The Last Song

babbling stream and drank deeply. Irinsed away the dirt from my face, my hands, and even my hair.
    The men broke branches off an olive tree and sharpened the tips of the branches with their knives. The stream was teeming with fish. The men had no problem spearing the fish with their sharp sticks. We gathered a mountain of twigs, lit them, and roasted the fish over the open fire. We finished the delicious meal with wild pears plucked off the trees and figs we had brought with us from home.
    “We’ll rest under the trees until the sun sets,” Papa said. He turned to me. “Isabel, I need a piece of white cloth. Did you bring anything like that with you?
    “I have handkerchiefs. What do you want to do with them?”
    He laughed. “You ask too many questions. Can you spare two of your handkerchiefs?”
    I opened my bundle and found them for him.
    “Just what I needed.” He broke a small twig off an olive tree and whittled it down until its tip was very fine. Next, he held the tip of the stick over the fire until it glowed bright. When it had cooled to form charcoal, he sat down under one of the trees and used the twig to write on each of the handkerchiefs.
    The sunshine and my full stomach made my eyes heavy. I used the bundle I was carrying as a pillow andlay down on the grass. I wondered what Papa was writing, but I was too tired to ask. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I dreamed of Anusim, singing his song of freedom, of Brianda, so brave and loyal, and of the Grand Inquisitor, his face contorted with anger when he realized that we had escaped his clutches.
    I awoke suddenly to someone pulling my arm. The sun was beginning to set, and Yonah was bent over me.
    “Leave me alone! Let me sleep.”
    “Quiet!” He pressed his hand to my mouth.
    I saw two horsemen at the edge of our little camp. They were hard-faced brigands in grimy clothes and even grimier faces. Curved swords hung at their waists and they held daggers in their hands.
    “Oh, dear God! Bandits!” Yehudit cried.
    “Give us your gold!” thundered one of the thieves.
    We remained silent.
    “Are you all deaf?”
    “We don’t have gold,” my father said in an even voice. “We have nothing to give you. We are Jews who were forced to leave our homes in Toledo in the Kingdom of Castile. We were not allowed to take anything of value with us.”
    “Jews always have gold!” snarled the bandit. He climbed down from his horse and grabbed Yehudit’neck, pulling her close and holding his dagger against her throat. Yehudit’s mother cried out. Yehudit’s face became wet with tears and sweat.
    “Hand over your gold, Jew, or the wench is dead!” the brigand yelled.
    “I told you. We have nothing of value,” Papa said. He threw his bundle at the brigand’s feet. “Here, take what little food we have left.”
    “Please, sir – let my daughter go!” Yehudit’s father begged.
    The brigand opened my father’s bundle and kicked it away. Dry meat and figs rolled in all directions. Two vultures descended and began to peck at it.
    “Give me your gold!” the bandit yelled again.
    I remembered the kiddush cup tied to my waist. I turned away, reached under my clothes, and tore the cup off the strip of lace that held it in place.
    “You there!” the bandit shouted. “What are you doing?”
    I held the cup out toward him. It shone in the sun’s fading rays. “Here, sir,” I said. “The cup is for you. It’s made of silver. It’s worth a lot of money.”
    He grabbed it out of my hand and turned it over. He spat on it. “It’s got Jew writing on it. I don’t want it.”
    “We have nothing else to give you. The cup is made of silver. It’s valuable.”
    “Why do you care if it’s Jew stuff?” the second brigand asked. “We can trade it for something else.”
    The bandit pushed Yehudit away so roughly that she fell to the ground. He wiped the cup clean with his sleeve and shoved it under his clothing. Then he climbed back on his horse and without another word the pair galloped off.
    Yonah picked up a stick and chased away the feasting birds. He carefully gathered up what was left of the food and packed it back into Papa’s bundle. “We’ll need every bit,” he said.
    “You are a brave girl, Isabel!” Yehudit’s mother cried.
    Yehudit embraced me, but Papa was angry.
    “You silly girl,” he shouted. “You took a big chance bringing a silver cup with you. Do you realize what would have happened to you if