Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (9 page)

In Ramerupt there wasn’t much else to do after the Sabbath midday meal, especially when the weather discouraged walking outdoors. So Marona unlocked a cabinet and brought out the most beautiful chess set Miriam had ever seen. Marona’s father had brought it back from the Orient, and it became part of her dowry. The board, instead of the usual inlaid woods, was made of alternating squares of silver and gilt. The chessmen were silver or carved ivory. The king had his sword drawn, the knights sat on horseback, and since the Saracens had no bishops, there were small elephants instead. Miriam had heard of elephants, larger than the biggest bull, from Papa’s foreign visitors, but she could never imagine what they looked like.

Perhaps Marona’s skill was rusty from disuse or Miriam’s mind had been honed by Torah study, but there was no great disparity between them. During a long turn Miriam struck a thoughtful pose, one that Marona’s daughter, Hannah, had habitually adopted when they had played together. Suddenly Miriam’s concentration was broken by her opponent’s sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Marona mumbled as she wept. “I haven’t played chess since my daughter died, and I didn’t realize how much you’d remind me of her.”

Aware that even the hint of Benjamin’s memory could send her into tears, Miriam was filled with such empathy that she got up and put her arms around the older woman. Soon both were crying and bemoaning their losses, questioning what they could have done to deserve such punishment from their Creator and doubting they could ever be happy again. Eventually the last tear was shed, and they were reduced to small sniffs and sighs.

Marona blew her nose. “I thank you, dear. I haven’t had a good cry in quite some time.”

“I know. Everyone at home gets so upset when I start bawling that I try to stop right away.”

“Feel free to weep as much as you need to.”

Miriam gave Marona a small smile. “
Merci
.”

“I believe it was your move before our little cloudburst,” Marona said, smiling in turn. “Can you remember your strategy or should we start over?”

Miriam felt almost lighthearted. “Let’s play on. I don’t mind if I lose.”

And so the courier found them, an hour later, when he came to announce Countess Alice’s desire that Miriam should ride with her and her ladies on Monday. He arrived with trepidation, not sure what activities he would interrupt in a Jewish household on their Sabbath, and was reassured to find these ladies engaged in the same pastime those at court found so compelling.

Before Miriam could think of a polite way to refuse, Marona announced that of course her guest accepted the countess’s hospitality. She then offered the man some bread, cheese, and ale, and while he ate, questioned him about what time Miriam should be at the castle and whether they were merely going riding or if there was a hunt. Only a simple morning ride was involved, with refreshments served afterward.

When the man left, Marona turned to her dismayed guest and declared, “Samuel is Count André’s vassal, and if you don’t ride with Countess Alice’s ladies, it might be considered be an insult.” She smiled and patted Miriam’s hand. “The countess can’t be older than twenty. It will be nice for you to spend time with people your own age.”

“But what will I talk about with the Edomite ladies?” Miriam asked. “What could we possibly have in common?”

“Don’t worry, dear. If you listen and ask questions, they’re bound to think you’re a brilliant conversationalist.”

 

Marona was right. Countess Alice and her ladies-in-waiting weren’t very different from the merchants’ wives and daughters in Troyes. As they rode along the forest lanes, talk revolved around the latest court gossip—who was in favor and who was out, who had quarreled with whom and why, which knight was smitten with which lady and whether the feeling was requited.

But most of all the ladies couldn’t resist talking about the countess’s new son, Gautier, his father’s heir, who had recently been christened. Miriam of course knew about babies; she was training to be a midwife. She easily held her own in the discussion, even sharing a few anecdotes about her young nephew.

The road came to a fallow field, and a redhead named Rosaline suggested a race to the far end and back. Before Miriam could decide to race, the others took off, Aunt Sarah’s horse not far behind, and by the time their steeds had rounded the field, she was in the lead. Miriam worried briefly that she ought to let the countess win, but soon gave herself over to the pleasure of the race, the ground rushing beneath her and the wind in her face.

When Miriam’s mount finally slowed to a walk, her heart was pounding. The others gathered around her, praising her horse, and the countess asked what price she would take for the animal.

“I cannot take any price,” Miriam declared between gasps. “The mare doesn’t belong to me, but to my aunt.”

As to why her aunt needed such a fleet horse, Miriam replied as she had often heard Sarah respond. “She is a midwife who never knows when some mother’s life may depend on her horse’s swiftness.”

Countess Alice was silent a moment and then said excitedly, “Your aunt must be the Jewish midwife who delivered little Hugues of Troyes. At Gautier’s christening, Adelaide spoke with me at length of her ordeal. In comparison, my experience, which I thought I would barely survive, seems like a pleasant outing.”

The excitement of winning the race loosened Miriam’s tongue. She admitted that, as her aunt’s apprentice, she had assisted during that very birth. Alice was most eager to hear the whole tale again, from the midwife’s perspective, although her ladies were more interested in Miriam’s description of Countess Adelaide’s lavish bedroom. Before Miriam ran out of things to say, they arrived at a small meadow next to the Aube River where servants were laying out their repast.

Relieved to find no shortage of permitted foods, Miriam helped herself to smoked fish, pickled vegetables, bread and butter, and a large spoonful of strawberry preserves. She was trying to decide whether to take an apple or a pear when one of the younger ladies shyly approached her. Hair so blond it was almost white, pallid blue eyes, creamy skin—the ideal of womanhood that French noblewomen aspired to. Yet her mouth was too thin and her eyes too closely set to be considered beautiful. Miriam recalled that this girl had not seemed quite so comfortable on her horse.

“Besides a midwife, you’re an accomplished rider,” she complimented Miriam, who thanked her and motioned her to sit down nearby.

