The Bronze Bow: Chapters 1–2

At eighteen Daniel bar Jamin was unmistakably a Galilean, with the bold features of his countrymen, the sun-browned skin, and the brilliant dark eyes that could light with fierce patriotism and blacken with swift anger. A proud race, the Galileans, violent and restless, unreconciled that Palestine was a conquered nation, refusing to acknowledge as their lord the Emperor Tiberius in far-off Rome.

Looking down into the valley, the boy could see the silver-gray terraces of olive trees splashed with burgeoning thickets of oleander.

He remembered that in the brown, mud-roofed town every clump of earth, every cranny in a stone wall, would have burst into springtime flower. Remembering, he scowled up against the hot noonday sun.

He remembered that in the brown, mud-roofed town every clump of earth, every cranny in a stone wall, would have burst into springtime flower. Remembering, he scowled up against the hot noonday sun.

He was puzzled and uneasy, at odds with himself. Who were these two who had been so foolhardy as to climb the mountain?

Brother and sister, that was evident. They moved alike, with a sort of free, swinging ease. They had the same high cheekbones and dark ruddy complexions.

She had stopped to snatch a cluster of pink flax blossoms and she stood now, poised on a rock, her face lifted, her yellow head covering slipped back off her dark hair.

He was Joel bar Hezron, the red-cheeked boy who used to come to the synagogue school, the scribe’s son, the one the rabbi held up for an example, the one they used to tease because his twin sister always waited outside to walk home with him.

He was Joel bar Hezron, the red-cheeked boy who used to come to the synagogue school, the scribe’s son, the one the rabbi held up for an example, the one they used to tease because his twin sister always waited outside to walk home with him.

He had long since managed to quiet his conscience, and he did not like having it stirred up again.

The girl unwrapped the bundle and made three small piles, equal piles, he noticed, not skimping herself the way his mother used to do.

His sister frowned at him. “I don’t see why you always have to sound so dismal about it,” she protested. “I think Capernaum is going to be wonderful.”

“Of course I see!” She was stung almost to tears by her brother’s contempt. “But what use is it to be always making yourself miserable? The Romans won’t be here forever. We know that deliverance will come.”

“Of course I see!” She was stung almost to tears by her brother’s contempt. “But what use is it to be always making yourself miserable? The Romans won’t be here forever. We know that deliverance will come.”

She tossed her head. “What about the places we used to talk about? The plain where Joshua marched out against the heathen kings?”

Daniel could see that Joel was still seething with hidden thoughts.

In the middle of the trail, blocking their way, stood one of Rosh’s sentries, Ebol, waiting for them to come down.

Rosh spotted him yesterday when they stopped at Merom. Too good to waste on the galleys, Rosh says.

Joel’s eyes sparkled. His young face was taut, his hands clenched so that the knuckles knobbed out. Daniel saw that he had no intention of staying there, and an elation he had never felt before leaped up in him.

Above them the boys waited, holding their breaths, as the rest of the caravan wound slowly into sight. It was not much to brag about. Four mangy camels, lurching grudgingly up the steep path, their burdens swaying. A string of underfed mules. One litter with dingy curtains. Four ordinary tradesmen.

Above them the boys waited, holding their breaths, as the rest of the caravan wound slowly into sight. It was not much to brag about. Four mangy camels, lurching grudgingly up the steep path, their burdens swaying. A string of underfed mules. One litter with dingy curtains. Four ordinary tradesmen.

Above them the boys waited, holding their breaths, as the rest of the caravan wound slowly into sight. It was not much to brag about. Four mangy camels, lurching grudgingly up the steep path, their burdens swaying. A string of underfed mules. One litter with dingy curtains. Four ordinary tradesmen.

Behind the tradesmen plodded the slaves, first the men and then a drab cluster of women, herded close together, urged on by the flicking whips of two more guards in the rear.

Behind the tradesmen plodded the slaves, first the men and then a drab cluster of women, herded close together, urged on by the flicking whips of two more guards in the rear.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Rosh did not let him rest for long. “What are you waiting for?” the leader prodded him. “Get your file to those chains.”

Around the fire the sprawling figures reared up in protest.

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.

The slave crouched in a sort of stupor after his meal.

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.

“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...."