Daniel flushed, remembering that a common man who visited a Pharisee must leave his cloak at the door lest he make the household unclean. Slowly he undid Simon's coat, allowing Joel a glimpse of the torn and scanty garment underneath.
"Never mind," Joel said hastily. "Better wear it after all. It doesn't matter really."
Propelling his guest along the corridor, Joel was all at once aware of his sister, who still stood just inside the archway. "Thacia," he said, an uncertain note in his voice. "Do you remember Daniel—the one who—" He floundered to a stop.
Her fine dark eyebrows lifted. "I remember," she said, in a cool light voice. Then she turned on her embroidered sandal and walked away from them.
Joel looked after her with annoyance, then he shrugged. "Don't mind Thacia," he said. "She's putting on city airs lately. Come, we'll go up to my room where we can talk. If you knew what it's like to see someone from home!"
Daniel had to follow so rapidly through the courtyard that he had only a blurred impression of green beauty. They passed beneath a row of slender columns into another corridor, up a flight of shallow steps and into a small square room. Apparently Joel slept in this room, and did not even have to share it with anyone. There was a single low couch, with a striped linen covering, two carved wooden benches, a painted chest, and a desk with quills and an inkpot and a scroll propped open as though Joel had just been working on it.
Joel poured water from a fine pottery jar and laid out a smooth linen towel. Self-consciously Daniel washed his hands and feet and retied his turban. It was plain that Joel did not care whether he was respectable or not, that the boy was overjoyed to see him. Daniel's wiry self-confidence reasserted itself. He would not let himself be shaken again by a silly girl.
"Did Rosh send you?" Joel demanded. "Have you held up any more caravans? How about the slave, the big black one? I didn't envy you when you led him off that day."
"I should have kept my mouth shut," Daniel answered.
"What happened?"
"The minute I took his chains off he took charge of me instead. He's made me the laughingstock of the camp. He works like a mule to keep my fire going. But he won't let me out of his sight."
Joel was amused at the picture. "Can he talk? Does he understand what you say?"
"The others don't think so. I'm not sure. Sometimes it seems as though he's trying to tell me something."
"You're not afraid of him?"
"Not for myself. But I have to watch him all the time. That strength of his—it's like a rock on the edge of the cliff. A feather could start it down. One night I got into an argument with Joktan, and Jok started at me with his fists. I looked up just in time. There was Samson reaching for Jok with those great arms of his. It was all I could do to stop him."
Joel whistled. "I should think—" he began, when a chiming gong interrupted him, and he rose to his feet. "Father insists that we're on time for meals," he said. "We'd better talk later."
Near the fountain in the courtyard Hezron stood waiting, a tall, narrow-faced man with graying hair. He bowed with a cool courtesy at Joel's introduction.
"Peace be with you," he said. "You are welcome." He gazed with distaste at Daniel's unlawful garment.
A camel would be as welcome, Daniel thought. The man will have to purify his whole house when I leave!
Side by side two women moved gracefully across the tile pavement, Malthace and an older woman who must once have looked much like her daughter. A tiny bird of vivid blue darted from a dwarf pear tree and lighted for a breath's space on the girl's shoulder, then flashed away. The corner of Thacia's mouth curled slightly as site looked at Daniel, hinting, "I could tell them much if I cared." The mother smiled warmly and held out her hand to him.
They led Daniel through an archway into a spacious room. His muscles stiffened at the array of couches. Was he expected to eat his meal lying down like a Roman? But after an awkward wait he lowered his body gingerly and, imitating Joel, propped himself up on one elbow, aware of Thacia's amusement. For all her airs, he could wager she had never seen a couch herself up to a month ago. No one in the village boasted such heathen nonsense.
Joel's mother, with a gracious word, led her daughter behind a silken screen, where they would both be hidden from view while the men of the family ate. More nonsense. Daniel was sure that in the village they must have sat on mats and eaten their meal together like any other family.
