The Thief (26 page)

“Pilate will be entering the city next week, the day after the Sabbath. He’ll want every available legionary at the gate”—he nodded toward the Jaffa Gate—“ready to greet him.” There was nothing legates liked better than a parade. If Pilate couldn’t have a triumphal entry into Rome, he’d settle for a spectacle in Jerusalem.

Cedron crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want of me?”

“Make sure everyone knows this: no legionaries patrolling the upper market.”

Cedron gave him a long look. “You’re setting a trap.”

Longinus nodded. The thieves had been careful, but surely they’d take this golden opportunity. “Tell the beggars, tell the merchants, tell your friends the Zealots for all I care. Just make sure that word gets to the thieves.”

“And where will you be?” Cedron asked.

Longinus hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, the sword his father had given him and that he intended to take with him to Gaul. “I’ll be waiting for them.”

NISSA SCRAPED THE
last pinch of barley into her palm and held it under Amit’s whiskery nose. Amit licked it from her hand and looked for more. “I’m sorry, Amit.” She ran her hand over the prominent lines of his ribs.

Jews throughout the city were preparing for Passover, just a week away, but she had nothing left. She’d paid Gilad all the silver, and he’d be coming for more. No pile of wood sat next to the dead fire. The chest that once held her expensive scent and ivory comb was empty. The corner of the house, once a hoard of wine and food, now held only a jumble of empty pottery, and nothing but a dusting of flour remained in the grain jar. Cedron hardly noticed their dire circumstances. He spent more time with his Zealot friends and less looking for work. “It won’t be long now until the revolution,” he told her when he rushed in to eat a hurried meal or change his clothes.

Gestas was a cruel master. Each week, he’d made the mark on the wall, and each week, she’d stolen for him. Keeping the secret from Dismas was the hard part. He was more careful than ever and watched over Mouse like a mother hen. More than once he told her to go home, to find another way.
If only I could.
After they stole and Dismas left to visit his latest woman, Gestas would demand her portion of their spoils. Sometimes he let her
keep a few bronze lepta; most often he took it all and left her with only threats.

Amit nosed at his dry water trough.

Nissa let out a long breath. Today she’d say good-bye to Amit. He ate their barley and didn’t bring in any coins to earn his keep. She’d been foolish not to sell him months ago. She’d fetch water, then bring him to the market. Perhaps she could get a few brass coins, and Amit could go to a home that could afford to feed him. She swallowed the threat of tears.
He’s better off with someone else.

She hoisted the water jar and let herself out of the courtyard. Her gaze remained on her worn sandals as she trudged the dirty street, but instead of turning toward the Pool of Siloam, her feet led her the opposite way, toward Herod’s palace and the barracks of the Roman legion.

Today the rest of the legion would arrive from Caesarea, marching through the Jaffa Gate. Everyone knew the soldiers would assemble with their weapons and armor gleaming to welcome back their legate. Longinus would be there, too. Watching over his men like a red-plumed hawk. Just a glimpse of him before the parade, that’s all she wanted.

She reached the upper market, swerved around a line of camels, and slipped into the cool shadows of the palace wall. She wrapped her arms around the water jar and edged forward until she could see past the towers and into the triangular space where the Romans soldiers practiced with their swords and spears.

Longinus was easy to spot. His polished armor glinted in the sunlight, and the crimson plume on his helmet waved like a flag. The muscles of his arms flexed as he advanced on two soldiers with a wooden sword and a shield as tall as her.

He shouted, knocked one legionary to the ground, and pinned the other with his sword. They’d both be dead if this had been a real fight. His deep voice rumbled as he threw down the shield and helped the prone legionary to stand.

Longinus pulled off his helmet, his face set in a grimace. His hand rubbed at his forehead as though it pained him.

Nissa ducked back into the shadow of the arch. How many times had she come here since that day, hoping to see a smile curving his mouth or the dimple flash on his cheek? But each time, she saw his face set in lines of sorrow, his brow lowered in worry.

