Apprentice (6 page)

“If Carus is smart, he'll sack Ctesiphon while King Bahram and the Persian army are still far away in the east attacking Afghanistan,” he told Abba. “But I doubt the Romans would stay to occupy the capital. They'll loot and pillage, hoping to escape with their plunder before our soldiers return.”

“What about the people?” Abba's high-pitched voice rose higher with fear. “Will the Romans enslave everyone like they did when they destroyed Jerusalem?”

Poor Abba. He must have been afraid for his home and family. My heart began to pound as I realized that my home and family in Kafri might also be in danger.

“That would take too much time, and the Persian army could easily overtake them,” Timonus assured him. “Remember that the Romans are on foot while the Persians are on horseback.”

Abba might be reassured by this, but I was not.

“You know the city guards,” Abba said. “Have you heard how far the Romans have come?”

I held my breath, both impatient and terrified to hear Timonus's answer.

“Apparently Carus was at Pumbedita a few weeks ago, and they promptly surrendered when he offered to spare the inhabitants, most of whom had already fled. Though his men stripped the surrounding fields and orchards of their produce, it seems that the city wasn't pillaged too badly. The Romans can expect far richer plunder in the capital.”

I could hear Abba's gasp, followed by the sounds of muffled crying. Tears ran down my own cheeks, but I remained quiet.

“Do you want me to continue?” Timonus asked. “There's not much more to tell.”

Abba blew his nose and must have nodded, because Timonus continued, “There are rumors that Carus reached Nehardea and that his army is still trying to breach the city walls. Others say that the Persian cavalry is less than a week away, so Carus immediately sent his soldiers on to Ctesiphon rather than attempt a lengthy siege.”

My throat tightened. If a week passed before King Bahram and his men returned, the Romans could have enough time to sack the twin cities.

“So our army might arrive first?” Abba suggested, clearly more optimistic than I was. “Until I hear otherwise, I shall pray diligently for it.”

If I had waited for Timonus to reply, he and Abba would have caught me eavesdropping. But I'd heard more than enough to explain the many people staying with us, the shortage of food, and the heavy undercurrent of anxiety in our household.

Ha-Elohim! The Roman army was attacking Persia and very likely, the most populous Babylonian Jewish communities were either destroyed or about to be. If King Bahram were delayed, Carus would surely attack Sura, where Rami's family lived, once he was done pillaging Machoza and Ctesiphon.

And Kafri was only a few hours downstream of Sura via the Euphrates River.

ELEVENTH YEAR OF KING BAHRAM II'S REIGN

•     284
CE
     •

T
he din was earsplitting. People shouting at the top of their lungs as they ran past me—men yelling, mothers calling for their children, and children crying for their mothers. We fled into the date groves, the Roman army right behind us. But I couldn't keep up. I kept tripping over fallen palm fronds, and each time I fell it was harder to get up. I could hear the clang of metal on metal growing closer.

“Dada, wake up.” Nurse's urgent voice penetrated into my mind. “Wake up.”

I bolted awake, my heart pounding, and stared up into the peaceful canopy of the starry night.

“It's all right, Dada.” Nurse tried to comfort me. “There's nothing to fear. You were having a bad dream.”

I let her stroke my hair as I looked around. We were on the roof, surrounded by the bundled bodies of my household on their sleeping mats. Grandfather was snoring nearby, and I could hear others breathing heavily farther away. The scene could not have been more peaceful.

Nurse lay down next to me. “Go back to sleep now.”

I snuggled down in my linens and closed my eyes, but sleep would not come. I knew I was safe, but my blood was racing too fast for me to relax. It had been a year since Elohim answered our prayers and the Persian army rode into Ctesiphon before the Romans were able to plunder the city, but I still had nightmares about those frightening days.

Never mind that Emperor Carus died mysteriously—some said he'd been struck by lightning—just as our cavalry began its charge; or that Carus's son Numerian, who immediately made peace with King Bahram, lived scarcely a year before he too was struck down. Though some said Rome was just waiting for an opportunity to attack us, life in Kafri returned to normal.

Our house had rapidly emptied as the cousins, and cousins of cousins, returned to their homes. Meat appeared on our table again, along with fine wheaten bread. Soon the only reminder of those frightening days were the new students who remained to study with Father after the rest of the refugees were gone.

And my bad dreams.

The hot weather continued, so a few days later Grandfather had us review that day's Mishna lesson on the roof before bedtime. When we finished, he asked, “Would you like a story tonight?”

“As long as it doesn't have any kings or soldiers in it,” I replied with a shudder.

“Very well, child. I'll tell you how Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach vanquished the wicked
kashafot
of Ashkelon.”

Grandfather had told me many tales of rabbis and demons, but never one with
kashafot
, witches. Intrigued, I nodded my agreement, and he began the story.

“After Rabbi Shimon became head of the high court in Jerusalem, the people of Ashkelon complained that eighty wicked
kashafot
in a nearby cave were working to destroy the world. So he waited for a rainy day, then gathered eighty tall young men and gave them each a jug containing a clean, dry cloak.” Grandfather emphasized the word “tall” so I knew this would be important.

“One for each
kashafa
,” I pointed out.

“Admonishing the men to keep their cloaks dry, Rabbi Shimon led them to the cave.” Grandfather tiptoed across the room, pretending to be Rabbi Shimon. “‘When I whistle once, put on your cloaks,' he told them, ‘and when I whistle again, enter the cave together, each pick up a
kashafa
and begin dancing with her, being careful not to let her feet touch the ground.' Then he put on his dry cloak and went inside, calling out, ‘
Oyim, oyim,
let me in for I am one of you.'”

