The Thief (15 page)

The thought quickened her pulse. She’d rather face a dozen drunks and cutthroats than see his foreign face again. He hadn’t hurt her, but when he’d grabbed her, she’d been sure he knew—sure he’d found out her secret and was taking her away. Instead, the idiot had been trying to teach her a lesson. As if she needed a lesson in how strong he was.

Good night, pretty Nissa,
he’d said. Her cheeks burned. No one called her pretty. Why did it have to come from some infernal Roman? And why was he back in Jerusalem?

She let her head loll back against the wall. She’d been up with the dawn, hurrying to the temple to give alms to the beggars. Perhaps the Lord would smile on them now that she’d atoned for her sins. Perhaps Cedron would find work today.

A shadow blocked the sun. Had she slept that long? She jerked awake, upsetting the stool. A strong hand closed around her shoulder. Another caught her around the waist as the stool lurched from under her. As if she’d brought forth the vision from her dreams, she opened her eyes to see red hair lit from the sun like a burning torch.

“Let me go!” she sputtered and scrambled to get her feet under her, pushing his hands away. She stumbled backward, but the wall of the house was firm behind her, the wall of his chest just inches in front of her. She was trapped.

“Easy, little Nissa.” He raised his empty hands.

This morning he wore his shining breastplate with the crest and ribbons over a red tunic and a leather belt. She caught the glint of a knife hilt and the sword at his side.

“Don’t ‘easy’ me. I’m not your horse, centurion.” She slid around him and backed into the courtyard. “What are you doing here?” And when would he leave?

“This must be the hospitality you people speak of with such pride?”

This Roman was accusing
her
of rudeness? “You expect hospitality after attacking me?”

He ran a hand over his hair, raising it into fiery red spikes. “Attacking? If I was trying, I could have killed you before you opened your eyes.”

She backed toward the fire.

His eyes followed her. He tipped his head to the side with a quick smile. “Maybe I should have stolen a kiss instead.” His teeth were only a bit crooked, and a dimple marked the side of his freckled cheek. He suddenly looked not like a soldier but like a man. A handsome man.
But not as handsome as Gilad.

She glared at him as a flush burned over her cheeks. “I’m not sure which would be worse.”

He laughed like he had last night. It was deep and rumbly, like the sound of a far-off rainstorm.

He shouldn’t even be here.

“I’m not here to ravage you, Nissa. Although you were a tempting sight with your mouth open, snoring louder than your donkey.”

She pressed her lips together.
I don’t snore.

Longinus’s bright blue eyes took in the donkey, the garden, and the house in one sweep. He ducked his head into the doorway. He turned to her, the smile and the dimple gone. “I’m looking for your brother.”

“He’s out.” Nissa fumbled to right the toppled stool. “And he
won’t offer you the kiss of peace when he comes home.” Perhaps now he’d leave.

Instead, he picked up the three-legged stool and brought it closer to the fire, settling carefully on it and leaning over to warm his hands. “So he’s looking for work?”

Nissa nodded. What was she supposed to do with a Roman soldier in her courtyard? Offer him water like a Jewish visitor? Food?
Don’t talk to him. Maybe he’ll just go away.

Longinus glanced at the water jar. “It is a dry day, and dusty.”

Nissa sighed and went to the water jar. She scooped up a cool cupful and brought it to him, looking down at his feet while he drank. Even his toes were freckled.

“Thank you.” He handed her the cup, and his hands brushed over hers. “I haven’t had such good water since I drank from the springs of Gaul.”

Gaul. A land she’d heard of over the sea, past Rome, a land so distant it seemed like it couldn’t be real. “Gaul? You’ve been there?” She bit down on her lip.
Don’t talk to him.

He raised his brows at her. “I have.”

She shrugged and crouched next to the fire, turning the cup over in her hands. She’d never met anyone who had traveled farther than Damascus.

He held his hands over the flames. They were huge and covered with nicks and scars. “My father was stationed there. My mother was born there.”

So that was why he looked so different. His mother had married the enemy. “I thought soldiers couldn’t marry?”

