The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth George Speare [7]
Slowly the caravan pulled itself together and moved on. Grateful to escape with the loss of one slave, the tradesmen knew better than to argue. When they had straggled out of sight, Daniel took quick stock. One of Rosh's men lay on the path, his legs thrashing, another mopped blood from his arm. No one else appeared to be even winded. Joel stood rubbing his shoulder.
"Is that all there is to it?" he demanded.
Daniel strode across the path and pulled the cloak down from Joel's shoulder, revealing a bruise already darkening and swelling. "Who gave you that?" he demanded.
Joel reddened. "I meant to get the other arm of your man," he said. "But his plagued mule—"
Daniel choked back a roar of laughter.
"At any rate, we got the slave," Joel added, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
The cause of the fracas stood motionless in the middle of the path, a giant of a man, naked except for a filthy loincloth, his black skin mottled with purplish bruises and patches of mud. Daniel, with an ironsmith's eye, noted that the bands binding wrists and ankles were of double weight. The slave stood like a beast of stone, unaware that they had gone to this trouble to free him, indifferent that he had exchanged one master for another. Once again Daniel doubted Rosh's choice. There was power there, all right. Those huge arms could crack the ribs of a man as easily as a child could snap a twig. But the broad face with the livid scar showed no sign of intelligence, only an animal wariness that would mark the time to strike.
Then Daniel saw Rosh coming toward them. Rosh had a squat, thick body, with a short muscular neck, and a grizzled head which seemed to thrust forward directly from the powerful shoulders. Now, under the bristling eyebrows, his small black eyes glittered at Joel, not with surprise, because Rosh never allowed himself to be surprised, but with a hostility that made Daniel step forward and speak first.
"We've got a new recruit, Rosh," he said.
Heavy legs braced, Rosh measured the newcomer. "Speak up, boy," he barked. "Who are you?"
Rosh was used to seeing men cringe. Joel did not cringe, and though he was speechless, the pure hero-worship that shone from his eyes must have melted even Rosh's suspicion.
"Joel bar Hezron, sir," he managed finally.
"Your father know you're here?"
"N-no, sir."
"In trouble in the town, are you?"
"Oh, no."
"Then what do you want with me?"
Joel stood his ground. "I wanted to see you," he said, "because they say that someday you will drive the Romans out of Israel. When you do, I want to be with you."
Rosh's teeth flashed from the midst of his matted black beard. As his gnarled hand came down on the injured shoulder Daniel saw the tears start into Joel's eyes, but the boy did not flinch.
"Well said!" Rosh thundered. "Any man who hates the Romans is welcome here."
"I didn't come to stay," Joel explained unhappily. "I'd like to, but I can't, not now. I just came up here for a holiday, and my sister is with me. And in a few days we're moving to Capernaum."
Rosh's approval twisted to anger. "Not after what you've just seen," he said, his voice ugly. "Now you stay here."
Daniel knew that Rosh was bluffing. Rosh had had a price on his head for too long to care now what news reached the village. But Joel could not know that, and Daniel felt a surge of pride at the steadiness in the boy's eyes.
"I'm taking my sister home," Joel answered. "But if you mean I'd talk, you're wrong. If keeping silent is all I can do for now, then you can count on that."
Rosh studied the boy. "You're certain you want to work for me?"
"I'm certain."
"You think you know how to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut?"
"Yes."
"Then go along to Capernaum. There's time enough. When your turn comes, you'll hear from me."
Rosh turned away, the matter settled. Suddenly, without warning, Daniel was shaken by a flood of jealousy. Not a word, not a look at him. Who had captured the merchant and held him while they took the slave? What had Joel done, besides getting in the way