The Thief (19 page)

Longinus clenched his jaw at the memory of his last night with Scipio. As usual, they’d had too much to drink and had been teasing a woman in the forum. It had been his fault. He should have just let it go. But the wine and weeks of taking insults from the Jews had readied him for a fight. Stephen pulled a dagger, and Scipio had bled to death in the deserted forum while Longinus had begged every god he knew to save his friend. Before that night, he hadn’t known real fear. Now he did. Death would come for him as well, and he would be just as powerless against it.

Would he have protected Nissa if he saw her harassed by Roman legionaries, or would he have joined in the fun? He rubbed at his temple. Stephen had stepped forward to protect a woman he didn’t even know.
Does he deserve to die on a cross for that?
He pushed the thought away. It wasn’t his job to decide punishment, just to carry out the orders.

Longinus reached the east gate of the city and searched the crowd for Cedron’s lanky figure. He wasn’t with the men waiting to be hired to work in the vineyards, or with the ones waiting to labor in the fields for a day’s wage. Would he be at the Dung Gate with the other men desperate for work?

He walked north along the abyss of the Tyropoeon Valley, the flowing water shallow from the winter’s drought. Since Scipio’s death, he’d stayed away from taverns and women. Both held little appeal, only memories and bitter regret. But he’d seen plenty of Cedron’s runt of a sister.

Nissa looked better than when he’d first met her, much better. Curiosity flickered through him as he relived his failed visit. When he’d looked in the house for Cedron, he’d seen generous stores of grain and oil, wine, and even honey and almonds. Nissa’s clothes were finer than they’d been two months ago, and when he’d stood close to her, she’d smelled of costly myrrh
and sandalwood. And she’d filled out some, too. He hadn’t been too angry to notice that she looked more like a woman and less like a scrawny boy.

If Cedron hadn’t found work over these past months, where were they getting the money for food and fragrance? Cedron had said Nissa was working for a laundry near the barracks, but washing tunics didn’t pay that well. His footsteps slowed as he reached the bridge to the temple. Something wasn’t right.

He stopped, unsure of what direction to take. West, where his thoughts were roaming? Or south, to the Dung Gate, where he hoped to find Cedron?

The Passover was less than two months away. He needed to make his bargain with Cedron: Stephen for the thieves, or his sword would go to Silvanus, along with his chance to get back to Gaul. But the question of Nissa was nagging at him like a mosquito. How was she paying for her finery?

He set out to the west, toward the barracks and the businesses that sprang up around every Roman garrison. Negotiating with Cedron could wait. Right now, he had some questions to ask at the laundry houses.

THE SUN WAS
at its zenith by the time Longinus left the upper city and trudged toward the Dung Gate. He almost hoped Nissa’s brother wouldn’t be looking for work with the pagans and am-ha-arez of the city. His stomach twisted, and his feet fell heavily on the street.

Should he tell Cedron not one of the launderers knew of a tiny woman named Nissa? Would Cedron realize how Nissa bought their wheat and oil? Or the costly perfume he had smelled in her hair? There could be only one answer.

If she were his sister, he’d want to know. He’d be angry—mostly at himself for leaving her with so little choice. If she were his sister, he’d make sure she never had to resort to that life again. He’d find her a husband and get her safely married,
even if she wasn’t a virgin. But these Jews, they were different from Romans, and very different from Roman legionaries. These men expected to marry virgins; women kept themselves pure. What if Cedron threw Nissa out of their house? She’d already been cast off by her mother and father; she’d have no one. He’d seen women like that in every city he’d visited. It wasn’t a pretty life.

He pictured her with the sorry excuse of a man he’d seen heading toward her house. Was that pompous Jew one of her customers? Were his own men? He’d known plenty of whores, but those were other women. Not the scrap of a girl who defended her brother like a mother lion. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. He’d like to run it through every man who ever touched her. And Nissa—he’d like to shake some sense into her.

