Thief (9781451689112)

by Landsem, Stephanie

He looked uncertain.

  She tried again. “What about those women you talk about? Will they still love you when you come to them empty-handed?” It was unfair, but she knew it would work. Women were his weakness. She pushed the picture of his wife and daughter from her mind. That was a long time ago. He couldn’t help them now, but he could help her.

  Nissa veered past him and continued toward the temple. When she glanced over her shoulder, he was following her, but he started at every sound and stayed close to the walls.

  By the time they reached the Royal Stoa, Dismas still looked grim but led her to the money changers working at their tables. A Pharisee, his tassels long and full, argued with one of the money changers. His purse was open in his hand.

  Nissa nodded to Dismas. He sidled alongside the two men, pulled a handful of lepta from his pocket, and bumped into the table. The chime of copper hitting the stone floor turned the head of the Pharisee and the money changer.

  Nissa darted forward. As the Pharisee bent to retrieve the worthless lepta and the money changer leaned over to watch Dismas, she dipped a sure, quick hand into the open purse.

  As she melted back into the crowd, her gaze fell on a sight that made her fingers tingle. The rotund little priest—the one named Thaddeus who had set the guards on Cedron—entered the Court of the Gentiles, surrounded by a dozen or more pious Jews. His hands, clasped in front of his belly, sparkled with gold and gems.

  How she’d love to lighten his fingers.

  Guilt fluttered within her. These were God’s chosen servants, weren’t they? To steal from them would be like stealing from the Almighty.

  Remember what they did to Cedron, the grim voice reminded her.

  Yes. Their harsh words, the way they had turned her weak parents against them, the men attacking Cedron and beating him. These priests and Pharisees were the guilty ones.

  She caught Dismas’s eye and nodded toward the jewels.

  Dismas moved in behind her. “No, Mouse. Too dangerous.”

  She swallowed a protest. Dismas was right to be careful. This time. I’ll get a chance, and when I do, I’ll get revenge for Cedron.

  By the time the last trumpets rang out into the dusky sky, Nissa and Dismas were divvying up their spoils in a doorway behind the Hippodrome. His worried expression was replaced with a satisfied smile. “You did well, Mouse. You might be the best pickpocket in the city.”

  Her chest swelled with pride. Abba had been wrong. She was good at something. Even after giving Dismas his cut, she had plenty for a month of rent and more. Gilad would be pleased.

  Dismas tucked his own coins in his belt. “How about we go have a jug of wine? I know a place by the north wall. Good wine. Better women. We’ll go to the bathhouse on the way so you can wash some dirt off. You proved yourself a man tonight, might as well celebrate with a woman.”

  The thought of a pagan bathhouse—with Dismas—made her face burn under the dirt and ash. She shook her head. “Not this time.”

  Dismas’s face creased in disappointment. “All right, Mouse. Scurry on home.” His yellowed teeth flashed again as he punched her shoulder. “If you change your mind, take my advice. Women like men who smell good.”

  He disappeared into the gathering gloom.

  Nissa hurried toward the lower city. Dismas might bury his memories with wine and women, but she wanted only to wash in the clean waters of Siloam. Tonight, the waters of Siloam would cleanse her, and tomorrow, she’d give alms to the beggars at the temple. Surely that would make up for her sin and lighten the guilt that pressed heavily on her shoulders.

  LONGINUS SCANNED THE camp, shading his eyes from the late-afternoon sun. Twenty legionaries worked in the practice yard, sparring halfheartedly with wooden swords. The rest of his century seemed to be lounging outside their tents or playing dice. The stables reeked, and the cooking tent looked like it had been ransacked by a horde of angry Picts.

  He scowled at Cornelius. “Keeping the men busy, I see.”

  Cornelius smirked. “You were gone longer than three weeks.”

  Longinus cursed under his breath. He could almost hear Silvanus’s triumphant laugh all the way from Caesarea. He’d underestimated the wily jackal. No sooner had the legion left Jerusalem than Longinus had been assigned to escort a caravan of supplies to Damascus. He’d had to leave Cornelius in command just when he was beginning to make some progress finding the thieves.

