Dismas chewed and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Too bad. That means I don’t get my cut.”
Mouse studied his dirty feet. That had been the deal they’d made almost a year ago when Dismas had found him picking pockets in the lower city, rarely pinching enough to buy a handful of food. Dismas had offered to teach him to steal more than copper coins. With Dismas’s help, Mouse pocketed silver, jewels—plenty, even after Dismas took his cut. But tonight, Mouse hadn’t held up his end of the bargain. And Dismas had almost paid the price.
Dismas straightened and popped another fig in his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Mouse. We’re partners.”
He slapped the rest of the figs into Mouse’s right hand, the silver shekel in the other. “Take this. I know your people don’t trade in graven images.” The shekel was stamped with a sheaf of wheat, the drachma with the face of Athena.
“But—”
“Shut up and take it, Mouse. I won’t offer again.” Dismas shoved him in the shoulder, but a smile lurked around his mouth.
Mouse closed his fingers around the coin. He chewed on the inside of his lip. “You broke your rule.”
Dismas folded his arms over his chest, his smile gone. “Next time, I’ll leave you.”
Mouse shoved the coin into his pocket and a fig into his mouth.
Dismas elbowed Mouse aside and peered out into the street. He glanced back over his shoulder, his dark eyes serious. “You aren’t worth dying for, Mouse. Nobody is.” He faded into the shadows of the city.
Next time? Mouse chewed his lip until he tasted blood. Tonight had been close—too close. If he was caught . . . if they found out who he was, what he was . . . he’d have more to fear than a Roman centurion.
No. He was done stealing. Dismas was safe, and Mouse had enough silver to keep the landlord quiet for a month. He would find a job—anything that would bring in the money they needed.
This time, Mouse vowed, he would stop stealing for good.
Chapter 2
NISSA SLIPPED THROUGH the darkest, narrowest street of the lower city. She passed a tumble of buildings that looked like they’d fall down at the first breath of the winter wind. A cart filled with refuse rattled toward the Dung Gate, leaving an eye-watering stench in its wake.
She turned into a winding passageway, checked behind her, and pushed aside rubble of broken pots and shards of stone to expose a low doorway. She ducked inside. The tiny room, hardly more than a hole in the ground, was filthy. The floor was damp with runoff from the street, rainwater or perhaps something worse. Whatever it had been used for—pigeons, by the smell—it had been forgotten long ago.
Moving with speed born of practice, she removed the length of wool covering her head, untied the tight leather thong at the nape of her neck, and shook out her long hair. The rough tunic dropped to the floor and puddled at her feet. She unwound the length of linen wrapped tight around her breasts and breathed a sigh of relief. Her face burned at the thought of the centurion’s searching hands, her arms prickling with remembered fear.
If he had discovered her secret, she’d have been dragged before the Sanhedrin and sentenced to death. Stealing was a sin, but a Jewish woman dressing like a man was an abomination to the Lord.
She donned a smaller, but not finer, tunic, tied her belt around her waist, and laid her own mantle over her hair. She smoothed her hands down her narrow—but definitely female—body.
She was forgetting something.
Her hand went to her face and came away smudged with dirt. If only she could stop at the Pool of Siloam to wash the dirt and the clinging smell of dung from her skin. But it was already late. Cedron would be worried, and they still needed to buy food before the shopkeepers left the lower market. She spit on her hand and wiped away as much dirt and ash as she could. That would have to do. Her brother wouldn’t notice anyway.
She rolled her disguise into a ball and buried it under the damp straw. She wouldn’t need it again. No more stealing. And this time, she meant it.
Good-bye, Mouse.
Nissa crawled out of the abandoned roost and into the streets of the lower city. She hurried around a corner, down another street, and struggled to push open the gate leading into a scrubby courtyard. Letting out a deep breath, she closed the gate on the noisy street. Safe again, and with money in her belt.
The square courtyard—bordered on three sides by high walls and on the fourth by a wattle-and-daub house—was empty. The fire was out, and only a few sticks of wood lay scattered in the corner. She checked the water jar. Only half full. A distressed bray sounded from the rickety lean-to on the side of the house.
