Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (4 page)

“My Lord.” One of them had a scar on his cheek and he bowed deeply. “I apologize for our delay. There was some confusion at the castle when this distraught young lady first appeared, but as soon as we learned she was one of your relations, we came immediately.”

“It’s all right, men. Alain and Pierre were able to capture this villain before he could do any serious damage.” Samuel indicated the man on the ground. Then he introduced the knights; the scarred one was Colon and his companion was Faubert.

“We have already encountered Alain and Pierre, my lord, which is how we were finally able to find this place,” Faubert said. “They told us they have discovered only one brigand, whom they apprehended.”

No sooner had the knight spoken than the two squires rode into the clearing, a foul-looking fellow tied behind Alain’s horse. The man being reluctantly pulled along immediately began to curse his comrade on the ground, accusing him of betraying them.

With great effort, Miriam had restrained herself from showering Benjamin with an immodest amount of affection. Watching the two thieves arguing, her frustration combined with fury at the villain who’d threatened her, and she vented her feelings by kicking him as hard as she could in his bloody leg. He let out a yelp of pain, followed by a string of obscenities.

“Get these disgusting sons of whores out of my sight,” Samuel ordered his knights. “Take them to the castle and let André’s experts make them reveal what he needs to know. If Thibault offers a reward, divide it among the four of you.”

“Count Thibault will be furious that the bandits attacking his fairgoers have been living right under the nose of his vassal, Count André,” Marona said. “And the best way to allay that displeasure will be for André to hand the entire gang over to Thibault before the Hot Fair ends.”

They tied the injured man face down on the back of Colon’s horse and attached his accomplice’s rope to Faubert’s. The two knights set off at a brisk pace, obviously pleased at their captives’ discomfort. Samuel directed his squires to dispose of the sheep carcass and, after Miriam and Benjamin insisted on remaining behind to find more alkanet, he settled himself on his wife’s horse, just behind her. He put his arm around her waist, and the looks the couple exchanged suggested that they expected their ride to be as pleasurable as the criminals’ would be miserable.

 

As if waking from a dream, Miriam and Benjamin found themselves alone in the forest again. Sunlight glinted through the trees, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and birds resumed their songs. Except for the small bandage above Benjamin’s left eyebrow, everything seemed the same as when they first discovered the alkanet bushes hours earlier. They stood in silence, waiting for the sounds of Samuel’s horses to disappear. Then they bolted into each other’s arms.

“Oh, Benjamin.” Miriam hugged him fiercely and began to cry. “I was so frightened.”

“It’s all right now.” He cradled her head against his chest and stroked her hair. “At least you weren’t hurt.”

“I was frightened for you.” Miriam squeezed him even tighter and began patting his back and arms, as if to assure herself that he was indeed uninjured. “I was terrified that we’d get here too late, and ...” She couldn’t say what she feared most.

“Don’t worry—I’m perfectly fine. Marona fixed me up as good as new.” He was more than fine. Miriam’s caresses were having a most salutary effect.

“You can’t imagine how I felt when we got back and I saw you sitting there, chatting with Meir’s parents as though nothing had happened. And that horrible man tied up on the ground.” As she talked, she felt her tension spilling out along with her words. “I wanted to run over and kiss you.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Benjamin’s
yetzer hara
spoke for him.

“What?” Miriam had been babbling and she wasn’t sure exactly what she had said.

“What’s stopping you from kissing me?” His voice was husky with desire.

She stared up at him and began to get lost in his gaze. Then she closed her eyes and slowly lifted her face toward his.

He kissed her with almost bruising intensity, and she returned his kisses with equal ardor. Previously she had kept their lovemaking within careful bounds (except for Purim, when they were too drunk to remember what they had done). He could kiss her whenever he wanted, as long as nobody could see them. And if he managed to get her alone for a decent period of time, long enough for her breathing to quicken, he might be emboldened to fondle her breasts through her chemise and feel her nipples harden under his touch.

But this time there were no limits. She allowed, even encouraged, his hands unchecked license under her chemise while her own roamed freely under his. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses and caresses; they were the reassurance she needed to prove that he was still alive. Entwined in each other’s arms, they sank down to the soft forest floor.

