Rosh waved a greasy mutton bone in his direction. "See that Samson gets his big belly full," he shouted. "After tonight he works for it like the rest of us." A roar of laughter applauded him, but no one moved to carry out his command. Daniel perceived that in his absence the matter had been settled. Samson they had christened the slave, and Samson he would remain, no matter what his proper name might be. And Daniel had only himself to thank that he had been promoted to Samson's keeper.
He went to the chill depths of the cave where the goatskin water bags were kept, and after he had taken a long deliberate draught for himself he carried a gourd of water to the slave. The gourd contained only enough for two tremendous gulps, and he went back to fill it twice more. Then he brought a huge slab of mutton. The black man snatched it from his hands, and sank his teeth into it with a ferocity that turned the boy's stomach. He tore off two chunks of barley bread and laid them down within the slave's reach. Then he went to the other side of the fire and sat down apart from the others. He had lost interest in his own supper.
Rosh did not let him rest for long. "What are you waiting for?" the leader prodded him. "Get your file to those chains."
"Tonight?" Daniel was startled.
Around the fire the sprawling figures reared up in protest.
"Leave the shackles on him!"
"He won't know the difference."
"He'll know, right enough, and so will we when we get our heads smashed in!"
"Shut your mouths!" roared Rosh. "What kind of patriots are you? We'll have no slaves on this mountain. He's one of us—get that through your heads. I'll double the watch so you pigeonhearted can sleep. But the man sleeps free."
With a sigh Daniel got to his feet. This job would have fallen to him anyway, since he was trained to the trade of blacksmith. It was not the first time he had removed manacles. Two of the men who now sat near the fire had made their escape from the Roman mines. He went now to get the chisel and mallet and a heavy file.
The slave crouched in a sort of stupor after his meal. When Daniel signed to him to stretch out his arms, he blinked stupidly. Gradually he seemed to comprehend what was required of him. He shifted his heavy frame and allowed Daniel to stretch the manacled wrists across a flat surface of rock. Then Daniel bent himself to the task that he knew would take half the night.
Rosh stumbled to the pile of skins in the cave. Most of the men stretched out where they lay, pulling their cloaks over their heads and falling at once into slumber. The man who had first watch, planning to wake reinforcements before the slave was freed, settled down to observe Daniel's labor. From time to time he renewed the fire so that Daniel could see to work, but beyond that he had no intention of helping.
Daniel's shoulders began to ache. The steady rasp of the file, which seemed to make little headway on the double thickness of metal, wore his nerves thin instead. After an interminable time a narrow channel sank almost through the first band. The slave did not move. The guard, bored, prowled about the fire, poking in the ashes for scraps from the meal. To keep himself awake, Daniel began to talk, expecting and getting no response.
"I know this is hard on you," he said. "But it's no joke for me either. Rosh was right about the chains, but if he'd had to do the job himself I wager it could have waited till morning. Still, what Rosh says goes, and you might as well learn that tonight."
The black eyes, in the half-darkness, looked like bits of polished basalt.
"You don't know what's happened, do you?" Daniel asked. "You've got Rosh to thank that you're not on the way to the galleys. You don't know what the galleys are either, I suppose. But you do know the taste of a whip, that's plain. Well, that is over. It's not easy here in the cave, but there are no chains, and no whips. You're safe now."
The slave gave no sign that he either heard or understood, but Daniel went on, thinking out loud, shutting out the grating of the file with the sound of his own voice.
"Rosh is the finest leader you could ask for. He pretends to be careless, but actually he leaves nothing to chance, not the slightest trifle. He has eyes in the back of his head. That's why he's been successful, and his band is growing, while other bands break apart or get captured. And he is afraid of nothing on earth, nothing. He laughs at the Romans.
"There are more coming to join us every day. Someday there'll be enough. Rosh asks of them all just one thing. They must hate the Romans, and be willing to go on fighting till the last cursed one of them is driven from the land and Israel is free. We live only for that. And so will you. Rosh knows he's not taking much of a chance with you. Any man who has worn these things on his wrists will die before he'll have them on again. Do you know what I'm saying, Samson? I can see you don't. But soon I'll show you something you can understand."
