"Didn't he fight to defend himself?"
"No. He was not angry. He was just—not afraid. I have never seen anyone so completely not afraid."
Strange. Daniel would have liked the story better if the man had fought back. He was vaguely disappointed, let down as he had been in the synagogue. He scuffed along the dusty road beside Simon.
"I can't make the man out," he said finally. "What did he mean that the day is at hand?"
Simon walked on for a moment, his eyes on the ground. "I don't know what he meant," he said slowly. "But I intend to find out."
At a crossroads Simon left him. "I will look in on you tomorrow," he said. "Keep the cloak. It is an old one, but you may have some use from it."
Daniel walked on through the noonday heat, lingering to peer furtively at the people who passed. Though he shrank from their curious glances, he was in no hurry to return to his grandmother's house.
Without warning, the sound of a trumpet split the Sabbath calm. Instantly the peace around him dissolved into terror. There was a frantic scramble to be out of the road. Ahead of Daniel two women and a child darted senselessly to one side and then the other. The younger ran back to jerk her child after her, the older woman shrieking at them both. Barely was the way cleared when a detachment of Roman cavalry trotted by, the horses' hoofs sending up a choking cloud of dust.' In their rear four soldiers suddenly reined in, horses rearing, and stood guard. Some distance behind them marched a detachment of foot soldiers.
Paralyzed with hatred, Daniel watched them. This was not the same as looking down from the mountain. Here he could see them plainly. They were not even Romans but Samaritan auxiliaries, traitors, paid to fight in Caesar's army. He watched their brutish faces pass, one after another, looking neither right nor left. To smash those faces—even one of them! He bent and picked up a rock. "Infidels!" he shouted.
A hand slapped down over his mouth. Another hand gripped his upraised arm and forced it back. He felt himself jerked flat against a wall, held fast, while two men stepped in front of him, between him and the marching soldiers. With the sharp pressure of their hands on him, Daniel's senses came back. He stood still, not trying to fight them off. He saw that they had acted so quickly that not a soldier had noticed. The detachment went on down the road, their laced boots slapping an unbroken rhythm.
"Gone!" said a voice. "And no trouble, praise God."
"No thanks to this one," another voice rasped.
Abruptly the hands released his jaw and wrist. "Are you possessed?" one man hissed.
"One of those hotheads!" the other scoffed.
Another came closer, peering into his face. "Who are you, boy? Not one of ours, that's sure."
Daniel looked back at them sullenly. "I am Daniel bar Jamin."
"Son of Jamin? Wasn't it your father who—"
"Yes."
"Then you ought to know better. Do you want to bring the same curse down on all of us?"
"I despise them!" cried Daniel. "I have taken an oath!"
"Keep your oath to yourself," a man warned. "You Zealots cause nothing but trouble. You'll have every village in Galilee burned to the ground like Sepphoris."
Daniel knew he had behaved like a fool, but he would never admit it. He jerked away from them and walked scornfully down the road to the narrow alley that led to his grandmother's house.
At sundown the thin clear piping of the horn announced the end of the Sabbath. Promptly his grandmother snuffed out the Sabbath lamp, which had been burning ever since his arrival, and wrapped it carefully to put away for another week. The shadows settled closer around the one remaining flame in its saucer of smoking oil. With relief Daniel perceived that it was time to take himself to the rooftop for another night.
He was not sleep. The long afternoon of inactivity had left his body restless. He was hungry, despite the sacrifice of the two women who had barely touched the food. He sat on the rooftop and felt the village steaming and seething around him in the dark, like a great pot of stew. He hated the stifling, foul-smelling streets, the miserable houses crowded close together. He hated this moldering house filled with the sighs of his grandmother and the murmuring voice of Leah. Here in the village who cared about the dream of freedom? Even Simon was content to wait and talk, never to act.
The man who had spoken, though, Jesus of Nazareth? There had been a moment, when he first stood up to speak, when it had seemed—but it had come to nothing. More words, nothing but words.