Through the prolonged hand-washing Daniel fidgeted, affronted by the silver pitchers, the fine tiny napkins, the hovering slaves. Then at the sight of the food a fierceness sprang up in him. He had drained every drop from the cup of date wine before he noticed that the others were holding theirs untouched. Too late he set down what remained of his small loaf of bread. He had torn into it like Samson himself, and he saw Hezron's lips flatten together. Curse their finicky rules. Had they ever felt the gnawing of an empty stomach?
"Your home?" Hezron inquired, after the scant portions of fish and fruit had been consumed in silence. "Is it far from Capernaum?"
Daniel dragged his attention from his empty bowl. "In Ketzah, sir."
"Indeed?" Hezron looked surprised. "Your father too? I do not seem to recall—"
"My father was Jamin, chief overseer of the vineyards."
"So," said Hezron, frowning. "I remember. A very tragic affair. He was a good man, your father, but a rash one."
His cool tone pricked Daniel's thin skin and stirred the anger that always smoldered close under the surface. He glowered at his plate, holding his tongue.
"You are the support of your mother?"
"My mother is not living either."
Hezron hesitated. "You have been doubly unfortunate," he said in a kinder tone, mistaking Daniel's anger for grief. "Do you follow your father's trade?"
"No. I was bound to Amalek, the ironsmith." Sold! he felt like shouting. Sold into slavery for a term of six years, to a man who was not fit to own even a mule. Had the rabbis protested then, or a single soul in the village lifted a finger to help him?
"Well," said Hezron reasonably, "it is necessary for every boy to learn a trade. Joel, as you probably know, was trained as a sandalmaker, as I was myself. Though I must say I applied myself with more diligence. I do not seem to remember seeing you in Amalek's shop."
"I didn't work there long."
"You can tell he's a blacksmith," Joel broke in, in an effort to swerve his father's questions. "With those muscles you'd be a sensation in the gymnasium, Daniel. Have you ever been there?"
"The Roman gymnasium?" Daniel glared at his friend. "I would never set foot in it!"
"I should hope not," said Hezron, with a scowl at his own son. "That was an ill-considered jest."
"Of course it was a jest, Father," Joel amended hastily.
"It is not a matter for jesting," his father said. "It is an outrage that some of our Jewish youths have been tempted to take part in these disgraceful games. And some of their elders even go to watch their shame."
"Well, there are other things in the city worth seeing," Joel persisted cheerfully. "This afternoon I'll take you about, Daniel."
Daniel stared down at his empty cup. The morsels of food had not begun to whet his hunger. The rabbi had deliberately put him at a disadvantage with every question. His resentment turned now even against Joel.
"I have seen enough," he said rudely. "All I can see is the Roman fortress and the eagles in the streets. Everywhere I turn I hear the ring of Roman boots on the pavement."
Joel, a worried line puckering his forehead, still attempted to steer his friend to safety. "I felt that way at first," he said. "But you do get used to it. For the most part they mind their own business. Some of them even try to be friendly."
"Friendly!" Daniel reared up on his couch. "This morning on the road I passed an old man mending the axle of his wagon. He was deaf and he couldn't hear the chariot coming. It caught his rear wheel—he said there was room and to spare. He swore the soldier meant to do it. His
cabbages were ruined, and the old man was shaking all over. Can you get used to that?" He glared across the table.
Joel looked down, dismayed. Hezron spoke sternly.
"Unfortunate things happen, we know," he said. "But your friend has doubtless found a market for his vegetables. We must remember that here in Capernaum we have reason to be grateful to the Romans for our beautiful synagogue."
But Daniel had gone too far to retreat. The dark tides had swelled to the brink, flooding out politeness, caution, even the memory of the errand that had brought him to this house.
"A Roman synagogue!" he growled. "Raised with Roman taxes. What is it better than the stadium?"
Joel gasped. Hezron, his eyes flashing, rose from his couch. "Watch your words, boy," he warned. "The synagogue is a house of God, no less because Roman funds helped to build it."
The boy also sprang to his feet. His dark eyes blazed back at the man. "I would never set foot in it!" he cried.
"There is blood upon it!"
The passion in his words trembled through the quiet room.
"Young man!" Hezron's voice was like a whip. "You will learn to keep such thoughts to yourself. If you have no concern for your own life, you will respect the safety of those who offer you hospitality."
