The Thief (25 page)

He reached the entrance to the Stone Court, where the Sanhedrin convened, but instead of a dour assembly of priests and Pharisees, he entered into chaos.

Men and women jammed the enclosure, their voices buzzing, hands gesturing wildly. Some were city dwellers, but many were dressed in the rough garments of farmers and shepherds. The linen-clad priests and Pharisees huddled near the front, their faces creased with worry.

What had riled them this time? The drought again? Or maybe their constant harping against the taxes levied by Caesar? Longinus elbowed his way into the shade of a wide column and
caught the eye of a well-dressed, portly Jew. “What are they talking about?”

The man licked his lips nervously. “A man in Bethany named Lazarus. They say he was raised from the dead.”

Longinus took off his helmet. Perhaps he’d misunderstood the man’s Aramaic. “Raised from the dead? Who says it?”

The man gestured to a group that looked like farmers. “Men from Bethany. They say they saw it themselves. The Galilean raised a man from the dead.”

Longinus strode to the men from Bethany and grabbed one by the shoulder, pulling him around. “What Galilean? Jesus?”

The man cringed, his eyes flicking from Longinus’s face to the vitis in his hand, but he nodded. “We saw him come out of the tomb four days after his death.”

A shiver raised bumps on Longinus’s arms and down his back. Jesus raised a man from the dead? After four days? Longinus edged along the shadowed portico, moving closer to the men gathered at the front.

One of the priests was speaking, his back to Longinus. “What are we to do? The ignorant country rabble thinks this man is the Messiah. They believe in his trickery. If he comes here, if they declare him the Messiah, there will be chaos, and the Romans will destroy us.”

Caiaphas stepped onto the raised platform at the front of the court. His voice dropped as the other priests huddled around him. “We cannot let this happen. It is better one man should die for the people than the whole nation perish.”

Longinus pressed his back against the cold column. One man should die for the nation? What were they planning?

The first priest nodded. “Caiaphas is right. If we let him go on like this, the Romans will think we are revolting.”

Caiaphas motioned to a scribe. “Send out an order to the people. If anyone sees the Galilean, they are to report it to the temple guard, and we will deal with him ourselves.”

Longinus pushed his way back to Ferox. Arrest Jesus? And
then what? Did they think they could sentence him to death? Who did these Jews think they were? He’d decide whether this Jesus was a threat, not these pompous priests.

He wove through the columns and back toward the Court of the Gentiles. He was done coming at the command of the Sanhedrin.
I’ll talk to Pilate.
But he’d keep the story of Lazarus to himself. Pilate was a superstitious man; there was no telling what he might do if he heard Jesus had raised the dead.

He swung into the saddle. One thing he knew. Jesus must stay out of the city, at least until Passover was over. He circled Ferox toward the gates and spurred him forward. He’d send word to Jesus, a warning not to come into the city. It must come from someone Jesus would trust. And he knew just the man for the job.

LONGINUS CLATTERED DOWN
the steps of the carcer and pushed open the cell door. Marcellus sat on one side of a tiny table; Stephen leaned over the other.

“You’ve won again.” Marcellus placed the last ivory piece on the tabulah board. They both looked up at him as the door creaked.

“Marcellus. Leave us.”

The legionary jumped up and left the room.

Longinus pushed the door shut behind Marcellus and regarded his prisoner. “You need to go. Warn Jesus the Sanhedrin has put out a call to find him and bring him in. Tell him . . .” He blew out his breath. “Tell him not to come to Jerusalem.”

Stephen’s face creased in surprise. “You’re releasing me? What about you?”

“What about me?”

Stephen raised his brows. “You want to talk to him; don’t deny it. You’ve been after me about him for months.”

Longinus scowled. “I just want to keep the peace.” But
Stephen was right. He wanted to meet the man. Now more than ever. But it was too dangerous with the Sanhedrin calling for his death. “Keep him out of the city. He won’t be killed by your people, and he won’t be any threat to mine.” Longinus gathered Stephen’s cloak and shoved it at him. “Tell him that. If he has any sense, he’ll stay out of the city.”

