She looked up at him, her ink-black eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Longinus. I’m sorry—”
Sorry? As if that makes up for what she’s done. “Don’t speak to me.”
She moved closer. “Please, forgive—”
He closed his hands over her arms. “Forgive you?” She’d lied to him, made a fool of him. She was a thief and a murderer. He’d never forgive her. He pushed her away. “Some things can’t be forgiven.”
She stumbled backward with a choked cry, then ran after the receding torchlight, leaving him alone in the cool darkness of the garden.
Let her go. She means nothing to you now.
Longinus leaned against a tree and rubbed his aching head. The garden was quiet now. No evil or despair permeated the air, no evidence that an innocent man had been betrayed by a friend. Jesus’ friends had run, deserted him, but Longinus wouldn’t. Not after what he’d encountered here with the man he hadn’t even met.
He needed his sword, his armor, his insignia of office. He had some influence with Pilate now. He would insist that Pilate stop the Sanhedrin before they went too far. One innocent man had already been condemned tonight. He wouldn’t let these conniving Jews do the same to Jesus.
Chapter 29
NISSA PUSHED HER way through Pharisees and priests in the courtyard of Caiaphas’s palace. It wouldn’t be long now. How Jesus would defeat the Sanhedrin this time, she didn’t know. But he would. And then she would beg for him to do the same for Dismas.
A knot of people pressed together near the gate to the inner courtyard. She sidled through but found a guard barring the way with a gold-tipped staff. “This is not your concern,” he said to a group of men who looked like pilgrims from Galilee, blocking them from entry. Another group, dressed in linen with gold rings and embroidered cloaks, passed by him without challenge.
Nissa slipped to the side and slunk around the edge of the courtyard. She’d need to find another way in. A fig tree stretched up and over the wall. She clambered up the spindly branches and eased over the warm bricks. Lowering herself as far as she could, she let go of the branch and fell with a thud on the hard ground.
She scuttled close to the shadow of the wall, behind a trickling marble fountain. On the other side of the inner courtyard, a fire blazed in a brazier. At least ten men stood around it warming their hands. Some were temple guards; others looked like Pharisees. Behind the fire stood the door to the palace and another guard.
“He’s in there now?” a man asked, his face lit by the light of the fire.
A temple guard nodded. “They are listening to witnesses. He claims God is his father. He calls him Abba.” The guard laughed. “Proof enough he is crazy. Abba!”
A servant girl hurried by with more wood. Nissa pulled closer to the wall.
A Pharisee held his hands over the flames. “He’s a fraud, I say.”
The girl stacked more wood on the fire. Sparks swirled upward, lighting the faces of the men in the circle. She pointed a dirty finger at one of them. “Aren’t you one of that man’s disciples?”
The man froze. “I am not.”
But he was. Nissa had seen him in the garden. He was the one who had attacked the high priest’s slave and run away. Now he was denying he even knew Jesus.
The temple guard left the fire. “You are. I’ve seen you with him.”
The man shook his head and stepped back, looking behind him toward the gate like he was going to run. “I tell you, I am not.”
“You are.”
His voice rose. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
The guard from the door moved closer, joining in the accusations.
Nissa inched forward. This was her chance. She clung to the shadows, then darted through the door and into the palace.
The sounds of the courtyard faded. The marble entrance hall, bigger than her own house, was empty. Torches blazing in sconces dispelled the gloom. Richly covered chairs and burnished urns lined one wall, while a series of unlit doorways gaped like open mouths along the other.
Raised voices rang from a double arch at the end of the hall. Nissa made herself as small as she could and crept along the wall toward the voices.
She leaned around the doorway and took a quick glance into the bright room. It was filled with men. Men in priestly robes, Pharisees, even some Sadducees. All had their backs to her. All but one.
Jesus faced the body of men. His tunic was ripped and dirty, like he’d been thrown to the ground. His hands were still tied. As she watched, a temple guard stepped forward and struck him across the face.
She jerked back. What was happening? When would he prevail over them, outwit them like he had at the temple?
A scuffle of sandals and a shout of protest sent her scurrying into a dark doorway before a temple guard dragged a man from the room and threw him into the hall.
