The Thief (20 page)

She crossed her arms over her chest. Why did the look he gave her seem to go right through her, like a nail into olive wood?

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and scowled. “Be careful, Nissa.” He pushed through the newly hung gate and was gone without another word.

“Be careful”? No dimpled smile? No “good-bye, pretty Nissa”? He’d repaired the gate and the stool, given her a fighting lesson like one of his soldiers, and left? Disappointment clamored over disbelief. Why should she care what this incomprehensible man did?

She’d never understand him.
And I don’t want to.

She stepped back and swung her arm back, imagining Gilad’s face. She cocked her wrist and brought it up, just as he had shown her. Yes, she could do it if she had to. She could stop a man in his tracks, at least long enough to get away. She probably would never have to use it, but it was good to know.

LONGINUS CLATTERED DOWN
the stone steps of the carcer. He’d avoided the man called Stephen for a week, but perhaps the Samaritan could take his thoughts off Nissa for a few moments.

Going to her house had been a mistake. Repairing her gate and teaching her to fight off a man had done little to ease his worries about the scrap of a girl with the mouse-brown hair and sharp wit.
What else could I do? I’m not her brother.
And he hadn’t felt brotherly when she’d been close enough to kiss.

Where is that blasted Marcellus?
He should be standing guard
outside Stephen’s cell. Instead, the heavy door stood unguarded and agape.

His hand went to his sword. Could that cursed Samaritan have overpowered Marcellus and escaped? Stephen had escaped him twice before. He should have known he’d try again.

He pulled his sword and pushed the door fully open, but Marcellus didn’t lie dead or injured on the floor of the damp cell. His officer in charge of the carcer started guiltily from the bench, upsetting a game board balanced on his knees. Ivory and onyx game pieces scattered on the dirt floor.

Stephen held an onyx piece in his hand, frozen in the act of making a move.

Marcellus scrambled up. “We were just—”

“I can see what you were doing.” Longinus jerked his head at the red-faced legionary and sheathed his sword. “Get back to your post.” He’d deal with Marcellus later.

Stephen bent and scooped up the game pieces that lay in the dust. He laid the game board, a piece of carved ebony, on the bench. He set the wooden dice box on top of it, along with three dice.

Longinus towered over him. “What are you playing at?”

“I believe Marcellus called it
tabulah
.”

Longinus snorted. “You know what I mean. You could have escaped. Why didn’t you?”

“I won’t try to escape.” Stephen sorted the black game pieces from the white. He set the black in front of Longinus.

“Why not?”

Stephen looked at him for a long time. “Jesus asked me to come here. He told me to wait for him, here, in Jerusalem. If this”—he gestured to the four walls that enclosed them—“is what he wants for me, I won’t run from him again.”

There was that peace again, as though the Samaritan were taunting him. Longinus couldn’t kill Stephen yet. He might as well get some answers to the questions that had plagued him since Cedron’s miracle—that is if the smug Samaritan really
knew anything. He picked up the dice box and shook it. The ivory dice rattled. “So you really think this man Jesus is the Messiah? The one the Jews are waiting for?”

“I know it.”

“How?”

“He said so. When I was in Samaria.”

Longinus’s hand stopped midshake. “When I was looking for you all over Galilee, you were hiding out in some little hole in Samaria? Where?”

Stephen set the white pieces on his own side of the board, his brows pulled down in thought.

Longinus gave the dice another shake. Of course Stephen wouldn’t tell him where he’d been hiding. Why should he? Stephen had no reason to trust him.

“In Sychar. I have grandparents there.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll go there? Arrest them for harboring a fugitive?”

Stephen tipped his head and stared at Longinus. “You haven’t killed me yet. I don’t think my grandparents are in danger.”

Longinus huffed out a breath. Of course he wouldn’t hunt down a senile old man and his wife. He threw the dice onto the board. Two, two, and five.

