Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (47 page)

While that was being done, she revealed the crime he had committed. “It is bad enough when a slave steals from the hand that feeds him, but to shame me by stealing from my guests is intolerable.”

“Bend over,” she commanded the naked, trembling man.

I steeled myself for the punishment I would be forced to witness. But instead of giving him the beating I expected, she stared at him and began chanting an incantation. The words were from no language I’d ever heard, and I shivered at the strength of the dark magic.

Several of the slaves screamed as before our eyes, the man, either unable or too frightened to move, slowly transformed into a donkey. First his skin darkened and grew hair, then his hands and feet became hooves and his buttocks sprouted a tail. Finally, and most horribly, his ears elongated, his nose and mouth bulged outward, and his teeth protruded as his head took on a donkey’s shape. Only his eyes, now wide with terror, still resembled a man’s.

Yalta walked over, slapped his rump, and tied his neck, now nearer the ground, to a lower position on the post. That was when I realized that the man inside was still visible, as though he were wearing a semitransparent donkey costume. Yet it was evident that the others saw a donkey and only that.

Yalta sent everyone back to their duties and walked to where I stood, speechless and rooted to the spot in shock. “What do you see?”

It took some time to regain my powers of speech and tell her that I saw both man and donkey.

She chuckled. “It is an incredible illusion.”

“Are you going to leave him like that?”

“Only until morning, at which time we’ll sell him in the slave market,” she replied. “This punishment is far more effective than a whipping at keeping the others in line.”

I desperately wanted to learn that spell, but I was too awed to say so. “How often do you use it?” I asked instead.

“I haven’t in years.” She chuckled again. “Believe me, even new slaves who didn’t see this will hear about it.”

All afternoon I heard the man-donkey yelp-bray when other slaves slapped him as they walked by. Some of the girls took a perverse delight in lifting his tail and whacking him from behind, and I assumed he had not been a welcome bedmate.

When the men came home, Nachman merely rolled his eyes at the poor creature. But Rava asked, “Where did that donkey come from?”

Now I was truly impressed with Yalta’s spell, since it affected even those who weren’t present when it was cast. At her urging, I explained to Rava what I’d seen. Then I got my courage up and asked Yalta, “Can you teach me to do it?”

Rava wasn’t going to leave until she did, so she squared her shoulders and replied, “Of course I can.”

She returned the man to his original shape and then showed me how to chant the incantation. “You don’t have to cast a spell to change him back though,” she said. “Walking him through water will do it easily.”

Rava, and those slaves who could leave their tasks, watched in fascination as I transformed the wretched fellow into a donkey and back into a man—that is, I performed the illusion—several times until I felt confident in my accomplishment. It wasn’t as difficult as I’d imagined. There were no angels to summon or demons to adjure. Once I spoke the strange words in the proper intonation while staring at the victim, the magical process began.

That night I told Rava it was time for us to live in our own house before we turned into younger versions of Rav Nachman and Yalta. It was also time for me to find a new teacher.

TWENTY-NINE

SIXTH YEAR OF KING SHAPUR II’S REIGN
• 315 CE •

N
ot surprisingly, the many new arrivals from the West brought about a shortage of housing. Each day I returned discouraged from another fruitless search, until one afternoon when I found Yalta waiting for me after I’d installed an incantation bowl.

“I found the perfect place for you,” she announced. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

I was tired of looking at houses. “Tell me about it first.”

“It’s nearly as large as ours, and the location couldn’t be better. Only a few blocks away and with a view of the river,” she gushed. “The best part is that it’s completely furnished and the house slaves are included.”

“Why are the owners selling if it is so wonderful?” It seemed completely out of character for Yalta to be so helpful. She must have been as eager to rid herself of us as I was to leave.

Yalta lowered her voice. “It belongs to one of my cousins, whose enormous gambling debts have left him no choice. But he hates to put the staff who’ve served him so ably on the slave market, so he foolishly insists that they remain.”

“It would be convenient not to have to buy new ones and train them.”

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go see it now.”

 • • • 

The gatekeeper, who to my relief looked more like Father’s than one of Nachman’s imposing guards, recognized Yalta and welcomed us. The layout was familiar, a large rectangle of two-story buildings built around a central courtyard. The slaves hanging up laundry eyed me with curiosity, but I saw no signs of hostility, and they appeared well fed and healthy.

The steward, who was completely bald, limped out to greet me. He introduced himself as Dostai and explained that the master and mistress were in the north for the summer. He had a military bearing that reminded me of Father’s steward, Timonus.

“Dostai, am I correct that you used to be a soldier?”

He looked inordinately pleased that I’d noticed. “Indeed, I was captured almost twenty years ago when King Narseh conquered Armenia. That’s when I hurt my leg.”

I entered the front hall and immediately felt at home; it seemed that whoever designed Father’s villa had designed this one too. I walked through the house in admiration, Yalta and the steward pointing out the various amenities.

“The family spent so little time here, compared to their other residences, that you will find everything in pristine condition,” Dostai informed me proudly.

I’d expected that because of the owner’s financial troubles the place might be somewhat run down, its furnishings shabby. But Dostai was right. Even the dishes appeared unused.

“The ground floor has all the public rooms one would expect.” He pointed out the flooring. “Each uniquely tiled.”

“The kitchen and storage areas seem more than sufficient,” I said, noting that the slave quarters were not too cramped.

I knew before I inspected the second floor that there would be enough space for our children to live here long after they married, for all the guests we might invite to their weddings, and for as many students as Rava could want. The garden wasn’t as large as Father’s, but it was every bit as nice.