He stumbled and righted himself, running back toward the arch. “I must see Annas and Caiaphas!” Nissa peeked around the door to get a better look. This man had been in the garden, too. He was the one who had led the guards and kissed Jesus just before they’d arrested him. The one named Judas.
The guard stopped him with one huge hand. With the other, he landed a blow in the man’s belly, doubling him over.
“Please,” he coughed out. “Please, I didn’t mean to—You must let him go.”
His words twisted in Nissa’s gut. Hadn’t those same words pounded through her head in the carcer as Dismas and Longinus made their grim agreement?
A priest appeared in the doorway. “Judas, you have your money. Now let us do the rest.”
“No!” Judas fell to his knees, his hands clutching at the man’s embroidered tunic. “He is an innocent man.”
“That is no longer your affair. Deal with your guilt as you must.” The priest signaled to the guard, who dragged Judas from the room by one arm.
“Please, listen to me.” He struggled wildly, but the guard threw him out into the night.
Nissa’s pulse fluttered, and her mouth went dry. She knew what it was to betray an innocent friend.
The shuffle of many feet and shouted orders sent Nissa farther back in the shadows. A flank of temple guards appeared, Jesus bound between them. A pack of priests and Pharisees followed like wild dogs.
“Bring him to Pilate.” Caiaphas spat the words out as if they had a bitter taste. “The charge is blasphemy, and the sentence is death.”
In moments they were gone, leaving the great marble hall echoing. Despair swept through her. Her shaking legs could hold her no longer. She slid down the cold stone wall into a puddle on the floor.
Blasphemy. Death. Where was the man who had turned the Sanhedrin from the adulterous woman? Where was the power he had shown in the temple, and when he’d cured Cedron and all the others?
Jesus hadn’t outwitted the Sanhedrin this time. He had been abandoned by the God he called on. Even his own followers had abandoned him. He’d been betrayed and condemned, just like Dismas.
Jesus couldn’t save Dismas. He couldn’t even save himself.
LONGINUS PACED THE length of the marble anteroom as the sun lightened the eastern sky. He shoved his helmet under his arm and rubbed his gritty eyes. His breastplate was polished and gleaming, his vitis and sword at his side. It would be soon now. Pilate was usually up early, if he slept at all, and Longinus would be the first to talk to him about Jesus, before the Jews and Silvanus got to him.
The steward appeared as silently as a shadow. “He’ll see you.”
Longinus strode forward, resisting the urge to wipe his damp hands down his tunic. He’d reported to the governor of Judea many times. But never to beg for his mercy on a man bound and waiting in the carcer.
He stepped through an arched doorway into a wide chamber. Marble columns soared to the vaulted ceiling. Long, velvet panels draped the walls, muffling the ring of his sandals. Wide openings along the eastern wall framed the expanse of the agora and, beyond it, the upper marketplace.
Pilate sat in a
cushioned chair at the far end. Silvanus stood next to him, his face twisted in a smile. Longinus’s stride faltered. How did that ugly dog reach Pilate first? Probably bribed the steward.
Pilate inclined his head to Longinus. He was a big man, powerful despite his age. He had a long face with deep-set, hooded eyes. His short, gray hair receded from a furrowed forehead. “Centurion, I hear you are to be congratulated.” Like all those of the upper echelons of Roman society, Pilate spoke Greek. Except when he’d had too much wine; then he switched into Latin like the rest of the men.
Longinus eyed Silvanus.
“You’ve captured the temple murderers. Your father would be proud.”
Longinus jerked his head in assent as guilt twisted through his gut. He’d won his sword and his passage to Gaul, not that it mattered now. Dismas—bloody, broken, and innocent—would die today. He couldn’t help Dismas, but he could help Jesus.
Pilate rubbed a hand down his face. “That should get the Sanhedrin off my back. And a crucifixion will subdue the troublemakers.”
Longinus ran his tongue over his dry mouth. “Legate, the Jews arrested a man last night named Jesus. I—”
Pilate held up his hand. A muscle under his eye twitched as he sent a sidelong look toward Silvanus. “Silvanus also tells me you had Scipio’s murderer.”
