"Where am I?" he asked carefully, not moving.
"Hush!" Malthace whispered. "Don't speak out loud. You're in a storage room."
The words reached him from a great distance. He lay trying to grasp their meaning.
"Daniel," she whispered again, "can you hear me?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to go and get something for your wound. Just lie still and don't make any noise. I'll come as soon as I can. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
There was a rustling and a streak of light, then blackness again. He understood only that she had gone and that he did not need to move.
After a time the streak of light fell across him again. The girl was bending over him once more.
"Are you awake?" she whispered. "Here. Drink this. I'll hold it for you."
The cool rim of a cup touched his lips. A gentle hand lifted his head. The wine was strong, with an unfamiliar bitter taste. It spread warmly down his throat into his chest, pushing back the pain.
She set down the cup. "Now I have to pull away this cloth. I'll try not to hurt you."
He clenched his teeth while she slowly eased the blood-stiffened tunic from his ribs. The wine made his head swim. He suspected there must have been medicine in it. He was aware that she was sponging his side, and he smelled the pungent odor of dill and the sweetish fragrance of oil, and felt a soft dry cloth against his side.
"How did I get here?" he murmured.
"I dragged you in. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Joel would never have forgiven me if I—if anything—"
She fell silent, bound the cloth snugly against him, and held the wine again to his lips.
"I can't stay any longer," she said then. "Joel will be here soon and he'll know what to do. Don't move. Just wait till we come."
He did not know how long he waited, drifting in a sluggish river. Finally the crack of light appeared, widened, and when it closed there was still light. Joel had brought a candle, the flame lighting up his worried face.
"Daniel—are you all right? Thank God you came here!"
"I—didn't know—where—" Daniel began.
"Don't talk. I heard what happened. They're searching all over town. When Thace told me I knew it must have been you. You were crazy, Daniel!"
"Don't make him talk, Joel." Malthace was close behind. "See, Daniel, I've brought some gruel for you. Can you eat a little?"
Joel held the candle while the girl dipped up spoonfuls of gruel. It tasted warm and good, but the effort was too great. After three attempts he had to close his eyes and rest. Presently he forced himself to speak again.
"I have put your house in danger."
"No. They'll never think of searching Father's house. Let me look at that wound, Daniel." Joel knelt down and cautiously pulled away the bandage. He let out a slow whistle. "You're lucky. Another inch or so! There's a nasty hole. No use arguing, you'll have to stay quiet."
Daniel did not attempt to argue. He knew he could not even get to his feet.
"I don't think this place is safe," Joel went on. "One of the slaves might come to get grain any moment. There's a passage between the two walls. Thace and I discovered it when we were children visiting here. If we lift you onto a mat and drag you, can you stand it?"
"Yes," he said. He could stand anything in his helpless gratitude.
The passage was scarcely two cubits wide. Joel, stooping over and tugging, with Thacia steadying behind, made slow progress, bumping along the rough earth floor for some distance before Joel was satisfied. Then he smoothed the mat carefully while Thacia went back to get grain sacks for a pillow and covering.
"I hate to leave you in this place," Joel said, shining the candle beam along the boxlike walls. "It's not too airy, but you won't suffocate, and I'm sure no one will find you."
Daniel tried to stammer his thanks.
"I wish I could do more," Joel answered. "I'm sorry things went wrong at dinner today. Father isn't like that, really. It's just that—he's suspected for a long time how I feel, and he's afraid I'll join the Zealots."
"I talked like a fool," Daniel said.
"Well—yes, you did." Joel smiled for the first time. "But I wish I had the courage to stand up to him like that."
"If he finds out—?"
"He'd never give you away. I'm sure of that. But he would start asking questions. About Amalek and—the mountain and all. No knowing where it would end. Just stay here and don't worry about it. Thace and I will come whenever we can."
Thacia murmured something to her brother.
"Yes, we have to go," Joel answered. "Will you be all right alone here, Daniel?"
"Yes," said Daniel. "I—"
"Sleep all you can. I'll be back."
He lay still while the candlelight and the footsteps receded. Just before the blackness closed down he thought he heard a whispered voice, "Goodnight, Daniel." He was not sure, and as the fever began to rise in him he imagined that it had been his mother's voice, speaking the words he had not heard for years.
7
"And the Kings and the mighty and exalted and those
who rule the earth
Shall fall before Him on their faces..."
JOEL'S VOICE, hardly more than a whisper, trembled with earnestness as he read. He sat on the dirt floor of the passage, stooping to hold the scroll so that it caught the light from the one sputtering wick they dared to burn. His two listeners sat motionless against the wall, scarcely breathing, held by the music of the words and the spell of the ancient prophecy.
"And their faces shall be filled with shame,
And the darkness shall grow deeper on their faces,
And He will deliver them to the angels for punishment,
To execute vengeance on them because they have
oppressed His children and His elect;
The elect shall rejoice over them,
Because the wrath of the Lord of Spirits resteth
upon them,
And His sword is drunk with their blood."
