The Thief (14 page)

A dry wind swept through the city, bringing the scent of cooking fires and burning lamp oil. Every tall Greek and roughly dressed man who might be from Galilee caught his eye. He saw the small thief in every half-grown boy. He passed by rickety houses and rowdy taverns full of men. As he approached Siloam, his thoughts returned to the miracle. What had happened to the blind man and his sister? Did they live in the lower city where he’d left them? He wouldn’t mind seeing Cedron’s little scrap of a sister. She might be rude and stubborn, but she had the courage of a lion.

It had been nearly a year since he’d felt the soft touch of a woman. Where a Roman legion went, a battalion of women followed—wives, mistresses, prostitutes—hard to tell them apart sometimes. They were part of a soldier’s life, and a welcome one.
But in the months since Scipio died, he’d had no stomach for carousing with the legionaries. Still, he missed the feel of a woman’s soft hair and smooth skin, the sound of her sweet voice.

Nissa’s voice was more like a crow than a dove, and her skin was covered with dirt. Not to mention he was a Roman and she, a Jew. A difficult, prickly Jew. A smile twitched at his lips. He didn’t envy the Jew who took Nissa as a wife. She wouldn’t be docile, but neither would she be dull.

Longinus reached the steps to the Pool of Siloam. It would be deserted by now. Women were at home, serving the evening meal to their men. The water would feel good on his aching feet. He climbed the stairs leading to the wide, flat esplanade that stretched into the darkness. The sounds of the street faded. The inky black water reflected a sprinkling of stars and the thin crescent moon.

He stepped down into the cool water. A welcome chill rushed through him, but a splash across the pool made him tense and step back onto dry stone. He wasn’t alone. His hand went to his sword. A willowy form rose from the water at the other end of the pool, hardly visible in the black night except for a clinging white tunic.

A ghost rising from the water? Or a water sprite? The figure turned, and in the wan light of the moon, he discerned slight curves. Just a woman. But what was a woman doing out by herself at night?

Her hand rubbed her shoulder as if to massage away an ache.

Recognition sparked through him. It was Nissa.
So she
does
bathe. What is she trying to do, get herself killed?

She bent to scoop up a bundle of clothes. He retreated toward the staircase, careful that his sandals made no sound. He tiptoed down the steps to the street and scooted around the corner of the wall, out of sight.

What if another man had seen her coming out of the water like that? Yes, women bathed in Siloam. But not alone. And not at night, with the moon shining on their hair and turning their
skin to alabaster. The little idiot could have gotten herself killed—or worse. If any woman in Jerusalem needed a husband to protect her, it was this reckless girl. What was her brother thinking? The hand of death knew no restraint; it would cut a young woman down with no remorse.

He leaned against the wall and listened for the soft patter of her steps. When the slim form flashed past him, he waited, then fell into step ten paces behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her pace increased.

He sped up. He’d just make sure she got home safely.

She followed the streets toward the tanners’ district, where the stench permeated the night air. Houses and shops gave way to brothels and taverns. Shouts and raucous laughter came from the doorways. A drunk man stumbled out of a doorway and retched in the street.

Longinus pulled his dagger.
This is no place for a respectable woman.
He sped up, closing the gap between them.

Nissa darted around a corner.

He broke into a run. What was the little idiot doing now? He clattered around the corner and pulled up sharply.

Nissa stood in the middle of the narrow street, her bundle clutched to her chest. Wet hair clung to her pale cheeks, and she trembled like a cornered rabbit. “Why are you following me?”

He walked toward her slowly. She wasn’t quite so prickly now. “Why are you out alone? And in this part of town?” He jerked his head toward the brothel on the corner. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

She stepped backward, her hands tightening on the clothes in her arms. “Answer my question; don’t ask three of me, centurion.” She spit out the last word like it was poison. “And I can take care of myself.”

Irritation rose in his chest. He didn’t deserve her ire. “My name is Longinus, and believe me, you can’t.” He checked behind him, tucking his dagger back in his belt. “I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

She snorted. “I’m safe with a Roman soldier?”

What an ungrateful little minx.
He covered the ground between them with two long strides. His hand closed over her wrist, and he jerked her toward him.

She pulled back. He held tight.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she glared up at him. “Let me go.”

“You can take care of yourself, can you?” He snaked a hand behind her and caught a fistful of wet hair at the nape of her neck.

She struggled.

He held her wrist and her hair firmly enough to prove she was caught like a rabbit in a snare. “What will you do now?”

“I’ll scream.”

“And these men will rush to help you?” He glanced at the nearest doorway, a brothel. “They’re more likely to join in the fun.”

The last woman he’d held like this had been the Samaritan girl. She’d been terrified but ready to fight, just like Nissa. He’d been so angry, intent on avenging Scipio’s death. But it wasn’t the girl he had wanted, just the man she was with—the Samaritan with the scar. And this time he wasn’t angry.

Nissa was stronger than she looked, but she didn’t stand a chance against a man. He bent close, whispering in her ear. “You’re a brave one”—
by Pollux, she has more mettle than some of my men
—“but courage won’t save you against a man’s strength. Believe me.”

She slumped forward, all the fight leaving her.
Good. She has some sense.
He loosened his hold.

The moment his grip relaxed, she wrenched backward and kicked, her hard-soled sandals connecting with his bare shin and shooting pain up his leg. She spit out words no Jewish woman should know.

Longinus dropped her hand and let out a yelp. The wildcat was a quick thinker, and she knew how to curse in Greek. She
turned to run, but he extended his hand and stopped her midstride. “You’re smarter than you look, little one.”

