Cedron didn’t look convinced. “Then who killed the priest?”
She told him about Gestas. “It was him. We didn’t know what he was going to do. We didn’t even know he carried a knife.” A shiver passed over her. But she had helped. “Then he found out about me—who I was and where I lived. He said if I told anyone, he’d . . . cut out your eyes, maybe kill you.” He had to believe her.
Cedron scrubbed his hands over his face. “Longinus said he’s keeping him . . . trying to find out about the Mouse, before they . . .”
Nissa’s stomach twisted. Before they crucify him.
Cedron stiffened. “Does Dismas know where you live? Your name?”
“No. He didn’t want to know, in case . . .”
Cedron’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank God for that, at least.”
She chewed on her lip and tasted blood. Thank God? Thank Dismas. “Dismas is a good man. He steals, yes. But he isn’t a murderer. He only got caught because he was giving me a chance to run. We have to help him.” He’d broken his third rule again. If there’s trouble, every man for himself. This time it would cost him his life.
Cedron was silent for a long time. “No, Nissa. He taught you to steal. Got you in this mess.” He spit out the word. “We can’t help him.”
Leave Dismas to be killed? “He’s innocent, Cedron.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her, looking very much like Abba. “Of that crime, perhaps. But guilty of others. And what of the other man, Gestas? He got away?”
“Yes.”
“The Sanhedrin wants two thieves. And neither they nor Longinus will rest until they have them.”
“What do you mean?”
Cedron ran a hand through his hair and paced the length of the courtyard. “They want two thieves. We’ll give them Dismas and Gestas.”
Turn Gestas in? “But Gestas knows me. He’ll send them after me.” She’d hoped he’d die with her secret today.
Cedron covered the few steps back to her. “You’ll have to leave Jerusalem.”
“Leave Jerusalem?”
He didn’t look her in the eyes, but nodded.
“And go where?”
“You can go to Mama’s family in Bethany.”
Go to strangers? “We don’t even know them. They won’t—”
Cedron’s jaw hardened. “They’ll have to. They’ll have no choice when you show up.”
“But you’ll go with me, won’t you?” He couldn’t send her away. Not alone.
He crossed his arms. “I can’t leave now.”
Leave the city without Cedron? And desert Dismas after he had saved her life? “No. I can’t.” Her voice rose at the thought of Dismas hanging on a cross. “And what about Dismas? He was good to me.”
“Good to you? Look at what he’s done!” Cedron stepped toward her and raised his hand.
Nissa flinched and covered her head with one arm, sure she’d feel the hammer of his fist.
But Cedron didn’t hit her. A choked cry came from her brother, and warm arms wrapped around her. She buried her face in Cedron’s chest, and he let out a long breath. “Nissa. I’m sorry. I’ve been blind.” He leaned back and looked into her eyes. He was her brother again and nothing at all like Abba. “But now it’s my turn to take care of you. And you must do exactly as I tell you.”
Cedron released her and limped toward the gate.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, as he pushed through the door.
He didn’t turn around, and his voice was weary. “I’m going to set a trap.”
Nissa sunk to her knees. Her choices pounded through her head like the slam of the closing gate.
Obey Cedron, escape to Bethany, and let Dismas die for her.
Or turn herself in to Longinus, save Dismas, and be stoned by her own people.
The insistent voice was, for once, silent. This time, she had a choice. And no matter what she chose, someone would die for her sins.
Chapter 25
LONGINUS LASHED THE whip one more time against the thief’s blood-soaked back.
Dismas’s tied hands clawed uselessly at the air. His breath sounded in tortured gasps through the room. “I’m a thief,” he gasped for the tenth time, “but no murderer.”
The sour taste of bile rose in Longinus’s throat. The blood of a criminal had never bothered him before, especially not that of a murderer, but something about this was wrong.
“And your partner?” he demanded. “The small one? What is his name, and where is he?”
“Just Mouse. That’s what I call him,” the Greek choked out—the same story he’d clung to for the past two days. “I don’t know where he lives.”
