Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (39 page)

 

When Eliezer returned to Troyes for the Cold Fair, variations of the opinions he’d heard in the wine vats were being bandied around the fairgrounds and whispered in the synagogues. Salomon must have remembered Meir’s condemnation of forced converts, because he gave Judah the responsibility of interviewing prospective students from the Rhineland. Judah was showing Eliezer what texts Salomon intended to teach that winter when a balding middle-aged man and teenage youth hesitantly entered his salon. There was something familiar about the pair; yet Judah was sure he’d never met them before.

“This is my son, Gedaliah ben Daniel.” The man spoke Hebrew with a German accent. “We resided in Cologne for many years, but I’m not sure we will live there much longer. In the meantime, I’d like him to stay in Troyes and study at your yeshiva.”

Eliezer observed the pair with interest. They were likely survivors of the massacres, possibly even
anusim.

Judah reacted with astonishment. His first study partner, Daniel ben Gedaliah, had hailed from that city. Judah stared at the man’s thin hair and slack jowls, trying to find some hint of the youth he’d studied with, and loved so desperately, in Worms.

“We’re always eager for more students.” Judah reached out and clasped Daniel’s hand. “I’m Judah ben Natan, the rosh yeshiva’s son-in-law.” He carefully observed the man’s reaction.

Daniel squinted at Judah and scratched his head. Then his jaw dropped. “Judah ben Natan of Paris? A student in Worms about twenty years ago? Is it really you?”

Judah smiled and held out his arms.

“I don’t deserve a warm welcome.” Daniel’s eyes lowered in remorse. “Especially from a
talmid chacham
like you. I have committed too great a sin.”

Judah waved everyone to the table. “Sit down and have some wine.” He brought a flask and cups from the kitchen.

Eliezer was impressed that, instead of pouring the wine himself, Judah deliberately handed the flask to Daniel and busied himself with wiping some imaginary dirt from one of the cups. Jewish Law prohibited Jews from drinking wine handled by non-Jews, which was why Salomon employed Jewish servants. Without a word, Judah demonstrated to Daniel that, whatever the man’s sin, Judah considered him a Jew.

“Thank you.” Daniel’s voice conveyed his gratitude for more than a cup of wine. “The last six months have been a nightmare.”

Before Daniel could continue, the front door opened to admit Miriam and Rachel, home from vineyard, where they’d spent the afternoon pulling out the vine props and stacking them between rows. All that tugging and bending was arduous work that had to be completed before the vines could be pruned.

The two women collapsed onto benches while Judah made the introductions and Eliezer got more cups.

“I’m mortified by my transgression,” Daniel said. “Yet I feel a great need to explain what happened to us in Cologne.”

“You will find us a most compassionate audience.” Miriam’s voice was warm in its sincerity.

The others nodded and pulled their benches closer; at last they would hear an eyewitness report instead of rumors.

“On the eve of Shavuot we learned that the communities of Worms and Mayence had been decimated.” Daniel’s voice betrayed no emotion. “So we fled to our Notzrim acquaintances and hid as the enemy looted our homes, destroyed the synagogue, and desecrated the Torah scrolls.” He took a deep breath. “But we were still alive.”

“We heard that Cologne suffered the same fate as Worms and Mayence,” Rachel said without thinking.

“Not at this juncture it hadn’t.” Daniel proceeded to describe how the archbishop divided the community and sent them to seven of his most fortified towns.

“We hid in the countryside for almost a month,” Gedaliah said.

Daniel began to tremble, sending Judah to stand beside him and pat his shoulder. “One day the priest came running to us, yelling that Emicho’s men were coming, that we should follow him to a new hiding place. The rest of the townsfolk were with him, urging us to come with them, that they would protect us.”

He put his head in his hands and fell silent.

Gedaliah continued his father’s tale. “The people surrounded us, herding us like sheep toward the river. Before we realized it, we were standing in the water while the priest said something in Latin and made his evil sign over us.”

Daniel’s eyes begged for mercy. “When the enemy arrived, we were huddled together on the riverbank, shivering like wet dogs. The priest told Emicho, may his bones be ground between iron millstones, to leave us in peace, that he had baptized us.”

“His men didn’t harm you?” Rachel asked in astonishment.

