Thief (9781451689112)

by Landsem, Stephanie

  Before he could open his mouth, she had turned to Marcellus. “You know what happened. I’m the Mouse. He only let me go because . . .” She pressed her lips together and glanced up at Longinus. “Take us both to Pilate, together.”

  Marcellus looked from Nissa to Longinus, his brow furrowed. “Yes. They’ll go to Pilate when he returns from making his sacrifices.”

  “No, not her,” Longinus ground out, turning on Marcellus.

  “It’s the only way.” Marcellus moved close to him. “She won’t be safe anywhere,” he hissed. “Not from him or his men.” He jerked his head toward Silvanus.

  Longinus slumped against Marcellus. He was right. Her chances with Pilate were miniscule, but with Silvanus, they were nonexistent.

  Silvanus grunted. “Go ahead. Take them to Pilate.” He stalked from the cell and called back over his shoulder, “And when he’s done with them, I’ll get them both to myself.”

  Hours later, three legionaries pulled Longinus from his cell and pushed him up the stairs.

  “Where is Nissa?” Ribbons of pain shot through his ribs as he stumbled through the empty camp and toward the blazing torches that lit the entrance to the palace. Bolts of pain streaked through his head, and each torch doubled into two fuzzy globes of light.

  “I’m here.” Nissa waited at the entrance of the palace with Marcellus.

  Longinus stepped close to see her in the dim moonlight. She seemed unhurt. “Are you . . . ? Did they . . . ?”

  “I guarded her myself,” Marcellus answered.

  He turned to his legionary. “Take her away. She shouldn’t be here; you know that.” He heard the note of pleading in his voice but didn’t care.

  “It’s too late, Longinus. Silvanus is already with him. Perhaps, because of your father . . .”

  Longinus shook his head. He’d used up Pilate’s debt to his father. Still, he’d plead for Nissa. I’m ready to die. But please, Abba, let Nissa go free.

  The legionaries pushed him up the stairs and through the anteroom outside Pilate’s chamber.

  Pilate sat on the cushioned chair, one elbow on his knee, his balding head resting in his cupped hand. Silvanus stood beside him, his armor and eyes glittering in the torchlight that did little to lighten the massive room. Through the framed openings on the eastern wall, the sky was faintly less black. Dawn was coming.

  Longinus drew himself up. The last dawn I will see.

  Silvanus stepped forward. “Here is the traitor.”

  Pilate raised his head and looked at Longinus silently. Blue shadows drooped below his eyes, and the wrinkles on his brow and cheeks had deepened into furrows. Longinus knew Pilate worried about the god of the Jews. He worried about revolution. And now he’d order the execution of his best friend’s son.

  Pilate nodded to Silvanus. “What charges do you bring against this man?”

  Silvanus looked pleased with himself. Too pleased. “Treason.” He paused. “And impiety.”

  Pilate paled. “Impiety?”

  Silvanus’s voice rose. “He follows the god of these people. He hasn’t made sacrifice to Mars for months, and when we crucified the Jew, he called him the son of a god, the god of Israel. My men heard him.”

  Longinus clenched his teeth. So he was not only a traitor to Caesar but also to all the gods that Pilate feared. Silvanus had planned well.

  “Longinus.” Pilate stared intently at him, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Is this true?”

  Impiety—there was no worse crime in Pilate’s eyes. But Longinus wouldn’t lie, not now. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

  Pilate stood, his eye twitching convulsively. He stumbled to a window and leaned on its ledge. “Your father was a good friend to me, loyal to Caesar and to our gods.”

  Longinus didn’t flinch. My father was willing to die for Caesar. I’m willing to die for my king.

  Pilate spun toward Silvanus, his toga swirling around his shoulders. “What about the girl?”

  Silvanus grabbed Nissa and pulled her from Marcellus, throwing her at Pilate’s feet.

  “You are the Mouse?” Pilate barked.

  “I am.” She answered in Greek. She crawled closer to Pilate. “I beg you. Have mercy. Please, release him.” Her Greek was stumbling, but Pilate understood her. He stared at her bent head.