Longinus threw down the whip and flicked his hand at Marcellus, who stood stiffly next to the prisoner, his face pale. “Untie him. We’re not getting anywhere with this.”
Marcellus hurried to the prisoner and loosed his wrists from the iron spike that jutted from the wall of the cell.
Dismas collapsed on the dirt.
Longinus rubbed his forehead. The Greek was tough, he’d give him that. He wasn’t begging like so many prisoners did. But something about this chafed at him. Most criminals, especially Greeks, were ready to admit their guilt at the first sight of his whip. This man hadn’t.
The Sanhedrin and Pilate wanted both the thieves, and they wanted them now, before the day of preparation for the Passover. Silvanus was gloating, sure the sword would be his. According to Marcellus, most of the men were, too. It was time to admit the Greek wasn’t going to give up his partner. Longinus had four days to find the Mouse.
But he also had to find Jesus.
Jesus had yet to be turned in to the Sanhedrin. Jerusalem was like dry tinder, and Jesus, with his incendiary views, could be the flame that started a revolt. But would he? Was Cedron right? Was Jesus here to start a revolution? The Jesus that Stephen had spoken of didn’t seem to fit with Cedron’s claims.
Pilate knew the danger. When Longinus had reported the capture of the Greek, he’d broached the subject of the Jewish healer. “We need to find this man before his own people do.”
“Worry about your thieves,” Pilate had cut him off. “I’ll worry about the Jews.”
Longinus stomped up the carcer steps and out into the dry heat of an unusually warm and dusty spring day. A legionary hurried toward him. “A man waits for you at the gate. A Jew. He says he has information you want—about the other thief.”
Longinus brushed past him and jogged to the gate. Cedron stood stiffly, his head swiveling to the right and left, his mouth pulled down in a frown. The familiar ache in Longinus’s chest sharpened into desperation. If he could only get out of this city and forget Nissa. Maybe then he’d get some peace.
“Cedron. What do you want?”
Cedron stepped closer. “I can get you the other thief.”
“The boy?”
Cedron’s mouth bent down. “The one who killed the temple priest.”
“I need the one called the Mouse. Are you sure it’s him?”
Cedron’s eyes flicked to the side. “I can get you the man with the dead priest’s dagger and the emerald ring.”
The Jew shifted restlessly from one foot to another. It wouldn’t be the first time Cedron had lied to him. “Why are you helping me?”
Cedron crossed his arms like he had something to hide. “For the silver.”
I’d be a fool to believe that. But it was the only lead he had, and with the Sanhedrin and Pilate breathing down his neck, he’d have to follow it.
“When?”
“You’ll have him before Passover.”
Longinus stepped close, his face a handbreadth from Cedron’s. “How can I find him? What is his name?”
Cedron jerked back. “I’ll let you know when and how. Just wait for word from me.”
Longinus watched him hobble into the marketplace. Something smelled rotten. Still, he’d be ready when Cedron sent word . . . and hope the Jew brought him the right m
an.
NISSA FINISHED WRAPPING the linen band around her chest, slipped the tunic over her head, and tied the rope belt around her waist. Her face was covered in dirt and ash, and the men’s head covering hid her hair.
Her heart pounded and her palms were wet, but not with the excitement of stealing. Not this time. No, fear chilled her to her bones. She looked at the sun as she ducked out of the house and into the courtyard. Not much time.
Cedron stared at her like he didn’t know her. “I still don’t like it.”
“We’ve been over this. I have to be there.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
Nissa huffed out a sharp breath. Cedron didn’t know Gestas. “He won’t go alone. He’ll suspect a trap unless I’m with him.”
Cedron frowned into the fire, but he didn’t order her back into the house.
Nissa poked at the smoldering embers with a stick. Dismas had been imprisoned four days. She hadn’t eaten and couldn’t sleep without seeing his face, wondering if he was alive. This morning she had made the mark on the wall. Would Gestas take the bait, or was it still too soon?
Gestas might smell a trap, or he might think a foray into the upper market too dangerous with so many Roman troops in the city. Nissa was counting on Gestas’s greed to push him to go with her today.