The fire had died down to a flicker and the night was far gone when the last of the four iron bands had worn thin. Daniel whistled to the guard, who jumped nervously to wake two comrades. The three stood watching, swords in hand.
Daniel picked up the chisel and mallet. The bands fell with a clatter that woke half the camp. Then he stood back. The slave still knelt, looking down at his hands, not moving. Finally Daniel bent toward him, touched his shoulder. The heavy man shifted, heaved up, and reared over Daniel. For an instant Daniel knew a shaft of real fear, as the massive arms slowly reached, stretched to their appalling length, and the chest expanded in a deep breath. Then suddenly, in one incredible swift motion, the man went down on his knees, and before Daniel could move he had seized the boy's foot in his huge hands and bent to lay his forehead against it.
Daniel jerked his foot away. "Get up!" he snapped. "It is Rosh who freed you." When the slave did not move he turned and walked away. "That's done," he said, trying to hide from the guards his quivering embarrassment. "I could sleep for a week."
He located his sheepskin cloak, wrapped it around him, and lay down just outside the circle of firelight. Samson came crawling toward him and hunched at his feet. Exasperated, he got up again, rummaged in the cave for another tattered cloak, came back and flung it over the naked shoulders, and lay down again. Then he pulled his own cloak over his head and slept. He was too tired even to wonder why he was not afraid.
3
UNDER THE MIDDAY SUN the rock would blister one's fingers. The air over the smelting oven quivered. When Daniel bent over it to poke at the doughy mass of red-hot ore, the fumes scorched his nostrils. He glanced at Samson, who for a full half-day had been kneading the bellows without ceasing. Perhaps Samson, wherever he had lived, had learned early to endure the heat of the sun. Daniel had had enough for this day. The small lump of iron could be left now till it had cooled enough to be broken into pieces.
He picked up a goatskin bag, tipped it up, and let the warm water run down his throat and splash over his chin and chest. Then he handed the bag to Samson. After almost four weeks in the camp, Samson still never helped himself to anything. Daniel had to have it forever on his mind that the man might be hungry or thirsty. Now, watching the water sloshing out carelessly, he reminded himself that the man had earned it. They had twice as much water in the camp now that Samson helped to haul it from the spring.
Had the big man any idea that he was free? He seldom made a move without an order from Daniel. Rosh had given him up in disgust. Rosh was used to seeing men jump when he gave an order, but no matter how he shouted and cursed at Samson the giant stood immovable. Baffled, not sure whether Samson was utterly stupid or only defiant, Rosh had shrugged the man off on Daniel. All day long the giant was at the boy's heels, and at night he slept so close that Daniel could barely stretch his legs without kicking him. It was like being chained to a huge rock, having to drag it with him wherever he went.
Daniel had to admit that his work was easier. There was never a lack of firewood, and with Samson to help with the bellows instead of the skinny twelve-year-old Joktan he could keep a steady heat in the furnace. The other men were grateful for Samson's muscles too. They came to Daniel as though they w
ere asking to borrow a hammer or an ax. A boulder that five of them were heaving and tugging Samson could roll into place like a child's pebble. The whole eastern end of the camp had been fortified in the last two weeks. Even Rosh had to admit that Samson earned his keep. But the men still hated and feared him and made him the butt of all meir jokes. That was one more reason for Daniel to resent his burden; he felt more than ever shut out from the rest, for the jibes that were aimed at Samson usually included him as well.
Was Samson actually deaf? Sometimes he suspected the man understood a great deal more than they realized, and once he had made the mistake of saying so. The only result had been that the men had plagued Samson cruelly, devising all sorts of tests to trick him. They had finally tired of trying to surprise a reaction out of Samson, but they had not convinced Daniel.