Her chest constricted, and she struggled to draw a breath as she remembered the look of raw pain in Longinus’s eyes when she’d rejected him. Since that day, she’d awoken every morning wishing she were a different person. Some days, she wished she wouldn’t wake up at all.

What if she wasn’t Mouse? What if she could have said yes when he offered to save her from her sins? She’d be married by now. Married to a man who spoke of deep forests and emerald meadows, a man who laughed at her sharp words and told her she was pretty, a man who was strong but didn’t have to prove it.

If she could, she’d run through this arch, begging his forgiveness, begging for another chance. But she couldn’t do that. She could never do that.

If he knew her secret, he would hate her, and he’d be right to hate her. He wouldn’t turn those blue eyes on her. She’d never see that dimple or hear his rumbly laugh. No. She’d see Longinus the centurion, the man who nailed murderers to a cross to die a slow, excruciating death.

Marriage between a Jewish girl and a Roman soldier was bad enough, although she knew it happened. But a soldier and a thief? A centurion and a murderer?

Never.

Impossible.

She pushed away from the cool stone wall and threaded a path around the merchants and the shops of the upper market. Soon the barracks and Longinus were far behind her.

She hurried back down the Stepped Street, dodging and weaving through the crowds. By the time she reached Siloam she
was panting, the water jar clutched to her chest. As she leaned against the wall, the morning sun glinted off the stone. Her heart thrashed in her chest like a wild animal caught in a trap.

The mark was on the wall.

Gestas had been to Siloam, and he’d sent her a message she couldn’t miss. A straight line down and one across, the shape of a Roman cross. The mark that could bring death to her if she heeded it, or to her brother if she didn’t.

She trudged up the stairs to the sparkling waters of Siloam, where her brother’s eyes had been opened. The miracle had seemed like the turning point. Her hope had been kindled for a life without fear, a life without sin. But in the months since, she’d sunk lower than ever. She had no money, no food, and lived in fear for her life and her brother’s.

She knelt next to the pool and leaned out over the water. Her reflection looked back at her. A plain woman, yes. Not much to look at. But her heart held the same desires as any other. Safety, security, like what she’d felt when Longinus had carried her in his arms. A home and children to love. She had none of those now and never would.

You don’t have a choice,
the dark voice chanted, so sure, so strong.

The waves lapped at the sides of the pool, and in them she could almost hear another voice. A smaller, quieter voice.
The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him.
Weak, like a tiny spark searching for a breath of air and a dry speck of straw to catch hold.

She plunged her hands into the water, shattering her reflection and scattering her thoughts. She scooped up the cold, clear water and drank, the water trickling down her tight throat.

No. She couldn’t turn to her God, not anymore. But she wouldn’t let Gestas be her master, either. She had a plan, one she’d been thinking on for weeks. Gestas carried a dagger, the one he’d stolen from the priest. If she could find a way to get him caught, perhaps even killed, he wouldn’t be a threat to her
or Cedron anymore. The bitter taste of guilt filled her mouth. King David had betrayed Uriah. Delilah delivered Samson to his enemies—and God had punished them.

But this is different. Gestas brought this on himself.

Nissa was the best thief in Jerusalem. She would lead him to capture, just as she’d led the priest to his death. She filled her jar and hurried down the steps. Today, she would steal. And today, she would find a way to betray Gestas.

Chapter 23

L
ONGINUS WALKED EVERY
step of the camp for the final time. The barracks, the cooking area, the hospital tent—all in perfect order. The standard was raised; the tents were clean. Sentries stood at attention on the walls and at the gates. He stepped into the latrine. The wood floors were scrubbed clean with sand, and the long benches on either side of the room, each with five round holes, were spotless. The trenches beneath had been flushed with water. He sniffed. Not as bad as they usually smelled.

As Longinus left the latrine, Silvanus thundered into the practice square on his horse. He pulled up next to Longinus with a scowl. “I’m riding out to meet Pilate.”

