Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (19 page)

Nissim shrugged. “The cloth needs to be hung up and stretched anyway for the next step.”

“There’s more?” Rachel’s face fell. She’d thought she was close to success with Alette and Albert working for her, but there were still so many other people she would need to hire.

“At this point, any wrinkles that developed in the tank are gone, and the fullers use a teasel to raise the nap so it can be shorn.” Nissim didn’t wait for their questions, but immediately explained the procedure. “A teasel is a very prickly plant, and pushing it repeatedly over the stretched cloth raises the nap. That is, it lifts up all the straggly loose ends of the wool fibers, which the fuller cuts off with razor-sharp shears.”

Eliezer put his arm around Rachel, who was blinking back tears. “It sounds difficult.”

“
Oui
. It takes a great deal of skill to nap and shear the cloth repeatedly without damaging it, but when an expert is finished you cannot see the original weave at all.” Nissim held up the scarlet woolen. “And the texture is as smooth as silk.”

“Does it go to the dyer now?” Rachel asked hopefully. It was no wonder luxury woolens were so expensive—look at all the labor that went into making them.

Nissim nodded and turned to Eliezer. “Here the clothier must make a vital decision—what kind of dye the woolen’s quality merits. As a dye merchant, you know that even the finest cloth is worth less than the kermes scarlet required to dye it.”

“How did you come to learn all this?” Eliezer asked.

“One of my brothers is a dyer and the other a fuller.” Nissim smiled. “I have spent a good deal of time in their vats.” Then his expression sobered. “You two are considering an ambitious undertaking, controlling every aspect from raw wool to finished cloth.”

“Can it be done?” Rachel made no effort to mask her anxiety. Her future with Eliezer depended on it.

“Possibly.” Nissim scratched his head. “While you have an advantage with Joheved supplying the wool and Eliezer the dyestuffs, I’m afraid that the best fullers will prefer to sell to the highest bidder rather than work for you.”

“You’ve given excellent advice, Nissim. Aren’t you worried about us putting you out of business?” Eliezer was smiling, but his question was serious.

“Not at all. The supply of luxury woolens doesn’t come close to meeting demand. The more high-quality fabric that comes to Troyes, the more people flock here to buy it.” Nissim rubbed his hands in anticipation.

Before Rachel could question Nissim further, a customer came up to the stall, forcing her and Eliezer to leave the two men to their private negotiations. Now she would have to endure her husband’s justified complaints that she’d acted too quickly.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time this afternoon,” she offered, thinking it best to apologize right away and diffuse his anger.

“You didn’t. I found Nissim’s lecture very interesting.” He smiled and took her hand. Now that he knew the extent of what Rachel’s plan entailed, Eliezer realized that it would be years before she got the enterprise going, if ever. So he would have years in Córdoba to learn everything there was to know about philosophy and mathematics.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to get involved until I knew more about the cloth business.” She hadn’t planned on crying to get Eliezer’s sympathy (although it usually worked), but the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Eliezer put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right. I know you would have been more diligent if you weren’t distracted by your other worries.”

“My other worries?” Rachel fought her rising panic.
Heaven help me if he’s learned about Eudes.

“Your mother’s illness.” He hugged her closer, wishing there was a way to tell her not to worry about the count. “Naturally it’s difficult to think about other things when someone in your family is sick.”

“Of course I’m concerned about her, and supervising two households is taxing.” She was crying with relief now.
He doesn’t know
.

“Especially when one household is the rosh yeshiva’s during the fair season,” he agreed. “If your mother isn’t better by the summer, your father must hire more servants. He can’t expect you to keep running everything when you have a new baby.” Eliezer gently patted the small bulge in her belly.

“Eliezer, I wish you didn’t have to leave next week.”

“I promise I’ll be back for Passover.” He leaned over and kissed her brow. “I intend to be here when this child is born.”
And I intend to be as far away from Troyes as possible on New Year’s Day.

 

Early on Thursday, Tevet 21, known to the Edomites as December 29, Eliezer left Troyes with nearly every other merchant who had come for the Cold Fair. To avoid traveling on the Sabbath or starting a new enterprise on the unlucky days of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Jews tried to begin their journeys on Thursday or Sunday. But even those who preferred not to leave on Thursday left that day with Eliezer. For the following Sunday was January 1, an inauspicious Egyptian day.

Some said these evil days received their name because the biblical plagues and other ancient calamities occurred in Egypt on those days. Others said that Egyptian astrologers, authorities in this field, identified them as such. Whatever the reason, both Jews and Edomites alike viewed those particular days of the year with dread.

And nobody in Troyes was dreading New Year’s Day more than Rachel.

On the final day of the Cold Fair, she veiled herself and, while most men were still in synagogue, paid a visit to an herb dealer whose stall stood at the far end of the fairgrounds. There she purchased a small amount of henbane and black hellebore. To avoid suspicion, she also bought some artemisia, mugwort, and ginger, which Miriam could use in her midwife practice. And when he offered her a good deal on comfrey, she took that as well. Between her children and Miriam’s, one of them always seemed to need a healing poultice.

Yet she couldn’t keep her hand from shaking as she unlocked the pantry cabinet that held her family’s valuable herbs and spices.
Am I actually going to go through with this? Do I have the nerve to poison him?
It was one thing to knife a man who threatened her with his, but to premeditatedly poison his cup?

 

On the last Friday of the year, Raoul visited Salomon’s cellar to requisition additional wine for Countess Adelaide’s New Year’s feast. Keeping his tone professional, he took Rachel aside and gave her the location where Eudes would meet her on Sunday night—a fashionable address near the St.-Rémy Church, on the far side of the Cordé Canal.

