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"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