The Bronze Bow

  "Peace," responded the man. "There's no room inside. The master will be out when he has finished eating."

  "I'm looking for a friend of his," Daniel said. "Simon the blacksmith, from Ketzah. Do you know of him?"

  "The Zealot? He's inside." The man leaned into the door and called out. "Simon! There's one here asking for you."

  The figures in the doorway shifted. Framed against the square of light Simon peered out into the dim yard.

  "Here, Simon. It's Daniel, from Ketzah."

  "Daniel!" There was genuine pleasure in the man's voice. "I'm glad you found the place. Come inside. Have you eaten?"

  They pushed their way into a small room, smoky, airless, overfull of dark bearded men. The smell of fresh bread, of fish and burning oil made Daniel's head swim. He introduced his two friends to each other.

  "By the look of you, you've walked all the way from the mountain," said Simon. "But first you must meet the master." One hand on each boy's elbow he steered them across the room.

  Daniel stood face to face with the carpenter. The man's eyes, looking straight into his, blocked out every other thought. Filled with fight and warmth, those eyes, welcoming him with friendship, yet searching too, disturbing, demanding.

  "I am glad you have come," Jesus said. Daniel could say nothing at all. For a moment he was afraid. Only when the man turned away and his eyes no longer held his own, could he breathe freely again.

  Simon found a place for the boys between two burly fellows who reeked of fish and garlic. Someone had led Jesus to the seat of honor at the head of the table. Several women were moving now among the men, carrying wooden platters of bread and lettuce and small fish fried in oil. They placed the dishes on the mat before Jesus, and he looked up with a warm smile.

  "You must have worked long, my daughters," he said, "to provide a feast for so many."

  The women glanced sideways at each other, smiling, their brown faces flushed. Jesus reached out and took a wafer of bread from the plate.

  A voice spoke from the end of the table. "Teacher," a man said, "no one has provided for us to wash our hands. In this house do you not observe the Law?"

  The woman of the house gasped, hand against her mouth in dismay. All her pride and pleasure was wiped out in an instant. "Was it needful?" Her eyes pleaded with the carpenter. "I did not think—so many—"

  "Do not be distressed," Jesus answered her gently. "It was not needful." He looked down the long mat toward the man who had spoken. "In this house the food has been given us with love," he said slowly. "Let us make sure that our hearts rather than our hands are worthy to receive this gift." He stood up, his long white robe holding the light, and spoke a blessing over the bread. Then he passed the platter to the one beside him.

  Daniel glanced at Joel. With a pucker of confusion between his brows, Joel had taken a small morsel of the bread and was putting it to his lips. Perhaps this was the first time in his life, Daniel realized, that Joel had deliberately broken the Law. He too must have felt the carpenter's words as a reproach.

  When the short meal was done, Jesus rose from the table, gave thanks again, to God and to the woman of the house, then moved slowly through the crowded room to the door. Instantly a clamor rose from the courtyard, a frenzy of wailing, shouting, pleading voices.

  "Let me touch you, Rabbi. Let me only touch the edge of your cloak!"

  "My son, Rabbi! He has had the fever for seven days!"

  "Over here, Master! Look this way! I cannot move for the crowd!"

  Jesus stood on the threshold for a moment, looking out over the wailing people. Daniel, who had pushed close behind him, almost reached out to hold him back. Those people out there—so frantic—they could tear a man to pieces! But Jesus stretched out his hand and spoke, and the clamor died away. A few voices kept on pleading, the moaning could not all be stilled, but once again the crowd waited. Then Jesus stepped down into the courtyard and moved, with serenity, among them. Feeble hands reached out to him, stretched and grasped at his clothing. Some of the sick dragged forward, and when they could not reach him, kissed the ground behind him. Before one after another Jesus stopped. Sometimes he spoke quietly Sometimes he touched a man briefly, or a child. What he said no one could hear.

  Suddenly a scream rang out. "I am well!" a woman cried. "He has cured me! I am well!" The clamor rose again, drowning her out.

