“That would be an excellent explanation if not for the fact that God tells Moses earlier, ‘I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt,’ ” Guy said. “How do your Jewish Sages explain this?”
Miriam’s forehead wrinkled. “So the Holy One knew in advance what Pharaoh would do, even hardened his heart to make him do it, and then punished him anyway? It doesn’t seem just.”
Salomon sighed. “After Pharaoh acted so wickedly it became clear to the Holy One that Pharaoh did not have the spirit to repent with a whole heart,” he explained. “It was therefore right that the Holy One hardened Pharaoh’s heart in order to multiply His signs so that all would recognize His power.”
“Very good, Papa,” Judah said. “You should be sure to write that in your Torah commentary.”
Thus far Rachel had only partly followed the conversation; her mind was too preoccupied with Eudes’ untimely death and her near-miraculous escape from his clutches. Still, she wanted to be sure she understood Papa properly. “So if repentance is not possible, the Holy One is justified to use this person as a tool to benefit those who can repent, such as Israel.”
Salomon nodded and turned to Guy. “What do you think?”
The canon smiled. “On this matter, we agree. In our scriptures, it is written:Shall we say is God unjust? Heaven forbid. For scripture says to Pharaoh: ‘I enthroned you for this purpose, that I might display My power in you and that My name might be proclaimed in all the earth.’ Thus God has mercy on whom He wants to have mercy, and He hardens whom He wants to harden. You may say to Me: ‘Then why does God still blame us? For who can resist His will?’ But who are you, O man, to question God? Shall what is formed ask Him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?”
Papa looked so pleased that Rachel hesitated asking what happens with ordinary people. Since God knows before a man is born how he will behave during his life, how can a man like Eudes be blamed and punished for his sinful acts or one like Papa praised and rewarded for his virtue?
She was about to ask when Miriam turned to Guy and changed the subject. “Could you please express our community’s deepest condolences to the Countess Adelaide?”
Guy sobered. “Of course.” Then his eyes began to twinkle. “There seems to be some question about how Count Eudes died.”
Rachel gulped. “We heard it was a hunting accident.”
“When his body was found on the ground with a fatal head wound, it was assumed that he’d been thrown from his horse and hit his head.” Guy raised his eyebrows and everyone at the table leaned in closer.
“And you think this assumption may be wrong?” Salomon asked.
“I don’t know.” Guy said, helping himself to more cake. “But I heard that the wound looked more like one from an attack than one received in an accident. If he was dazed by his fall, it would be easy to take a branch or rock and finish the job.”
“But who would want him dead?” Rachel asked. Besides me.
Guy shrugged. “The number is too great to count: the father or brothers of his previous mistress who died in childbirth, other nobility who covet his land, members of his court who prefer his brother Hugues, or Heaven knows how many who seek revenge for some perceived injury or insult.”
“Or perhaps it wasn’t murder at all,” Miriam said. “If his horse was so spooked as to throw him, perhaps the animal kicked him as well.”
“In all probability you are correct.” Guy sighed. “However, people much prefer to discuss the possibility of foul deeds.”
Guy returned to Salomon’s a week later. “It is audacious of me to ask you for a favor that will only waste your time, but I have come to think that to truly understand scripture, I must ascertain the Hebraica veritas from the original Hebrew.”
Cheered by Eudes’ death, Rachel couldn’t resist teasing him. “You just realized that the Bible wasn’t given in Latin?”
He smiled and took his customary seat at the table. “I grant that many of my colleagues seem unaware of that fact.”
“If you wish to read Hebrew, someone will need to teach you.” Salomon stroked his beard in thought. “And that someone should be a Jew, although I cannot in good conscience ask any of my students to take time away from their studies.”
To everyone’s surprise, Joheved’s son Shmuel spoke up. “I’ll tutor him, Grandpapa . . . if he teaches me Latin in return.”
Before Salomon could protest, Miriam also volunteered. “I’d be happy to teach him.” She looked at Guy questioningly. “If he doesn’t mind learning along with my children.”