He shook his head. “So we returned to Cologne. There we heard that most of the other Jews had thrown themselves into the Rhine . . . including my brother.”

Daniel paused to control his feelings. “He and his study partner loved each other greatly, such that neither could bear to see the other die. They climbed a high tower, kissed and embraced, and jumped into the river, clasped in each other’s arms.”

Judah gasped and Miriam took his hand in sympathy. Daniel’s brother had chosen to die in another man’s arms and received admiration for his act, not condemnation.

Gedaliah concluded, “Of the seven towns the archbishop sent us to, only Kerpen was able to protect its Jews.”

“Your town saved its Jews,” Rachel said. “Everyone sent there from Cologne survived.”

“We desecrated the Holy Name; we deserved to die.” Daniel’s face was a mask of pain. “How could He leave such unworthy ones as us alive and let the pious Jews be killed?”

“None of us can fathom the Holy One’s ways,” Eliezer declared. “It is not for us to question who is worthy or not.”

“Surely your community returned to the Law of Moses after the enemy left?” Miriam asked. “And repented at Yom Kippur?”

“My family did.” Daniel brightened at their support.

“Sending Gedaliah to yeshiva is proof of your loyalty to the Law of Moses.” Judah gave Daniel a hug. “It’s almost time for afternoon services. Please come worship with us.”

Rachel and Eliezer hung back from the others as they walked. “I don’t understand the heretics,” she whispered. “One instant Jews are despised infidels who killed the Hanged One and the next, with no change in our beliefs, merely being dunked in water, we are welcomed into the fold.”

“Emicho may not have attacked the
anusim
, but I doubt that his men warmly embraced them.” Eliezer grimaced. “And I suspect that no matter how hard the
anusim
try to prove they’ve abandoned their old faith, someone in the Church will always be distrusting them, checking on them, spying on them.”

“So they’ll never be safe. What a terrible way to live.”

Eliezer nodded. Right now his family was secure in Troyes. But who knows for how long? He had no doubts that if Emicho’s army had attacked Troyes’ Jewish community, the inexperienced Count Hugues would have offered little protection. Maybe it would be a good thing if Rachel’s aspirations to be a clothier were never realized. Then they could all move to Toledo and be safe.

 

Rachel tallied her accounts in late November and despaired of ever putting her woolen business into operation. Joheved’s sheep would soon start giving high-quality wool, but who would Rachel find to weave it? The two horizontal looms still sat unused in the cellar. Yet she had to succeed: with all these armed pilgrims on the road, Eliezer’s travels would only grow more dangerous.

Alette the Spinster had come to borrow money at the start of the Cold Fair, promising to pay it when the fair closed, and Rachel had lent it to her, although the wool Alette spun would never bring in the income they’d earned from Albert’s weaving. Indeed a month later Alette was back, and judging by her stooped posture as she crept through the courtyard she would be needing another loan rather than paying off the last one.

“Oh, Mistress Rachel, I don’t know what to do,” Alette whined as Rachel mentally calculated how much she could spare for the weaver. “Albert came back yesterday, but he’s in a terrible state.”

Albert—back in Troyes already?
“How is that possible?” No one could get to Constantinople and back that fast, never mind Jerusalem.

“I don’t know. He has refused to speak since his return. I am wondering if he is able. He just went straight to bed. And he was limping something awful.”

“Let me see him.” Rachel jumped up and grabbed her mantle. They hurried down the chilly street, Rachel only half listening to Alette’s anxious voice. What difference did it make if Albert remained mute? The important question was could he weave.

Alette called out and opened the door slowly when they arrived, careful not to startle her brother.

Albert sat by the hearth, staring at the fire, and he neither turned nor greeted his sister when they entered. “I’ve brought you a visitor,” Alette announced in an artificially cheerful tone. “Mistress Rachel.”

Albert turned around, but his expression was blank.

Rachel took in the gaunt lined face, the listless eyes, and knew he’d undergone some trauma on his pilgrimage. “I’m glad to see that you’ve come back to us. Alette tells me that you hurt your leg.”

To her surprise, Albert stretched out his leg and pulled up his pants. It was obvious what ailed him—just below the knee his leg was bent at an odd angle. But the break must have happened early on his journey; his skin wasn’t discolored.

