The Thief (13 page)

Now, he left every morning hoping to be hired by a Jew who didn’t know of his disgrace at the temple or a Gentile who didn’t care that he was slow and weak. Most days, he returned discouraged and empty-handed, with only the outlandish stories he’d
heard about the Messiah and the coming overthrow of the Romans.

“I hate it that you are working for those Romans dogs,” Cedron told Nissa as he ate the bread she set before him each evening.

He’d hate it more if he knew she was stealing from the priests and Levites of the temple.

“If I’d been taught a skill . . .” he went on with a frown. But Abba hadn’t thought a blind son worthy of an apprenticeship. Cedron sighed and covered his eyes with his hand.

“Don’t worry, Cedron.” Nissa leaned her cheek on her brother’s shoulder. “You’ll find something.” And until he did, she would take care of them.

The scent of peppermint and cloves drifted over her as Dismas emerged from the shadows. “Where to today, Mouse?”

Her heart sped, and her fingers itched. “Not the market.” They’d been there last week. “To the temple.” The Pharisees and priests got rich from taxes and temple sacrifice; they could afford a tithe to her and her brother.

She slipped around Dismas and headed toward the towering edifice across the city. A thrill of excitement shivered up her back. At least one Pharisee would go home with a lighter purse because of her.

They hurried down the streets, passing the marble houses and the fragrant courtyards of the very men they would be stealing from. She rounded the corner, and her heart jumped into her throat. A line of Roman soldiers blocked their path. Men shouted and threw clods of dirt at an ebony-skinned man dragging a heavy wooden beam through the street. Blood dripped from his face and arms, and his legs were scored with wounds.

“Get along!” a centurion shouted and brought a stick down hard on the man’s back.

She stumbled backward and pressed close against the wall.

Dismas peered around the corner. He fell back beside her, his face pale. “
Feu
, not Ammon.”

“Who is it?”

Dismas shuddered. “A man I know—knew. We used to work together.”

Work together? Like she and Dismas worked together? A tremble of fear weakened her knees. “But they don’t crucify thieves.”

“They do if they’re caught stealing with a knife, or at night.”

“What do you mean?” Nissa pulled at his sleeve.

Dismas’s brows jerked together. “For a Jew your age, you don’t know much of your own laws.” Dismas tugged at the neck of his tunic like he couldn’t breathe. “Listen, Mouse. Don’t carry a knife when you steal. Not ever. Not even a little one.”

“But I don’t.”

“And only steal in the daylight, right? Like we do. That way, if you get caught, the worst they can do is a scourging.” His mouth twisted as though he felt the lash of the whip. “It’s bad enough, believe me. But if you have a knife on you—like that idiot always carried, even though I told him not to? Or you are stealing at night?” He jerked his head toward the soldiers. “Death. And the Romans know how to make a man suffer.”

A cold shiver passed over Nissa as Dismas hurried in the opposite direction. She had to run to keep up with him. She’d never seen him look like that—shaken, terrified.

Dismas stopped abruptly and grabbed her by the shoulders. “It is a bad omen, Mouse. Very bad. Let’s forget this. I never should have gotten you started stealing with me. Go home. Work in the fields, in the mines, anything. If you ended up like Ammon or . . .” He swallowed hard.

Nissa looked into his worried eyes. “Or what?”

He shook his head.

“Tell me.” What was it that made Dismas quake like an old woman?

He dropped his gaze to the ground. “Mouse, I’ve been a thief all my life, but I wasn’t always old.” His hands on her shoulders
gentled. “I had a family in Tyre. A beautiful wife and a daughter. So long ago, it was like another lifetime.”

Dismas with a family? Dread thickened her throat.

“I wanted to give them everything. Beautiful things—jewels and gold and clothes.” He closed his eyes, and pain crossed his face. “My wife begged me to stop stealing, but I didn’t listen.”

Nissa swallowed hard. “What happened?” But she didn’t want to know.

Dismas slumped against the wall. “I got greedy. I thought . . . I thought I was invincible. I stole from a man, a ruthless man. He didn’t catch me, but he found out who I was. When I got home . . .” His voice cracked. “My wife and daughter were dead. Beaten, their throats cut . . . their hands severed from their bodies.”

Nissa clenched her hands behind her back. That’s why he was so careful.