The stinging reminder restored Daniel to reason. A flush swept up over his face. "Forgive me, sir," he stammered. "I—I was not ungrateful for your kindness. But I can't understand. Have the city people forgotten? They don't seem to care. Everywhere I look I see them—their stupid faces, their armor clanking. How can you feel grateful to them? Grateful that they built us a synagogue to keep us contented—that they let us breathe the air they have polluted? I shouldn't have come here. I don't belong in the city or in a house like this. I can't endure to go on as though nothing were wrong when my people are prisoners on their own land—"
He stammered to a stop, aghast at himself, and saw to his surprise that the man was no longer looking at him with scorn but with something like pity. Hezron stepped around the table and laid a hand firmly on Daniel's shoulder.
"My boy," he said quietly, "we have not forgotten. We feel as you do. In his heart every Jew grieves at our captivity. We have need of patriotism like yours. But we have need also of patience. We must not say we cannot endure what God in His judgment has visited upon us."
"But how long—must we endure it for ever?"
"God has not spoken His final word. Until He does, it is our part to endure."
"But—"
"I know. You have been listening to the Zealots. They stir up foolhardy young men like you to fill their ranks."
Daniel backed away, freeing his shoulder. "The Zealots are the finest men in Galilee. They are brave and honorable—"
Hezron stopped him. "Many brave men have come out of Galilee," he said. "But not many men of judgment. The Zealots have thrown themselves against the conquerors time and time again, and what have they to show for it? Rows of crosses, and burning villages, and heavier taxes. They see a few Romans marching, a cohort, and the Roman power seems slight and open to attack. They do not think that behind these few there are others, another cohort, a legion, countless legions, on and on as far as the mind can reach, all armed, all perfected in the art of killing. To a power that holds the whole world in its grip what is a swarm of reckless Zealots? Buzzing mosquitoes to be silenced and forgotten."
"They—"
"Mark my words, boy. Israel has one great strength, mightier than all the power of Rome. It is the Law, given to Moses and our fathers. When the last Roman emperor has vanished from the earth, the Law will still endure. It is to the Law that our loyalty must be devoted. I wish Joel to understand this, and I must forbid him to see any old friends who will turn his mind to violence. I ask you to go now, at once. Go in peace, Daniel, with a prayer that you may see the truth before that rash tongue of yours betrays you. But do not return." He motioned to a servant who stood near the door. "Go with our guest and see that he is started on the right road."
Joel made an impulsive gesture, swiftly checked, and stood quietly. Thoroughly silenced, too confused even to attempt a courteous leave-taking, Daniel flung back his head and followed the servant from the room.
As the outer door shut behind him, all his rage was turned against himself. How could he have bungled his errand so stupidly? He had failed Rosh. Rosh would never trust him again, and why should he? He could not even keep his own head. And he had lost Joel.
Yet beyond the humiliation of reporting his defeat to Rosh, he knew a sharper disappointment. He had lost not only a new recruit. He had lost something he had been close to having for the first time in his life—a friend of his own.
6
DANIEL TURNED his face toward the mountain. He intended to leave this city and never set foot in it again. Instead, smarting from Hezron's dismissal, dreading to face Rosh, smoldering with resentment against himself and the world, he blundered straight into trouble. At a crossroads he came to a well, and seeing a broken bowl nearby, he went down on his knees to scoop up water. Before he could even cool his tongue, a shadow fell across his bent shoulders. He saw close beside him the dark wet flanks of a horse, and looked straight up into the face of a Roman.
"Water for the horse, boy," the soldier ordered, not unpleasantly. "We have come a long way."
Daniel stiffened. But he noticed, against his will, the heaving sides of the overridden animal, the streaks of foam on the glossy neck. The beast too was helpless in the hands of the Roman. He could not deny it water. He lifted the bowl and held it steady while the animal quenched its thirst.
"Enough!" the Roman barked. "You will give him a swollen belly. Now some for me."
Daniel hesitated. Then, sullenly, he lifted the bowl toward the man.
A vicious kick, missing its aim, sent a shower of drops through the air. "Impudent scum!" the man roared. "Fresh water!"