Longinus took a deep breath and eyed his prisoner. Time to say good-bye to the man he had vowed to kill. If the gods were on his side, no one would know about the Samaritan who had spent the last months in the carcer.

He opened the door.
Where is that blasted Marcellus?
Once again, not guarding the door.

The clatter of sandals on the stairs, and Marcellus rushed in, breathless. “Riders coming through the gate. They’ll be here in moments.” He shut the door behind him.

Alarm quickened Longinus’s pulse. “Riders? Who?”

Marcellus’s eyes slid to Stephen. “Silvanus and six men. He’s got a prisoner; he’ll be coming here.”

Longinus ground his teeth. It was too late. There was only one door out of the carcer, and Silvanus would be at it before they could get Stephen past him. When Silvanus saw Stephen, he’d know he was the man Longinus had been looking for in Galilee, the one he’d twice lost. The scar would be all the proof Silvanus needed, and there would be a crucifixion by first light tomorrow.

Marcellus pushed them back into the cell and shut the door behind him. He unbuckled his Roman sandals and tossed them to Stephen. “Put those on.”

Longinus watched Marcellus unclasp his cloak and pull off his helmet. What was his optio doing?

Marcellus shoved his cloak and helmet at Stephen.

Stephen waited, his eyes on Longinus, his hands full of Roman gear.

Longinus turned to Marcellus. “You’re sure about this?”

Marcellus put a hand at the keys on his belt and nodded. “I’m the optio ad carcerem. My word is law here.”

Stephen buckled the sandals and fitted the helmet over his head. It covered most of his face and all of his scar. It would do—as long as no one got too close. Silvanus’s unmistakable growl and the smack of a vitis on flesh sounded from outside the window. Longinus raised his brows to his optio. What now?

“Don’t worry, I’ll slow Silvanus down. You get Stephen out the gate.” Marcellus opened the door and rushed up the stairs.

Longinus took a deep breath and counted to ten. He heard Silvanus bark at Marcellus. They didn’t have much time. He motioned Stephen out the door, shut it behind them, and marched up the stairs at a brisk pace.

They marched out of the building, heads high and eyes on the Praetorian gate. Silvanus, his back to them, stood just ten paces away with several legionaries and a bound prisoner. Marcellus talked fast and loud. Silvanus answered in a growl, but Longinus didn’t stop to listen. He glanced sideways at Stephen and increased their pace. No shouts stopped them as they strode toward the gate. Another few steps and they were in the agora, surrounded by Jews who didn’t give them a second glance.

Longinus let out his held breath and turned to the man he’d sworn to crucify. He had no love for the man. If anything, he’d be glad never to see his face again. But he couldn’t kill him, not anymore.

So this is what it feels like to be a traitor to Rome.
Surely Scipio wouldn’t have done this, nor his father.
Then why does it feel like the only thing I’ve done right since I came to this cursed city?

Stephen reached up to remove his helmet.

Longinus stopped him with a raised hand. “Keep it on until you get back to Joseph’s.” Cornelius could be watching them right now. “Then get out of the city. Find Jesus, and make sure he knows not to come here for Passover.”

Stephen frowned. “I’ll tell him. But he’ll do what he came to do, no matter the cost.”

Then the Samaritan did something that left Longinus speechless. Stephen embraced him and kissed him on the cheek, as Jews do with their friends and brothers. The kiss of peace, they called it.

“Shalom, my friend,” Stephen said, “and be ready. The revolution is coming.” He turned away and disappeared into the crowded marketplace.

Longinus stared after him. That irritating Samaritan couldn’t leave without one last riddle. Peace, he’d said. And revolution.
How could there be both?

Chapter 22

L
ONGINUS SWEPT PAST
the legionaries assembled in the open courtyard. Armor was polished to a shine, tunics were clean, even their mess kits were sparkling. Silvanus would have nothing to complain about when he inspected the camp.

He’d managed to avoid Silvanus yesterday after Stephen made it out of the camp, but now it was time to face the senior centurion. He stopped in front of the principia, where Silvanus leaned against the wall, one cheek bulging with his morning bread and a cup of wine in his hand. Cornelius smirked beside him.