  A jolt of pride ran through Longinus. Nissa was, indeed, a brave woman. But of course they wouldn’t release him. If he didn’t find a way to free Nissa, they would both die. Longinus stepped toward Pilate, dropping to his knees. Arrows of pain shot through his battered body. “In my father’s memory, I ask for this. If you were ever a friend to him, let her go free, I beg you.”

  Pilate turned on him. “You shame your father’s memory. A Roman begging for the life of a Jewess. I won’t shame him further by granting it.” He waved a dismissive hand at them. “Silvanus, the girl goes to the Sanhedrin. Let them do with her what they will. As for Longinus”—his lips turned down and jaw hardened—“his punishment is death.”

  NISSA CLOSED HER eyes as a wave of fear passed through her. She would be given to the Sanhedrin, and Longinus would die.

  Silvanus’s hand closed on her tunic, and he jerked her up and into his hard chest.

  Longinus lunged for Silvanus, but the guards pulled him back.

  She moved her lips in prayer. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him and I am helped. He was with her, as he always had been.

  She met Longinus’s gaze. Even with his face bloody and broken, she could see that he was no longer her enemy. He forgives me. His forgiveness and these few moments together would be enough to face what was coming.

  Suddenly, a shout and clatter of sandaled feet rang out from the palace entrance. A soldier—another centurion—sprinted through the archway and skidded to a stop before Pilate. His face was as white as a marble column, and his breath came in gasps.

  Pilate jumped to his feet and barked questions in rapid Greek. Nissa couldn’t follow him.

  The soldier shook his head and stuttered. Nissa understood one thing: the man was terrified. He swallowed and clamped his mouth shut, like he was afraid to say more. His wide eyes went to Longinus.

  Longinus spoke. “Cornelius, slow down. The tomb? Jesus’s tomb?”

  The younger centurion’s chest rose and fell. “Yes, we rolled a stone across it; it took three of us to move it.” His words were slower, more controlled.

  Silvanus grunted and dragged Nissa more tightly against him. She struggled to draw a breath.

  Cornelius’s voice rose. “We were there. No one came. I didn’t fall asleep, I swear to the gods. The stone, it cracked down the middle. The earth shook and a light . . .” He licked his lips and looked at Pilate. “A light. It was . . . beautiful.”

  “And then what?” Longinus glanced at Nissa, his brows lowered. She could almost read his thoughts. What happened at the tomb? What more could they do to Jesus?

  “The light . . . left.” Cornelius’s voice broke. “There was wind. And sound. Everyone ran. I stayed—I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to. Then the wind was gone, and I saw . . .” He drew a shaking breath.

  No one spoke. Silvanus’s hold on Nissa loosened. Nissa glanced up to see him watching Pilate with a scowl on his face. Pilate’s chest rose and fell as though he had run across the city. His eye twitched wildly. “What did you see?” he demanded.

  Cornelius shook his head and blinked, like he still couldn’t believe it. “I went to the mouth of the tomb and looked inside . . .”

  Nissa’s chest expanded; heat rushed through her limbs like fire.

  Cornelius glanced up at Pilate, swallowed hard, and whispered, “It was empty.”

  Chapter 36

  Empty? how could it be empty? Longinus twisted away from his guards and grabbed Cornelius by his shoulders. “Did they steal the body?”

  Cornelius shook his head violently. “We were there the whole time.”

  Pilate stood. “Then h
ow is it empty?” His voice rose in panic.

  Longinus looked into Cornelius’s terrified eyes. “Did you go in? What did you see?”

  “I looked in.” He glanced sideways at Pilate. “The burial cloths, that’s all I saw. Nothing else.”

  Guards pulled Longinus away, and he didn’t fight them. An empty tomb. Earthquake and light. What could it mean? Jesus was dead. He’d seen him take his last breath. And his disciples? They were too cowardly to steal a body, even if they could break through stone.

  Pilate collapsed in his chair. “The earth quaked?”

  Cornelius nodded, his eyes wild. “Wind and lightning. Just like when he was crucified.” He turned to Silvanus, his voice rising. “The stone cracked like it was . . . like it was made of clay.” Then, to Longinus, “The light . . . everyone ran—” He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Pilate’s tunic. “I didn’t fall asleep, I swear it.”

  Pilate jerked back, pulling the cloth from the soldier’s grasp. He barked an order at the guard: “Get him out of here.”