He placed three black chips in their places on the board, scooped up the dice, and passed them to Stephen. “What about the girl?” Surely Stephen hoped some day to go back to the beautiful girl he’d been protecting on the road in Galilee. “Maybe I’ll go find her.”

The dice ceased to rattle as Stephen’s hand stilled, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Longinus’s eyes narrowed. He was right. The girl meant something to the enigmatic Samaritan.
At least I’m not the only one with woman trouble.

Stephen shook the dice box once more. “You won’t.” He tipped the dice out on the board.

Longinus cursed. Two sixes and a four. Stephen had that
right. As much as the girl had made him look a fool, she wasn’t worth a trip to Samaria.

Stephen placed three more chips on the board, the whites already well in front of the blacks. “He told a woman, the girl’s mother, he was the Messiah—the Taheb, as the Samaritans say. The one we’ve been awaiting for a thousand years.”

Longinus scooped up the dice. “He’s not the first Jew to pretend to be the Messiah; even I know that. The Pharisees hate him, the people follow him, even some of the Romans fear him.”

Stephen nodded.

Longinus didn’t even look at the dice that tumbled over the board. “It’s ridiculous. Who is he? A poor man with nothing to his name. Why would a god send a messiah like that? Why not as a Roman? Even as Caesar?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve seen what he can do.”

The arrogant youth admitted he didn’t know something? A miracle. “That doesn’t mean he’s your messiah, the son of a god.”

“
The
God.”

Longinus ignored the correction and moved his black pieces forward.

For the hundredth time, Longinus recalled the look on Cedron’s face when he first opened his eyes. And what he’d heard since. Even if only half of it was true, this man was someone to watch. Healings, casting out demons, even—and this he wished he had seen—walking on water. “But that’s another thing.” Longinus leaned toward his prisoner. “If he’s your messiah, why isn’t he here in Jerusalem? Why isn’t he gathering an army?”

Stephen’s brows drew down as he gathered the dice. “He doesn’t do what anyone expects. The people—not the Pharisees but the poor Jews in the countryside, the ones burdened with taxes from both the temple and the Romans—they are ready to revolt. They are begging for a leader who will promise them revenge on their enemies, triumph over Rome.”

Longinus stiffened. “They won’t triumph over Rome.”

Stephen threw the dice. Three sixes. “Our God is mighty.
If he wanted to wipe Rome off the face of the earth, he could do it.”

Longinus snorted. Nothing was more powerful than Rome. “And you believe this man Jesus is from that god? The god of all the old stories—the one that brought down the walls of Jericho?”

“Yes. Jesus could raise an army as quickly as you can assemble your cohort.” Stephen moved his pieces forward, knocking two of Longinus’s from the board.

Longinus frowned at the dice. The Samaritan had luck on his side; he’d need a miracle to win now. “And yet he hides in Galilee, of all places. He doesn’t even come to Jerusalem. And he teaches only twelve men.”

“For a Roman, you know a great deal about this carpenter.”

“I know enough to wonder what he’s about. If he is the son of this one god, as you say, why doesn’t he cure every blind man and cripple? Every leper and pathetic beggar out there at the temple?”

“He could.”

“But he doesn’t. Does that mean he can’t or he won’t?” Longinus dumped the dice on the board. “If he can but won’t, he is a cruel messiah.” There, a good throw. A six, five, and three. He moved his chip forward and added two back to the board. Let the Samaritan beat that.

“He cures all who ask him.”

Longinus frowned. “You speak in riddles, just like your so-called messiah.”

Stephen nodded, and a smile flickered over his face. “I know. I doubted him—called him a fraud, and worse. But the things he said to me . . . the things I saw . . .” He took the dice from Longinus’s hand and shook them out onto the board.

Neither man looked at them.

“What did you see?”

“Miracles. Healings.” Stephen’s eyes burned with the fire of a Zealot. “Mercy.”

Longinus shook his head and blew out a breath of disbelief.
“Mercy?”
Mercy doesn’t overthrow empires.
“And what does he want from you in exchange for this mercy?” Everyone wanted something. Gold. Loyalty. Power.

