The Bronze Bow (20 page)

At noon they ate their meal together. Leah spread out with pride the hard bread and the olives and the inferior dates, not knowing how meager the fare really was. With every bite Daniel remembered the fine white cloth, the damask couches, the wine in alabaster cups. But Thacia seemed to have forgotten. What was there about her? he wondered. A sort of naturalness that made her seem without the slightest effort to belong, no matter where she happened to be—on the mountain, in the luxury of her own home, among the fishing boats? Her gaiety touched with a special grace everything around her.

Leah had begun to clear the dishes when some sound distracted her. Daniel, leaning back on his elbows, only half awake in the heavy heat, caught first the look on his sister's face. She was staring through the open door of the shop, and a deep flush was rising slowly from her throat to her pale temples. Daniel sat up. Then he caught the flash of sunlight on a helmet. The pleasure of the moment exploded like a bubble. In an instant he was on his feet, had flung himself into the shop, and slammed the door shut behind him.

He had thought he had seen the last of the blond Roman. What had brought the man back? Curse him too, for choosing to bring his work in the heat of the day. In a black humor, he blew up the fire.

When the shadows began to lengthen in the little room, they all knew with regret that the visit must end. Before they set out for the city, Daniel took Thacia into his shop.

"You have brought so many gifts to Leah," he said, trying to choose his words carefully. "Would you let me give one to you?"

He reached into a deep niche in the wall and drew out a small object wrapped in a fragment of Leah's blue cloth. Awkwardly, he laid in Thacia's hand the little brooch. "I made it with a bit of scrap," he said.

Thacia stood looking down at it. "A bronze bow!" she whispered.

"Do you remember? It was you who thought of it, that night—that the bronze bow might mean some impossible thing—the thing we could not do alone? I never forgot it. I don't know how to say it, but it came to stand for everything we are working for. For our oath. For the kingdom."

He had never seen Thacia before when she could not speak. He would remember as long as he lived the look that sprang into her eyes, and was quickly hidden as she bent her head.

Then her words came hurrying out. "To think that you made it!" she exclaimed, her voice shaky. "Why, you ought to be a silversmith, Daniel. You shouldn't be working with these great chunks of iron!"

"I'd like to try," he confessed. "Perhaps some day, when we are at peace." It was the first time he had ever voiced his ambition, even to himself.

They set out together along the road, Thacia with the turban snugly about her head once more.

"Every time I come, Leah has changed," she told him. "It's like watching a flower opening very slowly. From week to week I can hardly wait to see how it has opened since I saw her last."

"It is due to you," Daniel told her humbly. "She has never had a friend before. After you leave, I see her trying to do things the way you do them."

Thacia smiled at him. "Little things," she said. "Her hair, and the way she folds her veil. That's not what I mean."

"She does almost all the work in the house now," he went on. "But there are days when she—goes back." He was grateful for a chance to speak of this to someone. "Days when she doesn't pay any attention. It's hard for me to have patience enough."

Thacia smiled again. "No, no one would ever take you for a patient man," she said. "But do you think Joel and I do not know what you have done for Leah?"

Daniel's gratitude went out to her. He would like to think he had done something to make up for those years.

"She is so lovely," Thacia went on thoughtfully. "I can't believe there are really any demons in her. Have you ever asked a physician?"

"The one in the village said there was no cure for her. Once there was a man traveling through the country who had magic power to heal, and my grandmother paid him to look at Leah. He could not do anything, either. He said that the demons that make a person afraid are the hardest to cast out. He said something queer. Leah was only a child, but he said that she did not want to be made well."

Thacia was silent for a moment. "I have heard Jesus say something like that, when people ask him to cure them. Once there was a lame man on a litter. Jesus bent over him and looked right into his face, and asked him, 'Do you want to be whole?' It seemed such a queer question. Why would anyone want to stay crippled?"

Daniel hesitated. This was something he had thought about, walking alone on the dark silent road from Bethsaida. He was not sure of his own thoughts. "Haven't you ever wondered," he attempted, "what good it is for them to be healed, those people that Jesus cures? They're happy at first. But what happens to them after that? What does a blind man think, when he has wanted for years to see, and then looks at his wife in rags and his children covered with sores? That lame man you saw—is he grateful now? Is it worth it to get on his feet and spend the rest of his life dragging burdens like a mule?"