  The guard dragged Cornelius from the room.

  Pilate’s lips trembled, and his face shone with sweat. He raised a shaking hand to his eyes and took a deep breath. “This god—this god of the Jews—is angry. I’ve prayed and offered sacrifice, but it is not enough.” He looked to the door, to the windows, as if a spirit would come and take him away.

  Silvanus snorted. “You don’t believe in this Jew? That he was the son of a god?”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Pilate snapped, rounding on Silvanus. “You are as guilty as I. Your flogging killed him as surely as the cross.” He pointed a shaking hand at Silvanus. “Get out of my sight.”

  The legionaries wrenched Longinus toward the door, and Silvanus jerked his head to his men. “Get him to the carcer. I’ll give this woman to the Jews.”

  Longinus strained toward Nissa. Please, Abba, save her.

  “No!” Pilate’s roar stopped Silvanus midstride. “Wait.”

  Longinus held his breath.

  Pilate approached him. “You believed in this dead man, this son of a god?”

  Son of God. Longinus took a deep breath. If these were his last words, so be it. “I believe in the man that you ordered crucified. Jesus of Nazareth. I believe he is the son of God. If that sentences me to death, then I gladly die for him.” As he said the words that Stephen had once uttered to him, the immense peace he’d felt at the foot of the cross rushed over him again.

  Pilate paced away, then back to him. “Do you know where the body is? Some trick of the Jews?”

  Longinus shook his head. “I do not.” His own words to Stephen came back to him. He has power over life and death, and he has a reason to be here that no one understands. There was a reason he’d died there on the hilltop of Golgotha for all to see. A reason he had forgiven those who had killed him. And there was a reason for the empty tomb. Longinus just didn’t know what it was.

  Pilate rubbed at his eye. “This god of the Jews—will he punish me? Should I fear him?”

  Longinus considered his legate. Pilate feared the gods, any gods. But would Jesus or his father seek revenge on Pilate? He comes to bring mercy, Stephen had said. And all he wants in return is everything. Longinus chose his words carefully. “No.” How could he explain in a way that his Roman legate could understand? “I believe he came to bring mercy.”

  Silvanus snorted. “Mercy is weakness. And the Jew is dead.”

  Pilate stared at Longinus like he’d spoken another language. “Mercy?” His gaze went from Longinus to Nissa. He paced to the window, rubbed the top of his head, and let out a long breath. “Then I, too, will show my mercy, as an offering to this god of the Jews.”

  Longinus held his breath as hope welled in him. Mercy on him or on them both?

  Silvanus clenched a fist around Longinus’s tunic. “He’s a traitor to Caesar!”

  Pilate raised his hand over Longinus. “You are discharged from service. Your pension is forfeit. Don’t show your face in Rome or ever let me see you again.” He spoke to the guards. “Release him.”

  The legionaries looked at Silvanus, then back to Pilate. Their hold on him loosened; then they stepped away. Longinus stumbled to Nissa, but Silvanus pulled her away. “What about her?” he asked Pilate.

  Please, God of the Jews. Abba. Free Nissa.

  Pilate stared at Nissa, his eye twitching frantically. “Mercy on her as well.” He turned to the window and bellowed, “All of you, out of my sight!”

  Nissa looked at Longinus, a question in her face.

  He’d explain later. Right now, they needed to get away from Pilate before he changed his mind. He grabbed her hand and turned, right into Silvanus.

  Silvanus’s face was red, and a shower of spittle accompanied his words. “Hope that you and I never meet again, Jew lover. If we do, I’ll make sure you pay for your treason.” He jerked away, thundered orders to his legionaries, and stomped from the room.

  When Silvanus had disappeared, Longinus pulled Nissa toward the arch. His head throbbed and his ribs felt like they were on fire, but he urged her on, across the palace courtyard and into the empty agora. When they reached the upper market, he stopped and slumped against a marble column. They were free, both of them. Thank you, Abba.

  He had no home, no silver, no land. His body was broken, he’d lost his father’s sword, and he’d never get to Gaul or anywhere else. He was stuck in this backward province, with this fierce woman and her sharp tongue, with these fanatical Jews and their talk of the one God.

  And he had never felt such joy.