“I know, I know. You’re hungry, too.” She rounded the corner to find Amit tied to his empty manger, his dry-as-dust water bucket kicked into the corner. The hungry donkey strained against the rope to nuzzle his soft nose into her hand.
She pulled the silver shekel out of her belt. “See, Amit,” she whispered, “this will make Gilad happy to see me.” Her stomach fluttered at the thought of the handsome young landlord.
Amit put his lips on the coin and snuffed.
“You know why I had to do this, don’t you?” She laid her face against his soft, whiskery cheek. To feed you and Cedron. To keep us safe.
Amit nibbled on her shoulder.
She pushed him away. “Let’s get you something to eat other than my tunic.”
The barley jar held just a handful of grain. She let Amit lick the last kernels from her hand, kissed him between his liquid brown eyes, and ducked into the dark doorway of the crumbling one-room house.
Once, her parents’ house had been like other Jewish homes. The courtyard had bloomed with flowers and herbs and smelled of freshly baked bread. Her father had kept the mud-and-reed roof in good repair and the doorposts adorned with the mezuzah. Brass lamps, cushions, and striped blankets had brightened the room where they slept and prayed. But now, one cracked lamp and a jumble of sleeping mats filled a shadowed corner. And the only prayers uttered inside were those of her brother, Cedron.
As Nissa’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw Cedron on his mat in the center of the room, his prostrate body facing north toward the temple. He sang from the Tehillim, the book of praises that she knew so well. “I trust in your faithfulness. Grant my heart joy in your help, that I may sing of the Lord, ‘How good our God has been to me.’ ”
Nissa chewed on her bottom lip and looked around the sparsely furnished room. There hasn’t been any goodness here for a long time.
Cedron murmured a few more words in Hebrew, the language of prayer, and shifted toward her. “Nissa?”
“Yes.” She crouched in front of him. He was older than her by ten years. A man who should have a wife and children but never would. Not that he wasn’t handsome. Her brother had been blessed with a high brow and a straight, broad nose. His brown hair and soft beard contrasted against skin the shade of clover honey. But his eyes were sunken, his drooping lids shielding eyes as sightless now as the day he’d been born.
She took his hand in hers. “You forgot to light the lamp.” In the dim light, she saw only a flash of a smile, but it warmed her like the sun.
Cedron squeezed her hand. “I was wondering why it was so dark in here.”
She picked up the lamp and pulled at the wick. “We’re almost out of oil.”
“And everything else.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Did you find work today?”
Find work? Her chest constricted. Disguising herself as a boy was bad. Stealing with Dismas was worse. But lying to Cedron made her feel like the dirt under her feet. Maybe she should tell him the truth now that she had sworn to stop.
The sinister voice stopped her. He’d turn away from you. He loves the law even more than he loves you.
The voice was right. If she told him, he would never forgive her. He loved the God of Abraham more than their father loved gambling, more than their mother loved wine. She’d have to lie like she’d been lying for months. But after tonight, the
lying would stop.
“I did some weaving for the oil merchant’s wife again today.” Her voice quivered. She might be the best pickpocket in Jerusalem, but she was a terrible liar.
Cedron turned his face toward her, his eyes vacant pools in the dim light. “Weaving? You?”
Nissa huffed. “I can weave.”
“Of course you can, sister.” His hand searched for her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. “But you can’t weave well.”
She shoved him, hard. “Well enough to earn this.” She brushed the coin Dismas had given her over her brother’s fingers.
“A shekel for a day’s work?”
Her heart pounded, and her hand trembled. He didn’t believe her.
But he smiled and dug a hand into his belt. “Then we are rich!” He poured a stream of coins into her hands: a bronze as, five quadrans, and at least ten copper lepta. Enough to buy barley for Amit and food for several days.
“Cedron!” She counted the money again. With the shekel, it was a small fortune. “Tell the truth. Did you sing again? Did the men at the gate pay you to stop?”
