Thief (9781451689112)

by Landsem, Stephanie

  “You are the Mouse. A thief . . . a murderer? I helped you. I asked you . . .” His voice broke.

  She shook her head, her mouth working like a fish gasping on the beach.

  He turned his back to her, his heart pounding like he was riding into battle. It all made sense now. The money, her fear. Of course she wouldn’t marry him; she was too busy making a fool of him. He never thought he’d wish she were a prostitute, but anything would be better than this betrayal.

  He rubbed his hand over his face. What could he do now? He had three thieves. Had they all killed the priest? There was only one way to find out. He took a breath. He’d find out the truth and deliver the punishment. She deserved it.

  Nissa hadn’t moved. She’d better not. She wouldn’t get any mercy from him. Not anymore. He pushed her through the carcer door and down the steps. “Get in there.” He shoved her into the cell where Dismas slumped in the corner, his tunic in shreds and covered in blood. Marcellus and two legionaries stood in the opposite corner, guarding the other thief.

  Nissa crawled to Dismas with a choked cry.

  Longinus nodded to the other legionaries. “Stand guard upstairs. Marcellus, you stay with me.”

  Marcellus retreated a few paces but kept his sword at the ready, his eyes shifting over the three thieves.

  The short, thick one started forward. “I’m innocent. Why am I here? I didn’t do—”

  “Silence.” Longinus closed his hand over the man’s throat and pushed him against the wall. He yanked the signet ring from the thief’s stubby fingers. “I know where this came from. And the dagger.”

  “I bought them from a—” His words ended in a strangled choke.

  Longinus signaled to Marcellus.

  Marcellus dug his elbow into the man’s thick neck and spoke in Aramaic. “Stay here, and stay quiet.”

  Longinus turned to the other two. Nissa cowered in the corner, her hands over her face. Dismas crouched beside her. “Not the boy. Let him go.” He raised pleading eyes to Longinus.

  Longinus stepped closer. What was happening here? The Greek thought Nissa was a boy? Is this some kind of trick? He strode to the corner and pulled Nissa to standing. He ripped off her head covering, reached behind her head, and loosed her hair with a jerk. “She’s no boy.”

  Dismas let out a breath and leaned toward her. “So it’s true.”

  “You knew?” she croaked.

  “Suspected.”

  “When?” It was a tiny sound.

  Dismas shook his head. “After the priest, when I told you to stop. I wasn’t sure, but—”

  “Fool!” Gestas spit out.

  Dismas turned to Longinus. “I beg you. Let her go.”

  Longinus’s mouth curled in disgust. Was there more he didn’t know about Nissa? “What is she to you?”

  “No.” Dismas shook his head. “Not that.”

  A twinge of relief eased the pain in his chest. At least she wasn’t sleeping with the old Greek. But it all made sense, now that he had them in front of him. “You lured the priest into the trap”—he pointed at Nissa, then turned to the one with the ring and the dagger—“and you killed him.” The tall Greek was innocent, as he’d been claiming for days.

  The Greek clutched his shoulders with hands caked in dried blood. “Please, let her go,” he choked. The man who hadn’t broken under the whip, who hadn’t pleaded for his life, was pleading for this worthless girl, begging for mercy, not for himself but for another? Longinus wouldn’t believe it if he hadn’t seen it himself. But it didn’t matter; he couldn’t let her go. Longinus staggered to the door. He’d turn her over to the Sanhedrin. They could stone her for all he cared.

  The room was silent. Nissa sank down the wall, her face in her hands. Dismas stood over her like a sentry, his face etched in pain. Ringing voices and the clatter of sandals and armor sounded outside the window. Longinus swung around. I don’t need more witnesses to this mess. “Marcellus.”

  The legionary snapped to attention.

  “Find out who that is, and send them away.”

  Marcellus hurried out. Gestas’s eyes followed him, and he shifted toward the open door.

  Longinus pulled his sword and pointed it at Gestas. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He rubbed his throbbing temple. What can I do? Could he see her die at the hands of the Jews? But what choice did he have? The Jews were clamoring for the murders. If only he’d stayed in Caesarea. Then he wouldn’t feel this ridiculous urge to protect the woman on the floor. If he had never met her, he would send her to the Sanhedrin, where her punishment would be swift and deadly. But he had met her. He’d dreamed of kissing those lips and imagined a life with her. He groaned out loud. And all the while, she’d known she could never marry the man who hunted her. What a fool I’ve been.

