The Thief (40 page)

Cornelius shook his head and blinked, like he still couldn’t believe it. “I went to the mouth of the tomb and looked inside . . .”

Nissa’s chest expanded; heat rushed through her limbs like fire.

Cornelius glanced up at Pilate, swallowed hard, and whispered, “It was empty.”

Chapter 36

E
mpty? how could it be empty?
Longinus twisted away from his guards and grabbed Cornelius by his shoulders. “Did they steal the body?”

Cornelius shook his head violently. “We were there the whole time.”

Pilate stood. “Then how is it empty?” His voice rose in panic.

Longinus looked into Cornelius’s terrified eyes. “Did you go in? What did you see?”

“I looked in.” He glanced sideways at Pilate. “The burial cloths, that’s all I saw. Nothing else.”

Guards pulled Longinus away, and he didn’t fight them. An empty tomb. Earthquake and light. What could it mean? Jesus was dead. He’d seen him take his last breath. And his disciples? They were too cowardly to steal a body, even if they could break through stone.

Pilate collapsed in his chair. “The earth quaked?”

Cornelius nodded, his eyes wild. “Wind and lightning. Just like when he was crucified.” He turned to Silvanus, his voice rising. “The stone cracked like it was . . . like it was made of clay.” Then, to Longinus, “The light . . . everyone ran—” He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Pilate’s tunic. “I didn’t fall asleep, I swear it.”

Pilate jerked back, pulling the cloth from the soldier’s grasp. He barked an order at the guard: “Get him out of here.”

The guard dragged Cornelius from the room.

Pilate’s lips trembled, and his face shone with sweat. He raised a shaking hand to his eyes and took a deep breath. “This god—this god of the Jews—is angry. I’ve prayed and offered sacrifice, but it is not enough.” He looked to the door, to the windows, as if a spirit would come and take him away.

Silvanus snorted. “You don’t believe in this Jew? That he was the son of a god?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Pilate snapped, rounding on Silvanus. “You are as guilty as I. Your flogging killed him as surely as the cross.” He pointed a shaking hand at Silvanus. “Get out of my sight.”

The legionaries wrenched Longinus toward the door, and Silvanus jerked his head to his men. “Get him to the carcer. I’ll give this woman to the Jews.”

Longinus strained toward Nissa.
Please, Abba, save her.

“No!” Pilate’s roar stopped Silvanus midstride. “Wait.”

Longinus held his breath.

Pilate approached him. “You believed in this dead man, this son of a god?”

Son of God.
Longinus took a deep breath. If these were his last words, so be it. “I believe in the man that you ordered crucified. Jesus of Nazareth. I believe he is the son of God. If that sentences me to death, then I gladly die for him.” As he said the words that Stephen had once uttered to him, the immense peace he’d felt at the foot of the cross rushed over him again.

Pilate paced away, then back to him. “Do you know where the body is? Some trick of the Jews?”

Longinus shook his head. “I do not.” His own words to Stephen came back to him.
He has power over life and death, and he has a reason to be here that no one understands.
There was a reason he’d died there on the hilltop of Golgotha for all to see. A reason he had forgiven those who had killed him. And there was a reason for the empty tomb. Longinus just didn’t know what it was.

Pilate rubbed at his eye. “This god of the Jews—will he punish me? Should I fear him?”

Longinus considered his legate. Pilate feared the gods, any gods. But would Jesus or his father seek revenge on Pilate?
He comes to bring mercy,
Stephen had said.
And all he wants in return is everything.
Longinus chose his words carefully. “No.” How could he explain in a way that his Roman legate could understand? “I believe he came to bring mercy.”

Silvanus snorted. “Mercy is weakness. And the Jew is dead.”

Pilate stared at Longinus like he’d spoken another language. “Mercy?” His gaze went from Longinus to Nissa. He paced to the window, rubbed the top of his head, and let out a long breath. “Then I, too, will show my mercy, as an offering to this god of the Jews.”