“You’re not,” she shot back.

He couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. This little Jew was full of surprises.

She stared at him, her eyes as bright as the stars above them. “Let me go now that you’ve had your laugh.”

Laugh? When was the last time he’d laughed? He was enjoying himself for the first time in months.
Flirting with a Jewish spinster? What was I thinking?
He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on her wrist. “I’ll see you home.”

She stamped toward the north like an angry child, pulling him along.

His grip didn’t falter, but he had to lengthen his stride to stay close to her. The air sweetened as they reached the perfumers’ district, but the silence between them was as sour as bad wine.
It wouldn’t kill her to be civil.
“Is your brother healed?”

She didn’t slow or even turn her head.

Perhaps he wasn’t. “Did his injuries fester?” That could happen too easily; he’d seen it a hundred times.

She wrenched her arm away, and this time he let her go.

“Is it his eyes? Can he still see?”

She frowned. “Of course.” She started forward again and turned down an alleyway. He barely heard her mumble, “Not that it’s helped him at all.”

“What do you mean?”

She frowned at him like he was a child asking too many questions. “His knee . . . and the priests . . .” She shook her head. “He spends his time talking about Jesus and complaining about the—” She snapped her mouth shut.

Complaining about the Romans.
No surprise there.

Nissa had stopped in front of a crooked door clinging to a crumbling wall. “Here. I’m home. Now will you go away?”

By Jupiter, she is difficult.
She stared up at him like he was her enemy.

You
are
her enemy.

He had questions and needed answers, but like the rest of the Jews, Nissa wasn’t going to give them to him. An idea flickered like the twinkle of the stars in the night sky. If Cedron needed a job, he could give him one. Clearly, they needed money, and he had plenty gathering dust in the principia treasury.

Tomorrow, he’d find Cedron at home, and then he’d lay out his plan. Nissa wouldn’t like it, but she wouldn’t have a choice. He tipped his head and gave her a wink. “Good night, pretty Nissa. Don’t go out alone. You never know who might find you.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but for once, no sharp words followed.

He almost smiled as he turned away. For the first time since he’d met her, Nissa was speechless.

Chapter 12

N
ISSA PLOPPED DOWN
on the three-legged stool and almost fell over. She picked it up, flipped it over, and snorted. One leg was shorter than the rest. Cedron wasn’t any better at carpentry than at finding work.

She settled more carefully on the stool and leaned her back against the warm wall of the house. Amit lifted his head from his manger of barley and snuffled. Bones no longer poked through his withers, and his belly had grown fat. Onions sprouted through the black earth in the southern corner of the courtyard. A rose vine climbed the wall near the gate, some of its blooms already starting to unfold thanks to the water she brought every day from Siloam. If the rains came soon, she’d almost have a real garden, like when she was young and her family had prospered.

Satisfaction seeped through her like the warming rays of the winter sun.
This is how it should be.
The house was swept clean, the sleeping mats rolled neatly in the corner. A jar of water sat in the shade next to containers of wheat, oil, and honey. Red lentils flavored with garlic and cumin simmered over the fire. She’d added too much salt, but Cedron wouldn’t complain.

Unbidden and unwanted, a song from the Tehillim came to her.
The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him . . .
She closed her eyes and shuttered the unwelcome prayer. Trusting in the Lord had given her nothing but bruises from Abba and an empty stomach.

When she was little more than a child, Abba had come home irate at the temple priests who had refused to buy his wood. “It’s your fault!” he’d shouted at Cedron, advancing on the blind youth. “You are impure, full of sin, they say. They won’t buy from me.”

Nissa had thrown herself between her father and unsuspecting brother. “Don’t touch him!”

And so Abba had turned his anger on her.

His hand came out of nowhere, slapping her across the face, pain stinging through her cheek. Cedron tried to help, but Abba pushed him aside. “I’ll teach you to speak against your father, you worthless girl.”

“Mama!” She called out for help, but Mama had stumbled into the dark house, her hands over her ears.

Abba pulled her up by the neck of her tunic. Tears welled in her eyes. She implored the Lord with the words she knew like her own heartbeat. “
Forsake me not, O Lord. My God, be not far from me.
”

Abba’s anger rained down on her. “Curse the day you were born. We’d be better off without you.” His words hammered as brutally as his fists.

Still, she called to the Lord. But the Almighty didn’t hear her, or he wasn’t listening.

It was the first time her father had beaten her, but not the last. Each time, she begged for the Lord’s help. She knew the stories. He’d saved Daniel from the jaws of the lions, Isaac from his father’s knife. “
Forsake me not, O Lord. My God, be not far from me!
” she cried. Why did he ignore her pleas?

When she was old enough to fight back, she did—with words as sharp as daggers. She didn’t care that they made Abba hit her harder.

Now, Cedron still sang of the Lord’s mercy, but the only words from the Tehillim she believed were those of David: “
My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?
” The Lord had yet to answer.

Nissa breathed deep, turning her face to the warmth of the
sun and pushing the cold memories away. She was no longer that weak girl. Abba couldn’t hurt her anymore.

The voice spoke, as smooth as honey.
You trusted in yourself. See now how blessed you are?

They were blessed, thanks to her.

The clatter of hooves and carts echoed from the street. Birds called from the walls and rooftops. The scent of roses perfumed the air, vying with the tang of straw and dung in Amit’s stall. Just a little rest, that’s all she needed. She’d lain awake through most of last night, listening to her brother snore, her nerves humming from the encounter with the centurion.

That centurion. Longinus.