Only two days left. Rachel’s stomach churned. Eudes must keep this apartment for assignations with his paramours, away from his mother’s and the court’s prying eyes. At least she wouldn’t be going to the palace or anyplace in the Jewish Quarter.

She could not go on with these feelings gnawing at her. After Raoul concluded his business, Rachel realized that only one thing might calm her nerves. She needed to pray. Leaving the Shabbat
souper
preparations to her mother and Anna, as the sun began to set she accompanied her father to synagogue. Hearing the men chant the special psalms for welcoming the Sabbath (Friday evening being a service that few women attended), she suddenly remembered that Psalm 39 should be recited to thwart an evil design on the part of a king.

Furious for forgetting something so important, she excused herself early from
souper
and sought seclusion in her bedroom, where she recited:

No matter how much trouble the evil this man was causing her, she must neither question nor complain about the Holy One’s justice, only pray that He would bring punishment upon the Edomite greater than the affliction the wicked man would inflict on her.

 

Somehow Rachel expected the room to be more opulent, but there was only a bed, a chest, and a table with two chairs—furnishings similar to those in her parents’ house. To her dismay, every dish on the table appeared to contain forbidden food. She recognized bacon immediately, and there were several other meats, all undoubtedly not slaughtered in a kosher manner. The only fish she saw was eel, which Papa said was not a proper fish at all, lacking fins and scales, and therefore was prohibited for Jews to eat.

“Your Grace, I’ve brought some special wine for you.” She tried to smile seductively. “Flavored with henbane.”

But instead of returning her smile, Eudes scowled. “You drink some first.”

“I can’t have very much. Remember I’m enceinte.”

He jumped up and seized her around the waist. “I said drink it.” He grabbed the flask and held it to her lips.

When she began to struggle he pushed her back against the wall. “You Jewish bitch! You think that I wasn’t expecting some treachery, that I didn’t know Jews prefer poison over an honest clash of swords.”

When she tried to scream, he forced her mouth open and poured the wine down her throat. “If this really does contain henbane, then you and I are in for an exciting night.” He began to laugh.

 

Rachel’s eyes flew open, Eudes’ cruel laughter still echoing in her head, but the room was silent and completely dark. Drenched in sweat, she groped for the bed curtains and pulled them back. A sliver of light from the waning moon was enough to illuminate her own bedchamber, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

What a horrible dream
. She got out of bed, checked that her children were sleeping peacefully, and quickly recited the words recommended in Tractate Berachot:

Shivering with more than the cold, Rachel decided that first thing in the morning she’d have Papa, Miriam, and Judah—surely three of the most pious people in Troyes—annul the dream for her. As Rav Huna said:

When she told her family that she’d seen a “good dream”—the Talmudic euphemism for a nightmare—Papa, Judah, and Miriam immediately recited the nullifying incantation.

“Just as not all thoughts are true, also not all dreams are true,” Papa added, resting his hand on her head.

Hoping her dream wasn’t a message from Heaven, Rachel was too upset to eat much for the rest of the day. It was Sunday, New Year’s Day, and one thought consumed her. Would this Egyptian day bring calamity to her or to Eudes?

eleven

When the church bells began tolling, Rachel was in the vineyard with Salomon and Baruch, marking vines that were no longer productive and would need to be replaced.

Baruch shook his head in dismay. “Look how quickly the hours pass on these short winter days. It seems like it was just midday, and now they’re chiming None.”

“I don’t think it’s the ninth hour yet.” Salomon frowned slightly in concentration. “The bells don’t sound like they’re chiming the hours either.”

Baruch paused to listen. “You’re right, they’re different.”

“They remind me of when Count Thibault died,” Salomon said.

Rachel, who hadn’t noticed the bells at all, turned her attention to the somber pealing coming from Troyes. “But the countess hasn’t been ill.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out at afternoon services.” Baruch returned to the vine he’d been inspecting.

Rachel and Salomon exchanged meaningful glances and her heart began to swell with hope. If Countess Adelaide were dead, surely her son wouldn’t be sneaking around the streets of Troyes tonight. And if Eudes were dead . . .

Salomon could see the eager anticipation on his daughter’s face. “Rachel, would you mind bringing me another pair of hose from home? One of these has a hole that’s irritating my foot.”

“Of course, Papa.” The look she flashed him was pure adoration.
I’ll find out who died, too.

Thankfully she was in the middle trimester, when a pregnant woman usually feels her best, and her feet flew as she raced back to town. The guards at the Près Gate would have heard what had happened: it was the nearest gate to the castle.

Desperate yet terrified to hear the news, Rachel slowed when she saw the crowd of people clustered there. What if it weren’t anyone in Champagne’s ruling family? Maybe the bishop had died or King Philip? She cautiously approached the gate, her heart pounding so loudly the others must surely hear it.

“He should have known better than to go hunting on an Egyptian day,” a self-righteous voice called out.

“If he’d been a pious man like his brother,” another man complained, “he wouldn’t have been out hunting on our Lord’s Day. Then he’d still be alive.”

The next voice confirmed it. “So now we have a seventeen-year-old boy ruling Champagne.” He spat in disgust.

“Don’t worry. The countess will rule for Hugues just as she did for Eudes.”

Rachel, staggered at the unexpected fulfillment of her fervent hopes, broke into sobs of relief, causing a woman nearby to put her arm around Rachel’s shoulder and chastise the men. “Shame on you all, standing here complaining about Eudes when you ought to be mourning him.”

The crowd soon dispersed, and Rachel hurried back toward the vineyard, only to turn around and head for home when she realized that she had forgotten her father’s hose.