  The assignment that should have taken three weeks had kept him at the edge of the empire for almost two months thanks to dust storms, incompetent officials, and unrest among the nomadic chieftains of the desert. Now he was months behind in finding the thieves, and the camp was a disgrace. Leaving Cornelius in command of both centuries was like leaving a drunk in charge of a wineshop.

  “Any word of the two thieves—the Mouse and the Greek—while I was gone?”

  Cornelius shrugged. “Crucified a thief today.”

  “Greek?”

  “Nah. Egyptian. Got caught a week ago sneaking into one of the houses in the upper city. He pulled a knife. Pilate sent authorization from Caesarea.”

  At least Cornelius was doing something. Longinus started down the Via Praetoria. Might as well see how bad the rest of the camp looked. “What about the Jew from Nazareth? Is he in the city?”

  “No one’s seen him, but there have been plenty of stories.” Cornelius fell into step beside Longinus.

  “What kind of stories?”

  Cornelius snorted. “These Jews will believe anything. Curing lepers, feeding five thousand men with a loaf of bread. You know how they are.”

  Yes, he did know how these Jews were. Rumors of Jesus had blown through the province like dust devils, even all the way to Damascus. Two months ago, Longinus would have scoffed, but he’d seen the blind man healed at Siloam. There was no denying that Jesus had some kind of power.

  Cornelius passed by a jumble of empty wine amphorae like he couldn’t see them. “Some of the priests say he’s in hiding; others say he’s in Bethany. Who cares? As long as he’s not here.”

  This wasn’t the news Longinus wanted to hear. He had questions for the enigmatic Nazarene. Still, Passover was months away. He might yet see him. “What else? Any trouble brewing in the city?”

  “Just the usual—wells are low, crops in danger, they can’t pay their taxes. They complain about everything.”

  They reached the Praetorian gate at the edge of camp. Longinus stared out into the upper market full of people buying and selling. The wet season should have started weeks ago, but no rain had fallen on Jerusalem. Grass was brown on the hillsides, and crops withered in the fields. Drought wouldn’t help keep the peace. Hungry people, overtaxed and worried about their harvest, were more likely to rise up against their oppressors. And revolution was exactly what he didn’t need.

  “You’ve had a long trip.” Cornelius jerked his head toward the city. “How about heading to the lower city brothels with me for a little entertainment?”

  Longinus clamped his teeth together. The city on the edge of revolt, and the legionaries were visiting brothels? Cornelius might be Silvanus’s favorite, but Longinus still outranked him and it was time he remembered it. “You’ve had enough entertainment while I’ve been gone, Cornelius. Guard duty tonight. And tomorrow, be ready at dawn.”

  “Dawn?” Cornelius sounded like a spoiled child.

  This sorry excuse for a centurion wasn’t just indolent and soft; he was pathetic. “Yes. Dawn. A thirty-mile march, full kit. Tell the men.”

  Cornelius scowled and marched back to the barracks, grumbling under his breath.

  The trumpets blew, signaling the end of the day. Longinus needed to think, and he couldn’t do it in this pigsty of a camp. He strode through the gate and out into the city. How would he find the thieves now that the trail was cold? He could start asking questions again, but with his Roman clothes and foreign face, he wouldn’t get far. These Jews would curse their own mothers before they’d help him.

  Longin
us kept one hand on his knife as he loped down the streets toward the lower market. Night crept into the city. First backstreets and alleys turned murky; then the haze of twilight stole down the Stepped Street and over the squares and courtyards.

  His heartbeat quickened. He wasn’t afraid, just cautious. Jerusalem in the night wasn’t any safer than other cities he’d been in—Alexandria, Tiberias, even Caesarea had turned out to be deadly. Death could strike when you least expected it; he’d learned that from Scipio.

  A dry wind swept through the city, bringing the scent of cooking fires and burning lamp oil. Every tall Greek and roughly dressed man who might be from Galilee caught his eye. He saw the small thief in every half-grown boy. He passed by rickety houses and rowdy taverns full of men. As he approached Siloam, his thoughts returned to the miracle. What had happened to the blind man and his sister? Did they live in the lower city where he’d left them? He wouldn’t mind seeing Cedron’s little scrap of a sister. She might be rude and stubborn, but she had the courage of a lion.