Silvanus waved his free hand toward the carcer. “Heard you had a prisoner,” he said around the mouthful. “A Samaritan.”

Longinus tensed and glanced at Cornelius. Keeping a secret for a day in the camp was hard; for months, impossible. “Had.”

Silvanus tore another piece of bread from the loaf in his hand and stuffed it in his mouth. “Where is he?”

Longinus’s palms grew damp. “He was the wrong man.”

Silvanus straightened, took a long drink from his cup, and dumped the dregs at his feet. His eyes narrowed. “The wrong man? You sure?”

Longinus shrugged and turned to the courtyard. “I was there. It wasn’t the same man.”

Silvanus scratched under his armor. “You kept him long enough. What? Three months?”

Longinus’s hands tightened on his stick. Cornelius was a better spy than he’d suspected. “He was a troublemaker.” Longinus tapped his vitis on the ground. “I taught him a lesson.”

Silvanus straightened and put on his helmet. “Too bad I missed that, eh?” He strode toward the assembled men.

Longinus fell into step beside Silvanus.
Yes, too bad.
“Who did you bring in yesterday?”

Silvanus stopped in front of the first column of legionaries. “A thief and a murderer, goes by Barabbas. He’s been attacking travelers, killed a family of Jews on their way to Jerusalem. Some think he’s a messiah. These Jews.” He smacked a legionary across the shins with his vitis. “Wake up!”

Longinus moved to the next column. He’d heard of a band of brigands under the leadership of Barabbas, but they were in Galilee. “Why did you bring him here?”

Silvanus joined him, his roaming gaze examining each legionary. “Pilate wants him crucified.”

Something smelled wrong about this. “Why Jerusalem? Caesarea is closer.”

Silvanus mouth curled. “Pilate’s been warned.” He glanced sideways at Longinus. “By Caesar. One more hint of revolution here will be the end of him. He’ll be sent back to Rome, and not to his palace on the Palatine, either.”

Longinus let out a breath. So Pilate wanted to show the Jews who was in charge with a crucifixion.
Thank the gods that I don’t have Stephen in the carcer and that Jesus won’t be here.

Silvanus slapped him on his armor-clad shoulder. “We’ll teach these Jews a lesson, show them who their master is, eh?”

Longinus grunted. As if six thousand men marching into the city next week wouldn’t show the Jews who their master was.

Silvanus’s gaze dropped to the sword at Longinus’s side. “I see you’re taking good care of my sword.”

Longinus’s hand strayed to his side, and he silently cursed the day he’d agreed to that doomed wager. “It’s not yours, centurion, and never will be.”

“You’re no closer to finding those thieves than you were last winter. Admit it, they’re too smart for a half-Roman.” Silvanus smacked his vitis across the nearest legionary’s back. “Mark my words, centurion.” He sneered the last word. “It will be mine after Passover, and Pilate will send you back to the ranks where you belong.”

Longinus clenched his jaw as Silvanus strutted toward the principia. He wouldn’t let Silvanus get under his skin this time. He dismissed the men, sending half to drill and the rest to dig trenches, and headed down the Via Praetoria. Silvanus’s threat rankled. He had less than a week until Pilate returned, less than two before Passover.

“Petras,” he barked at a legionary standing guard. “Find the Jew Cedron. And bring him here.” He couldn’t wait for the thieves to show themselves. He would have to make them come to him. And Cedron would help him. The Jew owed him that much for setting Stephen free.

By midmorning, Petras returned with an irate Cedron in tow. Longinus’s heart twisted at the sight of Nissa’s brother. Had Cedron discovered Nissa’s secret?
Not my concern.
Only the thieves were his concern now. “I have a job for you.”

Cedron raised his brows. “And I suppose you expect me to do your bidding because you—”

Longinus smacked his vitis against his hand. “I expect you to help me, or I’ll show you just how unpleasant it is to be on my wrong side.” He stepped close enough to see the sweat shining on Cedron’s broad forehead.
Good. He should be scared.