Longinus blinked. How could he answer? The truth would brand him a traitor, but he wouldn’t lie. “Silvanus shouldn’t believe everything he hears from spies and gossips.”
Pilate’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at the scowling Silvanus.
Silvanus pointed a finger at Longinus. “He’s a friend of the Jews. His father might have been a great centurion, but his loyalty is—”
“That’s enough.” Pilate’s voice hardened like obsidian. “I’ve heard all I need from you, Silvanus. Go now. Get the men from the carcer, and bring them to the stone bench.”
Silvanus glowered but obeyed. As he strode past Longinus, he shot him a look of pure venom.
Pilate rose from the chair and walked to the arched openings facing the agora. He folded his arms over his chest and gazed at the approaching dawn.
As the sound of Silvanus’s steps faded, Longinus stared at Pilate’s back. The best he could hope for was dishonorable discharge. If Pilate believed Silvanus, he could be flogged, even executed.
Pilate’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “You’ve been here most of the winter, centurion. Tell me. Is this man—the Galilean—is he a threat to Rome?”
Longinus blinked at the abrupt change in subject. But this was his chance to speak for Jesus. “Only to the temple authorities, the high priests, the Pharisees.”
Pilate’s back was still to him. “The ones in power.”
“But the people, the masses here for the feast, they love him.”
Pilate turned to him, his toga swirling. “Love him enough to follow him against six thousand armed legionaries?”
Longinus shook his head. “He doesn’t call for revolt.” He dismissed Stephen’s cryptic farewell. Be ready. The revolution is coming. The Samaritan didn’t make sense most of the time.
Pilate’s expression became skeptical, and his eye twitched again. “One more uprising in this barbarian outpost and Caesar will have my head.”
“But Jesus is—”
“I know. Innocent. Peaceful. A healer. I’ve heard all about him. From you, a few Jews, my own wife.” Pilate’s shoulders bowed like he had the weight of the empire upon them. “Sometimes the innocent have to pay the price for the guilty.”
A chill ran down Longinus’s back. Like Dismas. But Jesus wouldn’t, not while he was alive to stop it. “It doesn’t have to be that way. You can stop this.”
Pilate looked at him, his hooded eyes unreadable. He settled into his chair, arranging the folds of his toga around his lap. “You mean the Passover amnesty?”
“Yes.” The governor had the option to release one prisoner, decided by the people, at Passover. A gesture of mercy from Rome.
Pilate finished smoothing his toga. “You’re sure this Jew isn’t a threat?”
“I’m sure.”
Pilate pursed his lips and fixed his gaze on Longinus. “We have Barabbas. If I give them the choice, you say these people will choose Jesus?”
A choice between Barabbas, who had killed a family of Jews, and Jesus, who’d healed the sick and lame? Longinus’s shoulders relaxed, and his heart slowed. “Yes.” Of course they would choose Jesus.
“Go now.” Pilate waved a hand. “Take three hundred men. If you can’t keep those crowds of Jews under control, we’ll have more than three dead today. And I don’t want to be in this city any longer than necessary.”
Longinus turned and marched toward the door. He’d make sure the Jews behaved and Jesus was set free.
“And Longinus?” Pilate’s voice rang out across the marble and velvet.
Longinus stopped.
“Did you release Scipio’s murderer?”
Longinus slowly faced his legate. The truth or a lie? He swallowed. “The man was defending himself.”
Pilate pressed his lips together. “I owed your father a debt. Consider it paid.”
Longinus’s throat closed, and he jerked his head in a nod. No more chances.
“You will be loyal to Rome and Caesar, as your father and Scipio were.”
Longinus raised his chin. “I understand.” The words stuck in his throat.
Pilate returned his gaze to the window, and Longinus retreated. He’d been warned. Any hint of his allegiance shifting and he would see no mercy. His gut tightened. Was he still loyal to Caesar, a man who called himself a god? Or had his allegiance shifted to the Jewish healer, the man he had yet to meet but who vanquished death with mere words? Not my will, Abba, but yours be done.
Chapter 30
LONGINUS DIRECTED HIS men to surround the agora as the morning sun warmed the stone walls and lightened the sky to an iron gray.