“Take me, Benjamin, make us one flesh,” Miriam whispered with a soft moan. “Make me your wife now.”

He struggled to remove his
braises
, while she lifted her skirts and pressed her hips up against his. Then she heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes. The squires said that they searched the area, but what if they missed one of the robbers?

M
iriam felt as though somebody had doused her with cold water. She looked down and realized that she and Benjamin were lying in a pile of leaves, naked from the waist down. Averting her eyes from his exposed flesh, she pulled her chemise down, just as a ewe and her twin lambs broke into the clearing.

Miriam and Benjamin stared at the sheep and burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, Miriam. After everything that happened today, I got carried away.”

“You don’t need to apologize, it was my fault too.”

That they had nearly consummated their marriage before the wedding didn’t bother her. The Rabbis taught that a woman couldn’t conceive the first time, but, even if she had gotten pregnant, they’d be husband and wife in a few weeks—nobody would know the difference. Miriam had seen enough of Salomon’s responsa, verified by several of the women whose births she’d attended, to know that other betrothed couples did it. After all, once a man and a woman were betrothed, only death or divorce could end their union.

 

Upon returning to Troyes, they told a mesmerized audience about their adventure, leaving out, by unspoken consent, the final part of it. The next day the fairground was buzzing with rumors that the brigands had been caught in Ramerupt, but that Count Thibault was seeking the fence who had helped them dispose of their loot. Some Edomites suspected a Jew, since the captured Jewish merchants had been ransomed while non-Jews were killed.

Salomon was adamant that Jews couldn’t be involved. “Of course the Jewish merchants were left alive,” he explained as his family shared their midday meal. “Any thieves sophisticated enough to elude capture by Thibault’s men would know that Jews always redeem each other. Why kill a Jewish merchant when it’s more profitable to ransom him?”

Miriam offered her support. “Besides, no Jew in Troyes would handle goods stolen from other Jews,” she said, slicing a piece of roast lamb onto her bread trencher.

“I suspect that some might be willing, if it were only a matter of violating Jewish law,” Salomon said. “But the penalty of
herem
, being expelled from the Jewish community, is too great a risk. You’ll see. The fence won’t be a Jew.”

Benjamin had his doubts, but Salomon was correct. The trader in league with the bandits was an Edomite from Burgundy. When Benjamin set off for home with the Rheims merchants, they passed by the town scaffolds, where ten other bodies were hanging along with the man who had attacked him and Miriam.

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to see these thieves executed,” one of the merchants confided to Benjamin. “My brother and I were captured on our way to the fair and I was loath to return home with the fugitives still at large.”

“Wait!” his comrade cried out. “Driver, stop the carts!”

Several of the merchants got out and spit on their captors’ bodies. Then the caravan began moving again, and as Benjamin watched the town walls receding behind them, he sighed. This year’s vintage would be the last one he’d be helping his family make. But that sad thought was immediately replaced with an exultant one: the next time he saw those walls, it would be his wedding day.

 

“If you feel the slightest light-headedness,” Salomon’s tone was severe, “leave the vat immediately and breathe deeply until the sensation passes.”

No sooner had the Hot Fair concluded than the wine harvest began. But a heat spell made treading grapes during
bouillage
, the wine’s stormy fermentation, unusually dangerous. Each morning, Salomon exhorted his workers to be constantly vigilant, both for themselves and for the others in the vats with them.

“I want continual conversation among you, the taller workers making sure that everyone replies.” He paused until everyone nodded. “Never leave anyone alone in the vat.”

“Do we have to talk, Papa?” Rachel asked, her eyes wide. “I mean, can we sing instead?”

“
Oui, ma fille
. You may sing instead.” His voice was filled with affection for his youngest daughter. “But you must stay in the vat with me, so I can watch you.”

When Salomon realized that hot weather would likely continue for the entire
bouillage
period, his first reaction was to forbid Rachel from treading the grapes. But she was nearly as tall as Miriam now and had been eagerly looking forward to her first vintage.