"I never thought of it that way," said Thacia, her eyes clouding. "Is that why, do you think, that so many of them aren't cured?"

The thought was troubling to them both. They walked on in uncertain silence. Then Thacia's naturally happy spirits reasserted themselves.

"Have you thought, Daniel, of taking Leah to Jesus?"

"Yes, I've thought of it. But I don't see how I could get her to Capernaum without frightening her to death. She asked once if Jesus would ever come to our village. But I don't suppose she would really have the courage."

"When he comes, if she will not go to him, then you must ask him to come to your house with you. He often goes with people, you know."

"To the centurion's house, or to some rich man's."

"Do you really think that would make the slightest difference to Jesus?"

"No. No, I guess it wouldn't. But somehow I wonder. It's the same as the lame man. It's not much of a world, is it? Is it worth trying to bring Leah back into it?"

Thacia stood still in the road. "Yes!" she cried, and Daniel was astounded to see that tears had sprung into her eyes. "Oh Daniel—yes! If only I could make you see, somehow, that it is!"

"All this—" she exclaimed, the sweep of her arm including the deepening blue of the sky, the shining lake in the distance, the snow-covered mountain far to the north. "So much! You must look at it all, Daniel, not just at the unhappy things." Suddenly she reached out and touched his hand. "Look!" she whispered.

He lifted his head and followed her gaze. Overhead, barely discernible against the blue of the sky, a long gray shadow hung suspended. Cranes, hundreds of them, were passing in a great phalanx. They wheeled and caught the sun, flashing light from banks of white feathers, with 3 shimmering like the snow on the mountain. Motionless, the two watched till the line slowly melted into the distant air.

Thacia let out her breath. "How beautiful!" She sighed. "It is beautiful just to be alive in Galilee!"

Daniel looked down at her. Her head was still thrown back, her lips parted. He could see the pulse beating under the smooth ivory skin, and somehow the line of her throat was one with the long slow arc of the birds in flight.

She was aware all at once of his look, and then that then hands were joined. Red surged up into the smooth cheeks, and she drew her hand away. For a moment neither of them moved, and then they both began to hurry, almost to run.

At the junction of the road they passed two more Roman sentries, but this time the men did not speak or even take notice of two dusty boys. For once Daniel felt almost grateful to a Roman. Tonight he could not have borne to watch Thacia shoulder a pack.

T
HIS TIME
," the villagers said, as Daniel halted the blows of his hammer, "Rosh has gone too far."

"How do you know it was Rosh?" Daniel inquired, keeping his eyes on the ax he was mending.

"Is there any other man in Galilee who would dare such a thing? Five of the wealthiest houses in the city robbed last night! But how would he find out? That's what I can't see. How would he know, off there on the mountain, that Mattathias was giving a banquet? Or which men would have taken half their slaves to make a showing? None of the rest of us even knew the tetrarch was coming."

"Then how can you think it was Rosh?"

"I don't have to think. The legionaries found out. Rosh might have got away with it, if he'd been satisfied with the loot from the houses. But no, he had to make a night of it."

Daniel started. Was there more to the story that had not yet reached him? Hand on the bellows, he waited.

"They tried the house of the centurion himself. He might have known the centurion wouldn't leave his house unguarded. Most likely the cutthroats got careless when they found the other houses such easy picking. Two of them were captured—both escaped convicts anyway, they say. One died as soon as they started to question him, but the other told, before they finally made an end of him."

Which? Daniel wondered sickly. Which of the men he had lived with side by side in the cave?

"I say they deserved what they got. Nothing but a pack of thieves up there, for all the fine talk we used to hear."

Not for a moment could Daniel let such a statement pass in his shop. "Rosh is no bandit," he said. "When he robs it is for a good purpose."

"So I've heard. Rob the rich to feed the poor. I'll be glad to see the poor that gets one penny of what he took last night."