Cedron grinned and shook his head. “No singing. The men of Jerusalem fasted and prayed for forgiveness today. The Lord inspired them to be generous.”
Nissa tucked the coins into her belt. “Generous would be a new feeling for most of them.” But at least Cedron had begged today instead of sitting at the temple, listening to the rabbis teach and the revolutionaries complain about the Romans. “Does Abba know?”
“About the money? Am I an idiot as well as blind?”
“And Mama?”
He snorted. “Haven’t seen her.”
Nissa pulled him out the door of the house. She would have to hurry. “Your coins will be enough to get us some flour and oil, maybe some fish to break the fast.”
Cedron shuffled beside her. “I’ll come with you. We need to spend it all before Abba comes home.”
Nissa hooked a basket over her arm and pulled open the creaking door. “Don’t worry, we will. And when he comes home—”
“I know. I won’t tell him about the silver.”
“We won’t have it long enough for him to find out.” She took Cedron’s hand and hurried through the front gate and out into the street. Gilad would come for the rent tomorrow, and she’d be ready. She’d go to Siloam early and wash. She’d wear her other tunic, the one that almost fit her. She’d offer him warm bread—with honey, if she could get it cheap.
Maybe Gilad will see that a good wife is more than a pretty face.
At twenty years, her parents had given up hope of passing her off to another family. She’d never been pretty, not even close. Her hair was frizzy instead of flowing, her face was pointed, and her eyes, although fringed with thick lashes, were small and almost black. Not only was she plain, her body wasn’t made for bearing children. Most men took one look at her tiny stature and narrow hips and shook their heads.
That was before she opened her mouth. She’d heard the reproaches from her would-be suitors to her disappointed father.
Nissa has a sharp tongue.
She’s disrespectful.
Your daughter would do well to soften her words if she wants a husband.
Nissa lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. But not with Gilad. She would be respectful, modest, hardworking. She’d show him she was exactly what he needed in a wife.
They reached the lower market as the dusk crept over the city. The streets were emptying, the merchants starting to pack up their wares. They had just enough time.
Cedron sniffed the air. “How about some figs?” He faced the booth selling dried figs, apricots, and raisins. “I heard the caravan from Damascus come in today.”
Nissa left him at the fruit seller and hurried toward the grain merchant. Her mouth watered at thoughts of a good dinner. She filled her basket with barley for Amit, wheat, and oil. Just a few coins left, but enough for some dried fish and a miniscule jar of honey. She turned the corner and ran into a solid chest covered in fine linen. Smooth hands closed over her bare arms.
“Nissa. I’ve been looking for you.”
Gilad. His hands warmed her skin and the scent of sandalwood embraced her. Her heart faltered a beat as she gazed up at his handsome face. Dark hair, dark skin, captivating dark eyes. The same eyes she thought of as she drifted to sleep at night. If only she’d taken the time to wash.
Gilad released her arms and wiped his hands down his pristine tunic. “Your father is behind on his rent.”
Good Jewish women didn’t speak to men in the street, but everyone in the lower city knew Nissa took care of the household of Noach, including paying the rent. She lowered her chin and glanced up at him like she’d seen other, prettier women do. “Have you asked my father about it?”
“I did, my sweet. But he just lost at dice. Again.”
My sweet. Her heart galloped. Maybe there was hope. If he could just see her when she wasn’t so filthy. “I don’t have it tonight, but if you come to the house tomorrow?”
Gilad stepped closer and ducked his head close to hers. “Your father has used up all his chances with me.” His voice flowed like honey. “Have it tomorrow, my dove, or I’ll have to ask your father for another form of payment.”
Nissa’s cheeks heated, and her lips curved into a smile. He didn’t mean it, but it was a start. He’d come tomorrow, and she’d be ready. He’d see what a good wife she could be.
Pounding hooves, louder than her heart, pulled her gaze from Gilad’s brilliant eyes toward the center of the market. Shoppers and merchants scattered and shouted. A Roman horse rounded the corner and thundered toward them.
