The Thief (17 page)

Cornelius advanced, his practice sword moving like lightning, forcing Longinus to step back once. Then again.
What’s the matter with me?
Cornelius was good but not that good.
Have I forgotten how to fight?
He let out a yell and bore down on the legionary, driving him backward.

Cornelius stumbled and fell. Longinus kicked Cornelius’s shield aside and pinned him to the ground with one foot. He raised his sword and let out a shout of victory.

He’d won the round, but it had been close. Too close. He pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat out of his eyes, then threw the practice sword to the next legionary in line and trudged to the water jar.

He dipped a gourd in the water and took a long drink. He dumped another dip of water over his head. He needed to keep his men strong, ready to fight. And he needed to be the same.

He passed the gourd to Cornelius. “Pilum practice for your men.” Throwing blunted wooden spears at one another would be good for them. “Then the vaulting horse in full armor.” The men needed toughening, and so did he. He was a legionary, by Jupiter. It was time to do what he should have done the moment he saw Stephen.

Longinus entered the carcer and descended the narrow steps. Marcellus stood guard outside the last door. He chose a long iron
key from the ring on his belt and turned the heavy pins of the lock. Pushing the door open, he moved aside for Longinus to enter.

Stephen leaned in the corner. He’d had no food or water. His eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were cracked and dry. He straightened and Longinus tensed for an attack, but Stephen’s face was untroubled, as peaceful as a child’s. Was this the same arrogant youth he had faced in the forum of Caesarea? But it was; he hadn’t denied his crime.

“Marcellus, bring me that bench.”

Marcellus dragged a bench through the door and left them.

Longinus pulled out his sword and sat. He laid the bare sword across his lap, the razor edges glinting in the weak sun that trickled through the high, barred window. “Are you ready to die?” he asked.

The Samaritan looked at him directly, his gaze clear and steady. “I’ve been ready for a long time.” Did this inscrutable youth have more courage than a Roman centurion?
He faces my sword without a qualm, while I ran like a coward from a band of unarmed lepers.
Shame burned in his chest and turned to anger.

He’ll know fear when I crucify him.
But first, Longinus had questions. “Tell me, you escaped me twice in Galilee. Why come here, to Jerusalem? Why didn’t you stay in the country where you were safe?”

“He told me to come here. To wait for him.”

“Who did?”

“Jesus.” Stephen said. “He said I would die here, in Jerusalem.”

“So he is a prophet.” Longinus watched Stephen for any sign of fear. “And don’t you care?”

Stephen licked his cracked lips. “If that is his will for me, then I will do it. Before I met him, in Capernaum, I wasn’t even alive. I didn’t know faith or love. Now I know both. I’ve seen miracles—impossible things—with my own eyes.”

This man was talking nonsense, but perhaps he could
explain what had happened at the Pool of Siloam. Longinus leaned forward. “How does he heal? What type of magic does he have?”

Stephen shook his head. “Not magic. Power.”

Power to raise an army? “What kind of power? Where does he get it?”

“From the Lord.”

The Lord.
I don’t want to hear anything more about the god of the Jews.
“But who is he?”

“Some say he is a prophet. Some say he is the Messiah, or John the Baptist come back to life. Even his followers don’t agree.”

Longinus rubbed his hand through his hair. Leave it to the Jews to disagree, even about their own messiah. “What—Who do you say he is?”

Stephen’s dark eyes burned with a fire, an intensity Longinus had seen before—when he sent his men into battle. “He is the son of God. The Messiah. The Taheb. The one we’ve been awaiting for thousands of years.”

“The son of a god?” Like Apollo?

“The son of
the
God.”

“And what is he here to do?” Overthrow Rome?
That isn’t going to happen.

At this, Stephen’s gaze faltered. “Heal his people. Bring us peace.”

Peace? That made no sense. Jesus was a Jew. Everyone knew the Jews awaited a savior who would defeat their enemies and give them back the land they swore had been promised to them by God. They talked, sang, and prayed about it constantly. Peace was the opposite of revolution.