“What does
oyim
mean?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Grandfather said. “It's something
kashafot
say when they summon one another.”

“What happened next?”

“Immediately the head
kashafa
accosted him and asked how he stayed dry in the rainstorm, and he explained that he'd walked between the raindrops. ‘Show us what else you can do,' they demanded, but he said they should show him something first.

“So one
kashafa
uttered a magic word and bread appeared.” Now Grandfather gestured in the air, imitating the
kashafot
. “A second uttered another word and meat appeared, and a third uttered yet a different word and wine appeared. Then they turned to Shimon and asked him what he could do.”

“He's going to make the eighty men appear,” I said, my excitement growing.

Grandfather chuckled. “That's right. Rabbi Shimon told them that if he whistled twice, eighty handsome young men would appear to entertain them. ‘Oh, do bring them,' the
kashafot
said eagerly. So Shimon whistled once, waited a few moments, and whistled again. Immediately the men raced in, all wearing dry cloaks.” Grandfather danced around the room, an imaginary woman in his arms. “Each one swept a
kashafa
off her feet, spun her around, and carried her away to be hanged. For
kashafot
can only use their evil powers when their feet are touching the earth.”

“Without any trial or witnesses?” I hadn't listened to Father's lectures for long, but I knew that nobody could be executed under Jewish Law unless two witnesses testified and a court convicted them.

His voice became solemn and he sat down. “The Torah says we do not allow a
kashafa
to live. You know that, Hisdadukh.”

I didn't want to argue with Grandfather, but I felt sorry for the
kashafot
. “Speaking of knowing things, how did Rabbi Shimon know that
kashafot
lose their powers if their feet are off the ground?”

“When I was studying in the West, Rabbi Yohanan taught that all judges on Jerusalem's high court must have knowledge of witchcraft,” Grandfather said. “So surely Rabbi Shimon, as head of the court, would have been a master of their secrets.”

“Why do judges need to know witchcraft?”

“Some say it's so they can distinguish between real sorcerers and those who merely create illusions. Others say that judges must know how to counter any spells that
kashafot
may cast against them.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “Achti says that Father is going to be a judge on Rav Huna's court, and that's why we're moving to Sura. Does Father know about witchcraft?”

“My son-in-law certainly knows about sorcery,” Grandfather said proudly. “Once he was on a boat with Rav Huna's son when a woman from the exilarch's court demanded that they take her with them. When they refused, she cast a spell that brought the boat to a halt.”

The exilarch, a descendant of King David, was the head of our community. A member of that noble family had led the Babylonian Jews for a thousand years, since Nebuchadnezzar sent us into exile. When Persia annexed Bavel from the Parthians, the king recognized the exilarch as a vassal lord and allowed us to continue our traditional self-rule. How could a woman from the exilarch's court be a
kashafa
?

I had to verify what he said. “She made the boat stop right in the water?” It must have been a powerful spell.

Grandfather nodded. “But Rav Hisda recited his own magic words to start the boat moving again.”

I didn't know which was more amazing, that Father knew about sorcery or that a Jewish noblewoman did. “Where did he learn such things?”

“When the Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, its priests were privy to all sorts of secret knowledge,” he said. “Knowledge that had been passed down for generations.”

“But Father's family has lived in Bavel for centuries,” I protested. “How could they know what was done in the Temple?”

Grandfather smiled. “A father taught his sons, who taught their sons, and so on. Your father comes from a long line of priests, who made sure their wisdom was not lost.”

What other magic did Father know? How did his spells differ from
kashafot
's? Did Mother know about this? There were so many questions in my mind that I didn't know which to ask next.

Before I could say anything, Grandfather stood up and stretched. “That's enough about spells. Haviva won't like it if I keep you up past bedtime.”

I looked up, where the darkening sky was sprinkled with stars. “Mother won't know. She's in Sura with Shayla, getting our new house ready. They won't be home for days.”

Shayla was married to my brother Nachman, who was also going to be a judge in Sura, although not on such an important court as Rav Huna's.
Mother used to supervise the household herself, but lately she'd given Shayla more responsibilities.

“She'll know if your nurse tells her.”

A sudden hope filled me. Rami's family lived in Sura. “Do you think Mother is arranging my betrothal to Rami bar Chama while she's there?”

“Not without your father.” Grandfather lowered his voice as though to impart a secret. “Besides, I'm not certain they've agreed on Rami. Haviva told me that one good thing about Rome's attack on Ctesiphon was the additional suitors you might have from among the new students.”

I swallowed hard. I thought Father's questioning me meant that he'd decided I should marry Rami, or if not him, Abba. Not some strange new student I'd never even considered. It wasn't fair. Just when I thought the question of my future husband was settled, Mother wanted to consider more possibilities.

A few moments later Nurse stretched out on her mat next to mine, a clear signal that story time was over. Grandfather kissed my forehead and headed for his own bedding. I drifted to sleep picturing Father's students, and with much trepidation considered which of them I might want to marry if not Rami or Abba. But what if Father didn't ask my opinion this time? Had he gotten my hopes up only to dash them later?

That week I made an effort to watch, surreptitiously I hoped, those of Father's students who weren't already betrothed. Pushing my anxiety aside, I made it a game. Nearly all of them would blush and promptly avert their eyes whenever I caught them looking at me. Rami, however, would smile whenever our eyes met, and if he were the one to discover me watching him, his grin might widen to display his perfect teeth. Abba didn't look away either, but his smile was more wistful than cheery.