Cedron caught her eye and shook his head.
Nissa clamped her jaw shut and ground her teeth together. He was right. They wouldn’t listen to a woman.
“Now.” Caiaphas swept his bejeweled hand toward Cedron. “Is this your son, who they say was born blind?”
Abba froze as if he’d been caught in a snare.
Nicodemus stepped forward. His voice was measured and gentle. “Just answer with the truth.”
Abba nodded.
Caiaphas frowned and pushed Nicodemus back from the couple. “How is it then, Noach, woodcutter to the temple, that he can now see?”
Abba swallowed, his mouth worked like it was dry. “We know this is our son, and he was born blind.” He glanced at his wife. “We do not know how he sees now, nor do we know who opened his eyes.”
Nissa strained forward, pressing her lips together to hold in her angry words. Would her cowardly father throw Cedron to the snarling wolves of the Sanhedrin?
Caiaphas raised his brows as though waiting for more.
Abba wrung his hands and looked from Caiaphas to the gathering of priests, then to the temple guard. Finally, he spun toward his son. “Ask him,” he burst out. “He is of age. He can speak for himself.”
Caiaphas rounded on Cedron. “Give God the praise. Tell us the truth, ben Noach. We know the man Jesus is a sinner. He could not have healed you.”
Nissa tried to catch Cedron’s eye. Please, Cedron. Give them what they want. Let the Galilean fight his own battles.
But Cedron faced Caiaphas, his back straight, towering over the high priest. The centurion took a step closer to Cedron, as though ready to protect him.
Nissa held her breath. She’d seen this look on her brother’s face before. He wouldn’t back down now.
“There is one thing I know. I was blind. Blind.” He said the word like they didn’t understand it. “I told you before, and you did not listen.” He spoke to the high priest as though he were a slow-witted child. “He spit on the ground, made clay, and anointed my eyes with it. Why must you hear it again and again? Do you want to become his disciple, too?”
Caiaphas reared back and shook his head. “He made clay and healed on the Sabbath! I don’t want to follow him. He breaks the laws of Moses.”
Cedron pulled off his head covering and threw it on the ground. He pulled his hands through his hair. “Do you not understand what he did? He made a blind man see!” He pointed to his deep-set brown eyes. “How can you not see where he is from?” Cedron bent toward Caiaphas, his face a breath from the high priest’s. “Look at me! It is unheard of for anyone to open the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do this. Or are you blind as well?”
A shocked silence fell on the gathered crowd. Nissa’s hand covered her mouth as if she had been the one to speak so foolishly. Cedron, no.
But he wasn’t finished. “We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he listens to those who are devout and do his will. I prayed for my sight, and he gave it to me.”
Caiaphas stepped back, his face flushed red. “You are a liar and a blasphemer!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “You were born totally in sin, yet you are trying to teach us. You are not one of us. You—not your parents—are an am-ha-arez, and you are banished from the temple!”
Whispers rippled through the crowd. They drew back from Cedron.
Nissa let out a breath like she’d been punched. Banished from the temple? That meant he could never come here to pray and make sacrifice. No Jew would hire Cedron now that he’d been barred from the temple, not even in the lower city.
A guard pushed Abba forward. His eyes darted from Cedron to the powerful men on the platform. “You are no longer welcome in my house,” he stammered. “You are no longer my son.”
Anger blazed through Nissa like flames through a burnt offering. Of course Abba would betray his son for a few shekels from the temple treasury. And the notion that her parents would change now that Cedron could see, that they would be a family again? How could she have been so foolish? They were worse off than before. Had she really thought she had seen God’s mercy? All he’d given her was a cruel hour of foolish hope.
Cedron turned his gaze on his father, for both the first time and the last. “So be it.”
Caiaphas commanded the temple guards. “Throw him out.”
The crowd erupted, advancing on Cedron with fists raised.
Longinus roared a command to his men. His legionaries marched forward, pushing the crowd back with Latin shouts and thumps of wooden shields against flesh. A few men stood against the soldiers; most turned and fled through the dust-choked courtyard.
