Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (55 page)

 • • • 

We waited a full week before informing Rava of Joseph’s death. Never plump to begin with, Rava was nearly skeletal once his swelling subsided. My pain was too fresh and my anger too raw, so I let Adurbad and Chama explain what had happened. It was well that Rava was too weak to stand, because otherwise he would have ridden into the desert to exact vengeance on Zafnat. There was a great deal of screaming and crying before Chama and Adurbad left us alone in our mutual grief.

Initially all we could do was continue to hold each other and weep on the other’s shoulder. Rava sobbed wildly, cursing both Zafnat for killing Joseph and Ashmedai for helping her, and bewailing the loss of his firstborn, cut down in his prime. I echoed his fury and anguish, but kept inside my sorrow that he and Joseph had forever lost the chance to reconcile.

What good would it do to remind him? Heaven forbid he should sink into melancholy regret when he needed all his strength to regain his health.

After Rava fell into an exhausted sleep, Tamar asked me to accompany her to Joseph’s grave. We stood there silently, united in our grief, until she said softly, “When you return to Machoza, my sons and I will go with you.”

“You may stay with us as long as you want.”

“I don’t mean to visit.” Her voice was unyielding. “I’ve heard enough to know that Abaye’s house is cursed and the only way to protect my children will be for them to live with you.”

I was overcome with empathy. It had been agonizing for me to be widowed so young and then lose Chama to Rami’s brother. Now Tamar faced the same torment. But that was Jewish Law. Children, boys in particular, belonged to their father’s family.

It was difficult to speak through my grief. “I will ensure that the boys never forget you.”

“You misunderstand.” Her steady gaze met mine. “I intend to decline my
ketuba
payment in favor of a widow’s allowance.”

“But you’re too young not to remarry.”

She shook her head. “I expect you mean well, but I would rather live with my sons than another husband. Besides, I am carrying Joseph’s child.”

 • • • 

My ravens were waiting at Abaye’s. They had been looking for me for days, after they couldn’t find me at home. When I praised their diligence, they reported that Tachlifa’s caravan had been robbed and the men turned to donkeys. If I wanted, they would lead me to the place.

I felt like I had barely climbed out of a deep pit when the rope broke and I was back at the bottom. But I would not be deterred from rescuing my brother, not even if this was, as Chama thought, a trap by Zafnat to lure me to the desert, where she would be in her element. Adurbad disagreed, postulating that it was likely part of her earlier attack on my family. Still he insisted on joining me, as it was unthinkable a woman should go alone, and he had experience in the desert. Chama needed to remain behind to protect Rava from further assaults.

The Persian chariots swiftly brought us to the border, where dealers supplied us with their fastest camels, as well as two burly guides. It was certainly an advantage to travel in the company of Persia’s high priest. We reached the hot springs in two days of hard riding, and a few days later my ravens excitedly told me the donkeys were tethered nearby, at a small oasis. Adurbad admitted this could be a trap, for otherwise Zafnat would have turned them loose. On the other hand, perhaps some desert dwellers had taken possession of them.

As we rode, Adurbad and I devised our strategy. Thus far I had not sensed any magic, but my skin began to tingle when the tops of the palm trees marking the oasis came into view. As we planned, as soon as I sighted the men trapped by the donkey illusions I cast the spell to reverse the enchantment. At the same time, Adurbad conjured a whirling dust cloud to hide us.

Immediately we could hear cries for help and pleas for water. Yalta had said the spell to create water worked better if there was a little, so I had our men bring me their nearly empty water bags. I felt a frisson as I mumbled the enchantment’s words, but my awe soared along with the amazed shouts around me as the bags magically refilled. A guide, recognizing a comrade, ran to free him and abruptly sank into the gritty beige sand.

“Beware,” one of the victims shouted. “There are traps everywhere.”

Again grateful to Yalta, I chanted the incantation to reveal the hidden. The air seemed to shimmer and then the various pits slowly became visible. The other guide set to digging out his fellow while Adurbad and our soldiers assisted the captives. I couldn’t help myself: I ran to Tachlifa and, after hugging him vigorously, thrust my water bag into his eager hands. The victims were in poor condition, and our men were struggling to gently load them onto our camels when someone shouted and pointed to the horizon.