  Marcellus clattered down the stairs and pushed open the door. “It’s Cornelius. He heard you’d captured the thieves.”

  Longinus tensed. “What did you tell him?”

  Marcellus shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked at Nissa. “But Silvanus is on his way.”

  Longinus let out a long breath. He didn’t have much time. He paced the length of the cell and then back to stand over Nissa’s huddled form. She’d be better off with the Sanhedrin than Silvanus. At least they would kill her quickly. His heart ached as though a knife lodged in his chest.

  Nissa raised her eyes to his. “Please, Longinus—”

  “Not a word,” Longinus spit out. Her voice—the sound of his name from her lips—scraped on his battered heart like a dull blade. He was done listening to her lies. He turned to Marcellus. “Keep her quiet. I don’t want to hear another sound from her, or I swear I’ll kill her myself.”

  Marcellus sheathed his sword and wrapped one arm around Nissa, his hand clamping over her mouth. She struggled against him. He looked at Longinus in question.

  “I mean it,” Longinus answered his look. “Not a word.”

  Dismas raised an imploring hand. “Centurion. I beg you. Let her go.”

  “How can I?” Longinus yelled into his face. “How can I let her go?” Even if I wanted to, I can’t. “The Sanhedrin and Pilate want the temple murderers. Now, before Passover. And they know I have them. If I let her go, I’ll be executed for treason.”

  The tall Greek glanced at Gestas. “Then give them the temple murderers.” He bowed his head. “Give them Gestas and me.”

  NISSA TRIED TO swallow, but she could hardly breathe. The soldier’s hand was tight against her mouth, and a hard fist of fear lodged in her throat. Since the moment that Gestas had been caught in the marketplace, she’d been plunged into a nightmare. Now she was like a trapped animal. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t even move.

  And Dismas was trying to save her again.

  Longinus stepped back from Dismas. “You’ll be crucified.”

  Dismas’s eyes stayed locked on Longinus’s face. “I killed the man in the temple. Gestas and I. Gestas waited in the corridor; I led him down.”

  No, Dismas. I did it. I’m not worth dying for. The words clamored unsaid in her mind.

  Dismas straightened until he looked almost like the man Nissa remembered.

  Longinus shook his head. “You didn’t do it; Nissa did. I won’t crucify an innocent man.”

  Dismas took a deep breath. “I’m not innocent. I brought her into this. I made her what she is.” He glanced at Gestas. “Let her go. You’ll have your murderers, and the Sanhedrin will be satisfied.”

  Longinus turned on Nissa, his brows drawn down into a terrifying frown. His voice was gruff. “You’d die for this worthless girl? Why?”

  Dismas looked at Nissa. “Maybe I think she’s worth dying for.”

  Longinus shoved his sword back in his belt with a narrow-eyed look at Nissa. “Believe me, she’s not. She’s made a fool of you and me. She’s lied to everyone. Quit trying to protect her. She’s not worth it.”

  Longinus’s words struck Nissa like arrows, but he wa
s right. She wasn’t worth saving.

  Dismas stepped closer to her. “Let the girl go.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he didn’t break Longinus’s gaze.

  Longinus’s mouth twisted.

  Nissa squirmed in the legionary’s grip, reaching out to Longinus. Don’t do this. Don’t let him do this for me.

  Longinus stared at her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. He jerked his head at Marcellus. “Get her out of here. Without being seen. Then come back. I’m going to need you to take these men to the Sanhedrin.”

  Nissa strained against Marcellus, twisting wildly. He tightened his grip.

  Gestas backed toward the door. “I didn’t do it. I’m not part of—”

  Longinus swept out a strong arm, throwing Gestas against the wall. “We know your part.”

  He moved to Nissa, bending over her. “Go back to Cedron, Nissa. I’ll keep your secret, and we’ll both have the blood of an innocent man on our hands.”

  “Go, Nissa.” Dismas stepped back from her. “Go, and live.”