“Oh, pardon me. I’ve forgotten my manners again.” The girl blushed. “I’m Emeline de Méry-sur-Seine and I’ve only just come to court.” Her voice, not loud to begin with, dropped to a whisper. “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

“I’d be happy to help you if I’m able,” Miriam replied. What could this Edomite girl want from her? Hopefully not anything in her midwiving capacity.

“I was wondering if you might be so kind as to help me with my riding.”

Miriam sighed with relief. “I’ll be glad to ride with you tomorrow, if you like. I’m visiting Lord Samuel and Lady Marona for the winter. Their manor is just south of here, at Ramerupt-sur-Aube.” She used the estate’s full title, to distinguish it from the town that housed the count’s castle.

 

The next morning Miriam was already outside when Emeline arrived at Samuel’s gate. It had snowed lightly the night before and the world looked freshly cleaned. At first they rode together in a companionable silence, Miriam appreciating the stillness of the monochromatic winter scenery. Hopefully Emeline wasn’t insulted by Miriam not talking to her.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this peace and quiet,” Emeline said softly. “The ladies at court never stop their silly chatter, while I’m used to women who only speak when they have something necessary to say.”

“They must be very unusual women.”

“I used to live in a convent.” Emeline sighed. “I expected to spend my whole life there in prayer and study.”

“Why did you leave?” Miriam asked. Clearly this had not been Emeline’s choice.

“My brother was injured in a tournament, so badly that he’ll be lucky to survive, never mind marry and father the next baron of Méry-sur-Seine. I pray for his health every day.” Emeline’s chin began to quiver, and she paused to regain her composure. “My brother made me his heir and began negotiations for me to marry Baron Hugh de Plancy.”

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Miriam said. The poor girl, suddenly thrust from a holy life into a secular one. “Perhaps Le Bon Dieu will hear your prayers and heal him.”

“His life is in Le Bon Dieu’s hands now.” A tear ran down Emeline’s cheek. Then she sat up straight, and her sad expression was replaced by one of determination. “I’m sixteen years old and I don’t know nearly enough about managing an estate. I must learn everything I can from Countess Alice before the wedding.”

“Won’t your husband be running things?”

“He’s supposed to,” Emeline said. “But men go off to war or to visit their vassals or to tournaments.” Her voice quavered at the mention of tournaments and then became bitter. “I don’t know why my brother went to that tournament. He wasn’t some poor landless
juvene
who needed to fight for glory and booty. He had his own castle already.”

Miriam felt a stab of pain as she remembered Benjamin and the foolish risks he took. “If silly ladies can learn these things, a serious student like you should have no trouble.”

During the next month the weather stayed mild, allowing Miriam to ride with Emeline nearly every day. Marona encouraged her to continue joining Countess Alice’s ladies for chess as well as riding. Life seemed like a continual festival, and Miriam worried about the work she ought to be doing in Troyes.

But when Joheved and Meir brought little Isaac to Ramerupt to celebrate the last two nights of Hanukkah with his grandparents, Joheved wouldn’t hear of Miriam leaving.

At Joheved’s first glimpse of her sister, she stopped in her tracks, her face suffused with pleasure. “The air in Ramerupt must agree with you, Miriam. Your hair is shiny again and there’s color in your cheeks.” She gave her sister a fierce hug. “It feels like you’ve gained back some weight too.”

“That’s not the air.” Meir kissed Marona’s cheek. “You can thank my mother’s cooking and ale.”

“Whatever it is about Ramerupt, Miriam must stay for another month at least.” Joheved took her sister’s arm and walked toward the house.

“I agree,” Marona said.

“But Joheved,” Miriam said. “I can’t leave all the chores at home to the rest of you.”

“Of course you can. This is the slowest time of year in the vineyard.”

“So how are Mama and Papa?” Miriam asked. “And Rachel?”

“They are well, may the Holy One protect them, but there’s a new family in Troyes I want to tell you about,” Joheved said. “Moses haCohen and his wife Francesca, from Rome—a doctor.”

“He should be an improvement over our old doctor,” Meir said, handing his son into Marona’s outstretched arms. “Moses has studied at Salerno’s school of medicine, as well as with Saracen physicians in Bavel.”

Once they were seated in the salon, Marona motioned for a servant to pour everyone some ale. “Any doctor would be an improvement over your old one,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“One of the first things he did was call on Aunt Sarah,” Joheved said. “He was so polite, inquiring about the herb dealers and apothecaries she considered the most adept.”

Marona raised her eyebrows, intrigued.

“She talked to him for quite a while about his medical studies, especially those under the Saracens.” Meir paused to take a long drink, then turned to his mother. “Mama, nobody makes ale as good as yours.”

Miriam leaned forward. “Did you hear what he told her?”

“I only heard her ask if it were true that they performed autopsies there,” Meir said. “Then I had to go back to my students. But after he left, Sarah told us how pleased she was that a skilled physician was taking up residence in town.”

“Francesca is younger than Moses, about our age,” Joheved added. “She attends synagogue every day, but she rarely speaks to anyone except me.”

“Do they have any children?” Miriam asked, her attention focused on Marona cuddling Isaac.

“Not yet, but Francesca is eager to meet you.”

Joheved hoped to avoid any subject that might remind Miriam of Benjamin, but eventually she felt obliged to report how the recent vintage had turned out. And Miriam wanted them to share whatever Talmud the yeshiva students were studying. But all in all it was a good visit. Joheved was glad to see that, though her sister did get choked up occasionally, the only time Miriam actually cried was when Joheved bid her adieu.

 

Once Miriam realized she was going to remain in Ramerupt, she began to chafe at being so useless. “Surely you can find something for me to do besides spinning wool,” she told Marona.

“This is a slow time for us too,” Marona said. “But if you wait another few weeks, we will be busier here than you could possibly imagine.”