“Oh, Albert,” Alette cried out. “Does it hurt much? Let me fetch the doctor.”

Albert shook his head vigorously, although the poorly healed break must be painful.

Rachel gave a sigh of relief that Albert was capable of some communication. “Do you think you can work the foot pedals of a loom again?” she asked him. “If not, you must allow the doctor to help you. Your family will starve unless you start weaving again.”

Albert gingerly pumped his injured foot up and down a few times, grimacing slightly.

“Your loom is in my cellar. Do you want to try it there?” Rachel suggested.

He shook his head and pointed to the empty space where the loom used to sit. Alette looked at him doubtfully and asked, “You just got back. Maybe you should wait to regain your strength.”

Albert scowled, shook his head again, and pointed several times to the empty area in his sister’s salon. She turned to Rachel and shrugged in acquiescence.

“I’ll have a carter bring it over,” Rachel said. Maybe exercising his hurt leg would help it heal. Perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t speak. After hearing the Jews’ horror stories, she wasn’t sure she could listen to his.

Alette, however, didn’t think there was anything horrific behind her brother’s sudden dumbness. “Clearly he broke his leg at the beginning,” she said after the loom was delivered. “Since he could no longer keep up with the other pilgrims, they left him behind to heal. When he ended up lame, it became impossible to catch up with them, so he returned home.”

But Albert didn’t nod or show any sign of agreement with his sister’s wishful explanation. Rather he clenched his jaw and worked the loom even faster.

 

The first inkling of what befell Albert and others who’d followed Peter the Hermit came when another refugee turned up at Rachel’s door during the week before Hanukkah. She was preparing the children for bed, and Eliezer was about to return to the Old Synagogue for Salomon’s evening Talmud session. He’d just stepped out of the privy when Baruch called to him from the open courtyard gate.

“Eliezer, I’m glad you haven’t left yet. That pilgrim fellow who was here last spring—he’s back. Do you want to see him or shall I give him
souper
and send him on his way?”

“Please, Master Eliezer, please help me.” The panicky voice belonged to Jehan. “You’re the only person left in the world I know. Geoffrey, my brother, all the others—they’re dead.”

Eliezer’s jaw dropped, and he stopped in his tracks. What the devil was Jehan doing back in Troyes? Eliezer realized he couldn’t turn the miserable fellow away. Jehan had made his captivity bearable, possibly saving his life. And if the youth was the only survivor of the horde that had camped outside Troyes last spring, Eliezer had to hear what happened.

“It’s all right, Baruch. He can stay in the attic for the time being.” Eliezer put his arm around Jehan, noting that the youth was little more than skin and bones, and led him indoors.

Rachel came downstairs as soon as she heard the strange man’s voice, and one look at Jehan’s torn clothes and long stringy hair sent her rushing to the kitchen for a loaf of bread and large bowl of stew. Eliezer, torn between his studies and impatience to hear Jehan’s story, decided to delay until the youth had filled his stomach. At the rate Jehan was wolfing down his food, the wait wouldn’t be long.

On Rachel’s part, she couldn’t help but feel both eagerness and trepidation. When she heard Jehan’s last sentence, hope welled within her that the evil ones responsible for the destruction of Rhineland Jewry had themselves been annihilated. Whatever caused Albert’s silence had not affected Jehan: the youth’s tale spilled out as quickly as mouthfuls of stew disappeared.

“Master Eliezer . . . you can’t imagine . . . what disasters I’ve endured.” Jehan tried to eat and speak simultaneously. “I’ve lost track . . . of all the times . . . I was sure I’d be killed.”

“Please start from the beginning.” Rachel refilled his cup of wine. “There’s no need to gulp down your
souper
. You wouldn’t want to survive all these dangers only to choke on a piece of meat now that you are safe.”

“Safe.” Jehan gazed around the room in awe. “I’m finally safe.” Then he gazed into the hearth as if he were looking at something far away.

twenty-two

“Things started well.” Jehan looked longingly at the bread and Rachel cut him a large piece. “We had plenty of provisions and Peter had money to buy more. The villages we passed on our way to the Danube were generous, and we attracted more pilgrims the farther we traveled. Soon we were too many for most towns to feed, and there were reports of theft in the camp along with looting the countryside.”