  Marcellus dragged Nissa from the room and half carried her up the steep stairs. What have I done? She’d betrayed everyone she loved, and now an innocent man would die for her. She struggled in Marcellus’s grip. If she could just get back to Longinus, if he’d let her explain. She could free Dismas. I don’t care what the Sanhedrin does to me. She wouldn’t hide in Bethany and let Dismas die for her. I have to stop this; I have to make it right. It can’t be too late.

  Marcellus peeled his hand from her mouth and clamped her close to his side, glancing at the lines of soldiers marching through camp. “Walk. And by the gods, don’t make a sound.”

  “Please,” she said in a choked whisper. “Let me go back. I have to stop them.”

  Marcellus’s words in her ear were quick and fierce. “He’s confessed. It’s over. Both of them will be crucified in the morning.”

  Nissa pulled back, her voice pleading. “I’ll go to the Sanhedrin, tell them it was me. I’ll go to Pilate—”

  Marcellus’s grip tightened, his face just a breath from hers. There was something there—sympathy? But also hard resolve. “And what would happen to Longinus? Do you know what Pilate does to traitors? Do you want to see him killed for you as well?” Marcellus pulled her close, shielding her from the soldiers, and marched her through the square. He shoved her through the side gate of the fortress.

  Nissa turned and clutched at his tunic. “Please, help me.” She didn’t deserve to go free. Longinus was risking everything for her. Even after she’d lied to him and rejected him. And Dismas was giving up his life for her when she’d been the one who had led the soldiers to him. There has to be a way to stop this.

  Marcellus pulled away. “Go, woman. And thank that god of yours that the Greek paid your ransom with his own life.” He turned and marched back toward the carcer.

  She stumbled and fell to the rough pavement in a heap of misery, lying in the street like a worthless pile of rags.

  Chapter 27

  NISSA PULLED HERSELF up and forced her feet to walk the streets of the upper city. Was it too late? Was there really nothing she could do? Her parents had betrayed her, the Almighty had turned his face away, but Dismas had been faithful. Three times he’d saved her, and she had left him to die. There had to be a way to undo her wrong.

  The Sanhedrin wouldn’t listen to her, a woman. And not to Cedron, one of the am-ha-arez. She raised her eyes to the east, where the slanted rays of the afternoon sun gleamed on the white-and-gold temple. Who had power over the Sanhedrin, the most powerful men in the city?

  Her breath caught, and hope flickered in her chest. There was one man—one man who had defied them. Who had taken a woman caught in the very act of adultery—guilty beyond a doubt—and saved her from death.

  He knew their sins. When Jesus faced the Sanhedrin, Dismas had said, He can read souls. If he was right, Jesus would surely know Dismas was innocent and save him from death. She just had to find him, to beg him for help.

  Cedron had been talking about Jesus since he entered the city; surely he would know where to find him. If she ran—not like a mouse but like a gazelle—to find Jesus, she might have time before Longinus brought Dismas to Pilate.

  She sprinted through the upper city. Her feet pounded over the Tyropoeon Valley bridge and down the Stepped Street, weaving past laden donkeys and careening around pilgrims.

  The trumpets had blasted the call to evening prayer when Nissa burst through the gate and into the courtyard.

  Cedron rushed toward her. “Nissa, where have you—”

  “There’s no time,” Nissa gasped. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her lungs burned. “I must find Jesus.”

  “We have to get you out of the city.” Cedron pulled Nissa’s old cloak from her shoulders and shoved her green tunic and sandals into her arms. “Change. Quickly.”

  She shook her head but kicked off her men’s sandals. Where could she start? It would all take too much time to explain, and she hadn’t the breath to speak. And would Cedron even listen to her?

  She ducked through the door and tore the old tunic over her head. She struggled into the green linen and wrapped her belt around her waist. She hurried out again, tying it as she walked.

  Cedron handed her a full water skin. “Get to Bethany tonight, before they close the gates.”

  She shoved it back at him. “No, Cedron. I need Jesus.”

  She pulled him out the gate, telling him what had happened, how Dismas had offered himself for her and Longinus had agreed.

  Cedron planted his feet and held her still. “Longinus knows? And he released you?”