He picked up a stick and poked the fire. “They can’t, not really. But many do. The wives aren’t considered Roman citizens. They can’t inherit if something happens to their husbands. And something usually does.” His mouth hardened like he was remembering something painful.

“Did that happen to your mother?”
Not that I care.
But she
did like the sound of his voice, the way he spoke the Aramaic words so carefully.

“Yes. My father dragged her from one camp to another. Through Gaul, back to Rome, then to the frontier in Britannia.” He raised his eyes to hers. They were bluer than the sky above. “So cold, Britannia. Your winter is probably the warmest it ever got there. And wet. I hated it.” He shivered.

Britannia.
She tried out the word silently. It even sounded cold.

Longinus stared into the flames. “But Gaul . . . the sky is blue, and the grass sparkles in the morning like . . .” He searched for a word. “Like emeralds.”

He stirred the fire again. The coals broke into an upward shower of sparks, twisting into the air and disappearing into ash. “There are meadows full of flowers that stretch for miles. And forests so deep and thick.” He stared at the glowing coals. “So peaceful. Like you are the only person in the world.”

He reached for another stick of wood and put it on the fire.

Peaceful? Flowers and forests? Romans only thought of battles and pillage and destruction. She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.
I wish he’d go back to Gaul if he likes it so much.
“How do you know our language?”

His brows came down. “I don’t like not knowing what the people around me are saying.”

He spoke it well, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. He was her enemy, in more ways than one, even if his words sounded more like a poet’s than a soldier’s.

The gate creaked, and Nissa jumped.

Cedron hobbled in, his face creasing in worry when he saw the centurion.

Nissa backed away. Cedron would make him go now.

Longinus stood, and the stool fell over again. “Cedron.” He nodded. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

Cedron approached Longinus. “What are you doing here? And with my sister?”

Longinus glanced at Nissa, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Your sister’s virtue is safe with me.”

Nissa’s face flamed like the cooking fire. How dare he mock her?

Cedron stepped back. “I recognize you, centurion, and I thank you for helping me,” he said, glancing at Nissa. “Us. That day.” He motioned to the gate. “But you must leave.”

Longinus glanced at Nissa, his brows raised, but he ignored Cedron’s rudeness. “I’ve been gone, to the Decapolis. It’s the first chance I’ve had to find you. I’m glad you recovered.”

Nissa poured water into a cup and brought it to Cedron.

He drank deeply, his eyes never leaving the centurion. “You’re posted here in Jerusalem again?”

“Just until Passover.”

“Why? Is there trouble here?” Cedron paced to the door of the little house, then turned back to Longinus and crossed his arms.

Nissa swallowed. Cedron was digging for information on the legions. Information for his Zealot friends.

“No. Unless you count thieves breaking your commandments as trouble.”

Thieves?
Nissa fumbled with the water jar, almost dropping it. Both men stopped talking and watched her. She hurried to the corner of the house and set the jar on the ground. She knelt, her back to the men, and poured a measure of wheat on the grinding stone. Making bread would hide the tremors in her hands. She just hoped the centurion wouldn’t stay long enough to eat it.

“The thieves you were looking for when you ran me down?”

“The same. A little one and a tall Greek.”

Cedron drained his cup and paced back to the fire. “There are always thieves in the marketplace. Why do you care? You’re here to keep us under Rome’s thumb, not to protect us from our own people.”

Longinus grunted. “You’re right. It’s not my problem. But I have my reasons.”

Cedron nodded. “They break our commandments. I wish you success in finding them.” Cedron looked pointedly at the door.

Longinus didn’t move from his place by the fire. “Nissa told me you aren’t finding work.”

Nissa added water and a sprinkle of salt to the flour and kneaded it, then glanced behind her to see Cedron pacing again.

“We’re getting by. Nissa has work.”

Longinus’s gaze went to Nissa, to the stash of grain and oil, the honey and the new clothes. His brows flickered.

Worry tightened Nissa’s shoulders. Longinus was far less naive than Cedron. Would he know the food and clothes she bought were worth more than one woman could earn in two months? Nissa carried the rounds of dough to the fire and pressed one against the flat cooking rock, watching Longinus out of the corner of her eye.

