The Thief (9 page)

Thank the gods Marcellus was better today; he’d even managed to make a joke when Longinus had checked on him this morning. The salve that cost Longinus a week’s wages and a day’s travel to the Dead Sea was probably what had saved Marcellus from infection and a lingering death, the physician told him. Good. It was about time the worthless legionary stopped lounging on a cot and got back to his duties.

Voices rose in the center of the court. Something was happening near the marble steps leading to the gold-covered door. He nudged Ferox into a walk and angled him through the crowd. Disputes in tight quarters were never a good thing. These Jews could get worked up and start a revolt faster than any people he knew.

A group of men clustered at the edge of the crowd. “
Vigilate!
” He raised his vitis, and the men scattered. The rest of the crowd moved aside, giving him a narrow passage to the steps.

A man stood on the second step, his head down. A girl with familiar wild hair and a dirty tunic held his arm and pulled him forward.

“You there! Girl!” Longinus nudged Ferox up a step. Yes, it was the one from the lower city, the little wildcat he’d almost killed and her blind brother. He’d seen plenty of Jewish women bathing in the pools around the city. Why was this one always so filthy? “What’s happening here?”

Her face went white under the dirt, and her mouth dropped open. “We were”—she grabbed her brother’s arm—“leaving.”

An old woman hobbled close to him and pointed at the brother. “Look. He put clay on this man’s eyes and told him to wash in the Pool of Siloam.”

So that was what was on the blind man’s face. “Who did?”

“The teacher, Jesus.”

Jesus. He’d been warned about a man of that name. A man causing trouble with the leaders of these bothersome people.

The old woman hurried off, following the girl as she pulled her brother toward the Huldah Gates. A crowd followed in their wake.

Rumors of the man called Jesus claimed he cured the lame and diseased—even lepers—but Longinus had heard that kind of talk before. He’d even witnessed so-called miracle workers. Longinus had yet to see a miracle that couldn’t be explained by deceit, trickery, or plain good luck. Still, this Jesus stirred up the crowds. Longinus spurred Ferox toward the gates. He barked
commands to his men. “Twenty legionaries with me. The rest of you stay here.”

When he’d managed Ferox down the stone steps, a throng of at least a hundred people had gathered behind the blind man and his sister, like guests at a wedding feast. As they trooped down the Stepped Street, women and children came to their doors. Some threw mantles over their heads, grabbed their children’s hands, and joined in the procession.

By the time they reached the lower city, the crowd had doubled. Longinus prodded Ferox and cut his way toward the front of the column. Dust dried his throat as he coughed out orders to his men. “Stay here. Be ready if there’s trouble.”

He’d seen a so-called healer stoned in Caesarea when the man he’d healed had turned out to have never been lame.
This
man—the brother of the little porcupine—was truly blind. He’d seen that himself. What would happen when he washed that ridiculous mud from his eyes and exposed the hoax? Disappointment could turn into anger, and a crowd could turn into a mob.

Just ahead, broad stairs—at least twenty of them—ascended to a wide stone platform the size of a modest palace. He threw his leg over the front of his saddle and jumped to the ground. Pushing the spectators aside with his vitis, he followed the blind man and his sister up the stairs.

The girl—Nissa, they’d called her that night in the street—threw a frightened look over her shoulder, then urged her brother up the last few steps with a hand under his elbow.

Longinus followed, catching his breath as he reached the top. He’d seen Siloam rising above the lower city, but had never climbed the stairs that led to the water. An immense rectangular pool stretched thirty paces long and almost as wide, with stone-paved borders on each side. Marble steps led down into water so clear and sparkling his eyes pricked with tears. He blinked and shaded his eyes.

People eddied around him and clustered at the wide ledges around the pool, pushing and bickering.

“Let me see!”

“I was here first.”

The blind man and his sister were pushed backward, toward the low wall that ran around the platform.

“Make way. Move!” Longinus shouldered his way through the crowd.
Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my post.
He opened a path with his stick and a gruff shout. “Get out of his way.” He jerked a hand to the sister. “Bring him through.”

Nissa didn’t look hopeful; she looked terrified. The girl was as prickly as a thorn bush, but she protected her brother like a mother lion. And from the look on her face, she knew that her brother was in for a cruel disappointment.

The crowd of people continued to chatter. Children sat at the edge of the pool and dipped their feet. Women scooped water into jars. Some seemed to have forgotten why they had joined the procession to the pool; perhaps some never knew.

Nissa led her brother into the water and splashed in beside him. The water lapped to the middle of his thighs, while she was up to her waist.

The crowd pressed close, their chatter dimming. He turned to a group of old women in heavy mantles. “How long has he been like this?”

“Cedron’s been blind since he was born,” a woman with no teeth replied.

The blind man scooped water into his cupped hand, held it to the sun, and murmured indistinctly.

“What is he saying?”

“The words of repentance,” she said. “
Wash away all my guilt; from my sin cleanse me.
”

Cedron splashed the water on his eyes and scooped another handful, still praying.

“
Wash me, make me whiter than snow,
” the old lady intoned.

Another splash, and another. The chattering crowd quieted. Even the children stopped their play to watch.
These Jews. Do
they actually believe this will work?
He’d never seen a more gullible people.

The man Cedron straightened, his hands cupped over his eyes, his face raised to the sun directly overhead. Water lapped against the top step of the pool, and birds called in the distance. He angled to the north, toward the temple that could be seen rising above the dirty stones of the lower city. His eyelids fluttered, then opened.

Longinus held his breath, and his pulse quickened.
What’s the matter with me? A blind man can’t be cured with mud and water.

Cedron’s gaze didn’t falter, but his eyes still stared into the distance as they had in the marketplace, as if he could see only something far away.