Nissa lunged forward and grasped a fistful of her brother’s tunic. She didn’t let go as the temple guards closed ranks around Cedron and pulled them both out of the Stone Court and toward the Huldah Gates.
The last thing she heard was Caiaphas’s voice shouting over the clamor. “Make sure he never comes back!”
Chapter 9
THE MOCKERY OF a trial had turned into a riot. Longinus sprinted back to where Ferox waited by the columns.
“Throw him out!” Caiaphas bellowed.
Throw him out? These people looked like they were out for blood. Cedron’s blood.
Longinus pulled himself into the saddle, shouting commands to his men. “No swords. Just move them out.” His orders were to keep this crowd under control, not slaughter them.
His heart beat fast and hard. Bloodshed was the last thing they needed today, just as the legion was getting ready to march back to Caesarea. Pilate wouldn’t thank him if this incident turned into an uprising.
He whirled Ferox around and pushed through the crowd, his vitis sweeping through the mob, straining to see the tall Jew and his little sister through the fray. His men followed his lead, pushing at the crowds with their shields. Within minutes, the Court of the Gentiles was under control. The dust settled; the temple guard retreated into the inner courts. His men took up their posts again, their swords, shields, and long spears at the ready but unbloodied.
Longinus pulled Ferox to a stop and drew a long breath. That had been close. Pilate would hear about it, and he wouldn’t be pleased. Longinus would do well to report the incident himself before Silvanus’s spies did it for him.
The evening horns sounded; it would be dark soon. Where were Cedron and Nissa, and what did it mean that Caiaphas had called him an am-ha-arez? He spurred Ferox through the western gate and around the outside wall of the temple.
What was it about these accursed Jews? A man cured of blindness, and they could do nothing but question and argue. Then, to throw Cedron out of the temple and welcome those cowardly parents like they were honored guests . . .
His hands tightened on the reins. He’d seen much in his fifteen years of service to Caesar—men full of life cut down in battle, friends dying of disease and festering wounds. But he’d never seen a prayer answered by any of the gods—Roman, Greek, or otherwise. And here, in this backward corner of the empire where you couldn’t find a decent bathhouse, comes a man who can cure the blind. And those dim-witted Pharisees refused to believe it.
Why do I care? The last thing I need is to get involved with these crazy people. But he had seen a miracle, of that he was sure. And now the man born blind might be in danger. Longinus flicked the reins. I’ll just make sure they’re safe. Then he could get back to his duty and finding the thieves.
As Ferox rounded the corner of the temple, Longinus sighted a cluster of men below the Huldah Gates—temple guards brandishing heavy sticks. One of the priests, short and round with a bright red face, urged them on. And there, darting around the outer edge of the mob, was Nissa. She rained blows on the backs of men twice her size. She pulled at their arms and scratched at their faces. They swatted her away like a mosquito.
Was this what the Sanhedrin called justice? Not on my watch. He dug his heals into Ferox’s sides. He reached the bottom of the stairs, slid off Ferox, and ran
toward the mob, drawing his sword. “Break it up! Out of my way!” He hit the nearest man with the flat side of his blade. The man backed off, but the rest of the mob closed in on the empty space.
Nissa appeared at his side. “Stop them. Please,” she choked out.
The short priest stepped in front of him. “This man was breaking our laws, not the laws of Caesar. We’ll punish him as we see fit.”
The priest was right. Unless it was a crime against Caesar, or an execution, the Jews were free to practice their own form of justice. Longinus didn’t have any authority here.
A groan of pain and the slap of flesh hitting stone sounded from within the knot of men.
Nissa screamed her brother’s name.
Curse what these fools call justice. Longinus raised his sword, holding the point just at the priest’s bulbous nose, and stared into the other man’s eyes. He’d killed many men, just like this, but he doubted this priest had ever faced the sharp end of a sword. “Call off your men. Now.”
The priest swallowed hard and retreated. “That’s enough!” He pulled men away and pushed them apart.