“I’m sure both of you would be excellent instructors,” Guy said. “And I’d consider it an honor to teach Shmuel Latin. I’ve heard excellent reports of his scholarship.”
When Salomon consented, Guy arranged a study schedule with his new teachers and bid them adieu.
When the canon was out of hearing, Judah turned to his nephew in astonishment. “What possessed you to agree to teach Hebrew to the Notzrim?”
“So I can learn Latin.” Shmuel glared at Guy closing the courtyard gate behind him. “The minim misuse our Torah to prove their heresies, and I want to know what their scripture says so I can refute them.”
“Amen,” Salomon said.
* * *
On an unseasonably warm day in early March, Shmuel and Guy were sitting in Salomon’s courtyard as the cleric tried to explain a rule of Latin grammar by comparing it to French. They were too engrossed in their discussion to hear the gate open and close, until an elderly, yet commanding, voice interrupted them.
“If you want your student to truly understand grammar, Guy de Dampierre, you should have him study Priscian’s Institutiones grammaticae .”
Shmuel spun around to take in the two black-robed monks standing before them. The elder, grey-haired and gaunt, whose arm was supported by his companion, looked to be the oldest man Shmuel had ever seen. The younger monk’s tonsure was completely brown, and Shmuel judged him to be around forty.
Guy looked at the two in astonishment before jumping up to embrace the old monk, the man who had admonished him. But before he could say anything, Salomon burst out of the kitchen door.
“Robert, what brings you here?” Salomon must have realized how rude he sounded because he quickly said, “I’m delighted to see you, of course, but why aren’t you in Molesme?”
The monk sighed. “It’s a long story.”
Now Rivka, Judah, Miriam, and Rachel were outside, eyeing the new arrivals with apprehension.
“Please, come in and tell it.”
Salomon waved everyone toward the house, while Rivka called to her daughters, “Rachel and Miriam, bring some free-press wine from Montier-la-Celle for your father’s guests.”
Salomon chuckled and turned to the elderly monk, “You picked a good time to visit, Robert. The vintage from your old abbey is one of the finest in years.”
“Robert was prior of Montier-la-Celle in the days when we first began using its grapes for our wine,” Miriam explained to Rachel as they filled jugs in the cellar. “Then, when you were still little, he founded his own monastery at Molesme.”
“I remember how upset Papa was when he left. They used to study together.” Maybe that was why Papa liked Guy’s visits.
“I’ve never seen the other monk before,” Miriam said.
The younger cleric was Étienne, a fellow member of Robert’s abbey. Over bread, wine, and cheese, they learned that he was born in Angleterre, studied in Paris and Rome, and was returning from the latter city when he stopped in at Molesme.
“I was so impressed with Robert’s piety that I joined his community,” Étienne explained in heavily accented French. “So when he decided to leave Molesme on account of its laxity, I came with him.”
The salon was filled with questions directed at Robert.
“Mole
sme lax?” Salomon shook his head. “Surely strict discipline was one of your hallmarks.”
Judah couldn’t understand how a monastery could become lax, since men entered it to devote themselves to the Almighty. Guy didn’t see how Robert could just leave Molesme when he was the abbot. Wouldn’t the pope make him return?
Over bread and cheese, which Rivka pushed on the slender monks, Robert explained that the trouble started ten years ago, when the canon Bruno of Reims became a monk and Molesme began to attract rich benefactors. Ultimately their reputation not only brought unwanted wealth but also unsuitable new members: younger sons forced on them by their noble patrons.
Robert blamed himself. “If I’d been a better abbot, a firm disciplinarian, and if I’d had strength to reject unfit candidates the nobility foisted on us and rally my monks to strict dedication to Benedict’s rule—then I would be worthy to lead Molesme. But I can neither bear the slackers nor reform them.”
“Then what do you intend to do?” Salomon asked.
“I plan to found a new house,” the abbot replied. “But first I must get Étienne settled in Troyes. Here, I am confident, he can continue his excellent education.”