  She nodded. “But I won’t leave Dismas.” She grabbed both her brother’s hands. “Please, Cedron. Help me find Jesus. I know he can save Dismas.”

  Cedron’s brows came down. “No, Nissa. I forbid it. You’re in enough trouble.”

  She dropped his hands. He forbids it? Now he sounded like Abba, just when she needed him the most. “He’ll die, Cedron. And it will be my fault and yours.” It wasn’t fair, but she had to make him listen.

  “My fault?”

  Nissa waved a hand over the courtyard. “You ate the food I brought home. You didn’t ask how I paid the rent. It was Dismas who kept us fed and clothed while you sat at the synagogue with the Zealots.” She held her breath. Please, Cedron.

  He clamped his mouth closed and gazed at her in silence. He turned toward the north, pulling the gate shut behind them. “I think he’s with his disciples, at Joseph’s house.”

  She pulled him into a run, north through the perfumers’ district. They could be past the Dung Gate and to the upper city in minutes.

  Cedron fell behind, his limp growing more pronounced as they reached the ascent to the upper city. Nissa slowed and waited for him. Hurry, hurry, Cedron.

  He labored next to her up the incline, through the widening streets, and past the sprawling homes and courtyards of the wealthy of Jerusalem. Cedron turned down a side street. “It’s not much farther.” He stopped in front of a sturdy gate where flowering fig trees arched over stone walls. “Here. I think this is where they are staying. But, Nissa—”

  There was no time for talk. Nissa pushed through the gate and into a spacious courtyard.

  A servant jumped from his seat at the doorway and hurried toward them.

  Nissa rushed forward. “Is Jesus here? His friends? Tell me, quick, where is he?”

  The servant’s brows lowered. “Who are you, girl?”

  Cedron entered the courtyard more slowly. “Please. I know Joseph. We’re looking for Jesus.”

  The servant frowned but turned and led the way into the house.

  Nissa followed at his heels, coming into a dim room strewn with rich furnishings. Two women sat close together near a flickering lamp, their shoulders rounded and their backs bent as though in mourning.

  “This girl”—the servant eyed Nissa—“is looking for your son.”

  Nissa stepped closer. One woman was small,
just like her, but old enough to be her mother. Her hair was covered in soft blue wool, and her white hands lay open in her lap. The other woman was beautiful. Long, dark hair framed a face that was almost impossible to look away from. Nissa’s hand went to her dirty face and wild hair.

  Cedron came from behind her. He didn’t spare a glance for the beautiful woman but knelt in front of the older one. “I am Cedron. We’re looking for Jesus. Do you know where he is?”

  Her child-sized hands fluttered like white doves. “They’ve gone to the garden to pray.”

  Nissa’s heart sped up. “What garden? Where?” She bit her lip, forcing herself to remain calm.

  “Gethsemane. On the Mount of Olives.”

  All the way across the city?

  Cedron raised his palm, stopping Nissa before she could speak. He addressed the older woman. “When did they leave?”

  The woman looked from Cedron to Nissa. She bowed her head and was silent. Cedron turned to the other woman. “What is it? What happened?”

  The beautiful woman looked unsure. “They said . . . just that they were going to pray, but Mary believes Jesus’ time has come.”

  “His time?” Cedron’s brow creased. “What do you mean? The time of revolution?”

  Pounding feet interrupted any reply, and the gate in the courtyard burst open. A man dressed in the robes of the Pharisees appeared in the open doorway, panting. His face was covered in beads of sweat. “Mary. Where is Jesus? I must—” He bent over, coughs wracking his body.

  Cedron went to the man. “Joseph, what is it? What happened?”

  The man caught his breath and straightened. “Judas. He’s going to hand Jesus over to the Sanhedrin.”

  Cedron grabbed him by the shoulders. “He can’t. We’re not ready.”

  Not ready? Nissa turned to her brother. Not ready for what?

  “He is. I was just there. They’re sending temple guards to arrest Jesus right now. Where is he?”

  The beautiful woman answered, “He’s at Gethsemane.”

  Joseph wheezed. “I thought they were coming here. I don’t know—” A deep cough doubled him over. “I don’t know if I can make it to them.”