Longinus shoved through to the unmoving man curled on the stones.
“Cedron!” Nissa threw herself down beside him.
Longinus pointed his sword on the pack of men. “If I hear of any harm coming to this man, you’ll answer to me, not to Caesar.”
The priest scowled and muttered to his men. They backed away and disappeared into the murky streets.
Nissa knelt beside her brother, cradling his head in her hands. She bent close to his mouth to feel his breathing. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t cry.
Thank the gods. I don’t need a weeping woman on my hands.
“How bad?” He crouched beside the beaten man. Cedron’s eye was already swelled shut, his lip split and bleeding. Longinus ran his hand down Cedron’s arms and across his ribs, checking for broken bones.
Cedron coughed and winced when Longinus’s firm touch reached his knee. It was swollen and twisted outward. He probed it again.
Cedron groaned. “We don’t need your help, Roman,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Longinus ignored him. “That knee is bad. The rest will heal.”
Nissa’s hand, soft and trembling, rested on his bare arm, where muscle bunched below his armor and above his elbow greaves. “Thank you,” she whispered.
A jolt of surprise shot through him. If she hadn’t been so close, he’d never have believed that a kind word had passed her lips. Pretty lips, too—full and shapely, if a little ragged. Her eyes were fringed by thick black lashes that cast shadows on her dirty cheeks as she dipped her head toward Cedron.
Under all that dirt, she wasn’t half bad to look at. Not pretty in the way of the lush Jewish women he’d admired in the market, with their wide-set dark eyes, ample breasts, and generously curved hips. No, this girl was more like a half-bloomed lily, with hardly a curve to show that she was a woman instead of a scrawny boy. Her face—even under all that dirt—was delicate, with high, sharp cheekbones and a firm, pointed chin. Her full lips trembled as she bent over her brother.
Stop looking at her. She’s trouble, and so is her irritable brother.
Longinus leaned back on his heels. “What does ‘am-ha-arez’ mean?”
She caught her lip between her teeth.
“Tell me.”
Nissa smoothed her hand over Cedron’s brow. “It means one of the Chosen People who doesn’t know the law. Who does not say the Shema morning and evening. Mostly—to the priests—one who does not tithe.” Her mouth twisted. “But Cedron does all those things. It is our parents who ignore the law.”
Their parents . . . who had disowned their son. “And what does it mean to be called that? What will happen to your brother?”
She blinked several times, and her voice shook. “It means he’s unclean. He can’t go into the temple. No Jews will hire him.”
“No better than a Gentile, then?”
She chewed on her lip. “Worse.”
He needed to go now. Back to his men and his post. It was time to let these two unfortunates fend for themselves. But how would this girl get her brother anywhere? By the swelling in his knee, Longinus guessed Cedron wasn’t going to be walking on his own for days, maybe weeks. He stood and sheathed his sword. Not my problem.
Cedron groaned again and began to cough.
Longinus pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t leave them on the street. By Jupiter, what am I doing?
He pulled Cedron up to sitting. “Get my horse.”
“Me?” Nissa jerked and looked at the big animal calmly waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“He won’t bite you.” Ferox was as meek as a calf until he was in battle. “Just lead him over here. To the bottom step.”
“No. Just leave us. Cedron wouldn’t want me to—”
“What are you going to do?” he almost shouted. By the gods, she was stubborn. “You can’t get him home. He can’t even walk. Will you carry him on your own back?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
Cedron groaned.
“Listen. He’s hurt.”
“But—”
“Don’t be an idiot. It won’t do your brother any good.” Longinus stared at her like she was a new recruit refusing orders. “Get the horse. Now.”
The girl clamped her mouth shut and stomped to Ferox.
Longinus slid his hand under Cedron’s shoulders and lifted. The clop of Ferox’s hooves sounded against the stones. As skinny as Cedron looked, he was still a full-grown man and heavy. “Closer. To the steps,” he grunted.
Nissa’s mouth pinched, but she moved Ferox closer and Longinus hoisted the barely conscious man onto the horse’s back.
Cedron slumped forward.