Cedron walked to the gate and turned back to her. “I’ll make sure Longinus is waiting. Just get him to the silver merchant, like we planned. Then get out of there before they see you.” Cedron’s eyes were worried. They’d been over this a dozen times.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I know what to do.”
“Then you’ll go to Bethany.”
She chewed on her lip, her choices gnawing in her belly. Cedron says this is the only way. Start over in Bethany. She owed it to him, after all the lies, the disgrace. But she owed Dismas, too. Who should she choose, her brother or the man who had saved her life?
GESTAS SIDLED UP to Nissa at the meeting place. “I thought you would be cowering in a corner at home after Dismas got grabbed.”
Nissa’s legs shook like a tree in a thunderstorm, but she answered him with a scowl. “I need the money. And the crowds won’t be here forever.”
“Ah . . .” His eyes gleamed in the dim light of the alley. “And what makes you think I’ll help you?”
“We’re safer together. And we can get more. Even you know that.”
His mouth twisted. “Safer? You managed to get a centurion and three armed men to chase you. I was lucky to get away. Our friend Dismas wasn’t so smart; he went back for you.”
Nissa’s chest tightened. I brought the soldiers straight to him.
Gestas poked a finger into her chest. The emerald signet ring gleamed dully. “I get to split it up.”
She didn’t care about the money, not this time. But he couldn’t know that. She balled her hands into fists and glared at him. “I need enough for rent.”
“Don’t worry, little Nissa. I’ll be fair.”
“Fine. You split it. But let’s make it worth our while.”
Gestas smirked. “You’re tougher than I thought, little girl. We’ll do well together.”
We won’t do anything together after this. She fell behind him as they darted through the shadowy streets.
Gestas blended into the throng around him. Nissa had described him to Cedron, who’d passed it along to Longinus. All she had to do was get him to the silver merchant’s booth in the upper market.
Tomorrow was the preparation day, but the market already rumbled like the clamor of an approaching storm. Lambs bleated, and donkeys brayed. Women argued with merchants; slaves labored under bundles of wine and wheat. Hot bodies reeked with the odors of sweat and sweet perfume.
Gestas’s sharp eyes shifted to her.
“Follow me,” she mouthed and headed toward the south end of the square where merchants sold silver, onyx, and ivory. Not far from the silver booth, a grizzled dealer sold pigeons for sacrifice. She eased behind a stack of willow cages, the birds cooing and shifting beside her, and scanned the crowd.
There he was. Even without his red plume and breastplate, she recognized Longinus. Perhaps it was the lock of hair that strayed from his head cover, or the freckled feet under the long tunic. More likely, it was the way he stood, alert and still, like a soldier awaiting battle.
When Gestas appeared beside her, the pigeons fluttered and squawked. His eyes went to the silver jewelry laid out like gifts on the table. He didn’t seem to notice the men milling next to the booth weren’t looking at the wares in front of them.
The sounds of trumpets echoed from the temple across the city. Her heart thrashed like the captured birds. It was time. But her quaking limbs didn’t still, and her mind didn’t focus, like when she was ready to steal. A cold chill swept over her, and her pulse pounded in her temples like hammers.
As if from far away, she heard Gestas’s voice. “Let’s go, Mouse.” He moved toward the silver booth.
Cedron’s orders were to run, to betray Gestas and abandon Dismas. Dismas’s words echoed in her mind—No one is worth dying for. Nissa froze like a Greek statue in the middle of the marketplace.
Chapter 26
LONGINUS STOOD STILL and attentive, searching every face and form in the teeming marketplace. The fourth trumpet had blown, and he didn’t see what he was looking for.
The rough wool tunic was hot and scratchy, and the cloth tied over his head flapped in the late-afternoon breeze. His sword, hidden under his cloak, was a welcome weight against his side. Dressing like a Jew had been Marcellus’s idea and a good one. No one looked twice at them in the crowded marketplace.
He stood motionless, his eyes scanning the faces around him. Cedron said the thief would be here when the horn blew. If this worked—and Cedron had promised it would—he’d win that cursed bet.