He knew one man who still dared to act. One of these days Rosh would show them all. One day Rosh's army would be strong enough, and then these timid men in the village would come scrambling to throw in their lot with him. And when that day came, he, Daniel bar Jamin. would show them too. When the Romans were defeated and the last of them had gone, he would come back. He would build a good house for his grandmother and Leah, and there would be plenty to eat, and a good life for them at last. And there would be no more giving way on the road and looking over their shoulders before they dared to whisper, but everyone would walk free.
In the darkness Daniel climbed down the ladder. He caught the faint note of a bell as the little goat shifted in its sleep. For an instant he wavered. Would Leah be sorry when she woke and found him gone? Then he pushed back his doubts. Someday, very soon, he would come back and make it up to her.
He walked through the narrow streets and struck off toward the hills. He walked swiftly, his feet sure on the rocky trail. Toward midnight he came to the foot of the steep ascent that led to the cave. His heart began to beat strongly and joyfully. As he started up the last climb a dark shape moved out from the boulders above, loomed for an instant against the sky, and then came soundlessly down toward him. In the dim light he could see the white gleaming arc that split the shadowy face.
"Ho, Samson!" he called out. "I've come back."
5
THE MONTH of Nisan drew to a close. It was the time of the first harvest. On the slopes at the foot of the mountain the villagers, men and women and children, moved slowly through the fields of barley, the long hairy heads of grain falling in rhythmic waves before their sickles. From the mountain lookout Rosh's men watched them, speculating from which unguarded field they might snatch their own due share. Daniel, who had never before been discontented with a mountain springtime, felt restless. He chafed at the days of heavy labor required to make one inferior sword. He yearned for the day when they could cease to make swords and could at last put them to use. He was impatient with Rosh's waiting.
Every day Rosh's spies brought news of caravans passing on the roads below. When the men least expected it, Rosh would give sudden orders, and there would be a spurt of furious activity. Then Daniel would hurl himself into the short battle with all the fury he longed to expend on the Romans. Afterwards he always felt let down. What had been gained? Was the day actually any nearer? That night on the rooftop of his grandmother's house he had seen so clearly that all he longed and hoped for was here in Rosh's band. Now it seemed to him that most of the men did not really care, that they were just as bad as the villagers who thought no further than the next meal.
He roamed the trails often in the hope of meeting again the boy who had climbed up from the village, though he knew that by now Joel bar Hezron must be living in the big house in Capernaum. He and the village boy had been drawn togetherbya common dream, and for a few moments Joel had been very close to giving up everything he possessed to join Rosh's band. Perhaps if he had another chance—? Joel was the sort Rosh needed, impatient, full of spirit, not afraid to take a risk. Slowly a daring plan began to form in Daniel's mind, and when he had mulled it over for several days he summoned his courage and took it to Rosh. Rosh heard him out, his button-black eyes twinkling with derision.
"Ever been to the city of Capernaum?" he inquired.
"No," said Daniel. "Still, I'd like to try. I'm sure I could find him."
Rosh considered. "Go ahead," he said finally. "You can look after yourself. But don't set
your heart on that boy. He's got too much to lose. I checked on him. Grandfather was rich as old Hezekiah himself. But go along. He might be useful to us in Capernaum."
Daniel set off long before dawn, carrying the cloak Simon had given him. Leaving Samson was easier this time. The big man understood that he would come back. The dark trails held no terror; his feet knew every jutting rock and turn. With the first light he left the mountain behind and strode along the level road through the plain. In the east a yellow glow began to gather, sending out long spears of pink and pale amethyst. From the olive groves came the song of a lark, rising to a thin clear sweetness against the pearly sky. On every side sounded the urgent chirping of linnets and finches. Abruptly the sun burst forth. Daniel could see a golden field of mustard stretching as far as his eye could reach, the yellow blossoms so high that a man could walk through them unseen.