  The women who had served Jesus moved now among the crowd with the platters of food, and the bearded fishermen helped them. Hands snatched the food as it passed, cramming it into mouths, spilling it in frantic greed. Daniel understood now why those in the house had eaten so sparingly. There would never be enough to satisfy this starving horde. He shuddered, looking at them. Where had they come from, these wretched creatures who had dragged themselves to this place in the hope of a morsel of bread?

  Then Daniel saw the man and woman he had met on the road, standing almost within the reach of Jesus' hand. As Jesus turned, they pushed the child in front of them. The woman went down on her knees and hid her face. The man stood, his eyes fixed on Jesus. Then four men carrying a litter blocked them from Daniel's view, and when he saw them again the three were going rapidly through the gate in the hedge. He sprang after them.

  "Did you see him?" he demanded, catching up with them. "Did he speak to you?"

  Tears were streaming down the woman's face. Her eyes were dazed, and she could not speak. The man had the same dazed look. "The boy is healed," he said.

  "How do you know?" Daniel demanded. "Have you looked at it?"

  "No. I have not looked. Show him your arm," the man ordered his son.

  The boy shook off the mantle and held out his hand. "It doesn't hurt anymore," he said, puzzled. Daniel felt a sudden chill. He leaned closer.

  "It is still swollen!" he accused the man.

  The man did not look. "The pain is gone," he said. "The swelling will go too."

  "What did he do? Did he touch it?"

  "No," the man said. "I don't think he touched it. I started to tell him what was wrong, and I couldn't get the words out. I could only look at him. And then I knew that the boy was all right."

  Suddenly Daniel was furious. "You are lying to me!" he cried. "There is some trick—"

  "Why should I lie to you?" The man looked back steadily. "I tell you, the boy's hand is healed, and now he will make a weaver."

  Back in the yard Simon stood with Joel. Daniel clutched at the older man. "That boy!" he stammered. "Simon—he said his arm was healed!"

  Simon did not ask what boy or seem surprised. "Yes," he said quietly.

  "But I saw it—we both saw it—not an hour ago. The boy says it doesn't hurt."

  "Several people were healed tonight," said Simon.

  "It's impossible! Is it some trick?"

  "You say you saw the arm yourself. What do you think?"

  "I don't understand."

  "Nor do I," Simon answered. "But I must believe my own eyes. I have seen it happen, over and over."

  Joel spoke thoughtfully. "Is he a magician?"

  "No magician could do the things he does. He claims that his power comes from God."

  "But these other people—all these—?"

  "I don't know why they are not all healed. It seems to require something from the person himself, a sort of giving up. The child you saw, or his parents, must have had that sort of faith."

  "Perhaps the arm would have healed anyway."

  "Perhaps," said Simon. He put a silencing hand on Daniel's arm. "Wait now, he is going to speak."

  For the third time, something in Daniel leaped to answer that voice. It was not a joyous voice tonight or a commanding one as it had been on the sunlit shore. This time its gentleness rested on the suffering people like a comforting touch. But strength still poured through its calm tones, and utter sureness.

  "Do not be afraid," Jesus said to them. "For you are the children of God. And does not a father understand the sorrow of his children, and know their need? For I tell you
, not even a sparrow falls to the ground without our Father seeing, and you are of more value than many sparrows. Try to bear your suffering with patience, because you know that God has made a place for you in His Kingdom."

  The kingdom! Daniel looked about him. What good would it do to speak of a kingdom to these miserable wretches? What could it mean to them, when not one of them could lift a hand to fight for it? But he saw their faces, white, formless blots in the darkness, all lifted toward this man. He heard their harsh breathing all around him, stifled in their straining not to miss a word. They listened as though his words were food and they could never get enough.

  "But you must be kind to each other, and love each other," the voice was saying. "For each of you is precious in His sight."

  The figure in the white robe swayed slightly. In the dim light from the doorway the man looked very weary. Instantly one of the fishermen was at his side. Another came from the house with a lighted lamp. Together, shielding him from the people, they persuaded their master across the garden. The crowd watched them, quieted, almost stupefied, by the spell of that gentle voice. The three climbed the outside staircase of the house and entered the shelter on the roof.

