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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 the 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.
    They reached the village just as the thin clear note of the ram's horn sounded the first call to the Sabbath, signaling the workers to leave the fields. Nothing had really changed in five years, except that it all looked much smaller than Daniel had remembered, the streets narrower and dirtier, the dooryards shabbier and more cluttered. There were a few new houses with fresh mud walls and thatch still green on the roofs. He tried to recall who lived in this house or that one. They passed the shop of Amalek, so crumbling and out of repair that no new occupant had attempted to restore it to use. They passed the deserted square, and the well where four weary donkeys were being hastily watered. They entered a dark narrow street, at the end of which stood the small remembered house, its clay walls dark and crumbling, its roof sagging. Here Simon halted.
    "I will leave you," he said. "You will do better to go in by yourself."
    Daniel looked at the house uneasily. "How