Was Samson dumb? Were the sounds he occasionally made just gibberish, or were they fragments of a language it was useless to speak? Where had he come from? What thoughts went on behind that impassive face? What memories were locked inside where they could never be shared? At times Daniel hated him, with a dull resentment. At other times, like now, as Samson set down the water skin, wiped a huge hand across his mouth, and looked at Daniel with a slow childish grin spreading across his face, Daniel felt a grudging liking.
He helped himself and Samson from the stock of raw vegetables in the cave, cabbage and cucumbers and onions pilfered from the farms in the valley, and they lay down in the dark shade of the cave to doze away the midday hours.
He was roused by Rosh's voice shouting his name. He came out of the cave, still half asleep, blinking in the sunlight. Ebol, the sentry, had come into camp leading a man who was tied and blindfolded, as Rosh ordered all strangers and prisoners must be.
"Come out here, Daniel," Rosh barked. "This fellow claims he was looking for you. Ever see him before?"
Daniel came nearer, staring at the young, dark-bearded stranger. Unhamperedbyblindfold or thongs, the man stood in the center of the suspicious ring of outlaws with the easy confidence of one who had nothing to hide.
"Is this Daniel?" he spoke in a deep voice. "Peace be with you, my friend. It's been a long time."
Daniel came closer. "Simon?" he asked uncertainly. He could scarcely associate his memory of a tattered apprentice with this tall vigorous man. "Joel gave you my message?"
"I was glad to get it. You'd be surprised how often I've wondered what happened to you."
"So you know him?" Rosh was puzzled, but he signaled for the man to be released. "The boy's been well taken care of," he said affably. "You can't deny that."
The blindfold removed, Simon looked Daniel over, with a twinkle of amusement that the boy was taller than he. "He's grown, that's certain," he allowed. "I wouldn't have expected so much muscle."
"That's from the forge," said Daniel, flattered. "Did Joel tell you I've kept at my trade? I'll show you."
"Later," said Simon. "First I'd like some water, if you have some. You people give a man a warm welcome up here."
Chagrined, Daniel hastened to find the coolest water in the back of the cave. Rosh left them, and the other men made a show of some business well within earshot. Daniel was clumsy with pleasure and importance. Never before had anything like this happened to him.
"How did you know where to find me?" he asked.
"I had an idea that once I got up the mountain I'd have plenty of assistance."
"You might have got hurt instead."
"I don't think so," said Simon. He seemed very sure of himself.
Proudly Daniel showed Simon his forge. He knew he had reason to be proud of it, but it was gratifying to see Simon's surprise. He had discovered, in his first year on the mountain, patches where the soil was rusty with iron. Gradually he had learned to smelt it, constructing an oven against a rocky wall, lining it with clay, and devising a primitive sort of bellows from a pair of goatskins.
"This is very good," said Simon, poking at the lump of ore that lay cooling in the ashes. "No wonder you have muscles."
"Samson helps me," said Daniel, pointing toward the big man who crouched near the mouth of the cave.
Simon started. "Beard of Moses! Where did you get that giant?"
"He—escaped from a caravan," said Daniel. "We don't know where he came from."
"Hmm." With a long look at Samson, Simon turned back to the blade Daniel had put in his hand, running an expert finger along its edge. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Amalek taught you well. Do you make anything besides daggers and swords?"
Daniel hesitated. "Hooks sometimes. We don't have horses, and we're not farmers."
"I see." Simon sat down on a flat stone, his back to the curious eyes. "Are you happy here, Daniel?"
"Rosh is good to me," Daniel answered. "Nothing like old Amalek."
"You always wanted to fight the Romans, didn't you?"
"So did you," said Daniel. "Joel told me you are called Simon the Zealot. You ought to know Rosh. If you knew him, you'd join him too." A sudden hope sprang up in him. "Is that why you came today?"
Simon shook his head. "I've known about Rosh for a long time," he said. "I'm a Zealot, yes. Rosh and I work for the same end, but we don't exactly see eye to eye."
"If you really knew him—"
"Perhaps. Today I came only to find you. Amalek died a fortnight ago, Daniel. You could come back to the village if you like."
