to find the smartly dressed nobleman and his retainers waiting there. Upstairs tidying the bedrooms, Marie had seen the knights riding up the street and had rushed to inform her mistress. The trap door to the cel
lar was open, and even with much of the free-run casks removed, the cellar looked well stocked. In fact, there was more than twice as much wine as the cellar had held last year.
Salomon was still at synagogue. He had announced earlier that his eldest daughter was perfectly capable of dealing with the count’s cellarer, or whoever was sent in his place. Joheved had actually been in charge of the wine accounts for the last few years, ostensibly still learning the skill from her grandmother.
Rivka offered the visitors food and drink, but Bernard declined and asked to see the cellar. As the cellarer watched closely, Joheved identified the various casks and drew four small jugs of wine. Once back in the kitchen, the family observed him carefully as he tasted the wine.
Starting with the pressed wine, he chatted nonchalantly about the count’s upcoming wedding and how a band of brigands had been discovered in the western forest, just waiting to attack the merchants returning to Paris from the Cold Fair. “The gallows at the city gates will soon be full,” he announced.
Eventually he took a taste of Salomon’s free-run wine, and his prattle stopped. Joheved had waited for this moment, and she was not disappointed. Like the other connoisseurs who had tasted Salomon’s wine, Bernard could not hide his pleasure.
He saw them watching him and knew that they were equally aware of this wine’s unique value. “His Grace will be pleased to serve such excellent wine at his wedding,” the cellarer said. “I am not yet sure what his needs will require, so I must advise you not to sell over half your stock until he takes his tithe.”
“Half the stock,” Joheved protested with a gulp. “But at least half the barrels come from Montier-la-Celle’s grapes, and we haven’t given the abbot his share yet.”
Bernard’s bland expression didn’t change, but inwardly he was furious. The abbey’s produce was their own, not subject to Thibault’s authority. Leave it to their wily abbot to have the Jews make and sell wine made from his grapes, thus greatly increasing its value and Montier-la-Celle’s revenue. The cellarer had no choice but to modify his initial demand.