“My master and mistress insisted that their bedroom have a balcony overlooking the garden,” Dostai said as he led us up another flight of stairs, “as well as a good view of the river from the roof.”

It was indeed a fine view, but I was more pleased to see the roof’s sturdy railing.

 • • • 

The next day I came back with Rava, whose eyes opened wide as he examined the chests and cabinets carved with intricate designs, the multicolored cushions covered with fine silks, the benches and tables inlaid with all sorts of rare and beautiful wood. He picked up and inspected some of the lamps, lamp stands, and washing bowls made of precious metals.

Dostai, noting that Rava seemed more impressed with the luxurious furnishings than I had been, took his arm and said, “The sellers have left behind some additional items you should see.”

His voice sounded like that of someone imparting a great secret, which indeed he was. We followed him to one of the many storerooms and waited while he unlocked the door.

“You didn’t mention any locked rooms,” Rava chided me, in a voice keen with curiosity.

I shrugged. “Most of the others were empty and I didn’t have time to check each door.”

Clearly enjoying Rava’s eagerness, Dostai took us to a large cabinet, also locked. “My master told me not to show these to any but the most serious buyers.”

He made of point of throwing open the cabinet door, and Rava and I gasped at the gleaming metal displayed before us. Trays, plates, and spoons—all fashioned of gold and silver—glinted in the light. Next he unlocked a long chest and proceeded to unroll two matching tapestries, each depicting a fantastical garden in full bloom. Only in Ifra’s apartments had I seen their like.

“Ha-Elohim!” I reached out to caress the silky fabric. “They’re beautiful.”

“Why on earth would he leave these things behind?” Rava’s question was exactly what I was thinking.

“He has plenty of similar items at his other residences,” Dostai replied. “And he wanted to ensure that the buyer would agree to his terms.”

“His terms?” Rava’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“None of the slaves are to be sold except after the most egregious misconduct, nor mistreated nor punished without just cause,” Dostai replied. “In addition, those slaves who have taken mates must be allowed to keep them, and the others not be forced to bed anyone except of their own choice.”

I grinned at Rava, who actually smiled back. “Your master may rest assured that we would treat our slaves thusly even without his insistence,” I declared.

One day later we returned with the children. I brought my counting box so I could examine the household accounts. Not only would I learn how much the place cost to run, but I should also be able to gauge the steward’s honesty, or lack thereof. It was to Dostai’s credit that he viewed the counting box with interest rather than alarm, and his bald head nodded proudly as the only discrepancies I found were due to a few errors in arithmetic.

We moved in the following week, taking along the cat and her kittens. The two carters were skeptical that they could carry everything when they arrived at Yalta’s, but in truth our belongings were just as meager as when we’d first arrived. Rava wanted to hang the tapestries in the
traklin
, but I prevailed upon him to let them decorate our bedroom, where I would see them upon waking. Two weeks later we invited Seoram’s family to dine with us on Shabbat, and we used the golden dishes to honor the Holy Day. The silk tunic I hadn’t worn for six months proved to be too tight across my breasts, and I realized I really was pregnant this time.

 • • • 

Having our own home was a joy for my family, but it did nothing to help Rava and Joseph get along better. Adding to my disappointment, Chama had decided to study with Rav Yosef and Abaye in Pumbedita rather than come to Machoza to study with Rav Nachman and Rava. Following months of acrimonious discussion, we agreed that after the baby was born, Joseph would also start studying there. Of course it was another son, whom we named Mesharashay. The day after his brit milah, I kissed Rava and Joseph good-bye and watched their boat sail away up the Nehar Malka. I hoped Abaye’s kindness and humility would be a good influence on Rava while he was there.

Thirty days after Mesharashay’s birth, when I was no longer bleeding, I insisted on going to the
mikvah
even though Rava had not yet returned. It was a bitterly cold winter night, and Leuton tried to dissuade me, but I was sure he’d be back soon and wanted to be ready for him to share my bed.

It was a mistake that nearly cost me my life. The water was mostly snowmelt from the northern mountains. With the wind blowing across my damp hair and skin, I was shivering so hard when I returned that Leuton put me to bed and piled on the blankets. The next day, when a message arrived that Rava was delayed on account of illness, not even steaming soup and heated bricks in my bed could thaw the chill that gripped me.

Yalta’s secret bathhouse forgotten in my delirium, I called out for Rava to warm me. His students Kahana and Adda panicked. In desperation they bundled little Mesharashay and me into a litter and got us all on a boat for Pumbedita. Without Leuton forcing hot soup into me, I wouldn’t have had the strength to nurse the baby.

One night I was so cold it was as if my blood had turned to ice. I pulled my blankets tighter and when I looked up, Samael was standing next to me, a tall hooded figure in a dark cloak.

“No, you can’t take my baby,” I cried, frantic with fear. “I won’t let you.”

“I am here for you, not for him.” His voice wheezed like a death rattle.

“You’ve made a mistake.” With Mesharashay safe, relief overcame my fright. “It is not my time yet.”

“It is your husband who made the mistake, leaving you alone at such a critical moment.” He brandished his sword. “I warned him I would take you if you fell into my clutches again.”

“I can fight for myself this time.” I appealed to the angels to protect me, to give me strength, to not leave my sons motherless. Suddenly my hand also held a sword, fashioned of solid steel yet light as a flax stalk.

Samael stepped back in confusion. “Possibly I have made a mistake. You are stronger than I expected.”