  Daniel straightened his shoulders, trying to shake off the spell that seemed to bind him close to the silent crowd. At the same time he remembered the errand that had brought him to this place.

  Simon listened, showing little interest in Rosh's demands. Daniel was sure that Simon was going to refuse his request, but instead the man looked at him keenly.

  "This Rosh," he said thoughtfully, "you have a lot of faith in him, haven't you?"

  "Of course I have."

  "All right. I don't have these things to spare in my own shop. But there is a shop here in the city, on the Street of the Ironworkers. You will know it by the bronze horseshoe over the doorway. I work for the owner sometimes. Samuel is his name, and he owes me wages. Tell him to give you what you need."

  "But your wages?"

  "I have little need for money just now. Take what you need."

  Daniel could not leave his friend without some answer. "Are you staying with Jesus, Simon?"

  "If he will have me."

  "Is—is he one of us?"

  Simon smiled. "A Zealot, you mean?"

  "Isn't that why you came? Have you asked him to join us?"

  "I had some such idea when I came," Simon admitted. "But it has not worked out just as I expected. No, I have not asked Jesus to join us. All I hope and long for now is that he will ask me to join him."

  Daniel saw that he would get no more certain answer from Simon tonight. The two boys went back along the road in silence. Presently Joel spoke, his young voice troubled.

  "How can he call those people children of God?" he questioned. "They have never heard of the Law. They are unclean from the moment they are born."

  Daniel could not attach too much importance to this. He was too far outside the Law himself. "Perhaps it does no harm for them to hope," he suggested.

  "But they have no right to hope!"

  Joel was silent again, struggling, in some way Daniel could not share, to reconcile what he had heard with his lifelong training. "I think Father is right," he said at last, unwillingly. "This man is not a true rabbi. He practically said it was all right to eat without washing our hands. Perhaps it's dangerous even to listen to him. And vet—"

  Some unfinished question, only half formed, filled the darkness around them as they made their way back to the city.

  9

  FIVE MORNINGS LATER, Daniel sat at the foot of the mountain trail waiting. Though the sun weighed down on his head like a vast hammer, the palms of his hands were cold and damp. Any moment now the man he waited for would come into view. This was the first job he had ever had to do alone. He must not bungle it.

  Of course, there was little likelihood he could fail, or Rosh would not have sent him. He understood that in a way this was a peace offering on Rosh's part, to repay him for mending the dagger. It was also, he knew, a test, the easy sort of test that Rosh often devised to try out a man's usefulness.

  "He'll be alone," Rosh told him. "Always travels alone, the old skinflint, by the back roads. Pretends to be a beggar, whining at everyone he meets for a mite of bread for his next meal. He could buy the tetrarch's palace if he wanted to. He lives like a pauper, and every month he carries a bag of gold across the mountains to the coast and smuggles it to a friend who's buying property for him in Antioch. One day he'll disappear and spend the rest of his life living like a king. But he reckons with me first. This bagful comes to me."

  This was Rosh's idea of justice, and the kind of sport that most delighted him. He made it sound like a privilege that Daniel should have the chance. Daniel agreed with him on principle. Why should one greedy old miser live like a king in Antioch while his fellow jews toiled and starved? Moreover, the thing would be done quickly. A lonely stretch of road, a moment's bluffing, and the man would go on his way unharmed—but not until he had made a contribution to his country's freedom. Fair enough, Daniel reasoned. Still, his stomach was uneasy.

  After nearly an hour's wait, he spotted the man on a bend of the road just below. He slid behind a rock and waited. The man climbed slowly, with a wheezing sigh at each step. He would have fooled anyone, with his rags and his tottering gait. The deceit of the man made the job he had to do seem easier. When the miser was fairly opposite the rock, Daniel pounced.