Longinus steadied him with a hand. He spoke over his shoulder to Nissa. “Up you go. You’ll need to hold him up. It’s a long fall, and he’s had enough bruises for today.”
Her eyes widened and lips parted. He’d seen that look enough on new recruits. She was afraid. Of course she was. For all her bluster, she was still just a woman. “Come on; it’s easy.” He patted one of the four corners of the saddle that rose up like horns and made a square seat.
She stretched on tiptoe but was too short to even reach a pommel.
“Put your foot here.” He made a cup with one hand.
Nissa looked at him with a frown between her brows, lifted her bare foot, and put it into his hand. It was tiny, hardly bigger than a child’s and twice as dirty. He put his other hand on her waist to steady her. “Now, up.”
She scrambled and pulled her way into the saddle behind Cedron. Her tunic hiked up past her knees to reveal delicate ankles and firm brown calves. She let out a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her brother.
Longinus admired her courage—as well as bits of the rest of her. He dropped his gaze and gathered Ferox’s reins. No more women. And absolutely no Jewish women. By spring, he’d be leaving Judea and its women behind.
Now, to get rid of these two before anyone saw him. “Do you have any other family here? An uncle? Cousins?”
Nissa shook her head. “No. No one.”
Longinus pulled Ferox into a walk. Men, women, and children stopped and gaped as they left the steps and entered the busy street. Longinus, with his shining breastplate and plumed helmet, and Ferox, carrying the dirty, blood-streaked man and the tiny woman.
He knew no one but legionaries in Jerusalem. “You need to stay out of sight in case those priests of yours send more men. What about an inn? There’s one near the barracks that—”
“No.”
This was ridiculous. There had to be somewhere he could get rid of them. “You can’t sleep in the street.”
Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “Didn’t you hear, centurion? We’re am-ha-arez. The lowest of the low, save one.”
“And who’s lower than the am-ha-arez?”
She raised her bro
ws and looked down her nose at him. “A friend of the Romans.”
Anger rose in him. As if he wouldn’t be laughed out of the barracks if Cornelius saw him with two Jews on his horse? “That knife cuts both ways, woman.”
She turned her head away. He’d get no apology from this little brat. So be it. He’d get them to the lower city and be done with them. They can starve to death for all I care.
He led Ferox down the Stepped Street, Nissa holding tightly to her brother as they jostled and jerked. The stench of animal and human refuse increased as they descended into the narrow streets between crowded, crumbling houses. At the sight of them, women and children scurried into their courtyards and banged gates behind them. By the time they reached the lower city, Cedron’s face had blanched even whiter, and his eyes fluttered closed.
Nissa’s arms tightened around her brother. “Turn there.” She nodded to a narrow side street just before the marketplace. Nissa glanced around like she hoped no one noticed a Roman and a huge horse in the tiny space. When they reached a path no bigger than a crack between buildings, Nissa bent toward him. “Here. Stop here.”
What was this place? There was nothing in the alley but a pile of broken pots and some boards. I don’t care. It’s not my duty to take care of every homeless Jew. Especially an unpleasant little thing like Nissa and her ungrateful brother, even if he did admire her courage.
He helped Cedron slide down and gingerly set him on one leg, trying not to notice how Cedron was bony and thin where he had thick muscles and a well-fed middle.
Nissa took her brother’s arm and put it over her shoulders. Surely she couldn’t take him far. She was like a baby bird trying to carry a full-grown rabbit.
She looked up at him. “I’m grateful for your help.”
He bristled at her tone. She didn’t sound grateful. She sounded like she was dismissing a servant.
Without another word, Longinus jumped on his horse where the saddle was still warm from their bodies. He was done with them, this man who was born blind and his obstinate sister.
I have better things to do than help a couple of ungrateful Jews. His duty was back at the garrison. Keeping the pax romana and finding the thieves so he could get out of this infernal city with its ridiculous people. He turned Ferox back toward the main road, kicked him into a fast walk, and didn’t look back.
Thief (9781451689112) Page 8