Stephen’s face settled again into that vision of peace. “Everything.”

A shiver passed over Longinus, and his hand tightened on the wooden box of dice. Everything? He’d given everything to Rome, and look where he’d ended up: in a backward province, his best friend dead. He’d given everything and gotten nothing in return but failure and fear. What would he give to find the peace this man had?

He slammed the box on the game board.
I’m no gullible Jew.
He’d make sure this Galilean wasn’t a threat to Rome; then he’d win the bet and put these crazy Jews—and their god—far behind him. He’d get out of this province and find his own peace.

Chapter 17

N
ISSA PULLED HER
voluminous cloak around her shoulders and darted through the crowded streets. Instead of the tingle of anticipation she usually had before stealing, her insides churned like a skin full of curdled goat’s milk.

For the past month, Cedron had searched for the thieves, asking every merchant in the city, every beggar at the city gates and outside the temple for information on Mouse and the Greek. He had found nothing because Mouse and Dismas had been careful, very careful. They stole just enough to get by, and Mouse’s alms to the beggars bought their silence. But tomorrow was the beginning of Shevat, the eleventh month, and Nissa didn’t have enough money to pay Gilad.

If Cedron found the thieves before Passover, Longinus would release Stephen. If he didn’t, Stephen would be crucified. Even worse, Longinus had doubled the reward for Mouse and Dismas. Now, every Jew and half the Gentiles of the city were watching for them. If they kept stealing, they would surely be caught.

This would be Mouse’s last time. It had to be. She needed a big purse, enough to last them through the winter. When spring came, she would think of something. She’d have to.

Dismas won’t like it. “Don’t get greedy,” he’ll say.

But she wasn’t greedy. She was desperate. Her supply of coins was gone. They needed wheat, oil, and food for Amit. The price of grain had increased tenfold, and if they didn’t get rain, it
would go even higher. She owed money to the woodcutter and the oil merchant.

The bruise from Gilad had healed, but his threat lingered. If she didn’t pay him, he’d have a talk with Cedron. Tell him what he thought she was doing for money. Which was worse, for Cedron to know she was a thief or think she was a prostitute?

She and Dismas would go to the temple and find a rich man with a big purse. Then, she’d atone with alms and wash in Siloam. She broke into a quick run, through the marketplace, down one winding street, then another. Her pace slowed as she approached the meeting place.

Dismas wasn’t alone. She stopped and slid into the shallow depression of a closed doorway. His tall figure lounged against the wall like always, but a short man fidgeted beside him. Dismas’s low laugh drifted along the alley.

She ducked her head out, and his glance caught her.

He pushed off from the wall. “There you are, Mouse. We were about to leave without you.”

The new man turned to her. He was short, only a little taller than her. But his shoulders were wide, and his neck was thick. His face was covered in a coarse black beard, and bushy brows nearly met above close-set eyes.

“So this is your little Mouse?” His voice was like the dull rasp of a saw through a wooden plank. “I hope you are as good as he says.”

Nissa looked at Dismas.
What is going on?

Dismas threw an arm over her shoulder. His scent of mint and cloves soothed her nerves. “This is Gestas. We’ll work together. Same as always. You just watch us, and when you get your chance, do your job. We’ll split everything three ways.”

Three ways? That would be more than she made partnering with Dismas. But could they trust him? Nissa eyed the new man and didn’t like what she saw. His eyes looked cold and flat, like those of a snake. She took a step back, the nape of her neck prickling.

“Don’t worry, little Mouse. With Gestas here, we can get more, faster. We’ll be in and out before those rich dogs even know what they’re missing. Trust me.”

She shook her head. “Dismas, I don’t think—”

Gestas crowded into her. “Don’t think, boy. Just do what we say.” He poked her in the chest with a hand that looked strong enough to crush a walnut. “I’ve been stealing since before you were pissing standing up.”