I could give her silver . . . but she wouldn’t take it.
Between her pride and her brother’s hatred of the Romans, an offer of help from him would be firmly—fiercely—rejected. She hated him; she’d made that clear enough.
So why am I thinking about her?

A cluster of Jewish men, their voices raised in debate, blocked the narrow street. They fell into silence and glared as he shoved past them. Nissa wasn’t his concern. He had more to worry about than a Jewish woman turned prostitute. He must find the thieves and deal with Stephen—not to mention track down a miracle worker who just might start a revolution. And then to get out of this hateful province.
Talk to Cedron; then forget her.

He caught sight of a familiar striped tunic in the shade of the Dung Gate. Foul-smelling men scattered as he pushed through the crowd that waited for work. And the worst work it was: carting the dead carcasses from the tanners and unloading them in the wasteland of Gehenna, the dump outside the city gates.

Cedron saw him coming and turned his back. It was midday, and from the look of his clean tunic, he’d had no work.

Longinus pulled him around. “Cedron. Talk to me.”

Cedron jerked away. “I trusted you.” He moved toward the gate as a man with a cart full of refuse rumbled up.

Longinus snorted. “Trust had nothing to do with it.”

Cedron’s mouth tightened into a firm line.

“Two men!” The cart master called out.

Cedron pushed forward, but the man pointed to two burly men behind him. “You and you.” Cedron’s bony shoulders slumped.

Longinus looked over the dozens of men who waited for work. With his lack of skills, his lack of muscle, and the stigma of the am-ha-arez, Cedron would starve before he got work. But Nissa wouldn’t allow that.

It was risky to keep Stephen in the carcer. If Silvanus found out that he’d had the Samaritan in his grasp, winning the bet would be the least of Longinus’s worries. But, with Marcellus’s help, he could keep Stephen a secret. If Cedron found the thieves, he could save the Samaritan, and Longinus would pay him enough to support Nissa for a long time.
Yes, Cedron can solve two of my problems.
But first, he had to get this stubborn Jew to hear him.

He clamped his hand around Cedron’s arm and dragged him away from the Dung Gate.

Cedron struggled and cried out, but no one came to his aid against a Roman and he was no match for Longinus’s iron grip and battle-hardened muscle. Longinus dragged Cedron around a corner and into a deserted alley. He pinned the protesting Jew against a crumbling wall with one hand on his chest. “Stephen’s blood will be on your hands if he’s crucified.”

Cedron’s breath rasped in this throat. “How do you figure that? And why should I care about a Samaritan?”

Longinus leaned in close. “A Samaritan who was sent to Jerusalem by your so-called messiah. Who believes in him just as you do.”

Cedron stopped struggling, and understanding widened his eyes.

“You knew Jesus wasn’t in the city. But you brought me to Joseph’s and handed over one of Jesus’s followers to me. You’re lucky I haven’t killed him yet.”

Cedron shook his head wildly. “I didn’t know—”

“You betrayed one of your own, Cedron,” Longinus growled. “If you want to save Stephen, listen to me now.”

Chapter 16

N
ISSA TRUDGED UP
the street, averting her gaze from a barely clothed woman in the courtyard of the brothel.

The water jar was heavy, and her bag knocked against her leg, stuffed with a handful of figs, some dried fish, and two honey cakes for their evening meal. She reached the gate, leaning on it with her hip and juggling the water jar, but something was wrong. The gate hung straight and true. The broken hinge was repaired, and the door swung open with just a touch of her finger. She stepped into the courtyard and almost dropped the jar, her heart leaping into her throat.

Longinus bent over a makeshift worktable, a mallet in his hand and three iron nails clamped between his lips. His tunic was tied around his waist, exposing a broad chest and wide shoulders.

“What . . . ?” Her mouth went dry. She’d seen plenty of naked chests—men working on the temple or hauling loads in the wood market. Just not in her courtyard. And none so scarred and . . . freckled.

