Rashi's Daughters, Book III: Rachel (35 page)

“You’re not telling us something we don’t know,” Avram the Mohel said. “The question is how much to offer.”

“As little as possible,” interrupted Leontin.

“Yet not so little as to anger him,” Moses haCohen said.

“Should we offer only money?” Salomon asked. “Or provisions like food, blankets, or animals?”

“If any stables have old horses or carts they’d like to be rid of, this would be the perfect time to do so,” Leontin said. He, like the other men, recognized that few of the pilgrims would ever reach Jerusalem, and even fewer would return.

“As well as any worn clothes or blankets,” Avram agreed.

“Before we offer anything, we should see what they want.” Bonfils was an experienced merchant, famous for never naming the first price. “It may be less than we are willing to pay.”

“With your permission, my son-in-law will handle the negotiations,” Salomon said, causing the others to nod vigorously. “He’s an able trader and the pilgrims trust him.”

“Plus he has an ally in their camp,” Moses said. He left unsaid what they were all thinking—whoever negotiated with Peter was risking his life to do so, and Eliezer would have Geoffrey’s small cadre of soldiers for protection.

 

Safe astride her horse, Rachel gaped at the teeming crowd of pilgrims. Tents and carts were scattered as far as she could see, while children played in the dirt among the horses and oxen.

“What are children doing on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem?” she muttered to Miriam, riding next to her. “The Saracens will slaughter them—those they don’t take as slaves.”

Miriam frowned. “Notzrim believe that even children are tainted by original sin.”

As usual in late winter, Miriam was staying in Ramerupt to help with the lambing. Once Rachel learned that Meir had a secret route through the forest to Troyes, which avoided the pilgrims, she used it regularly to visit her sisters. With each trip, she grew more curious to see the charismatic hermit and his camp, maybe glimpse the famous donkey whose tail hairs fetched incredible sums in town. Eliezer had been there many times as his parleys with their leader continued, but he never let her accompany him. It wasn’t safe for a woman, he said, while at the same time asserting that it was perfectly safe for him.

So as the lambing slowed and Miriam had time to spare, Rachel cajoled her to come see the pilgrims. Such a historic sight was not to be missed, and they’d be safe on horseback together. Besides, Eliezer said there were plenty of women pilgrims, and nothing bad happened to them. He also told her that negotiations were nearly complete, that the fields would hopefully be empty again by Purim.

“Look,” Rachel pointed to an opening in the trees. “Those children are as black as soot.”

“Their parents are charcoal burners.” Miriam’s heart caught in her throat as she watched them, the poorest of the poor, approach the field with armfuls of charcoal to sell. “Meir allows several families to earn a living in the forest.”

“Charcoal burners would make good pilgrims. They have nothing to lose, and their lives couldn’t get worse.”

Miriam gave her sister a withering look and turned her horse toward the children. When she’d encountered youngsters like these years before, Count André’s servants had prevented her from helping them. But nobody would stop her today.

“Miriam, where are you going? Wait,” Rachel called out.

But it was too late. Miriam had reached the children, taken her purse from her sleeve, and begun distributing coins.

“Stop. Don’t give them anything,” Rachel shouted, but Miriam ignored her. “Once you start giving alms, every child in a hundred cubits will want some.”

Indeed within moments the sisters were surrounded by a sea of pinched faces and outstretched arms. It was impossible to move the horses without trampling the nearest ones, and soon the smaller children were being pushed aside by older, more threatening youths. Rachel would gladly have ridden over them, but she couldn’t leave Miriam, who seemed paralyzed with fear.

Suddenly a masculine voice was shouting, “Hey! What’s going on there? Step aside. Make way.”

The mob of beggars melted away, leaving Rachel and Miriam staring gratefully at a grizzled knight on horseback.

“I told her not to do it,” Rachel insisted.

But the knight was staring at Miriam and scratching his head. “I know you,” he said slowly. “You’re Lady Joheved’s sister. This is the second time I’ve come to your rescue.”

