"No, I do not," I replied: "I never heard of any injury befalling them."
"Ay, who hears of such things befalling them but their own nation?" she replied, sadly. "Who hears that the dead body of a Jew, murdered and stripped, is found by the roadside? and all that are with him, what becomes of them? They fly if they are permitted, and some are killed to prevent them bearing witness, and the rest are silent through fear, and the murderers go away enriched."
There was reason to believe that the girl's tale was too true, but it was difficult to know how to serve her.
"My poor child," I said, "What can be done for you? I am a prisoner, and wounded myself; but if you would point out what could be done, I would gladly do it, for I remember you were kind to me long ago."
"You can do much for us," she said; "we knew you were a prisoner, for we have been in the Protestant camp, and inquired for you. But still you can do much for us; for they say you are loved by some of the great among these people, and we have only the protection of those who would devour us. Get us permission to go this very hour in the train of the main battle with which you go, and let one of your people accompany us; if so, we are safe; if not, we are altogether lost."
"I will do my best for you, Miriam," I replied; "here comes the Prince d'Auvergne; I will apply to him. Stand by me; do not go back. My lord," I said, "here is a petitioner to me. She and her father were kind to me long ago. They are Jews, but without their help I could never have appeared in the field at all. They are now appointed to go with the rear guard; but you know what is likely to happen to a Jew, in a march partly in the night, among the stragglers of the army."
"Let them follow us if they can get ready," replied the prince, in evident haste; "one of your people can go with them, De Cerons."
"But give them some sort of safeguard, my lord," I said; "one word under your hand."
"Here, a pen and ink, Arnon!" said the prince, in the same hasty tone; and, tearing a leaf out of his tablets, he wrote, "Suffer to pass--What is the name?"
"Solomon Ahar," I replied.