They returned Noah’s pouch to him with just enough formality to indicate that he and his friends were no longer considered as among those upon whom it was permissible to prey, but at the same time they regarded with covetous eyes the food sacks and wineskins which burdened the donkey. They would not steal, and they were too proud to beg, but an invitation to share, it was implied, would not be declined. The donkey was quickly unloaded. Then Noah remembered Deborah and, reproaching himself, called out to her. Instantly he saw her face appear above the boulder behind which she had been hiding, and he gestured to her to come down. They met halfway up the trail and embraced. “We are safe then?” she asked as they walked down together. “They are not brigands?” “We are perfectly safe, but yes, they are brigands. One of them, however, is a friend of mine.” “You have friends who are brigands?” “He wasn’t a brigand when I knew him before.” By the time they returned, most of the wine had been drunk and everyone was on convivial terms.