“Flaubert,” Miriam whispered. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You must be the third sister,” he addressed Rachel with a scowl. “What devil possessed you two Jewesses to ride out among these good pilgrims today? Have you no idea the trouble you could cause?”

Rachel remained silent, burning with shame, but Miriam questioned him in return. “I see you wear a cross on your shoulder. Have you joined Peter, or are you going with the other knights later?”

“I’m with Peter.” Flaubert’s ire was replaced with awe. “I’ve never met anyone so filled with the Holy Spirit. People shower him with gifts but he gives everything to the poor. He eats only fish and wine, like our Savior did, and he dresses in a simple woolen shirt with bare arms and feet. And when Peter preaches it’s as if Our Savior is speaking through him.” His face shone at the memory.

“You will be a great help to him.” Rachel wanted to make amends for her earlier folly. “He doesn’t have many knights, I hear.”

“Nothing would give me more satisfaction that to die in his service.”

“Most others want wealth and glory,” Miriam said.

Her sympathetic tone must have touched something in the old warrior, because his eyes filled with tears. “Years ago I wanted a woman in my lord’s court, a woman with hair the color of fire.” He sighed. “But I had no land and insufficient skill to make my fortune at tournaments. I knew we could never marry; yet thinking only of my selfish pleasure I seduced her.”

Miriam’s eyebrows rose with dawning understanding. He’d been Rosaline’s lover. But she said only, “And that sin is deserving of death?”

“I got her with child and then abandoned her.” Flaubert blinked back tears. “I learned later that she died trying to rid herself of the pregnancy.”

“I’m so sorry.” There was nothing else Miriam could say. It was years ago, but she could still recall her frustration and despair after being called to Rosaline’s sickbed and finding the young woman beyond help.

Flaubert sat up straight in his saddle. “No other penance can remove this stain from my soul. Before, the best I could hope for was thousands of years in purgatory instead of eternity in hell. But Peter assured me that those joining this holy war to cleanse Jerusalem of the infidels who pollute her may substitute their pilgrimage for all penance, both in this world and the next. And those who die on the journey will attain immediate salvation.”

Perhaps realizing he’d said too much, Flaubert offered to accompany them to Ramerupt. However, once they were no longer in view of the field, Miriam insisted that she and Rachel could continue on their own. Then, once the knight disappeared, she told Rosaline’s sad story to Rachel, who shuddered in disgust.

“So according to their beliefs, Flaubert, cause of all this suffering, dies in a battle on the way to Jerusalem instead of in some local brawl, and goes straight to Heaven,” Rachel spat out the words. “While poor Rosaline spends perpetuity in hell.”

 

The Jews of Troyes celebrated Purim that year with more relief than joy, Peter and his followers having vacated the environs just days before the festival. Rachel suddenly found herself the owner of several looms, including Albert’s horizontal model, as he and other local weavers sold their possessions to join the pilgrimage. She similarly purchased some fullers’ equipment, although she had no idea yet of where she’d find the skilled labor to use either of these.

Milo, on the other hand, declined taking the cross. He didn’t like what he saw of the pilgrims and refused to leave his lord’s family unprotected. Meir happened to notice Milo admiring one of the more attractive maidservants and, furious at his own stupidity for not thinking of it sooner, realized that with one action he could both reward his faithful steward and lessen the man’s passion for Joheved. He promptly told Milo to consult his father, investigate the ladies-in-waiting in the courts of Ramerupt and Troyes—do whatever it took to acquire an appropriate bride before the year was out. Milo was fervent with gratitude, for Meir’s command meant that, once married, Milo would remain the estate’s steward until age or infirmity forced his retirement.

When Peter finally left for Allemagne, far richer than when he’d arrived thanks to the Champagnois Jews’ munificence, he carried a letter for the Jews in the Rhineland. Besides urging them to be equally generous, the letter warned of danger from so many fanatical pilgrims eager to kill infidels.

Rachel watched Eliezer pack for Toledo with mixed feelings. While it was good for them financially that he had time to complete the trip, she still wished he were staying in Troyes. But Eliezer couldn’t wait to leave the pilgrims far behind.