  He looked down on Nissa’s bent head. They were both free. And he knew exactly what to do next.

  NISSA RAN BESIDE Longinus, her hand in his. Out of the palace, across the courtyard with its fountains and groves of blossoming fig trees, and into the deserted agora as the rising sun defeated the shadows of the city wall.

  What had happened in the palace? They were at the brink of death, and somehow, the most powerful Roman in Judea had shown them mercy. Longinus was alive, and they were both free. And all because of the empty tomb.

  However it had happened, she knew whom to thank. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His mercy endures forever. And if he had shown mercy to her, then surely Dismas was in Paradise. Her spirit soared like a bird released from its cage.

  Longinus stopped and leaned against a column. One hand still clutched hers, the other pressed against his ribs. Fresh blood darkened the hair at his temple. The memory of his kiss of peace made her drop her gaze to his freckled feet. Could he still want her after all she’d done?

  He squeezed her hand.

  She raised her eyes to his knees, then to his chest. She took a breath and looked into his battered face. “You’re hurt.” Should she offer to take care of him? He had no home, no family. He’d lost everything for her sake.

  He shook his head. His mouth curved into a smile, and his dimple flashed. “I’ll live, pretty Nissa.”

  Pretty Nissa. Did he mean it? A smile pulled at her own mouth. Idiot Roman.

  Longinus dipped his head and set his lips on hers. They were warm and rough and tasted of salt. He bent lower, wrapping his arm around her waist and crushing her against his chest. She pulled back and looked into his face.

  His eyes, the color of the sky above, showed only joy. His arms, wrapped tight around her, held the solace that she longed for. He’d sacrificed everything—his position, his pride, even his own body. And he offered it all to her. I don’t deserve it. But she would take it and spend her life giving everything back to him.

  She fit herself into the curve of his warm body and stretched up on her toes to meet his lips with her own. Like stepping from the cold shadows into the sun, warmth flooded through her. This was not a kiss of peace. This was a kiss of hope and longing. This was a promise of what was to come.

  The clatter of hooves on stone broke them apart. Nissa leaned on Longinus, her legs weak and trembling.

  Marcellus
rode to them on the horse that she’d seen for the first time here in the market, the day she’d met Longinus—he a Roman centurion and she a thief. Now they stood together, both of them changed forever and bound by what they’d seen—suffering and death, miracles and mercy. Love and forgiveness.

  Marcellus slid from the horse and approached Longinus. “What will you do now?”

  Longinus looked down to Nissa, his amber brows raised.

  She nodded at his unspoken question. There was only one thing to do, and they would do it together.

  Longinus pushed away from the wall. “We must go to the tomb.”

  Marcellus frowned. “You’ll never make it with your—”

  Longinus grunted and put a hand over his ribs. “I’ve been worse off. Don’t worry about me.”

  Marcellus sighed and offered the horse’s reins. “Take Ferox. It’s just past Golgotha, over the hill.”

  “Silvanus will have your hide if he finds out,” Longinus said.

  Marcellus pushed the reins into Longinus’s hands. “Let me worry about Silvanus.”

  Longinus bent and held out his hand to Nissa. She fit her foot into his palm and jumped, pulling herself up on the horse and scooting forward in the saddle.

  Longinus leaned on Marcellus, his hand braced on the younger legionary’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Marcellus grunted and boosted Longinus into the saddle.

  Longinus flinched as he settled behind her, his breathing shallow.

  Marcellus looked up at her. “Take care of him.”

  “I will.” She would take care of the idiot Roman. She’d wrap his ribs and treat his wounds. They’d need a place to stay and food. Somehow, they’d find it. There would be time—plenty of time—to make plans. After they saw the tomb.

  Longinus’s arm curved around her waist. With a nudge to the horse, they started toward the city wall. Longinus urged him into a gallop and tightened his hold on Nissa. They thundered past groggy slaves carting water and an early-morning cart lumbering out the Jaffa Gate.

  Outside the city, the horse lengthened its stride. A shiver chilled her as they passed by Golgotha. She didn’t understand what had happened there. But whatever had happened at the foot of the cross—and at the tomb—had changed her forever. She was no longer abandoned, no longer alone. Dismas had died for her, and somehow, Jesus had set them all free.