  It had been nearly a year since he’d felt the soft touch of a woman. Where a Roman legion went, a battalion of women followed—wives, mistresses, prostitutes—hard to tell them apart sometimes. They were part of a soldier’s life, and a welcome one. But in the months since Scipio died, he’d had no stomach for carousing with the legionaries. Still, he missed the feel of a woman’s soft hair and smooth skin, the sound of her sweet voice.

  Nissa’s voice was more like a crow than a dove, and her skin was covered with dirt. Not to mention he was a Roman and she, a Jew. A difficult, prickly Jew. A smile twitched at his lips. He didn’t envy the Jew who took Nissa as a wife. She wouldn’t be docile, but neither would she be dull.

  Longinus reached the steps to the Pool of Siloam. It would be deserted by now. Women were at home, serving the evening meal to their men. The water would feel good on his aching feet. He climbed the stairs leading to the wide, flat esplanade that stretched into the darkness. The sounds of the street faded. The inky black water reflected a sprinkling of stars and the thin crescent moon.

  He stepped down into the cool water. A welcome chill rushed through him, but a splash across the pool made him tense and step back onto dry stone. He wasn’t alone. His hand went to his sword. A willowy form rose from the water at the other end of the pool, hardly visible in the black night except for a clinging white tunic.

  A ghost rising from the water? Or a water sprite? The figure turned, and in the wan light of the moon, he discerned slight curves. Just a woman. But what was a woman doing out by herself at night?

  Her hand rubbed her shoulder as if to massage away an ache.

  Recognition sparked through him. It was Nissa. So she does bathe. What is she trying to do, get herself killed?

  She bent to scoop up a bundle of clothes. He retreated toward the staircase, careful that his sandals made no sound. He tiptoed down the steps to the street and scooted around the corner of the wall, out of sight.

  What if another man had seen her coming out of the water like that? Yes, women bathed in Siloam. But not alone. And not at night, with the moon shining on their hair and turning their skin to alabaster. The little idiot could have gotten herself killed—or worse. If any woman in Jerusalem needed a husband to protect her, it was this reckless girl. What was her brother thinking? The hand of death knew no restraint; it would cut a young woman down with no remorse.

  He leaned against the wall and listened for the soft patter of her steps. When the slim form flashed past him, he waited, then fell into step ten paces behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Her pace increased.

  He sped up. He’d just make sure she got home safely.

  She followed the streets toward the tanners’ district, where the stench permeated the night air. Houses and shops gave way to brothels and taverns. Shouts and raucous laughter came from the doorways. A drunk man stumbled out of a doorway and retched in the street.

  Longinus pulled his dagger. This is no place for a respectable woman. He sped up, closing the gap between them.

  Nissa darted around a corner.

  He broke into a run. What was the little idiot doing now? He clattered around the corner and pulled up sharply.

  Nissa stood in the middle of the narrow street, her bundle clutched to her chest. Wet hair clung to her pale cheeks, and she trembled like a cornered rabbit. “Why are you following me?”

  He walked toward her slowly. She wasn’t quite so prickly now. “Why are you out alone? And in this part of town?” He jerked his head toward the brothel on the corner. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  She stepped backward, her hands tightening on the clothes in her arms. “Answer my question; don’t ask three of me, centurion.” She spit out the last word like it was poison. “And I can take care of myself.”

  Irritation rose in his chest. He didn’t deserve her ire. “My name is Longinus, and believe me, you can’t.” He checked behind him, tucking his dagger back in his belt. “I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

  She snorted. “I’m safe with a Roman soldier?”

  What an ungrateful little minx. He covered the ground between them with two long strides. His hand closed over her wrist, and he jerked her toward him.

  She pulled back. He held tight.

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she glared up at him. “Let me go.”

  “You can take care of yourself, can you?” He snaked a hand behind her and caught a fistful of wet hair at the nape of her neck.