“Petras, the south side. Any troublemakers, get them out. No blood; keep your swords sheathed.” Any sign of unrest, and Pilate wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of all his prisoners.
Longinus circled the agora on Ferox. The wide courtyard that fronted the palace was half filled with Jews. A band of priests and scribes hurried through the arched entryway and pushed their way close to the stone bench. Clusters of Pharisees bunched near the front, their heads bent together, their eyes shifting over the crowd, while troops of shabbily dressed shepherds lingered in the back.
Longinus craned his neck to see to the back of the crowd. These weren’t the people who had welcomed Jesus less than a week ago. Where were the pilgrims who had come with him from Bethany? The fishermen and farmers of Galilee who called him the Messiah? Did none of them know their messiah had been taken in the night?
A cold fear crept up his back. The Sanhedrin had planned well. Priests, Pharisees, and Sadducees, rich men whom Jesus had angered—they were all here. And by the look of the ragged men gathering near the back, they had called in some poor rabble to do their dirty work. But the rest, where were they?
This is trouble. His gut churned as he pushed through the crowd, listening to snatches of conversation.
“Death penalty.”
“—calls himself a king.”
“No friend of Caesar.”
Then, from a group of Pharisees close to the front, the most chilling words of all: “Give us Barabbas.”
Longinus jerked Ferox to a halt. These infernal Jews are two steps ahead of me. They already knew Pilate would offer them Jesus in the Passover amnesty and were spreading the word to call for Barabbas instead. Longinus scanned the crowd. Was there no one who would speak for Jesus? He needed to gather supporters for Jesus, enough to counter the demands of the Sanhedrin’s crowd.
Pilate appeared at the top of the palace steps and settled himself on the stone bench. “Bring forward the thieves.”
Not yet. I need time.
Marcellus approached Pilate with Gestas
and Dismas. The murmurs of the crowd waned.
There was no time. A few minutes to condemn the thieves, then he’d bring out Jesus and Barabbas and offer the amnesty. The crowds, instead of accepting Jesus, would call for Barabbas, and Pilate would be cornered.
Caesar or Jesus? Longinus had to choose, and fast. He slid off Ferox and signaled to Petras. “Get on. Keep the crowds under control.”
Longinus pushed his way through the crowd, using his vitis to clear a path. He wouldn’t allow this innocent man to be crucified. His heart pounded as though he were going into battle against a horde of armed barbarians. He slipped into the carcer and down the stairs. He wouldn’t have difficulty overpowering one guard. Two would be harder. And then where would he take Jesus? Anywhere out of Jerusalem. He had friends in Bethany; perhaps they would help.
He reached the bottom stair as two legionaries and Silvanus dragged Barabbas out of his cell. Silvanus slammed his vitis on the back of Barabbas’s neck. The man went down with a crash. Silvanus looked at Longinus with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”
Longinus’s mouth went dry. I can’t fight all three of them. “I’ve come for the Jew.”
Silvanus narrowed his eyes. “Pilate told me to get him.”
Longinus nodded to Barabbas, already stirring. “You have your hands full.”
Silvanus jerked his head at his men. “Get him to Pilate.”
The legionaries dragged the groggy prisoner up the stairs.
Longinus tensed. Just him against Silvanus.
Silvanus turned on him, his hand going to his sword. “You might be Pilate’s favorite, but you’re a Jew lover, eh? I had a talk with the little thief just now.”
Longinus clenched his teeth. How much had Gestas told him?
“Seems you let another Jew go. A girl. Now I know who she is and where to find her.”
Nissa. Longinus tightened his hands into fists. Silvanus would find her, and he would be brutal. Longinus charged at the head centurion.
Silvanus moved like lightning. His vitis crashed into the side of Longinus’s head. Longinus raised his arm to deflect another blow, but Silvanus cracked his armored forearm across Longinus’s cheek. Pain arced through his head as the walls tilted. Longinus reached out to stop his fall, his ears ringing. His arms were caught in an iron grip. A brutal shove sent him lurching into the cell Barabbas had left. He pushed himself up in time to see the door slam behind him. “Silvanus!” He pounded on the door.
Thief (9781451689112) Page 24