“I left Tyre and never went back.” He ran his palm over his face, looking older than ever.

Another of Dismas’s rules chimed in her head.
Don’t get greedy.
And now she knew why. Dismas, who loved women, had lost the two he loved the most. “But you’re still stealing?”

He grimaced. “Mouse, I have nothing more to lose.” He pushed away from the wall. “But you do. Go home; do something else. Anything but this.”

She should listen to Dismas.
You’ve tried everything,
the voice whispered.
You can’t do anything else.

Dismas fumbled through his pockets and came out with a silver drachma. “Here, this will help for a while. Until you—”

She pushed his hand away. A drachma wouldn’t last long. Not with the rent due and Cedron no closer to finding work that he could do with no skill and little strength.

No. She had to steal, and she needed Dismas to do it. She wouldn’t get caught, and neither would he. They’d be careful.

Nissa shook her head. “Don’t worry. Look—” She showed him her empty hands. “No knife. And it’s still daylight.”

He looked uncertain.

She tried again. “What about those women you talk about? Will they still love you when you come to them empty-handed?” It was unfair, but she knew it would work. Women were his weakness. She pushed the picture of his wife and daughter from her mind. That was a long time ago. He couldn’t help them now, but he could help her.

Nissa veered past him and continued toward the temple. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was following her, but he started at every sound and stayed close to the walls.

By the time they reached the Royal Stoa, Dismas still looked grim but led her to the money changers working at their tables. A Pharisee, his tassels long and full, argued with one of the money changers. His purse was open in his hand.

Nissa nodded to Dismas. He sidled alongside the two men, pulled a handful of lepta from his pocket, and bumped into the table. The chime of copper hitting the stone floor turned the head of the Pharisee and the money changer.

Nissa darted forward. As the Pharisee bent to retrieve the worthless lepta and the money changer leaned over to watch Dismas, she dipped a sure, quick hand into the open purse.

As she melted back into the crowd, her gaze fell on a sight that made her fingers tingle. The rotund little priest—the one named Thaddeus who had set the guards on Cedron—entered the Court of the Gentiles, surrounded by a dozen or more pious Jews. His hands, clasped in front of his belly, sparkled with gold and gems.

How she’d love to lighten his fingers.

Guilt fluttered within her. These were God’s chosen servants, weren’t they? To steal from them would be like stealing from the Almighty.

Remember what they did to Cedron,
the grim voice reminded her.

Yes. Their harsh words, the way they had turned her weak parents against them, the men attacking Cedron and beating him. These priests and Pharisees were the guilty ones.

She caught Dismas’s eye and nodded toward the jewels.

Dismas moved in behind her. “No, Mouse. Too dangerous.”

She swallowed a protest. Dismas was right to be careful. This time.
I’ll get a chance, and when I do, I’ll get revenge for Cedron.

By the time the last trumpets rang out into the dusky sky, Nissa and Dismas were divvying up their spoils in a doorway behind the Hippodrome. His worried expression was replaced with a satisfied smile. “You did well, Mouse. You might be the best pickpocket in the city.”

Her chest swelled with pride. Abba had been wrong. She was good at something. Even after giving Dismas his cut, she had plenty for a month of rent and more. Gilad would be pleased.

Dismas tucked his own coins in his belt. “How about we go have a jug of wine? I know a place by the north wall. Good wine. Better women. We’ll go to the bathhouse on the way so you can wash some dirt off. You proved yourself a man tonight, might as well celebrate with a woman.”

The thought of a pagan bathhouse—with Dismas—made her face burn under the dirt and ash. She shook her head. “Not this time.”

Dismas’s face creased in disappointment. “All right, Mouse. Scurry on home.” His yellowed teeth flashed again as he punched her shoulder. “If you change your mind, take my advice. Women like men who smell good.”

He disappeared into the gathering gloom.

Nissa hurried toward the lower city. Dismas might bury his memories with wine and women, but she wanted only to wash in the clean waters of Siloam. Tonight, the waters of Siloam would cleanse her, and tomorrow, she’d give alms to the beggars at the temple. Surely that would make up for her sin and lighten the guilt that pressed heavily on her shoulders.

LONGINUS SCANNED THE
camp, shading his eyes from the late-afternoon sun. Twenty legionaries worked in the practice yard,
sparring halfheartedly with wooden swords. The rest of his century seemed to be lounging outside their tents or playing dice. The stables reeked, and the cooking tent looked like it had been ransacked by a horde of angry Picts.