Longinus kept his face a calm mask.
You mean riding out to tell lies about me.
By the time they marched into Jerusalem, Silvanus would have filled Pilate’s ears with rumors and complaints.

Silvanus eyed Longinus. “He’ll expect to see you and the rest of the cohort saluting him when he comes through the gate.”

Longinus nodded. He wouldn’t be there to meet Pilate at the Jaffa Gate, but Silvanus didn’t need to know that.

“And I hope this camp looks better than it does now. It’s a pigsty.” Silvanus kicked his horse viciously and galloped through the gate.

Longinus turned back to eye the camp. The provincial governor would have no complaints about the barracks, but Longinus would have some explaining to do when Pilate found out he
had gone against orders. Taking twenty men into the upper market instead of dancing attendance at the Jaffa Gate could earn him a reprimand, but if he had the temple murderers to show for his efforts, he’d be forgiven.

There would be a great feast tonight at the palace. After Pilate had finished his wine and congratulated him on finding the temple murderers, Longinus would present his petition to be transferred out of Jerusalem. Gaul, if he could get there, but anywhere would do. As long as it was soon. Even the cold of Britannia would be a relief after this infernal city. Away from these Jews and away from Nissa. Silvanus would support him; he’d have no other choice after the thieves were locked in the carcer.

If he got the chance, he’d talk to Pilate about Jesus and apprise him of the Sanhedrin’s plans. He’d lost his chance to see Jesus himself—to ask about these baffling miracles and to decide whether he was a threat to Rome or just another false messiah—but at least he’d thwarted the scheme of those self-righteous priests.

Longinus mounted Ferox and signaled his men to march out the Praetorian gate and toward the upper market. Longinus guided Ferox into the marketplace but reined him immediately to a halt. Something was wrong. Instead of the usual crowds buying and selling after the Sabbath, the agora was almost deserted. Where was everyone?

Marcellus hurried across the empty square toward Longinus and his men, dragging Cedron by one arm.

“What is it?” Had he discovered Nissa’s secret? Or did he have word of the thieves?

Marcellus pushed Cedron toward him. “Tell him.”

Cedron sealed his mouth in a thin line.

Marcellus shook him. “You owe him your life and Stephen’s.”

Cedron grimaced. “He’s coming. He’s entering Jerusalem through the Sheep’s Gate.”

“What? Who?”

Cedron’s brow furrowed. “Jesus.”

Longinus frowned as a breath of worry brushed over him. Jesus? “He can’t. The priests, the temple guards, they want to arrest him.” Hadn’t Stephen told Jesus to stay out of the city?

Cedron shook his head. “It’s too late. There’s a crowd with him. Pilgrims coming for the feast. They started gathering in Bethany, where he raised Lazarus. Hundreds, probably thousands by the time they enter into Jerusalem. They are calling him the Messiah.”

Longinus shot a look at Marcellus. His optio shook his head. This was bad news. Jerusalem—even on a good day—was like a pile of dry straw, ready to burst into flame at the first spark of trouble. The Sanhedrin out for blood, a man hailed as the Messiah, and six thousand Roman troops marching into the city was more than a spark. “Who knows about this?”

Cedron crossed his arms. “Every Jew in the city is heading toward the Sheep’s Gate to see him.”

A niggling pain started behind Longinus’s eyes. This could get ugly very fast. “You’ve got to stop him.”

Cedron shook his head, and his face hardened. “I wouldn’t, even if I could. This is just what we need. The time for revolution is now, and this man—Jesus—is going to lead it.” Cedron jerked his shoulder free of Marcellus’s grip and hobbled away without a backward glance.

Longinus ground his teeth in frustration. He could—he should—send word to Silvanus. But the senior centurion’s way of keeping the pax romana wouldn’t do Jesus any good. He’d no doubt throw the Jewish healer into the carcer, fabricate some charges, and crucify him with Barabbas. No, Longinus would disarm the situation himself.