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 sq
uared 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
WHEN 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.
But if she didn’t do as the centurion said, he could arrest her. And if he found out what she carried in her belt—who she really was—he’d turn her over to the Sanhedrin, and they would get the stoning they had been denied.
No. She couldn’t chance it. She must bring Jesus to the Roman. Then Longinus would leave her and Cedron alone. They could go home, start a new life. Cedron could find work, and she could stop stealing. Perhaps even Mama and Abba could change now that their son was no longer blind. They would be a respectable family again, leave the stigma of the am-ha-arez behind them forever.
She pushed away from the column and moved down the center of the court, searching the crowd for Jesus or one of the other Galileans.
Near the Beautiful Gate, a voice shouted. “That’s him!”
Another voice cried out. “He’s the one the prophet healed.”
A force of ten temple guards, dressed in ceremonial blue tunics and cone-shaped hats, marched through the crowd, pushing Cedron ahead of them. What did they want with Cedron?
Nissa rushed to her brother. “Where are you taking him?” A guard shoved her aside. She followed the wake of the guards to the Stone Court, a covered meeting place on the east end of the Court of the Gentiles.
The Sanhedrin waited on a raised platform inside the Stone Court. Priests wearing white tunics with wide linen belts stood with scribes, doctors of the law, and wealthy Pharisees. Caiaphas, the high priest, sat on an ornate chair in the center of the platform. A violet surplice covered his tunic, the lower half embroidered with pomegranates and tied with gold bells. Onyx shoulder pieces jutted from his neck, engraved with the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. The phylacteries hanging against his forehead and cheeks framed a hooked nose, a patch of gray beard, and narrow eyes.
Nissa’s hands shook, and her heart pounded. Who could help him? Her family had no friends among the powerful Jews, no one to speak for them.
The march of hobnailed sandals echoed through the courtyard. An authoritative voice rang out with a distinctive Roman accent. “What is the meaning of this?”
The temple guards snapped to attention as the centurion marched into the Stone Court, his armor glowing in the setting sun. The crimson plume of his helmet swayed like a red flag, and his sword glinted at his side. At least twenty legionaries followed in close formation. He stopped just half a step from the high priest.
Caiaphas gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles white beneath heavy gold rings.
Nissa’s racing pulse slowed. The Sanhedrin feared the centurion as much as she did. The Roman could order them all flogged, even executed, for no more reason than disrupting the peace.
“We are questioning him.” Caiaphas cleared his throat. “It is not Rome’s concern.”
Longinus looked down his nose at the high priest. “Everything is Rome’s concern.” He took position next to Cedron, crossed his arms, and spread his feet wide.
Nissa caught her breath. Could this Roman protect Cedron from his own people? He had no reason to help her and her brother, especially not with the way Cedron was scowling at him, but she felt better nonetheless.
Caiaphas swallowed and turned his heavily weighted head to Cedron. “What is your name?”
“I am Cedron ben Noach.”
“And are you the one they say used to sit and beg at the temple?”
“Yes.”
A well-dressed Pharisee stepped forward. “He’s not! He just looks like him.”
Nissa stiffened at the insult. They were calling Cedron a liar, accusing him of being part of a hoax. She sneaked a glance at the centurion. His jaw tightened, and his bright blue eyes focused on the Pharisee. He knew it wasn’t a lie, but the word of a pagan wouldn’t help Cedron.
Cedron straightened his back. “I am he. I’ve been blind since birth, begging at the temple and the Dung Gate since I was a child.” He motioned to one of the doctors of the law. “I’ve listened to you teach many days outside the temple. Surely you remember me.”
The rabbi peered at him with milky eyes. “You might be the one.”
Another Pharisee came forth. This one was younger than the rest, with a bright white prayer shawl and curling beard. “I am Nicodemus. Tell us. If you are the man, what happened to make you see?”
Cedron leaned toward Nicodemus. “A man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and told me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ So I went there and washed and was able to see.”
Nissa inched forward. Good, Cedron. Just tell them what happened. Then we can leave.
Nicodemus stroked his beard. “Where is this man?”
Nissa glanced toward the centurion. His face was set like stone, but he was listening. Of that she was sure. Both he and the Sanhedrin wanted to find Jesus.
“I don’t know.”
Good. Now we can go.
Cedron raised his voice so all could hear. “But I shall find him and give him honor.”
Nissa tensed. No, Cedron. This would only lead to trouble.
Caiaphas pushed himself to standing. “This man worked signs on the Sabbath. He is sinful.”
Cedron shook his head. “How can a sinful man do such a miracle? He is a prophet.”
Nissa cringed. Please. Don’t make them angry.
The priests and holy men broke into groups of two and three. The one named Nicodemus argued with a Sadducee. Caiaphas tore at his beard. Longinus edged closer to Cedron, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Finally, Caiaphas’s voice rang out, quieting the clamor. “Bring forward the parents.”
A knot of temple guards pushed through the crowd, Abba and Mama at their core. Abba’s eyes were red and bleary, his steps shuffling. He wore a robe of good quality, but old and threadbare. His white prayer shawl showed far less wear. Mama’s hair stuck up around her face, and her skin was creased with sleep lines. Her clothes, too, showed the family had once been respectable, if not prosperous, but the hem of her tunic was ragged and her mantle was askew, barely covering her stringy gray hair. No bracelets, rings, or brooches adorned her arms or clothes.
“Am-ha-arez,” whispered some in the crowd, drawing back.
“Mama? Abba?” Hope rose in Nissa. They could help Cedron. They could tell these men who he was, that he had been blind since he was born, that he shouldn’t be on trial.
Abba came forward first. His eyes widened,
and his mouth dropped open when he saw Cedron. “What? My son . . .” He stepped forward, but a guard pulled him back.
Mama lurched toward Cedron. “Is it true? You can see?”
Caiaphas stepped in front of them, two guards flanking his sides and blocking them from Cedron. He stared at them for a long moment. Abba shifted uncomfortably, and Mama seemed to shrink. “Are you not Noach, the woodcutter who supplies wood for the temple sacrifices?” Caiaphas looked to his scribe, who nodded.
“Yes,” Abba said, his back straightening. “Years ago, I supplied wood for your fires.”
“But no longer?”
One of the chief priests, a short round man, leaned toward Caiaphas and whispered in his ear. Caiaphas’s full brows pulled down, and he turned to Abba. “They say you no longer make sacrifices at the temple; you ignore the law and don’t pray the Shema. They say you are an am-ha-arez.”
Abba shook his head and bowed low before the priest. “No, my lord. I follow the laws of Moses. We observe the Sabbath and the feasts. I recite the Shema and—”
“Of course you do.” Caiaphas stepped forward and smiled down on the old man. “Of course you do, Noach.”
Nissa curled her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. How could Abba pretend they were pious Jews? They hadn’t made a sacrifice for years, and the only prayer Abba said was for his dice to be lucky.
The high priest raised his voice and spread his hands toward the gathered holy men. “Unfair rumors, I have no doubt. You and your faithful wife”—he nodded to the old woman—“are God-fearing and law-abiding. You have been treated unfairly. I, myself, will see you are once again welcomed among the woodcutters of the temple.”
Abba bowed almost to the ground. Mama did the same. “Thank you, high priest. Thank you.”
Caiaphas smiled like a snake about to strike.
Why were they treating Abba and Mama like friends and Cedron like a leper? Cedron was the one who said the Shema. He was the one who kept the commandments. Abba was the am-ha-arez, gambling away what he should be giving to the temple. Angry words formed on her tongue as she pushed forward.
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