A massive sandstorm was advancing from the west.

Controlling sand was Adurbad’s expertise, so I left the storm to him and concentrated on detecting any sorcery. Just in time, for the next moment the skin rose on my arms as we were assaulted by dark magic. I didn’t recognize the spells, so I wielded both the
tachim-tachtim
and “torn baskets” incantations as if they were shields, which in a way they were. Finally we were all securely mounted, and as we prepared to leave, Adurbad muttered something in the direction of the sandstorm, which was several parasangs behind us. I felt the surge of magic and watched in awe as it swerved off in a new direction.

“That should keep Zafnat occupied,” he chortled.

 • • • 

Two months later we, along with Tamar and her children, were safely home in Machoza. Tachlifa’s family prevailed upon him to leave traveling to younger men, and I was pleased to have a brother living nearby. The rabbis in Pumbedita had pleaded with Rava to succeed Abaye, but he declined, saying he wouldn’t head their
beit din
while his wife and sons lived elsewhere. The effect of this decision was that if scholars wanted to study with him, they had to come to Machoza to do it.

To my surprise and gratification, many did. Regardless of Pumbedita’s Torah school’s rich history and tradition, no one was willing to assume its leadership in competition with Rava, not even Rav Zeira. While pleased my husband was regarded so highly, I worried that with no schools remaining in the West, and only small ones in Pumbedita and Sura, perpetuation of Rabbinic Law depended almost entirely on Rava’s school.

My husband’s illness had left his hair entirely gray, and he never regained all the weight he’d lost. At first he was wild for vengeance against Zafnat, but tough words from Adurbad convinced him to wait until Shapur had totally defeated the Arabs. Let the king fight Rava’s battle for him first.

Homa also accompanied us, since she needed a
beit din
to grant her widow’s allowance from Abaye’s estate. She could have done it in Pumbedita, but despite the twenty-plus years her marriage to Abaye had lasted, people there were reviling her as a
katlanit
again. So she preferred Rava’s court.

 • • • 

It was a bright, sunny autumn morning, and I was upstairs sorting though our clothes, trying to decide what was worth keeping for another year and what should be given to the slaves and replaced for the New Year. I was surprised to hear a man’s heavy tread on the stairs, since Efra was out inspecting the vineyards and the students were in court with Rava.

“Who’s there?” I called out, but received no answer.

Before I could step into the hallway, Rava strode in and took me in his arms. I could barely catch my breath before he kissed me with an urgency I hadn’t felt from him in years. One hand was in my hair, pulling me closer, while the other was roaming my torso, seeking out my breasts and hips.

I couldn’t imagine what could have caused him to leave court and accost me in the middle of the day, but I wasn’t going to protest or push him away. I threw my arms around him and reveled in his embrace, returning his kisses with equal passion. Our lips separated only long enough for us to pull off our clothes. He pressed against me, rampant with desire, and then pulled me down onto the bed. We were no longer a man and woman in their sixth decades, but two animals in heat. He compelled me to emit my seed three times before, with a great shuddering moan, he expelled his.

It was the first time we’d used the bed since he’d left to share Abaye’s final days. I must admit I had begun to worry that, on account of his age and near-fatal illness, my husband might no longer be capable.

We lay there, damp with sweat and utterly satisfied, until I finally opened my eyes. “Ha-Elohim,” I whispered. “What in Heaven happened in court today?”

Rava refused to meet my gaze. “Homa came to request her widow’s allowance,” he began. Then, too embarrassed to continue, he paused.

“Yes?” I encouraged him, worried where this was leading.

“When she asked for a wine stipend, I questioned her, saying I’d never seen Abaye drink much wine.”

He hesitated again and I pressed him, “And then?”

He took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “Then she stretched out her arm and declared that the two of them used to drink from goblets this large. But when she did, her sleeve fell open and light from a window shone on her arm, her shoulder, and her breast.”

He turned and looked into my eyes. “In an instant I was reminded of a time when we were young and I woke before you, and the covers were askew so your upper body was exposed, and the sun rose and illuminated your flesh.” He reached out to gently stroke my cheek. “And I couldn’t wait to have you.”