Old Amalek dead! Should he feel something—pleasure? remorse? pity? It was too far away. He had not thought about going back for a long long time.
"What about my bond?" he asked. "I had four more years to go."
"There's no one to hold you to it. He hadn't a relative to his name, nor a friend either, poor man. I doubt anyone would even remember."
Daniel tried to imagine going back. He couldn't tell whether he would like it or not.
Simon let him think for a moment. "Don't you want to see your grandmother again, and your sister?"
Daniel did not answer. He was ashamed to say that he did not want to see them, but it was true.
"They have worried about you, just as I have," said Simon. "If you go back with me you need stay only a day or two. Just to let them see you are well. It would please them."
"Rosh might need me." Daniel felt upset and resentful, as he had that day on the mountain top with Joel. What was there in the village for him but the old troubles that had ceased to bother him up here?
In the end, however, he let Simon persuade him, Simon and his own curiosity. Rosh grumbled, but there was an irresistible confidence about Simon that Rosh admired. The difficulty came from the one Daniel had not reckoned with at all. As he and Simon walked to the edge of the clearing, a vast shape rose from the mouth of the cave and moved after them. Looking back, Daniel found Samson at his heels.
"Go back, Samson," he ordered. "I go alone this time." He called Joktan, and the red-haired boy jumped to answer. "See that he gets his meals," he told the boy.
Joktan shut his lips tight, looking stubborn and scared.
"He won't touch you," Daniel urged. "Just for one day, Jok. I'll do your work for you when I get back."
Joktan agreed sullenly.
"Anyone who tries any tricks will have me to reckon with," Daniel shot back over his shoulder.
But when he and Simon started forward again the big man moved behind them.
"No!" shouted Daniel, angry now. He waved his arms. The man stared at him without expression—or was there an expression that Daniel did not want to see? "You cannot follow me," the boy said. "Wait. I'll be back." Then he turned and stamped down the trail behind Simon. At the first turn he looked back. Samson stood at the top of the trail looking down. He did not move, and Daniel raised a hand briefly to him and went on.
As they walked, Daniel tried again to persuade Simon. "If you're a Zealot, if you work for the same end as Rosh, why won't you join him?"
"When the day comes." said Simon. "When the one comes who will lead us, then we will all join together. In t
he meantime, as I said before, Rosh and I don't see eye to eye. For one thing, I prefer to earn my own bread and meat."
The insult to Rosh was like a blow to Daniel. "Doesn't a warrior earn his keep?" he demanded hotly. "Rosh would give his life for Israel. Why should the farmers begrudge him a few scraps? They owe him far more than he takes."
"Perhaps so," said Simon mildly. "I did not mean to anger you, my friend. There will be need for warriors. But just now there is always a need for a good blacksmith."
Daniel subsided into scowling silence. They left the rocky trail and came out on the road through the green pastureland that sloped down to the village. Presently they reached a small ford that crossed a mountain stream which gathered in a pebbly hollow richly overgrown with fern and clusters of rosy oleander and purple iris. Simon stopped and studied the spot.
"This will do, I think, he said. He began to remove his head covering. Daniel watched, puzzled.
"We will have to bathe here," said Simon. "When we reach the village it will be too late."
"Too late?"
"It will be sundown, and the Sabbath will have begun."
Daniel reddened. How could he have kept track of the Sabbath? Had Simon guessed that in the cave one day was the same as another? Simon, not looking at him, was carefully folding his cloak and spreading it on a bush. To Daniel's eyes Simon had no need to bathe. Daniel looked down at his own arms, streaked with soot and sweat. If Simon had said another word, or even looked up, he would have abandoned the whole visit. But after a moment he stamped into the fern, stripped off his own filthy tunic, and splashed into the pool. The feel of the water, after weeks of measuring it by drops from a goatskin bag, was sharp pleasure. Daniel scooped up handfuls of sand and pebbles and scraped his hands and feet. Then he got down on his knees and plunged his whole head into the stream. He came up dripping, to find Simon already dressed, sitting on the bank and smiling at him. This time he managed a sheepish grin in return.