Longinus held his breath as hope welled in him.
Mercy on him or on them both?

Silvanus clenched a fist around Longinus’s tunic. “He’s a traitor to Caesar!”

Pilate raised his hand over Longinus. “You are discharged from service. Your pension is forfeit. Don’t show your face in Rome or ever let me see you again.” He spoke to the guards. “Release him.”

The legionaries looked at Silvanus, then back to Pilate. Their hold on him loosened; then they stepped away. Longinus stumbled to Nissa, but Silvanus pulled her away. “What about her?” he asked Pilate.

Please, God of the Jews. Abba. Free Nissa.

Pilate stared at Nissa, his eye twitching frantically. “Mercy on her as well.” He turned to the window and bellowed, “All of you, out of my sight!”

Nissa looked at Longinus, a question in her face.

He’d explain later. Right now, they needed to get away from Pilate before he changed his mind. He grabbed her hand and turned, right into Silvanus.

Silvanus’s face was red, and a shower of spittle accompanied
his words. “Hope that you and I never meet again, Jew lover. If we do, I’ll make sure you pay for your treason.” He jerked away, thundered orders to his legionaries, and stomped from the room.

When Silvanus had disappeared, Longinus pulled Nissa toward the arch. His head throbbed and his ribs felt like they were on fire, but he urged her on, across the palace courtyard and into the empty agora. When they reached the upper market, he stopped and slumped against a marble column. They were free, both of them.
Thank you, Abba.

He had no home, no silver, no land. His body was broken, he’d lost his father’s sword, and he’d never get to Gaul or anywhere else. He was stuck in this backward province, with this fierce woman and her sharp tongue, with these fanatical Jews and their talk of the one God.

And he had never felt such joy.

He looked down on Nissa’s bent head. They were both free. And he knew exactly what to do next.

NISSA RAN BESIDE
Longinus, her hand in his. Out of the palace, across the courtyard with its fountains and groves of blossoming fig trees, and into the deserted agora as the rising sun defeated the shadows of the city wall.

What had happened in the palace? They were at the brink of death, and somehow, the most powerful Roman in Judea had shown them mercy. Longinus was alive, and they were both free. And all because of the empty tomb.

However it had happened, she knew whom to thank.
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His mercy endures forever.
And if he had shown mercy to her, then surely Dismas was in Paradise. Her spirit soared like a bird released from its cage.

Longinus stopped and leaned against a column. One hand still clutched hers, the other pressed against his ribs. Fresh blood darkened the hair at his temple. The memory of his kiss of peace
made her drop her gaze to his freckled feet. Could he still want her after all she’d done?

He squeezed her hand.

She raised her eyes to his knees, then to his chest. She took a breath and looked into his battered face. “You’re hurt.” Should she offer to take care of him? He had no home, no family. He’d lost everything for her sake.

He shook his head. His mouth curved into a smile, and his dimple flashed. “I’ll live, pretty Nissa.”

Pretty Nissa.
Did he mean it? A smile pulled at her own mouth.
Idiot Roman.

Longinus dipped his head and set his lips on hers. They were warm and rough and tasted of salt. He bent lower, wrapping his arm around her waist and crushing her against his chest. She pulled back and looked into his face.

His eyes, the color of the sky above, showed only joy. His arms, wrapped tight around her, held the solace that she longed for. He’d sacrificed everything—his position, his pride, even his own body. And he offered it all to her.
I don’t deserve it.
But she would take it and spend her life giving everything back to him.

She fit herself into the curve of his warm body and stretched up on her toes to meet his lips with her own. Like stepping from the cold shadows into the sun, warmth flooded through her. This was not a kiss of peace. This was a kiss of hope and longing. This was a promise of what was to come.

The clatter of hooves on stone broke them apart. Nissa leaned on Longinus, her legs weak and trembling.