Salomon shook his head and sighed. It never ceased to amaze him that he and Rivka had produced such a beauty. Not that Joheved and Miriam were unattractive, but they resembled him too much. Rachel, with her dark curls, perfect oval face, and deep green eyes, had somehow managed to combine the ordinary features of her parents into something exquisite.

A father shouldn’t favor one child over another, but he couldn’t help it. Joheved and Miriam were dutiful daughters, fine vintners, and excellent students, and Joheved had provided him with a grandson, but he had been away studying while they were growing up. It was different with Rachel; he’d returned from Mayence just before her birth, and there had been a special bond between them ever since. Her first word had been
papa
.

By afternoon, the air was sweltering and Rachel, dressed in one of her sister’s old chemises, couldn’t wait to cool off in the vat of grape juice. Salomon and Miriam were already inside, and Rivka helped her climb up to the top. Rachel looked down, then blanched and hesitated. The must of fermenting grapes seemed alive as it foamed and hissed, and she imagined she was stepping into a pot of cooking soup. But Salomon held out his hands and coaxed her, and she jumped into his arms.

It was difficult to remain upright in the liquid’s constant movement. Stems seemed to reach up and encircle her legs with every step, and she tried not to think of snakes. But Salomon held tight to her hand as she jumped up and down in the must, and Miriam starting singing a merry song. Rachel soon forgot her fears in the excitement of making wine and relaxed enough to enjoy the pleasant feeling of the bubbles rising past her legs as they sang together.

Suddenly Miriam interrupted their song. “Papa, I think I feel dizzy.” She clumsily made her way to the side of the vat. “Is it all right if I just sit here on the edge, or should I get out altogether?”

“You may sit on top until you feel better.” He helped her climb up and then turned to Rachel. “How are you doing,
ma fille
?”

“I feel fine, Papa.” To prove it she began to sing again.

But moments later, Rachel’s voice began to waver, and before Miriam’s horrified eyes, her sister tottered and slipped into the must. Immediately Salomon reached down into the liquid, pulled his daughter up, and, flinging her over his shoulder, climbed out of the vat. Safe in the courtyard, Rachel coughed, took in several gulps of air, and began to cry.

Rivka came flying out of the kitchen to find her youngest daughter, covered in squashed grapes, weeping in her husband’s arms. “What happened?” she demanded, glaring at Salomon.

“Don’t worry, Rivka.” Without lying, he explained, “Rachel isn’t injured, she’s only frightened. You see, she lost her balance and fell into the wine.”

Rachel stifled her sobs. “I’m all right, Mama. Really I am.” She snuggled closer to Salomon. “Can I go back in the tank with you, Papa?”

“You’ve spent enough time with the vintage this year,” Rivka announced. She grabbed Rachel’s arm and tried to pull her toward the well, but Rachel clung to Salomon.

“I’ll see that she’s washed,” he told Rivka. He lifted up Rachel’s chin and looked her in the eye. “Let’s get you cleaned up now, and we’ll see about you helping in the vats tomorrow.”

Miriam couldn’t help but notice her mother’s sour expression as the pair headed toward the well, Salomon gently pulling bits of grapes and stems from Rachel’s hair. Mama and Papa had never gotten along well, probably because they’d been strangers when they wed and spent most of the next ten years living apart in different cities. Miriam said a thankful prayer that the Holy One had blessed her with a love match.

 

Under Salomon’s watchful eye, the
bouillage
ended without further incident, and the wine was left to complete its fermentation over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Finally Sukkot was upon them and the wine safely casked in the cellar. Miriam was beside herself with happiness; her wedding clothes were finished, and one of Aunt Sarah’s bedrooms had been redecorated for the newlyweds. In recognition of her niece’s maturity, Sarah decided that Miriam could handle the simple nighttime births alone. Sarah’s night vision wasn’t what it used to be.

Miriam’s first opportunity began as usual, with an anxious servant knocking at Sarah’s door early one evening. The mother, Muriel, had easily borne several children, so Miriam grabbed the midwife’s basket and kissed Aunt Sarah good-bye, confident that she would return before midnight.