He scowled at Cornelius. “Keeping the men busy, I see.”

Cornelius smirked. “You were gone longer than three weeks.”

Longinus cursed under his breath. He could almost hear Silvanus’s triumphant laugh all the way from Caesarea. He’d underestimated the wily jackal. No sooner had the legion left Jerusalem than Longinus had been assigned to escort a caravan of supplies to Damascus. He’d had to leave Cornelius in command just when he was beginning to make some progress finding the thieves.

The assignment that should have taken three weeks had kept him at the edge of the empire for almost two months thanks to dust storms, incompetent officials, and unrest among the nomadic chieftains of the desert. Now he was months behind in finding the thieves, and the camp was a disgrace. Leaving Cornelius in command of both centuries was like leaving a drunk in charge of a wineshop.

“Any word of the two thieves—the Mouse and the Greek—while I was gone?”

Cornelius shrugged. “Crucified a thief today.”

“Greek?”

“Nah. Egyptian. Got caught a week ago sneaking into one of the houses in the upper city. He pulled a knife. Pilate sent authorization from Caesarea.”

At least Cornelius was doing something. Longinus started down the Via Praetoria. Might as well see how bad the rest of the camp looked. “What about the Jew from Nazareth? Is he in the city?”

“No one’s seen him, but there have been plenty of stories.” Cornelius fell into step beside Longinus.

“What kind of stories?”

Cornelius snorted. “These Jews will believe anything. Curing
lepers, feeding five thousand men with a loaf of bread. You know how they are.”

Yes, he did know how these Jews were. Rumors of Jesus had blown through the province like dust devils, even all the way to Damascus. Two months ago, Longinus would have scoffed, but he’d seen the blind man healed at Siloam. There was no denying that Jesus had some kind of power.

Cornelius passed by a jumble of empty wine amphorae like he couldn’t see them. “Some of the priests say he’s in hiding; others say he’s in Bethany. Who cares? As long as he’s not here.”

This wasn’t the news Longinus wanted to hear. He had questions for the enigmatic Nazarene. Still, Passover was months away. He might yet see him. “What else? Any trouble brewing in the city?”

“Just the usual—wells are low, crops in danger, they can’t pay their taxes. They complain about everything.”

They reached the Praetorian gate at the edge of camp. Longinus stared out into the upper market full of people buying and selling. The wet season should have started weeks ago, but no rain had fallen on Jerusalem. Grass was brown on the hillsides, and crops withered in the fields. Drought wouldn’t help keep the peace. Hungry people, overtaxed and worried about their harvest, were more likely to rise up against their oppressors. And revolution was exactly what he didn’t need.

“You’ve had a long trip.” Cornelius jerked his head toward the city. “How about heading to the lower city brothels with me for a little entertainment?”

Longinus clamped his teeth together. The city on the edge of revolt, and the legionaries were visiting brothels? Cornelius might be Silvanus’s favorite, but Longinus still outranked him and it was time he remembered it. “You’ve had enough entertainment while I’ve been gone, Cornelius. Guard duty tonight. And tomorrow, be ready at dawn.”

“Dawn?” Cornelius sounded like a spoiled child.

This sorry excuse for a centurion wasn’t just indolent and
soft; he was pathetic. “Yes. Dawn. A thirty-mile march, full kit. Tell the men.”

Cornelius scowled and marched back to the barracks, grumbling under his breath.

The trumpets blew, signaling the end of the day. Longinus needed to think, and he couldn’t do it in this pigsty of a camp. He strode through the gate and out into the city. How would he find the thieves now that the trail was cold? He could start asking questions again, but with his Roman clothes and foreign face, he wouldn’t get far. These Jews would curse their own mothers before they’d help him.

Longinus kept one hand on his knife as he loped down the streets toward the lower market. Night crept into the city. First backstreets and alleys turned murky; then the haze of twilight stole down the Stepped Street and over the squares and courtyards.

His heartbeat quickened. He wasn’t afraid, just cautious. Jerusalem in the night wasn’t any safer than other cities he’d been in—Alexandria, Tiberias, even Caesarea had turned out to be deadly. Death could strike when you least expected it; he’d learned that from Scipio.