The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth George Speare [8]
"What do you think of him?" Rosh was shouting to his men, waving a hand at the black slave. "Worth a little trouble, eh?"
"By the look of him," one man muttered, "we're all like to wake up dead some morning."
"That's no joke," said another. "He could crack two of our heads together like a pair of walnuts."
Rosh only grinned. He walked up to the slave and clapped a hand on the trunklike forearm. His own powerful body was dwarfed beside that of his prisoner. "Don't look so glum, man," he roared. "Don't you know when you're in luck?"
The slave stared down at him, uncomprehending.
"Do you understand me?" Rosh questioned, impatiently. "Do you have a name?"
Not a flicker livened the stony features. There was some laughter. "Samson," someone suggested. "Goliath."
"Deaf, maybe," one man guessed.
"Dumb too, I wager. Lots of those black ones are mutes."
Rosh shrugged. "We'll see. We took him for his muscles, not his tongue. He'll prove his worth soon enough."
"If he ever learns which side he's fighting on," someone muttered.
Rosh's good humor vanished. The joke had gone too far. "I'll do the choosing!" he roared. "I don't ask for a vote by a pack of lily-livered jackals. Bring him along."
He stamped scornfully up the trail without a backward look. The men eyed each other, each waiting for someone else to make a move. Then, without knowing what prompted him, Daniel stepped into the path. "I'll take him," he said, reaching for the short length of chain that dangled from the iron wristbands. Five of the men tripped over each other to follow their leader. Even the man who had lain writhing on the trail got hastily to his feet. Two reluctantly stood by, willing to reinforce Daniel from a distance.
Daniel looked back at Joel. With the slave's chain in his hand he felt he had regained his former advantage. There was nothing to say now. The affair was over. Joel's eyes met his in a brief salute, and between the two boys something flashed, a wordless exchange that was both a farewell and a beginning.
Though the slave plodded forward without urging, Daniel was forced to check his own pace when he realized how narrow a stride the iron shackles allowed. At the first turn in the trail he looked back. Joel still stood in the path looking after them. Then he saw Malthace, coming down the rocky bank in one sure fluid course, her dark hair falling about her shoulders. He remembered with sudden clearness what he had not even been aware of seeing up there on the mountain, the way that hair had sprung, clean and alive and shining, like a bird's wing, back from the smooth forehead. He watched till the girl joined her brother, and then he set his face toward the mountain with his prisoner. He left the trail and struck off toward the right to follow a steep-pitched course among the boulders. Once again, prompted by the sure grace of the girl, the thought of his own sister stirred in him like an old wound.
Daniel already regretted the impulse that had prompted him to lead the slave. He knew well enough why he had done it. It had been nothing but a boast, an urge to make up for the fact that Joel had found favor with Rosh. He had plenty of chance now to curse his own childishness as he inched his way up the rocky course beside the chained ox. The two men who had stayed behind chafed at the slow pace, their crude jests about the prisoner soon changing to oaths at his lumbering progress. Once the sun dropped below the horizon, the dark came on swiftly, making their way even more difficult. It was like a release from a nightmare to smell at last the fragrance of roasting meat, to hear the sound of voices, and to emerge at the familiar clearing. A roaring fire near the mouth of the cave lit up the circle of men sprawled on the hard dirt. The meal was almost over, and Daniel's two companions lost no time in flinging themselves down for their share. No one paid the slightest attention to the slave for whom they had a few hours earlier risked their necks. Daniel stood uncertainly,