Marcellus rode to them on the horse that she’d seen for the first time here in the market, the day she’d met Longinus—he a Roman centurion and she a thief. Now they stood together, both of them changed forever and bound by what they’d seen—suffering and death, miracles and mercy. Love and forgiveness.

Marcellus slid from the horse and approached Longinus. “What will you do now?”

Longinus looked down to Nissa, his amber brows raised.

She nodded at his unspoken question. There was only one thing to do, and they would do it together.

Longinus pushed away from the wall. “We must go to the tomb.”

Marcellus frowned. “You’ll never make it with your—”

Longinus grunted and put a hand over his ribs. “I’ve been worse off. Don’t worry about me.”

Marcellus sighed and offered the horse’s reins. “Take Ferox. It’s just past Golgotha, over the hill.”

“Silvanus will have your hide if he finds out,” Longinus said.

Marcellus pushed the reins into Longinus’s hands. “Let me worry about Silvanus.”

Longinus bent and held out his hand to Nissa. She fit her foot into his palm and jumped, pulling herself up on the horse and scooting forward in the saddle.

Longinus leaned on Marcellus, his hand braced on the younger legionary’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

Marcellus grunted and boosted Longinus into the saddle.

Longinus flinched as he settled behind her, his breathing shallow.

Marcellus looked up at her. “Take care of him.”

“I will.” She would take care of the idiot Roman. She’d wrap his ribs and treat his wounds. They’d need a place to stay and food. Somehow, they’d find it. There would be time—plenty of time—to make plans. After they saw the tomb.

Longinus’s arm curved around her waist. With a nudge to the horse, they started toward the city wall. Longinus urged him into a gallop and tightened his hold on Nissa. They thundered past groggy slaves carting water and an early-morning cart lumbering out the Jaffa Gate.

Outside the city, the horse lengthened its stride. A shiver chilled her as they passed by Golgotha. She didn’t understand what had happened there. But whatever had happened at the foot of the cross—and at the tomb—had changed her forever.
She was no longer abandoned, no longer alone. Dismas had died for her, and somehow, Jesus had set them all free.

The empty tomb—whatever they found, whatever it meant—wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.

LONGINUS SPURRED FEROX
up the last hill and pulled him to a halt at the top. The sun had risen on the eastern horizon, its rays glowing gold at the edge of the world and tipping the clouds with pink. A garden lay in the valley below. Green grass sparkling with dew surrounded it like an emerald sea. A soft breeze, scented with mint and a hint of cloves, swept up the hill and eddied around them.

A few men gathered at the mouth of a cave near the edge of the garden. Longinus recognized two—the young disciple from Gethsemane and the older one who had taken the sword to Caiaphas. Nearby, the women who had been at the cross knelt beside a massive stone, as big as an altar, split down the middle as though hit by lightning.

His eyes swept over the land before him. What was this? People hurried from every direction—groups of two and three—as though late to a feast.

From the north, Galileans in traveling clothes rushed, their voices raised in wonder. A group of women with children in their arms followed. From the western gate of the city came Cyrenians—the man who had carried the cross and his family. And behind them, two men: a tall form he recognized though he couldn’t see his scar, Stephen, with Joseph the Pharisee beside him.

Nissa sat up straighter and pointed. “It’s Cedron and the Zealots.”

Yes, there were the would-be rebels and Cedron coming from the Dung Gate. Longinus caught his breath as sun glinted off armor. “Look. Marcellus. And . . . is that Cornelius?”
This God is full of surprises.

They came from every direction. Drops forming trickles, trickles joining into streams, streams converging into rivers. All flowing toward the empty tomb.

“What does it mean?” Nissa breathed.

What could it mean? All of them: men and women, Jew and Gentile, rich and poor. Pharisees, Zealots, Samaritans, and pagans. A paltry number—not even half a cohort—but what did numbers matter when your king was the son of God? Longinus pulled Nissa closer and spurred Ferox down the hill to join the conflux.
It can only mean one thing.