Presently he overtook a caravan. Prodded on by weary drivers, the camels swayed slowly. Above the smell of camel Daniel's nose caught an unfamiliar fragrance, sweet and spicy, which seeped from the toppling bags they carried. As the day grew brighter the road was busy with farmers trundling small wagons or bearing on their shoulders baskets of vegetables for the city market. Already the excitement of the city quickened his pulse.
He came out on the last long slope of the road. Below him lay the sea, like a great blue jewel in the sun, and at its edge the town of Capernaum, a mass of dark stone houses, thick-clustered. A transparent veil of mist and smoke hung over the rooftops. He fancied he could hear the hum of thousands of voices. He hurried on, forgetting the miles behind, feeling fresh and exhilarated.
It was far too early to look for Joel, but he was in no haste. There was much to see. He wandered through the streets, taking in great gulps the busyness, the color and sound and smell of them. In the marketplace the farmers were heaping squashes and cucumbers and melons, and merchants jabbered in outlandish tongues as they set up booths of cloth or baskets or pottery. He saw four elders of the Pharisees, the phylacteries bound to their proud foreheads, walking with great care that their tasseled robes did not brush the passers-by, lest the merest touch might make them unclean. Once he saw a black slave scurrying about his master's business. Did he, if Daniel could understand, speak the same language as Samson?
He came to the harbor and gazed at the multitude of boats, fishing dories and pleasure craft and flat-bottomed barges. Back and forth from the anchored barges moved an unending line of half-naked men, bearing on their backs the sacks of grain and baskets of fruit which the farmers had brought to the city. So this was where the food went that was borne away dav after dav from his own village? All this to feed the evil city of Tiberias, which Herod had built to the south and named for the emperor of Rome. Daniel was reminded suddenly of his own empty stomach, and he remembered that although Rosh had been free enough with his advice, he had not provided a single copper with which to buy food.
Further along the shore, where the fishing boats were drawn up, the fishermen were dragging in their night's catch, the great nets heaving and gleaming in the sun. Women had come down to meet them, and were spreading the fish on flat stones and sprinkling them with salt. Others stretched out the empty nets to dry. Above the smell of fish, Daniel detected a tantalizing odor, and saw that several of the families had lighted small fires and were preparing their breakfast.
"Hungry, boy?"
Daniel started, abashed to be caught staring. A smiling young woman in a bright red and blue headdress was holding out a small fish on a palm leaf. He backed away. "I have no money," he muttered.
"Who said anything about money? You can see there's plenty. Take it."
The fish was delicious, the skin smoky and crisp.
The woman eyed him admiringly. "Where would a handsome stranger like you have come from?" she demanded.
Embarrassed, he stammered the name of Ketzah.
"Are you waiting for the teacher?" she inquired.
"No."
"You should then. It's worth being late for work."
"What teacher?" he asked.
"The carpenter. Ah, there he is now." She called over her shoulder to another woman. "Come! He's about to begin."
Daniel turned curiously. A short way from them on the shore a cluster of fishermen had gathered, and from all sides others were leaving their nets. A few workers broke from the lines that labored on the barges. Through the shifting bodies Daniel caught a glimpse of the man in their midst. It was the man who had spoken in the synagogue. He stood on the beach among the fishing boats, in his plain white robe, smiling and greeting the men by name. Out here in the sun he did not look solemn as in the synagogue. He looked vigorous and confident and happy. Something he was saying drew a burst of laughter from the men. Daniel pushed his way nearer till he could get a good look.
How strong he is, he thought. Yet bodily the man was no match for the sturdy fishermen who surrounded him. The impression of strength came from an extraordinary vitality that seemed to pulse in the very air around him. Once more, as on that day in the synagogue, Daniel felt a spark leap up in his own body. Looking about him he could see the same spark reflected in the eyes of the men and women who jostled him.
Someone shouted a question that Daniel could not catch, and Jesus held up a hand to ask their silence.