Later that afternoon, Homa approached me and asked if Rava was ill; he had left court so suddenly after adjudicating her case. Though I didn’t need the income, I still wove red silk ribbons. The weaving kept my hands busy and helped soothe me when I was nervous. I picked up my small loom and gestured that we should speak outside in private.

When she heard my explanation, edited of course, she blinked back tears. “I was planning to return home in a week or two, but now I’ll plan to leave tomorrow.”

“Please don’t go. My husband won’t try to seduce you.”

“I’m not worried about Rava. All those students in court will have witnessed what he saw and some will say I did it on purpose. It will be just like before I married Abaye.” She sounded sad but resigned.

“You must come back before Tamar gives birth,” I entreated her. “Surely she will want her mother present at such a time.”

 • • • 

That year I followed Yalta’s example and began inviting
charasheta
to dine with me, as well as the wives of rabbis and their students. I reluctantly left inscribing amulets and
kasa d’charasha
to Sama’s wife, Hannah, as respect for me would lessen if I appeared to be competing for work with ordinary
charasheta
. And, as Nebazak pointed out, respect for me was already equivocal since I had shown myself unable to protect my immediate family from Zafnat’s attacks.

Curious after Homa’s case, I began attending Rava’s court. Unlike in Pumbedita and Sura, whose courts convened in synagogues, Machoza’s were housed at the exilarch’s palace, lending his authority to the proceedings. The room was crowded with benches for litigants and students, and tall windows provided ample light for reading documents. A large cabinet held several Torah scrolls for swearing oaths, and a desk stood ready for Rava’s scribe, Papi, to take notes.

I liked to observe cases that involved women, so I made sure to attend when I saw Bahmandukh’s name on the docket. I was dismayed to arrive and find her arguing with Rava about a bequest she’d written when she was ill. She’d wanted to compose it so the gift took effect only if she died, but she used the wrong wording. Thus Rava ruled that she could not retract it and the item must go to whomever she’d agreed to give it to.

She continued to press him to invalidate the gift, until Rava grew so irritated that he told Papi to write a document to that effect. However, he whispered to Papi to add the Mishnaic phrase, “He may trick the first ones to keep working,” so any judge reading it would understand to reject Bahmandukh’s claim.

Unfortunately for Rava, Bahmandukh was not only literate but also a skilled
charasheta
. No sooner had she read the document than she lifted her hand and cursed him. “Let Rava’s ship sink for thinking he can deceive me thus.”

Only when she turned to leave did she see me in the courtroom and gasp with dismay. For my part, I pretended I hadn’t seen her. The courtroom was too public to confront her.

Rava’s students wetted some of his clothes, hoping this might alleviate the full effect of the curse. But one of his ships sank anyway and the cargo was a total loss. The matter became such fodder for gossip that I had to speak to Bahmandukh.

She admitted me into her home but clearly wasn’t happy to, so I came to my point immediately. “I have not come to chastise you. In truth, I sympathize with your actions.”

“You do?” Her relief and surprise were palpable.

True, Bahmandukh should have gone to a scholar to ensure her bequest was written properly, but it was disgraceful how Rava had tried to deceive her. “My husband behaved badly, and I appreciate your restraint in cursing his property, not him personally or our family,” I told her.

“I would never do that,” she said proudly. “He caused me a financial loss, so I made him suffer the same.”

“I hope it teaches him a lesson about not trying to fool other litigants,” I declared.

 • • • 

Thankfully, my discontent from that case was soon replaced with pleasure and pride at another. One morning I recognized a noblewoman who used to dine at Yalta’s. The woman disputed a debt, insisting that she’d already paid it. Normally Rava would have made her, the defendant, swear an oath denying the lender’s claim. But I had heard enough over the years to doubt her veracity, and I promptly informed Rava. He then reversed the procedure and had the plaintiff take an oath affirming the debt instead.

Later that day a loan was presented for collection and Pappa told Rava that he knew the debt had been paid.

Surprisingly Rava asked him, “Is there another witness to verify this?” When Pappa shook his head, Rava said, “The testimony of one witness, even a scholar, is insufficient.”