  The man did not resist him. He cringed and sank to his knees. A poor man, lie moaned, with not a thing that anyone could want. Daniel jerked him back to his feet and reached for the girdle. Then, like a snake, the man struck. Daniel caught the gleam of the knife barely in time to grip the man's wrist. He saw the cold glitter of the man's eyes. For a moment they struggled in deadly silence. Who could have guessed that that bony frame would have so much strength? Then Daniel saw the second dagger, this time in the man's left hand. With one mighty unthinking thrust, his own fist came up, and the man crumpled back across the path. Daniel stood breathing hard. Then he stooped and felt for the man's girdle. The moneybag was there all right, a fat one. He stuffed it into his own girdle and turned away. The thing was done.

  At the turn of the road he looked back. The man lay sprawled on the road, and suddenly a long-forgotten memory hit Daniel's stomach with the thud of a blow. For a moment he stood, feeling wretchedly sick, and then he remembered. How many times in his childhood had he waked in the early morning and seen his grandfather lying just like that on the mat beside him, cap slipped sideways off the pinkish scalp, scrawny neck muscles stretched like a half-grown chicken's?

  Curse Rosh! Daniel knew what the orders were. He should get away from this place as fast as possible. He looked behind him up the pathway at the rocky hillside. If anyone were watching, he would be laughed out of camp. But he could not leave an old man who looked like his grandfather lying helpless on the road. He went back and knelt down, his throat suddenly like ice, and fumbled in the rags over the man's chest. With relief he recognized an uncertain beat of life under the bony ribs. He picked the man up, carried him to the side of the road and laid him down in the shadow of a rock. Then he sat down and waited.

  It was some time before the man regained consciousness. Finally he blinked and turned his head, and Daniel was suddenly angered by the terror that leaped into the old eyes.

  "Lie still," he said roughly. "I'm not going to touch you. Wait till you're able to walk."

  But the old man would not wait. He jerked to his feet and backed away.

  "Wait," said Daniel. "Take this. You may need it." He held out one of the daggers that less than an hour ago had threatened his own life. Then he stood watching till the man, in a tottering course, dragged around the turn of the road by which he had come.

  Back in camp he flung the moneybag at Rosh's feet. Rosh snatched it up, weighed it rapidly from one horny palm to the other, jerked open the strings and poured out a glittering heap of coins onto the stone. He slapped them do
wn as they bounced and rolled.

  "Yah!" he gloated. "A good morning's pay. He's got something to whine about now, the old camel."

  Daniel said nothing, waiting.

  "Did you get his dagger too?"

  Daniel threw the dagger down. He knew now what was coming. Someone had already brought back a report.

  "The other one?"

  "I gave it back to him," said Daniel. "He wasn't fit to travel without it."

  Rosh shot a derisive glance from under the black brows. "So he took you in with his whining! I gave you credit for more sense."

  Daniel held his tongue.

  Rosh rubbed a coin between dirty thumb and finger. "You think he'll thank you for your pains? You'll find out if he ever sets eye on you in the city. You should have finished him off."

  "You didn't order me to kill him," Daniel said sullenly.

  "I expected you to use your head. What ails you? Afraid of a drop of blood?"

  "It is Roman blood I want!" Daniel burst out. "Do we fight against Jews?"

  Rosh tossed the coins back into the bag, pulled the string tight, and got to his feet. His eyes looked dangerous, but his voice was level.

  "You fool! You'll have your fill of Roman blood! Have you wasted your time with me? Are you still a stupid villager who wants to rush at the Romans with your bare hands? It will take men and arms and food. And they have to be paid for with money. And get this through your head once and for all—we take the money where we find it!"

  Daniel's lips were tight, his eyes on the hard-packed earth.

  "Would the old miser have given his money to free Israel?" Rosh went on. "He'd have parted with his life first! A decent death for his country was better than he deserved. And what loss would it have been—one old man more or less?"

  Suddenly, with one of his lightning reverses of temper, Rosh stepped forward and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know what's in your mind," he said gruffly. "It's better to do without killing when we can. But there's a flaw in you, boy, a soft streak. I've seen it over and over, these years. Like a bad streak in a piece of metal. Either you hammer it out, the way you'd hammer out a bubble, or you'll be no good to us. When the day comes there'll be no place for weakness."