“My brother,” Hugo said, “My brother is the reason for my being here.”

Devorah turned to look at him. It was night again, the day over and massacres fulfilled once more. It was, as always, cold and dark, her back aching as she sat against a tree in the forest. The light of the moon gleamed through the twigs, brilliant and shadowy streams. The moon beckoned like a distant star. She felt an unknown yearning that made her feel despairing.

She was waiting for Thomas to find her, or maybe even Karl, since she had not seen them in many days when Hugo had approached her and sought to explain.

“He is an avid believer of Count Leiningen’s vision. I was not about to let him go off to war on his own. I love him. He is my family.”

She remained silent. He came closer and his face was an image of regret and sorrow, pale under the moonlight.

“This was not how we were supposed to go to the Holy Land!” he exclaimed, “I beg you, believe me! This was not how I was supposed to spend my days! I believe in the pope’s words and I believe in seeking justice for my people- but, my love, not this justice! Never this justice!”

She could not bring herself to look at him; if she saw his eyes, her resolve would break. He was a good man, truly, but did that matter? She tried her hardest to not look at him, not to show him how much she wanted to believe him.

She tried concentrating on anything but him and his melodious voice. Her senses became intense, crickets chirruping in her ears, her eyes catching movements such as the occasional bird startled in a tree or a squirrel hurtling up a nearby tree trunk.

“I close my eyes,” she began, voice steady, but so obviously pain-filled, “and I see death. I am silent, and I hear screams. In my dreams, I am haunted by swords and bleeding flesh; I am haunted by my father’s face, my friends’ faces, my people’s faces as they cry out for mercy only to be struck and die. There is blood and fire and hell and death and hatred; nothing else.”

The hopelessness set in; the grief set in. She was too far gone from his grip.

“But there is!” he cried out, begging her to reason with him, “There is belief! And hope!” He paused. “And- there is love,” he whispered adamantly, “There is light. There is me.”

She raised her eyes to meet his.

“But is there? Are you there? And has the light not extinguished like all the fires of lives this day?” she asked, afraid. Oh, how afraid she was. So terrified of humanity. For all the good it was, there was so much more - too much more - evil to counter it.

“The soldiers tell stories of the murders they have committed; they boast and prance around as if the feat is a medallion on their breast plate and all must see it shining in the sun. Speyer, Worms, Mainz. And now we are in Hungary, waiting for you, the crusaders, to wreak more havoc in the ‘Holy Land’!” Tears filled her eyes as she continued, “I hear how my people resort to killing themselves - even their children and spouses! Where is hope in that? Where can hope be found?”

Hugo touched her arm and jolted her out of her hysteric manner; horrifying thoughts clouded her mind. Fragments of the moon were washing over his face as he spoke, "I need you to listen to me."

"Spare me, Hugo. Whatever it is you want me to do, I cannot. I have to meet with someone tonight."

"Devorah, please!" he pleaded in a soft urgent voice. He needed to protect her. If there ever was a time for preservation, it was now. "It's very important that you listen. There's something troubling happening, here, in Hungary, later tonight. I have to get you out of here."

She wanted to be able to shrug him off; his words should not affect her, but they did. Each time he spoke, she wished she could listen with an open heart and mind just as she knew he would.

"Devorah,” Thomas’ voice came, “you need to come with me.” The boy eyed Hugo beside her wearily until his eyes returned to her - they urged her to hurry. Without another glance at Hugo, she followed Thomas.

They passed many people who were already settling for the night. The heat from the scattered campfires seemed to seep into her cold body. She wrapped herself with her arms thinking she could keep out the terrifying cold that had wrapped its hand around her heart.

She hated how her skin tingled with nerves every time someone spent too long staring at them. When they came to a stop, Thomas introduced her to an old man with a tassel of grey-white hair around his balding, blotchy scalp, whose eyes were unfriendly in their upwards stare at her from his position on the ground.

“This is Frank. He will explain what's going on."

Frank nodded in acknowledgement at Devorah and signaled for her to sit down beside him. The forest floor was blanketed with twigs and leaves, all a bit muddy and damp to the touch, the remnant of rainy weather.

"Brave little lad Thomas here has been acting as our Spy. He’s been sneaking Torah's to us, so that we can still pray to our God for salvation.”

Thomas sent her a proud smile; a smile of a son, who had caught a fish or who had done a chore well, would send a mother. Her heart ached. Where was his mother now?