Daniel leaned back, his face hidden in the shadows. The words were like the wine that Thacia brought to him every evening. He could feel them like fire in his veins. And tonight for the first time he was conscious of his own strength stirring within him. Five days and nights he had spent in this narrow passage, while the fever burned itself out and the pain in his side gradually eased. Soon now he must leave this place, and he must store up these words to take back with him to the cave.
Joel came to the end of the scroll. For a moment there was not a sound. Then Joel began to roll the papyrus carefully, and the girl beside him let out her breath in a long sigh.
"Joel," she said thoughtfully, "has Father read the Book of Enoch?"
"Of course he has."
"Then why does he say that the Jews must not fight for their freedom?"
"Father believes we must leave the future to God. That when God is ready He will establish His kingdom on earth."
"Don't you believe that too, Joel?"
Joel's eyebrows drew together. "In a way I do," he said. "But the men of old didn't wait for God to win their battles for them. They rose up and fought, and God strengthened them. Maybe God is waiting for us now. It seems to me we've tried Father's way long enough. What do you say, Daniel?"
Daniel had been content just to listen. He envied Joel the ability to find so readily the right words. He scowled now with the effort to make them understand his thoughts.
"We've waited too long," he said. "This Phinehas—the one you read about last night—he pulled out his sword and killed the enemies of God, and God rewarded him for it."
"When will God send us another Phinehas?" Joel sighed.
"Suppose he did?" Daniel burst out, ignoring the stab of pain in his side. "One man is not enough. What could he do without an army? Without men, thousands of men, and weapons to fight with. Why aren't we making ready?"
"Isn't that what Rosh is doing up on the mountain?"
"Yes, but Rosh
can't do it alone. There are only a few of us."
"Daniel—" Joel leaned forward, his eyes wide with sudden awe. His breath caught so that the words would scarcely come. "Did you ever think that Rosh—that he might be the leader we are waiting for?"
It was out at last, the thought that neither of them had dared admit to the other.
"I know he is," said Daniel.
They sat silent, trembling at the immensity of the secret they shared.
"He's like a lion!" Daniel said, his confidence mounting. "He has no fear at all. Up there in the cave, whatever he says, the men obey him without question. If there were more of us—if we could only get enough—Rosh would drive every cursed Roman back into the sea!"
Before Joel could speak, Malthace interrupted. "But this Rosh is an outlaw!" she protested. "Surely God would not choose a man like that to bring in His kingdom!"
Daniel bristled. He could not make this girl out. Was she for him or against him? She had hidden him and dressed his wound and brought him food. But before that she had pleaded with him to leave Joel alone. She had done all this for her brother, but wouldn't she still fight to keep Joel in his safe world?
"What difference does it make what Rosh is?" he demanded. "If he can rid us of the Romans the kingdom can take care of itself."
"But it is the same thing," said Joel. "Victory and the kingdom."
"Call it what you like," Daniel said impatiently. "All I know is I hate the Romans. I want their blood. That is what I live for. It's all I've lived for since—"
"Since what, Daniel?" Joel urged.
"Since they killed my father and mother."
There was a silence, and then Malthace said, very gently, "Tell us, Daniel."
Daniel wavered. He was torn, as he had been torn that first day on the mountain, between the desire to stay in hiding and the need to speak to them. No one in the cave knew all of his story. He never spoke of it. He dreaded to bring it up out of the secret places of his memory, but even more he longed to share the burden that he had carried alone for so many years.
"It's not a good story for a girl to hear," he said.
"Is it about your mother?" asked Malthace.
"About them both."
"If it's about my own people, about another woman like myself, then I can hear it."
Daniel stared at the blur of her face against the wall. Her eyes shone deep and steady. Was she for him or against him?
He began to grope his way back, far back to the beginning. "It was when I was eight years old," he told them. "I was in the synagogue school then. My father was overseer of the vineyards. It was a good job. I don't remember ever being hungry or afraid. He used to tell us stories after the evening meal. He knew them all by heart. My sister was only five. She had yellow hair and blue eyes like our mother. That's because my mother's mother was a Greek slave who married her Jewish master. But my mother never knew any foreign ways. She believed in the God of the Jews. She taught us verses from the scripture, and made us say them after her. I think we were like all the other families. Perhaps it is still like that, in the houses in the village."
Joel nodded. "It was so in our house," he said.
"My father had a brother, younger than he was, and they were very close. When I was very young my uncle lived in our house with us, but then he married and went to live in a house of his own not far away. I can remember the wedding. They let me walk in the procession, and I was so excited that I dropped my torch and burned a hole in my new coat."
Daniel stooped and waited for a moment. This part, the good part, had been buried very deep. The others did not speak, letting him find his difficult way back at his own halting pace.