Étienne blushed at the compliment. “Guy wrote to Abbot Robert about the importance of learning Hebrew, and he thought it was a shame that, despite my years of study, there remains a subject of which I am ignorant. We agreed that I should not leave the scholar’s world for the monastic one until I have mastered Hebraica veritas.”
Robert gazed hopefully at Salomon, “I want Étienne to learn Hebrew from true scholars, so I must again ask for your help. Will you teach him?”
Salomon paused to stroke his beard, and Rivka whispered to him, “We’d finally have a chance to repay our debt to him for sharing Montier-la-Celle’s grapes with us.”
Salomon turned to Robert and nodded.
Guy broke into a grin. “So, Shmuel, are you ready for another student? And you, Miriam?”
Shmuel shrugged. “It should be no more difficult to teach two than one. And with another teacher, I can learn Latin faster.”
“I will gladly add Étienne to our little class,” Miriam said to Guy with a smile. “It will be good for you to have a study partner more at your level.”
Rachel didn’t think Guy or Étienne took their vows of chastity lightly; nevertheless she preferred to avoid the men. But as the final months of Joheved’s pregnancy arrived, Miriam announced her intention of helping with the lambing in Ramerupt until the baby came, leaving Rachel to reluctantly assume her sister’s teaching responsibilities.
But Guy’s usual levity was dampened by Étienne’s severity, and Étienne was so devoted to his studies, ignoring her gender, that at first Rachel thought he was a Ganymede. But she soon saw that his passion for learning had replaced carnal desire and, with a sudden insight, realized that the same thing had probably happened to Papa. No wonder Mama hasn’t been happy with him.
Rachel was starting to enjoy their studies when Lent intervened, forcing Guy and Étienne to suspend their lessons. Then no sooner was Easter past than Joheved gave birth to another boy, sending Salomon’s entire household to Ramerupt to await the brit milah. Now for the third time, Joheved and Meir named a newborn son Salomon, again depriving Rachel of the opportunity to honor their father that way.
Rachel and Miriam were riding at the rear as their families returned to Troyes after the brit milah, when Miriam motioned Rachel to come along side her. “I’m worried about Joheved: she shouldn’t be bleeding this much after eight days.”
“Surely you can do something to help her,” Rachel said.
“I’m giving her mugwort juice mixed with sage, pennyroyal, and willow seed plus mallow and beet soups,” Miriam replied. “But they cannot be effective unless she is well rested.”
“She’ll be getting plenty of rest now that everyone’s gone home.” Rachel couldn’t see why Miriam was telling her this.
“Joheved will not rest if we celebrate Passover at Ramerupt. No matter how much I caution her, she will insist on supervising the preparations.”
“So one of us will do it instead.”
Miriam shook her head and, using her midwife’s voice of authority, declared, “The only way to prevent Joheved from rising from her bed is to celebrate Passover at Troyes, not Ramerupt, with Joheved a guest rather than the hostess.”
Rachel, who’d been anticipating a pleasant holiday week in Ramerupt with Eliezer, burned with resentment. “So even though I’m pregnant, I have no choice but to ready my house for the festival too?”
“Joheved’s life depends on it,” Miriam said sternly. “And don’t expect much help from me or Mama. We’ll be busy doing the same thing at our homes.”
“But you’ve done this before, while I’ve gone to Ramerupt every Passover since I’ve been married.” Rachel grimaced at the enormous amount of work necessary to remove every trace of leaven that had accumulated in her home during those nine years.
Every dish had to be washed with soap, rinsed in boiling water then cold water, and finally dipped in hot water again. Every pot needed to be scrubbed with salt stone then rinsed in boiling water, all metal items (like spits and tripods) passed through fire in the hearth, and wooden boards for cutting and kneading cleaned until not a speck of hametz could be seen.
Rushes would have to be taken up and discarded—no easy task—then the floors carefully swept and freshly cut rushes put down. Papa’s students slept in the attic, and undoubtedly took bread or pastries up there on occasion, so all the old straw had to be removed and the floor cleaned before new straw was brought up.