  She struggled.

  He held her wrist and her hair firmly enough to prove she was caught like a rabbit in a snare. “What will you do now?”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “And these men will rush to help you?” He glanced at the nearest doorway, a brothel. “They’re more likely to join in the fun.”

  The last woman he’d held like this had been the Samaritan girl. She’d been terrified but ready to fight, just like Nissa. He’d been so angry, intent on avenging Scipio’s death. But it wasn’t the girl he had wanted, just the man she was with—the Samaritan with the scar. And this time he wasn’t angry.

  Nissa was stronger than she looked, but she didn’t stand a chance against a man. He bent close, whispering in her ear. “You’re a brave one”—by Pollux, she has more mettle than some of my men—“but courage won’t save you against a man’s strength. Believe me.”

  She slumped forward, all the fight leaving her. Good. She has some sense. He loosened his hold.

  The moment his grip relaxed, she wrenched backward and kicked, her hard-soled sandals connecting with his bare shin and shooting pain up his leg. She spit out words no Jewish woman should know.

  Longinus dropped her hand and let out a yelp. The wildcat was a quick thinker, and she knew how to curse in Greek. She turned to run, but he extended his hand and stopped her midstride. “You’re smarter than you look, little one.”

  “You’re not,” she shot back.

  He couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. This little Jew was full of surprises.

  She stared at him, her eyes as bright as the stars above them. “Let me go now that you’ve had your laugh.”

  Laugh? When was the last time he’d laughed? He was enjoying himself for the first time in months. Flirting with a Jewish spinster? What was I thinking? He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on her wrist. “I’ll see you home.”

  She stamped toward the north like an angry child, pulling him along.

  His grip didn’t falter, but he had to lengthen his stride to stay close to her. The air sweetened as they reached the perfumers’ district, but the silence between them was as sour as bad wine. It wouldn’t kill her to be civil. “Is your brother healed?”

  She didn’t slow or even turn her head.

  Perhaps he wasn’t. “Did his injuries fester?” That could happen too easily; he’d seen it a hundred times.

  She wrenched her arm away, and this time he let her go.<
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  “Is it his eyes? Can he still see?”

  She frowned. “Of course.” She started forward again and turned down an alleyway. He barely heard her mumble, “Not that it’s helped him at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She frowned at him like he was a child asking too many questions. “His knee . . . and the priests . . .” She shook her head. “He spends his time talking about Jesus and complaining about the—” She snapped her mouth shut.

  Complaining about the Romans. No surprise there.

  Nissa had stopped in front of a crooked door clinging to a crumbling wall. “Here. I’m home. Now will you go away?”

  By Jupiter, she is difficult. She stared up at him like he was her enemy.

  You are her enemy.

  He had questions and needed answers, but like the rest of the Jews, Nissa wasn’t going to give them to him. An idea flickered like the twinkle of the stars in the night sky. If Cedron needed a job, he could give him one. Clearly, they needed money, and he had plenty gathering dust in the principia treasury.

  Tomorrow, he’d find Cedron at home, and then he’d lay out his plan. Nissa wouldn’t like it, but she wouldn’t have a choice. He tipped his head and gave her a wink. “Good night, pretty Nissa. Don’t go out alone. You never know who might find you.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, but for once, no sharp words followed.

  He almost smiled as he turned away. For the first time since he’d met her, Nissa was speechless.

  Chapter 12

  NISSA PLOPPED DOWN on the three-legged stool and almost fell over. She picked it up, flipped it over, and snorted. One leg was shorter than the rest. Cedron wasn’t any better at carpentry than at finding work.

  She settled more carefully on the stool and leaned her back against the warm wall of the house. Amit lifted his head from his manger of barley and snuffled. Bones no longer poked through his withers, and his belly had grown fat. Onions sprouted through the black earth in the southern corner of the courtyard. A rose vine climbed the wall near the gate, some of its blooms already starting to unfold thanks to the water she brought every day from Siloam. If the rains came soon, she’d almost have a real garden, like when she was young and her family had prospered.