"My uncle was so proud of his wife. When their first baby was born, a boy, you would have thought no one ever had had a son before. He did a very foolish thing. It was almost time for the taxes, and he took part of the money he had saved and bought his wife a present, a shawl with gold thread in it for her to wear to the naming. He planned to find extra work and make up the money. But that year the Romans were building a new section of road, and the collector came early. My uncle should have come to my father, but he was ashamed, because of course none of us ever had money to spare. So he tried to argue that it was not time. He was a very excitable man, and the collector was angry and reported him. The soldiers came and put him in the guardhouse. As soon as my father heard, he went to all his friends and collected enough money for the tax. But my uncle had lost his head and tried to fight his way out, and the soldiers would not let him off. They said he would go to the quarries to work off his debt.
"We all knew they would never let him go, or that he would fight them and get killed. His wife was almost out of her mind. She came and put her arms around my father's knees and screamed at him. So my father made a plan. He was a peaceful man, but he armed himself. He and four others hid in a cornfield and waited till the Romans started for the city with my uncle, and then they attacked. Of course they were all captured. One of the soldiers was cut with a sickle and he died that night. They wanted to make an example for the village. They crucified all six of them, even my uncle, who had not done anything because his hands were tied behind him."
There was a sound like a moan from Thacia. Joel did not move. After a moment Daniel went on.
"My mother stood out by the crosses all day and all night for two days. It was cold and foggy at night, and when she finally came home she did nothing but cough and cry. She only lived a few weeks."
"Were you there too?" asked Thacia under her breath.
"Yes, I was there. After my father died I made a vow. Maybe they would say a boy eight years old couldn't make a vow, a real one that was binding. But I did. I vowed I would pay them back with my whole life. That I would hate them and fight them and kill them. That's all I live for."
When he stopped speaking he realized that he was trembling all over, and the wretched cold sickness was climbing up into his throat. He wished they would go away now and leave him alone. But Thacia questioned him again.
"Who took care of you after that?"
"My grandmother. She made me go to school for five years. But then she was ill, and there wasn't enough to eat, and she sold me to Amalek."
"What about your sister?"
Daniel hesitated. Yes, they had to know this, too. "I told you she was only five. That night she got away from a neighbor and ran out. They didn't know how long she had been there by the crosses before they found her and took her back. She used to scream in her sleep. Then she refused to go out of the house. If we tried to make her, she would howl till she was blue and fall into a sort of fit and we would think she was dead, and then she would be ill for days. So we gave up. She has always been sickly. She doesn't eat enough. I think she has forgotten everything, but the demons will not leave her. She has never gone out of the house."
He stopped, helpless in his longing to make them understand Leah. "She is very gentle and good," he added, looking humbly at Malthace.
To his surprise, her eyes glistened with tears. He had to look away.
Since the beginning of Daniel's story, Joel had not spoken a word. He sat now staring straight ahead of him. Somehow in a few moments he had grown older. The man he would become was revealed in his young face. All at once he came up to his knees, and knelt in the narrow space, his shoulders taut. Daniel saw that his lips were trembling.
"Daniel!" he choked. "I will take the oath too! Before heaven, I will avenge your father! I swear it! I will fight them as long as I live!"
Swept up by the boy's passion, Daniel was checked by a sudden stab of guilt. He had not intended this. Was it fair to win Joel in this way?
"No!" he exclaimed. "No, Joel! It is not your quarrel."
"But it is!" cried Joel. "Mine and every other Jew's. Your father is only one—out of thousands who have died at their hands. We must do anything—anything to make the country free again."
It was what he had wanted, what he had come to Capernaum to accompli
sh. But he was not sure. To drag Joel out of his safe scholar's life into the dark danger of his own world?
Thacia understood. After one gasp of dismay, she sat huddled against the wall, staring at her brother with terror in her eyes. But behind the terror there was pride.
Joel turned to her. "You see it has to be this way, don't you, Thace? I can't go on burying my head in a book while things like this are happening. You must see it. We've always seen things the same way."
Thacia looked back at him, struggling against her fear, and there flashed across to Daniel something of what it must mean to be a twin. Then she drew a long breath.
"Yes," she said steadily. "I do see. If I were a boy I would make a vow too."
Suddenly Joel's fire leaped up in her face. "Why can't I?" she cried. "Why can't a girl serve Israel too? What about Deborah and Queen Esther? Let me swear it too, Joel! I promise to help you."
Jealousy beat suddenly up in Daniel. "No!" he exploded. "This is a man's vow! It's not for a pretty child!"
Her face went white. At the hurt in it Daniel cursed himself. What had made him say a thing like that to her?
But this time Joel came instantly to his sister's support. "Then we will make a new vow," he said. "The three of us together. We'll swear to fight for Israel—for—for—" He hesitated.
"For God's Victory," said Thacia swiftly. "Remember the watchword of the Maccabees?"
"Yes! That's it! Come swear it together. Now—on the Book of Enoch here. What could be better? Put your hands on mine, both of you. Swear to stand together. The three of us. For God's Victory."
Thacia laid her hand firmly over her brother's. "For God's Victory," she repeated. They looked at Daniel, waiting. The three of us, Joel had said, taking him, who had always stood outside, into the close circle of their lives. With an effort he leaned over and laid his hand over the girl's. He felt the small fine bones under his palm.