Stephen seemed to read his thoughts. “He doesn’t do what anyone expects. But this I know: he will change our world.”

Longinus grimaced. This was too much. “The world is the Roman Empire.”

“He will change Rome as well.”

Tiny bumps rose on Longinus’s arms.
Change Rome?

Stephen paced to the high window and looked up at the sliver of blue sky. “I don’t understand it, either. But he told me to come here and to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Another failed uprising? Not while he was in charge.

Stephen turned to Longinus, his face again set in peace and acceptance. “Ready to die for him.”

Longinus jerked to his feet and sheathed his sword. He didn’t want to hear anything more about Jesus or this one god. “You will die, but at my command. For Scipio, the man you killed.”

Longinus pounded on the closed door. “Marcellus!”

The lock rattled, and the legionary pulled open the door.

Longinus stepped out of the dim cell. “Get him some food and water. It will be his last.”

Marcellus pounded up the stairs.

Longinus braced himself against the cold, damp wall outside the cell. His chest rose and fell like he’d been sprinting in full armor. If he crucified this man, he’d lose Cedron as his spy—his only spy. He might as well hand his father’s sword to Silvanus and forget about the quiet forests of Gaul. But if he didn’t crucify the Samaritan, he’d be a traitor to Rome and his dead friend. And if Silvanus found out, he’d be a dead man, or at least wish he were.

Heavy footfalls pounded down the stairs. Longinus straightened his back and crossed his arms. Marcellus ducked into the cell with a round of bread and a gourd of watered wine. After a few moments of muffled talk, he reappeared and took up his post outside the door.

Longinus breathed deeply. He’d send a message to Pilate today, and Marcellus would carry out the order by the end of the week. Longinus wouldn’t even have to watch.

Marcellus eyed him, his face wary. “Any luck finding the thieves, centurion?”

“The thieves?” Longinus turned on him. “What do you know about that?”

Marcellus’s brows went up. “Everyone knows about the wager, even Pilate.”

Longinus ground his teeth together. Of course everyone knew. Legionaries gossiped more than old women.

Marcellus looked at the ground. “The men are taking bets. It’s two to one you’ll lose your sword.”

Longinus rubbed his temple where a pain had started behind his eye. Two to one? His chances wouldn’t even be that good after he crucified Stephen. “Who are you betting on?”

Marcellus looked up like he was surprised by the question. “On you, of course.”

Longinus’s gaze dropped to the scars on Marcellus’s arms and neck. So Marcellus put his faith in him—not to mention his silver—even after he’d given him those scars? “You might want to change your bet. My only spy won’t point me in the direction of the nearest latrine after I crucify this man.”

Marcellus’s brow furrowed in thought. “You’ll lose your father’s sword.”

Longinus grunted.

“And Silvanus will win.”

Longinus started for the steps, but Marcellus’s next words stopped him.

“No one knows the Samaritan is here.”

Longinus froze. What did Marcellus mean by that?

Marcellus lowered his voice. “I could keep it quiet. Keep him here. His friend would have a good reason to find the thieves for you. The Samaritan for the thieves. A good exchange.”

“Set him free? After he killed Scipio?” Longinus shook his head. He couldn’t. But Marcellus had a point. Cedron would have to help him, or Stephen’s blood would be on his hands. And he might still have a chance to question Jesus, find out if he really was a threat to Rome.
And perhaps solve the riddle of Stephen’s unflinching peace.

The weight on his chest eased. It could work. He clapped Marcellus on the shoulder. “Keep it quiet. Don’t let anyone see
him.” He hurried up the stairs and out into the bright sun. He’d talk to Cedron, give him another chance to find the thieves and save Stephen. And if Nissa’s brother really was spying for the Zealots, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on him.

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it would work for now.

Chapter 14

A
RE YOU WORKING
today, Nissa?” Cedron hobbled across the courtyard to the fire, where Nissa ate her breakfast of charred bread drizzled with honey.