He glanced up, surveying her from the top of her coiled hair to the toes peeping out from under her tunic. His teeth clamped tighter around the nails. “Who did that to you?”

Her hand flew to her eye. The swelling was down, but a faint bruise remained where Gilad had hit her days before. “I fell.”

His stared at her for a long moment, his mouth pressed on
the nails until his lips paled, then turned back to the three-legged stool upended in front of him.

Nissa settled the water jar in a shady corner and dumped her bag beside it. If she didn’t know better, Longinus looked angry. At her. But she’d done nothing to anger him, at least not yet. And what was he doing in her courtyard?

“We don’t need your help.” The words sprung from her lips before she could think, and she instantly regretted them.

He pounded a nail with two sharp blows.

Nissa bit her lip, feeling like a rude child. She scooped a ladle of water from the jar and brought it to him. He took it carefully, shifting away so that not even her tunic brushed his arm as he drank and passed the ladle back without a word of thanks.

She stared at him as he hammered the last nails into the stool. This man who had just days ago called her pretty was acting like she was a leper.

“There.” Longinus flipped the stool over and set it on the ground. It didn’t even wobble. He lined the mallet and the nails in a neat row, avoiding her eyes. A muscle tightened in his jaw.

“Thank you.” She’d take his teasing before this cold silence. “I have some figs . . . or a honey cake . . . I can—”

“Have you been walking alone at night again, Nissa?” His voice was abrupt and harsh, his accent heavier, as if he had forgotten how to speak her language.

Nissa backed away a step. “Yes. I mean, no. Not lately.”

“It’s dangerous.” He glanced over her shoulder toward the brothels and taverns. “Out there. For a girl like you.” He stepped forward. “You should know how to protect yourself. In case . . .” His bright blue eyes met hers, his brows lowered.

In case what? Why was he looking at her like that? And acting like she was in some kind of danger? He was more of a threat to her than anyone she passed in the street.

He advanced on her, so fast she didn’t have time to move away. His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “Let me show you something that works better than a kick in the shins.”

She pulled back, but he held tight. “What do you—”

“If you’re going to . . . walk at night, you need to know how to defend yourself. If a man, stronger than you—”

“I’m strong.”

He scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nissa. All men, except perhaps a cripple, are stronger than you.” He jerked her closer to him and snagged her other wrist in a vice-like grip. “What if a man grabs you like this?”

She pulled again, but his hand tightened. His skin was warm from the sun and smooth. She couldn’t break his hold.

“Do this.” He lifted her arms. “Lift up, then down, fast. You should be able to break one hand free.”

His blue eyes looked into hers, pale and grim. “Do it.”

She did as he said. Although his grip stayed tight, she was able to wrench one wrist free of his hold.

“Good.” Longinus nodded. “Now, step back and jerk me toward you with the hand I’m still holding. I won’t be expecting it, so you’ll get some momentum. Then, with the heel of this hand”—he took her free hand in his and turned it upward—“thrust up, right into my face.”

She stared at him. What was he doing? Teaching her to hit a man?

“Go on. Do it.” His voice was a growl, and his hard eyes stared into hers. His broad chest was close enough for her to smell sweat and sandalwood.

She swallowed. Maybe he would leave if she did what he said. Then her heart would stop pounding in her ears. She moved fast, jerking back just as he’d told her and bringing her hand up to his face with all the power of her undersized body.

He threw up his arm, blocking her just in time. She would have broken his nose. His brows went up. A burst of warmth flowed through her. Was that a flicker of admiration she’d caught in his eyes?

He grunted. “Good.” He looked down, dropped her hands, and stepped back like he’d just realized how close they were.
“Remember that.” He turned his back, pulling the neck of his tunic up and over his chest and thrusting his arms through the sleeves. He adjusted his belt and checked his sword.

“Tell Cedron to report to me at the barracks.” He stepped across the courtyard like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough, but turned to look at her again, as though he had something more to say.