Daniel's hatred brimmed over. Without a thought he hurled the contents of the bowl straight into the man's face. For the space of a breath he stood paralyzed. Then his wits came back and he ran. There was a shout behind him. A stunning blow against his ribs sent him staggering, and a spear clattered in the road just ahead of him. He regained his feet and ran on, ducked behind a stone wall, ran bent over under its shelter for a way, and then made a dash for a clump of trees. There was more shouting now, and the thud of feet. He dared not look back. He reached the trees and then a row of houses, saw an alleyway open before him, and fled along it. The feet pounded after him.
At the end of the alley he dodged one way and then another. He was running uphill now, and his breath was coming short. He stumbled, righted himself. He crawled over a low wall and crouched behind it to catch his breath, pressing hard against the pain in his ribs. His hands came away sticky and red. He saw that he was in a garden, and that opposite him a ladder led up to the terrace above. He barely managed the ladder, but it gave him a moment's advantage. He could still hear the running feet, but he dared now to climb more slowly and conserve his breath. He gained the next terrace and then the next.
He stopped finally, gasping, and leaned against a terrace wall. He had outrun them. In the quiet orchard there was no sound of pursuit. But he had used up almost all his strength. Pain gripped his whole chest now and ran down his arm into his fingers. Very soon, he would have to lie down and wait for them to find him.
Where could he go? Down there in that huddle of houses was there someone who might give him shelter? But Rosh had warned them against trusting even their fellow Jews. Roman methods were too sure. Would any man hide a stranger, knowing what it might mean to his family? No, he must keep on the hill. The Romans would not be so likely to look up here.
An icy fog kept drifting over his eyes. In panic he realized that he was not even thinking clearly. He clung now to one chance, and he knew that that chance had been in his mind all along, and had directed his feet even when he was running too fast to think. If he could get to Joel, Joel would take him in. He didn't k
now why he was sure of this. But on that first day on the mountain he had trusted Joel.
He never remembered how he got to the door in the long wall, or how he had sense enough to pull the folds of his robe to cover the dark stain that spread down his side. Afterwards he recalled that the doorman admitted him and went to summon Joel. But as he stood for the second time in the outer hallway, he was not thinking at all, only concentrating on staying on his feet. Presently he heard a step on the courtyard paving, and a figure approached him, wavering and indistinct against the light. Then his eyes focused, and he saw that once again it was not Joel, but Malthace. She came toward him swiftly.
"Daniel," she said. "You must go away quickly. Joel is not here. He and Father have gone to the synagogue, but they may be back any moment."
Daniel's wits moved slowly. He could not quite take in what she was saying, but he perceived that his one chance had failed. Still he could not seem to move.
"Don't you understand?" she said sharply. "If Father finds you here he will have no patience. Why did you come back, anyway?"
He forced himself to one more attempt. "I must see Joel," he said, his voice harsh. "It is important."
"Nothing is so important as Joel's studies," she flared. "If you cared anything about Joel, you would leave him alone. He can be a famous rabbi someday. He's not going to risk his whole future for a band of outlaws."
Daniel looked at her stupidly. Her voice seemed to be coming from farther and farther away.
"Can't you see?" she cried. "Joel is torn in two directions. But he knows what is right. Please, Daniel, I beg you—go away and leave him alone."
Briefly the mist cleared. He realized that once again he had blundered. The girl was right. He could only bring danger and trouble for Joel. He turned away, saw the door wavering and dissolving in the wall, took two steps toward it, and plunged headlong into blackness.
Consciousness returned slowly. At first he was aware of something soft under his head. For the moment that was enough, and he lay motionless, while pain flowed in again across his chest and side. Finally, as the sharpening pain prodded him awake, he was able to open his eyes. It must be night; he could see nothing in the blackness.' Then he realized that someone was bending over him, and gropingly he made out a woman's head with dark masses of hair, her face a white blur in the dimness. Then he remembered and struggled to move. Instantly the sick blackness roared over him. After a time it all started over again, the pain, the groping, the face of the girl still looking down at him.
The Bronze Bow Page 6