She searched the emptying street. Where is Cedron?
There he stood, across the marketplace. The horse bore down on him, but his feet remained planted in the dust. He reached out, his hands searching for her as men and women rushed past him. No one paused to help the blind man to safety.
“Cedron!” Nissa looked to Gilad, but he made no move toward Cedron. Nissa dropped her basket and sprinted toward her brother, directly into the path of the charging horse.
The rider saw her and pulled back, shouting as his horse reared. She threw her body on top of Cedron’s. They tumbled to the ground as the horse reared again and plunged over them. Nissa covered her head with her hands. Hooves hammered the dirt just a handbreadth from her face. A searing pain sliced through her shoulder. She closed her eyes and clung to Cedron.
The pounding hooves stopped, and dust choked her throat. Cedron stirred beside her. He pushed himself up, his hands searching over her body. “Nissa, are you hurt?”
She kept her eyes closed, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.
Sandaled feet slapped the ground near her head. Cedron was pulled away from her with a grunt.
“What’s the matter with you, Jew? Are you blind?”
A deep voice—Aramaic with a Roman accent.
No, it can’t be. A new rush of fear swept through her as rough hands closed over her arms and pulled her to sitting. Pain shot through her shoulder. She gasped and opened her eyes. It was him, the redheaded centurion.
He propped her back against the wall. “Are you hurt? Speak to me, girl!”
He was so close she couldn’t take a breath. He knelt beside her, his crested helmet lying in the dust. He’d been this close only hours before; surely he’d recognize her. Fear weakened her limbs. She swayed as the walls and ground tilted. All that kept her from tilting with them was the Roman’s rough grip.
He wasn’t much older than Cedron, but she’d never seen a face like his. It wasn’t Roman; she’d seen many of those. As if his blue eyes and red hair weren’t enough to make him stand out amid the dark, bearded men of Jerusalem, his skin was light tan, lighter than roasted almonds. And sprinkled everywhere—on his crooked nose, over high cheekbones and smooth jaw—were freckles, like stars scattered over the night sky.
He must come from the far reaches of the empire, but the insig
nia on his breastplate and the crimson plume on his helmet bore witness: he was a Roman centurion, and a dangerous one. She knew that from experience. Any minute he could realize who she was.
No flash of recognition crossed his face. “What kind of idiot runs in front of a horse like that?” His voice was a growl, but his hand was gentle as he pushed aside her torn cloak to expose a crescent-shaped slice on her shoulder, oozing blood. “You could have been killed.”
The Roman turned on Cedron. “And you! What were you doing, standing in the road like a—” He stopped abruptly as Cedron raised his sightless eyes. The anger left the Roman’s voice. “You’d be dead if not for this girl.”
Nissa struggled to stand. A crowd stood all around her, leaning in, watching. She had to get away from this man. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her.
Gilad shoved through the crowd and groveled to the Roman. “I saw the whole thing. You couldn’t avoid them.”
The Roman twisted to Gilad, scowling. “This woman needs looking after. Where is her husband?”
Gilad barked out a laugh. “Nissa? A husband? No man here is that brave.”
“Or that desperate,” a voice from the back called out.
A few men in the crowd snickered.
Nissa’s dizziness retreated, but in its place, anger flared. How dare they laugh at her, these men who had watched from safety as Cedron was almost trampled? She glared at the crowd, pulling her small body up. “Brave?” Her voice rose. “Braver than you! You cowardly dogs would have let Cedron die in the street.”
The Roman let out a snort.
She turned on him. He was no better than the others. “And you! This is our home, not the Hippodrome. If you hadn’t been tearing through the streets—I’m not the idiot. You are!”
Silence fell over the knot of men. Their mouths dropped open, and they all looked to the Roman.
He stared at her.
Nissa slapped her hand over her mouth. Did I just call a Roman centurion an idiot?
The centurion raised his amber brows to Gilad. “I see what you mean.” To Nissa he said, “Go home, girl, before you get in more trouble.”
Thief (9781451689112) Page 2