"There may be more important needs," said Daniel.

"Like filling his own stomach? We'll see if he's satisfied now. We'll see if he lets our crops alone. I'll believe you when we can trust our sheep on the mountain."

Daniel started up the bellows and cut off the rest of the man's complaint. This was the third man since morning who had brought the news that had slithered out from the city like a swarm of snakes to every village round about. Some men praised Rosh's daring, elated to see the rich men defrauded. But more, like this man, were indignant.

At the first news, Daniel's spirits had soared. Then on the heels of rejoicing had come doubt. Now, at the end of the day, he felt dull and let down. This, then had been the reason for Joel's enterprise? A wholesale looting of rich men's houses. Somehow both boys had expected something more noble, more worthy of the cause. What did Joel think of it? Was it worth the hours lost from his study, the danger?

No question what Joel thought. That night the meeting in the watchtower was jubilant. Bit by bit the boys from the city had garnered every crumb of news to relate to the village boys. Joel was a hero twice over. Not only had he furnished all the information that had made the raid possible; he had even returned this morning to the very doors of the robbed houses, to listen to the full story from the unsuspecting kitchen slaves.

"I'm going to keep at it," he boasted. "It would be a shame to give up such an opening. I've got a special order from the centurion's head steward—two-dozen fish every second and fourth day of the week. There's no telling what I may chance on!" He was far too elated to notice Daniel's silence.

"Is Rosh in danger?" one of the boys asked. "The yellow rat who was caught—"

"Yellow?" another boy objected. "Do you know what the Romans do to a man? How long do you think you could keep quiet?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. This was a doubt they all faced in the night, in their own secret thoughts; they did not often speak of it.

"Don't worry about Rosh," Daniel assured them. "The Romans have had a price on Rosh's head for years. It's another matter to lay a finger on him."

Questions broke out again. What would Rosh do with the money? Would he buy arms with it? Would he divide it among the farms, maybe pay back for some of the sheep he had killed? There were so many needs for money. Daniel sat silent while they debated passionately the greatest needs for the stolen goods.

"Leave that to Rosh," he broke in finally. "It is for the cause."

The argument ended. They were perfectly satisfied. Looking at the circle of intense swarthy faces, at the flashing eyes, feeling the unquestioning loyalty that bound them all to Rosh, Daniel cursed his own heavy misgivings. Why could he not be satisfied with his own answer?

Nor were the villagers satisfied. Every day in the shop, in the marketplace, at the door of the synagogue, one heard the name of Rosh, sometimes bitterly condemned, sometimes as hotly defended. At last Rosh's name was on every lip, as he had once predicted. Some swore he was the defender of the Jews. But others pointed out that he had turned against Jews. But though they muttered, most men clung with blind faith to Rosh. They still looked to the mountain as the stronghold of freedom and hope.

The relay of messages which had succeeded so well, was now intensified. Joel threw himself into the role of fish peddler, and with experience he grew more shrewd in interpreting the bits of gossip, the signs of activity that he picked up in the doorways and kitchens of the city. Because he could not often leave home in the evening, other members of the band brought the messages to Daniel's shop. At night Joktan crept down the slopes like a jackal, across the cucumber field to the watchtower, and back to Rosh with the day's report. A mounting excitement filled the watchtower, where boys met nearly every night in the week. Here at last was something to do. Now they could see the results of their work.

For the results were never far behind. Rosh had acquired at last the link with the city for which he had waited. The boys had given him a weapon he needed, and he struck far and wide, with suddenness and cunning. Joel learned of a Galilean merchant who was expected to deliver seven cruses of oil to the centurion's household on the morrow. Though the merchant set out from his vineyard before dawn, neither he nor his oil was ever seen again. A bridegroom, son of the wealthiest elder in the synagogue, left the city with a gala party of his friends, laden with gifts, to claim his bride in Sepphoris. The bride waited in vain. Next day the whole party returned to their homes, clad only in their tunics, bereft of their handsome cloaks, their gifts, almost of their senses. A holiday party, returning late by torchlight from the games in the theater at Tiberias, was routed, stripped, and badly beaten.