"What is the kingdom of heaven?" he answered. "It is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it. Or the kingdom of heaven is like a net which was thrown into the sea and gathered fish of every kind—"
A clink of metal distracted Daniel. Turning, he saw that two soldiers had joined the crowd. They sauntered close, and stood looking with curiosity at the speaker and his audience. Automatically, Daniel spat. Two fishermen glared at him. Plainly they resented his disturbance more than they did the presence of the soldiers. One of the Romans shot him a quick contemptuous glance. Jesus took no notice whatsoever. He could not have missed their tall helmets, yet his calm voice did not falter. Anger spiraled up in Daniel. He didn't want to hear any more. The nearness, the arrogance of those two choked him. He turned his back on them and walked away.
Yet he could not escape the sight of Roman soldiers. They stood on the docks, counting off bales of wheat and vegetables. They strolled through the marketplace. Everywhere, the Jews went about their business, paying no attention. The boy who had lived for five years in the solitude of the mountain, nursing his hatred and keeping it ever fresh, could not credit his own eyes. How could these city people endure to be reminded on every hand of their own helplessness? More shameful still, he saw merchants joking with the soldiers. He could not understand. Where was their pride? Had they forgotten altogether? If Rosh were here he would open their eyes. Why did that Jesus do nothing?
At the thought of Rosh he was reminded of the reason he had come to the city. It took him some time to find the house of Rabbi Hezron. Finally someone directed him up the steep hill that rose above the harbor. As he climbed the cobbled street his stomach began to clamor. He had counted on Joel to observe the unwritten law that provided that any stranger who came to one's door must receive food and shelter. But as the crowded stone dwellings gave way to the long forbidding walls of large estates, and he caught glimpses of gardens and terraces rising, one upon another, green and golden, he felt his first doubt. Rosh had warned him that Hezron had inherited great wealth. But Daniel had no acquaintance with wealth. He had not been prepared for the hugeness of it. Would such houses as these remember the law of hospitality? Or would they turn him away like a beggar?
He came to the heavy door in the wall to which he had been directed, and rang the bell that hung there. After some time the wooden door creaked open and a wizened man peered out at him. Hezron? In the nick of time he noticed that the man's ears had been pierced. He had almost made a fool of himself and bowed to a slave!
"I have come to speak with Joel bar Hezron," he announced much too loudly.
With
reluctance the servant allowed him to step into a narrow tiled corridor. "You will wait here," he said. "What name shall I give to the young master?"
"Tell him it is Daniel bar Jamin, a friend from Ketzah."
The hallway where he waited was cool and dim, the oaken doors that led from it all closed. Through the open archway opposite him, Daniel stared with astonishment into a sunlit courtyard, at flowering trees and green borders and white marble. His ears caught the gentle splash of water and the trilling of birds. He had not dreamed that even Herod's palace could boast such wonders. What a fool he had been to think that Joel would even remember him!
There was a soft footstep, a rustle of silk, and a shadow fell between him and the sunlit opening. It was not Joel who stood there, but his sister Malthace. A robe of thin soft material fell in exquisite folds to delicate embroidered sandals. Her dark hair was bound back from her face with a thin fillet of gold. She started at sight of a stranger, and there leaped into her eyes recognition, and then something else, an unmistakable shrinking. His careful greeting fell back at his own feet. She made no greeting at all, only stared at him with dismay.
Then there was a thumping of feet. The boy who came charging across the courtyard had not changed at all. He was the same country boy who had jumped into the fight on the mountain road. He grasped Daniel by the elbows, his dark eyes glowing.
"Daniel! Welcome! I've been wishing—" He broke off with a quick glance over his shoulder. "You'll stay to eat with us? Of course you will!"
Pride battled with Daniel's clamoring stomach. "No," he said. "I came only to speak with you."
"You're certainly not going right away, after all this time."
"My clothes are dusty from the road."
"Oh—that! Just leave your cloak here in the hallway. For Father's sake, you know."
The Bronze Bow Page 5