"He could have been caught,” Devorah began, “It was really irresponsible."

"Irresponsible? What's irresponsible is doing nothing about our situation. Being sitting ducks waiting to be killed. That, my dear, is irresponsible!" Frank's voice rose as he spoke. Realizing that he might be attracting unwelcome attention, he evidently calmed down and continued in a more faint tone.

"Do you know how many children little Thomas has saved? Since the beginning of this crazy trek, he took seventy five children to safety. And do you know what else he has done?" he asked earnestly, leaning forward.

"No," was the only word Devorah could muster. Guilt set itself upon her shoulders; she had not done anything much for her people. Only survived - and even then, her religion was forsaken. God, where had she left her soul?

"He got the news to someone who took word to the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV, who is looking into our situation and is going to stop Count Emicho. But... there's not enough time for him to save us from what is going to happen here in Hungary."

"What is going to happen here in Hungary?" she asked, her eyes darted wildly from Frank to Thomas.

"People are going to flee to the synagogue and hide there. They have decided to put a knife to themselves or fall into their swords when the crusaders come for them."

Devorah stared at them in disbelief. "Why have I not been told about this?" she cried out in sorrow.

"Because we can not trust you."

"You can trust her," a soft deep voice said behind her. Nobody noticed Hugo coming closer and listening to their discussion. "I will help where I can. I want to get Devorah out of here before tonight. Little Thomas here can show me what to do."

Jumping up from where he sat on the ground, Frank spoke harshly, "You murderer, how can we trust you?"

"Please Frank, Hugo saved my life on more than one occasion. You can trust him. I promise you."

Devorah was relieved to feel that the words out of her mouth did not feel like lies.

On careful consideration, Frank entrusted Hugo with all their information. A deep discussion followed that kept them from having their dinner.

At eight o'clock that evening, it was time for Devorah to say goodbye to Hugo with a group of forty nine children and little Gèraldine tied safely to her back once more.

"I love you, Devorah." Hugo whispered softly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, gripping her hands tightly to his chest. She couldn't bare the moment, pain burned like fire in her chest, "I know you doubt me and I do not blame you. I will come for you, I promise."

"Oh, Hugo, please come with us, please, I beg of you!" she protested. No matter how many doubts she had, she wished to see him safe and at her side.

"As soon as Thomas has led you to safety, he will come notify us. I will come with the rest of the children. I'll see you later tonight."

With a tear rolling down her cheek, she spoke up to him, "Promise?"

"Yes!"

She leaned into him and allowed him to caress her back and shower her head with his kisses. Without another word, he prompted her in the direction she, Thomas and the other children must go.

She lifted her eyes to the sky, and brought her fingers to touch her lips where Hugo had offered a kiss before they left. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers.

Part of her wanted to love Hugo with all of her being, but another could not help but wonder: had he ever struck a human with his sword? Had he really no longing to kill Jews? Not even a twinge? No! Her heart told her, but her mind meant to say, there is a chance. A gust of icy wind that hushed over her features awoke her from her thoughts.

The trail Thomas took them on snaked through the woods. The crunch of their footsteps on the forest floor was the only sound audible, besides an occasional hush from Thomas that silenced the children.

He had total control over the children, an authority that surprised - and partially worried - her. This once frail and innocent boy had developed into what was almost a grown man overnight. Oh, how she hated what all of this pain, violence and barbarity did to these virtuous children - not even the purest souls were spared.

They reached the farm before sunrise with tired, cold and hungry demeanors. The farmer and his wife immediately rushed them to the barn where they had prepared a resting place for them. The farmer lugged open heavy russet doors that moaned on their tired hinges as a stale musty odor with the stank of animal fur welcomed them.

Food had already been prepared for the famished children. After they had eaten, they covered themselves with warm blankets upon the bed of hay. One by one the children fell asleep. Gèraldine was safely wrapped in a blanket on her lap, peacefully dreaming.

Devorah sat awake with the children asleep around her in a barn. It had now been two days since she arrived with the children. No word of either Thomas nor Hugo came. When reports of thousands of killed Jews as well as the Crusaders arrived, she dreaded that she would never see Hugo or Thomas again. Had he gone to save his brother and gotten caught in the hurricane of violence?

Yes, her mind told her, and she supposed her heart did too. That was the kind of man Hugo was, she realized, and she was damned if she believed otherwise.