Close to the pigeon seller’s stall, he saw Marcellus jerk to attention. Longinus followed the legionary’s gaze. At the silver table, a man in a brown cloak and black head covering. Short, just as Cedron had described, but thick and powerful. He moved closer. He’d been right to be suspicious of Cedron. This wasn’t the Mouse he’d caught in the marketplace and glimpsed at the Sheep’s Gate. But there—the glint of emerald—the signet ring stolen off the dead priest. Imbecile. This man wasn’t the Mouse, but he could be the killer.
Longinus signaled to his men. They closed around the man. Too late, the thief saw them. He tried to run, but Marcellus blocked him. The thief pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade flashed as Marcellus knocked it from his hand with one blow. The men had him surrounded before he could finish a curse.
They had him. Longinus pushed closer to the struggling man. He was old, but still strong enough to fight the three men that held him. Had this cretin killed the priest with the help of the Greek, or was the Mouse somehow involved? Frustration rose in Longinus’s chest. He didn’t have time to untangle this knot of questions.
A familiar tattered head covering caught the corner of Longinus’s eye. He pivoted and scanned the marketplace. There, next to the cages of squawking pigeons, stood the Mouse. The boy he’d caught so long ago. Which one was the true murderer? The man with the emerald ring or the boy he remembered?
No time to decide—he’d take them both and ask questions later. The boy was fast, he knew. Longinus pulled his sword and charged ahead. This time the little rodent won’t get away. But the runt of a thief didn’t run. He didn’t even move. Longinus swept his armored forearm across the boy’s face, knocking him to his knees. The boy cowered on the ground. Blood smeared his dirt-covered face. The fire in Longinus’s blood cooled as he stood over the prone figure. This worthless wretch was the Mouse?
Longinus yanked him up by one arm, shouting orders at his men. “We’ll take them both to the carcer.” While his legionaries subdued the heavier man, Longinus barked at the crowd pressing in from all sides. “Clear out. Go about your business.”
He’d make sure they were punished, placate th
e Sanhedrin, and appease Pilate. Perhaps there would be four crosses on Golgotha tomorrow.
Longinus gripped the Mouse’s arm and dragged him behind the men marching toward the carcer. The runt didn’t look like much, but he’d escaped twice. He wouldn’t get a third chance. But the boy didn’t struggle or even make a sound. He’d spent months searching for this sorry excuse of a thief? What a waste of my time. Longinus’s grip on the boy’s shoulder tightened as his anger rose.
A sharp flinch and gasp from the Mouse stopped Longinus just before they reached the carcer. He squeezed the bony shoulder again. Again the boy flinched. His hand went to his shoulder in a familiar gesture that twisted Longinus’s heart.
What in the name of Jupiter? He pushed the boy up against the wall.
The Mouse ducked his head, cowering in the shadow. The wind teased at the dirty head covering, revealing a curl of brown hair and a bit of smooth skin. Longinus’s gut wrenched.
“What’s your name, boy?”
The Mouse didn’t answer but shrank deeper into his cloak.
Longinus narrowed his eyes at the slim form, the small hand. This is no boy. He pushed aside the neck of the too-big tunic to expose a delicate collarbone with a thin line of scar, as though from a sharp blade.
No. It can’t be. I’m going mad. His mind—his stupid heart—was playing tricks on him. He was seeing Nissa in everyone he passed, even this worthless thief. His fist closed around the tunic and ripped it aside. His breath stuck in his throat. A crescent-shaped scar. He dropped his hands to his sides, and his heart seemed to stop beating.
Nissa.
Nissa whimpered and turned toward the wall, her hands raised over her head as though to ward off a coming blow.
Longinus stared at her. She hadn’t been selling her body in the brothel. She was a thief and a murderer. He towered over her, blood pumping through his veins like fire. His hands clenched, yearning to lash out. The Mouse. All this time, he’d ached for her. And she’d made a fool of him.
He slammed his fist against the wall above her head.
She jumped and covered her mouth with a shaking hand.
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