Longinus dismissed a twinge of disappointment. Of course a pretender from Galilee couldn’t cure a blind man. He turned away; the spectacle was over. Now he could disperse this crowd and get back to his post.

The old woman bent toward the pool, her hand cupping her ear. “What did he say?”

Longinus twisted back to Cedron.

His gaze hadn’t changed, but it had sharpened on the white edifice rising above the city. “The temple,” he said. “I see the temple.”

It can’t be.
Longinus stepped down into the water. It had to be a trick.

Cedron whirled to the woman beside him. He raised his hand to her face and ran it down her cheek and jaw. “Nissa?”

Her mouth dropped open. Something between a sob and a laugh broke from her.

Cedron threw his arms around his sister and lifted her, twirling her in a circle, splashing water in a shimmering arc around them. “Nissa, I can see you. I can see you!”

People crowded into the water, touching, questioning.

“Who healed you?”

“How do you know him?”

“Where is he now?”

The old woman began to sing. Some men chanted a prayer, while others danced on the side of the pool. Children laughed and joined in the celebration.

Longinus waded deeper into the water. How could this be? He’d seen the man himself less than two weeks ago. He pulled Cedron around to face him, waving his hand in front of his face. “What do you see?”

Cedron’s eyes widened, and he stepped backward. “A Roman. And I know your voice. You’re the one who almost killed my sister and me.”

Longinus swallowed hard. The man could see. His deep-set eyes no longer stared into nothingness. They were alert, glaring straight into his own. Goosebumps rose on his arms and prickled the back of his neck.
No. It isn’t possible.

Who was this Jesus? Was he a god or a magician?

Cedron rounded on Nissa. “Is he here? The one who cured me?” He looked over the crowd.

Nissa’s face was flushed, and her breath came fast, as though she’d been running. She shook her head, not taking her eyes from her brother. “No. He disappeared at the temple.”

Cedron gripped her shoulders. “Take me to him, Nissa.”

Nissa flinched. She rubbed her shoulder where Longinus knew a crescent-shaped wound still pained her. “He’s gone.”

Cedron ignored his sister and climbed out of the pool. “Come. Before the horns blow.”

Nissa swayed and put out a hand as if to keep herself from falling. Longinus reached out and caught her elbow.

She gasped and trembled under his hand like a sapling in a thunderstorm.

Cedron pulled Nissa from Longinus’s grip, up and out of the water. They squirmed through the crowd and ran down the stairs, Cedron’s head swiveling from side to side.

Longinus followed, catching up to them as they reached the street.

Cedron jerked to a stop and stared at a wealthy woman in a silk mantle the color of a sunset. He reached out a hand to touch the filmy fabric, his eyes wide. She jerked away from him with a glare.

Longinus picked up Ferox’s reins.
He’s never seen colors. Never seen a woman.
He pulled himself up onto Ferox and spurred him behind Cedron and his sister. Cedron ran from one stall to another, fingering fruit, beads, clay pots. At a weaver’s tent, he ran his hands over folded piles of wool dyed in greens, pinks, and reds.

The crowd followed behind, growing larger as they shouted news of the miracle. Longinus gripped the reins and sat up straight. If this mob found Jesus, they would declare him the Messiah or some other Jewish absurdity, and then he’d have a riot on his hands.

He urged Ferox closer to the petite, dirty woman who followed the rejoicing crowds. He needed to find Jesus before the crowd did. Nissa had seen the healer. She would find him again.
Then I can question the man myself.

When they reached the Huldah Gates, Cedron raised his eyes to the towering Holy of Holies. Nissa stopped beside him, staring like she, too, had never seen it before.

Longinus slid from Ferox’s back, landing close to her. “You there.”

She jumped and cringed toward her brother. She was so tiny; the top of her head barely reached the center of his breastplate.

“Find the man Jesus, and bring him to me.”

Cedron frowned. His eyes—those miraculous eyes—flickered over Longinus. “What does a Roman want with a Jewish healer?”

What indeed?
He wanted an explanation. Longinus scowled. “He’s a troublemaker. Now”—he looked down at Nissa—“find him and bring him to me.”

“I’m not one of your soldiers,” Nissa spat out. She snapped her mouth shut.

This woman, as dirty as she was, spoke her mind like the
queen of Egypt. He didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. He stepped closer, towering over her.

Cedron darted in front of Nissa and squared his shoulders as if to protect his sister from a blow. He glared at Longinus. “Leave her alone.”

As if a scrawny Jew had a chance against him. He scowled at Nissa. “You can find him, or you and your brother will find yourselves on the wrong side of Rome.”

Nissa swallowed, and her face blanched. She rubbed shaky hands down her dirty tunic. “Stay here, Cedron,” she croaked.

Longinus watched her dart away and weave through the crowds, her head tipped up, searching the faces of the men she passed. She’d find this man—this Jesus of Nazareth—and he’d get an explanation. Then he’d return to his duties and forget about miracles and the blind man and his prickly sister.

Chapter 8

W
HEN SHE WAS
well away from the centurion, Nissa slumped against a marble column. Her heart pounded; her mind spun. Cedron could see. What had happened there at Siloam? She had been so sure it was a hoax, a fraud, so ready for another disappointment.

But it was no hoax. The man who had saved the adulterous woman from death had given her brother a new life. How could it be? Was he really the Messiah, like she’d heard the Zealots claim?

Now that centurion, Longinus, wanted her to find Jesus. A troublemaker, he’d said. What would he do to the miracle worker? Nothing good.

This Jesus—whether he was the Messiah or not—was a good man. No Jewish man she knew would challenge the Sanhedrin. And never for a woman’s sake . . . a sinful woman. And he’d given Cedron a new life, washed him clean from whatever sin had made him blind and asked nothing in return. How could Nissa hand him over to the Romans? He might even be the savior they’d been waiting for.