“While I was able to come and go among them undisturbed,” he shivered at the memory, “there was an undercurrent of animosity, mutterings about why these Jews should walk the earth freely after murdering the Hanged One.”

“You were very brave to handle the negotiations so they could leave. I’m proud of you.”

“I had no idea so many Franks felt this way,” he said. “Thank Heaven the Spaniards don’t share these views.”

“Yet they’ve been fighting the Saracens for years.” She was also surprised by the recent turn of events.

“I fear for the Jewish communities in Ashkenaz,” Salomon said as they watched Eliezer ride away. “And for those in Sepharad.”

But the Jews of Mayence weren’t afraid. They wrote back, “We have done our part and decreed a fast, for we are deeply fearful for you. We, however, have less reason to fear for ourselves, since we have not even heard a rumor of this armed pilgrimage.”

Salomon scowled at his colleagues’ ignorance and announced that his students should study Tractate Taanit, which dealt with fast days. Perhaps their efforts would help their German brethren.

For her part, Rachel began praying Psalm 88 at night, the incantation to save a city or community. She couldn’t imagine how this text was fitting for such a purpose, for the psalmist’s words were frightening, and seemed more a curse on the Jews than a prayer on their behalf.

Salomon’s anxiety increased as, instead of heading for Jerusalem immediately, Peter began preaching throughout the Rhineland, climaxing with a rally in Cologne on Easter. But the hermit did not stay to organize his new recruits. That task fell to other, less-peaceable men, who instead of following the hermit south when they reached the Danube, unaccountably headed north, back down the Rhine.

 

Throughout Speyer’s Jewish Quarter, the rumors multiplied like flies on dung:

“Just pay them off, like the Jews of Trier did with Peter the Hermit—serve the king of Bavel and live.”

“But they say that anyone who kills even one Jew will have all his sins pardoned.”

“Bishop Johann won’t let that happen. He’ll protect us.”

“Against so many of them? I heard they killed over thirty Jews in Metz. Nobody was expecting them, so the community was taken by surprise; that won’t happen here.”

“They’ll be in Speyer within a week. They just want money for bread; if we give it to them, they’ll leave us in peace.”

“No, they’re just waiting for the Sabbath, when we’ll be in synagogue; they want to capture us all together, to kidnap our children, and raise them as heretics.”

Salomon’s nephew Elazar, son of Rivka’s sister, didn’t know what tale to believe, if any. But he was a prudent man. So when Rabbi Moses told the Jews to pray early on Shabbat and quickly return to their homes, Elazar was one of the first to finish his prayers and leave.

When the other men who lived in the dwellings around his courtyard returned (the women had prayed at home), they locked and barricaded the gate, their doors, and their windows. The sun had barely risen above the courtyard walls when Elazar’s chanting of psalms was interrupted by angry shouts in the distance. Their enemies had discovered the synagogue empty and, enraged, were rioting in the street.

Terrified, Elazar’s family huddled together and prayed.

Though they saw nothing but ebbing shadows, they could hear the changing tenor of the battle outside. Soon new voices, full of authority and shouting commands, mixed with the mob’s cries of fury. This was followed by the clash of steel against steel and screams of pain. Through it all, Elazar waited in dread for the assault on his gate, for the sound of cracking wood.

But his courtyard remained undisturbed, and eventually the fighting diminished. Yet night brought no sleep for Elazar and his wife, who dared not go outside even to get water. Only with the silence of dawn did he open his door to admit his wife’s brother, whose family shared the courtyard with them.

First he embraced his sister, then Elazar. “Praised be the Holy One. Our enemies are scattered. Bishop Johann’s men beat them back.”

Elazar’s wife wept with relief. “Praised be His Holy Name.”

“But eleven Jews didn’t get home in time and were killed,” he said. “The bishop was outraged. He arrested the worst offenders and cut off their hands as a warning that he would not tolerate violence against any of his townspeople.”

“The mobs are gone?” Elazar whispered, not quite believing what he’d just heard.