Longinus went on. “I’ve been asking questions in the marketplace. Someone must know something about the thieves, but they aren’t talking to me.”

“No, with that Roman sword at your side, they won’t.”

“That’s where I need you.”

Nissa froze. What did he mean?

“Me?” Cedron stopped his pacing directly across the fire from Longinus.

“To ask questions. To listen. And to use your new eyes to find the thieves.”

Nissa jerked her hand from the fire and stuck her burnt thumb in her mouth. Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t draw a breath. Cedron, her own brother, searching the city for her and Dismas? She had to stop this.

Cedron ran a hand over his beard, his brows drawn together. “Why should I help you?”

“They break your commandments. They steal from your people. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Cedron didn’t answer.

“I’ll pay you enough to move out of this section of the city.”
He motioned to Nissa. “It’s dangerous for your sister to walk past the taverns and brothels to get water.”

Cedron turned his eyes on Nissa, his brow furrowed.

She threw another round of bread on the stone. He couldn’t be considering this ridiculous idea, could he? “I’m fine, Cedron. You don’t want to work for the Romans. You can’t—”

“And you can?”

“You’d be a traitor to your own people—”

“I wouldn’t be a traitor. They are thieves; they break the commandments.” He rubbed his beard. “You’ve been praying I find work. We both have. Perhaps this is what the Lord is asking me to do.” He sat down and stared into the fire.

The Lord wanted Cedron to hunt down his own sister?
This can’t be happening.

Longinus rubbed his hands together. “I’ll give you five denarii for each of them.”

Ten denarii? For her and Dismas?

“A lot for pickpockets.”

“Believe me, I have good reason to want them caught.”

Nissa rescued another burnt round of bread from the fire.
Please, no.
She dumped the charred bread in Cedron’s lap and retreated to the corner of the courtyard. How could she get enough silver to live on if Cedron himself was searching for Mouse?

Longinus accepted the bread Cedron offered him. He looked at Nissa, a smile lurking on his lips. “Thank you, little Nissa.” To Cedron, he said. “You are fortunate to have such a good cook taking care of you. Don’t make her walk past that scum twice a day.” He jerked his head toward the brothels.

Cedron frowned. He prayed over his bread, broke it, and stuffed a portion in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, his brow still furrowed and his eyes on the fire.

Would he really say yes to the Roman? Her brother, who hated the occupation of the land, who spent his time with the Zealots, dreaming of revolt? No. He’d never agree to it.

When they had both finished their bread, Cedron stood. “I’ll do it.”

Nissa’s stomach buckled, and a chill swept over her skin.
No, Cedron. Please don’t.
She bit her lip before her words came out.

“I’ll start with my friends the beggars. They hear everything.”

Longinus strode around the fire and clapped Cedron on the shoulder. “Good. Between the two of us, we’ll hunt them down by winter’s end.”

At least now he would leave and Nissa could speak plainly to Cedron. She could beg him not to work for the Roman. There had to be a way to change his mind.

But Longinus lingered at the fire, staring into the flames. He picked up the stick, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles whitened. “Have you heard word of the man who healed you?”

Cedron raised his brows in surprise. “Jesus of Nazareth?”

Longinus grunted.

Cedron’s voice turned suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

Hope flickered in Nissa. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to change Cedron’s mind. If his new Roman friend wanted to turn Jesus over to the Sanhedrin, Cedron would throw him out of the courtyard and never speak to him again.

“I want to ask him some questions.”

Cedron answered carefully. “I’ve heard much of him these past months. Healing the sick, walking on water. Even bringing a child back from the dead.”

Longinus jerked his head up and turned his intense blue gaze on Cedron. “Do you believe it, what you hear?”

Cedron motioned to his own eyes. “I believe every word.”

Nissa leaned forward.

Longinus poked at the flames, raising a shower of sparks. “Can you get me to him?”

Cedron’s eyes narrowed at the Roman. “There are many who hate him and would like to see him dead.”

“Dead? What has he done to them?”

“What he says—what he proclaims—is blasphemy. He
speaks to the poor, the powerless, and he mocks the rich and powerful. He isn’t the Messiah the Pharisees are looking for.”