Nissa shook her head and swallowed. “They don’t need me today.” The laundry didn’t need her today or any day, but she had much to do. Another cleansing bath at Siloam, and later, Gilad would come for the rent. Her stomach did a little flip. This time she was going to look her best.

“Are you going to the city gate?” More than two months had passed since Cedron had been cured. Two months, and she was still stealing. But if Cedron could get work today, just enough to buy food, she could wait another week before making the mark for Dismas. Now that Longinus was looking for her, she’d need to be more careful.

Cedron pulled his cloak around his shoulders. “Later. This morning, I need to go to the synagogue.”

Nissa snorted. “To meet with the Zealots, you mean.” Since the Roman had made Cedron his dangerous offer two weeks ago, her brother had spent less time looking for work and more time lingering at the synagogue where the Zealots called for war against Rome. She ripped another bite from her bread, talking around it as she chewed. “Besides, I thought they didn’t speak to am-ha-arez?”

“We believe in the same end.”

The bread stuck in Nissa’s throat. “What? Revolution? Do they think with a few rusty swords they can overthrow the Roman Empire?” Cedron was getting in over his head. The talk in Jerusalem was all about Jesus. The Zealots wanted him to be their messiah; the Pharisees and Sadducees wanted him dead.

Cedron crouched close to her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Jesus gave me my sight so I could get his people ready. That’s what I’m doing.” He pulled her close to his side. “It won’t be long now, and we’ll be free of the Romans. Then I’ll be able to take care of you.”

“And until then?”

“Trust in the Lord. Trust in the Messiah. He called me to this.”

Nissa let out a long breath. Jesus had given Cedron his sight, and for that she was grateful. But it was Jesus’ fault that Cedron was banished from the temple, that he couldn’t find work, that he was called an am-ha-arez. And now, that he’d rather plan revolution than help her with the rent.

Cedron flashed her a smile and a wink. “You better hurry if you’re going to get ready for Gilad.”

She coughed and almost choked. “Gilad?”

Cedron let out a laugh. “Don’t pretend with me, little sister. I can see you blushing. All the women talk about his handsome face.”

She shrugged.

Cedron batted his lashes at her, and a smile tickled the corner of her mouth.

“Just don’t get your hopes set on him. I’m not sure I’d welcome an offer of marriage from that strutting rooster.”

An offer of marriage? Not likely. Nissa turned to her brother and assumed her most innocent expression, looking into his brown eyes. “Cedron. I’m sorry, but I don’t think Gilad thinks of you that way.”

Cedron snorted and pushed her away. “Just be careful, Nissa. I don’t trust him.”

He doesn’t even know I’m alive, other than to pay the rent on time.
But, maybe, if Cedron thought it possible . . . “Don’t worry. And you be careful, too.”

Cedron pushed open the gate and looked over his shoulder. “
The Lord is my strength and my shield.
”

She shoved the last of the bread in her mouth and dismissed the lump of worry in her chest as Cedron pulled the broken gate shut behind him. At least Cedron wasn’t out looking for the thieves. After the centurion’s betrayal yesterday with the Samaritan, Cedron wouldn’t even speak his name. That was a relief.

She licked the last of the honey off her sticky fingers and gave the pot of lentils over the fire a stir before grabbing the water jar. She’d get to Siloam before the drunks woke up and made her journey through the tanneries and brothels a lesson in profanities.

When Nissa arrived at Siloam, women stood in clusters on the broad ledges around the pool, gossiping and smiling. Children splashed on the top steps, the water just covering their ankles, their squeals of laughter echoing off the stone walls and columns.

After Nissa filled her jar, she slipped off her cloak and waded into the cold water. Cedron’s words seemed to echo in the talk and laughter around her. “
Wash away all my guilt, from my sin cleanse me . . .
” Whatever sin made Cedron blind had been forgiven. But for her, the water would only wash away dirt and dust.