“Stop acting like a spoiled child, Rachel,” Miriam hissed. “Passover will be here in a few weeks whether you like it or not, and our homes must be ready. Be thankful for all those years when Joheved did the work for you!”
Rachel had never seen Miriam so angry, and she blushed with shame. Am I really such a spoiled child? I suppose I must be, to whine about doing the same work that every other Jewish woman in Troyes has to do, when the important thing is my sister’s health. She looked over at Miriam, whose mask of fury had been replaced with one of sorrow.
“Miriam, do you really think Joheved is in danger?”
“I’m afraid so, although I pray that she is not.”
When they arrived home, Rachel joined her servants in thoroughly cleaning her house in preparation for Passover. The dung collector’s cart acquired a new purpose as he hauled the dirty straw and rushes to Papa’s vineyard for mulch. Along with other Jewish housewives in Troyes, Rachel anxiously awaited a rainy day when she could empty the waste pits in her kitchen. As soon as sufficient rain turned the Jewish Quarter’s streets into fast-flowing rivulets, every bit of garbage amassed in those pits would be dumped into the roads.
But before this happened, Mama suffered a relapse of dizziness and took to her bed, leaving her younger daughters responsible for cleaning her house as well as their own. With Miriam riding back and forth to Ramerupt several times a week to check on Joheved—who, may the Holy One protect her, was regaining her strength and would probably be well enough to attend Papa’s seder—this labor fell on Rachel’s shoulders, who seethed with resentment at the vagaries of life.
To make matters worse, they discovered that the privy’s cesspit was nearing its capacity. Lined with stones to let the liquid escape and so deep that a man who fell in would drown, a cesspit took years to fill—so many years that Rachel couldn’t remember when theirs had been emptied. Though the nausea of pregnancy was behind her, as the dung collector and his sons lowered buckets into the privy’s vile contents and dumped them into his cart, the stench that permeated the courtyard—nay, the entire block—was overpowering.
Her relief came only when the men carted the disgusting muck off to fertilize the vineyard. It took several days of effort before the cesspit was finally clean, during which Rachel swallowed her envy whenever Miriam rode off to Ramerupt. She wavered between sympathy and guilty satisfaction at t
he thought of Mama, who had bequeathed her all this extra work, confined to bed and thus suffering the evil smell even more than Rachel, who at least left home to attend synagogue. But mostly she was too busy and too tired to feel much of anything.
When Eliezer arrived in Troyes three days before the start of Passover, he entered through the rarely used Chapes Gate and made for a nearby tavern on the outskirts of town. The place was as disreputable as its clientele, and he waved off a couple of whores heading in his direction. As eager as Eliezer was to see his family again, he walked past the dice players to a table in the back, where he sat down and opened his accounts ledger.
He moved numbers from one column to another, added a little here and subtracted a little there. Finally, when the church bells chimed None, he was satisfied. True, if Rachel looked carefully she might notice some merchandise he’d sold for less than usual or bought for more, but he was confident that he had hidden the discrepancy of forty dinars. Twenty dinars to repay what he’d borrowed at the Cold Fair and twenty more now to complete payment to the man he was waiting for.
The short man entered as the echo of bells disappeared, his hat pulled low over his face, a cloak wrapped around his body. After a furtive glance around the room, he made a beeline toward Eliezer. When he sat down, Eliezer silently passed him a heavy purse under the table and then rose to leave.
But the man motioned Eliezer to sit down again. He seemed to struggle inwardly before finally speaking. “I don’t deserve this.” He slipped the purse back into Eliezer’s hand.
“Why not?” Eliezer whispered. “He’s dead, exactly as we planned.”
twelve
The man pulled out some cards and dealt a few to Eliezer. “I took the monkshood to the stables, but as I hid in the shadows to be sure no one was around, another man came in.” He paused and laid down a card. “I could tell immediately that he was up to no good, and sure enough, he snuck over to the horse’s feed trough and mixed something into the grain.”
Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel Page 15
