The Thief (32 page)

Longinus leaned forward. He’d spent most of his life around men of power—centurions, generals, he’d even glimpsed Caesar once. But this man radiated another kind of power—the latent power of an oncoming thunderstorm or the dormant force of the sea. He had the power to overcome death with mere words. Why wasn’t he using it?

A Jew with a short, trimmed beard and fine cloak led the legionaries and guards. His eyes shifted from Jesus to the faces of the captured disciples. One of the younger disciples struggled against Cornelius’s grip. “Judas!”

So that was Judas, the betrayer. Cornelius slammed the hilt of his sword against the young disciple’s head, and he fell to his knees with a grunt. Longinus clenched his hands into fists but didn’t move.

Judas approached Jesus like a snake sliding through the garden. Jesus didn’t move, not even as Judas bent close and kissed him—the kiss of peace, just as Stephen had given Longinus that last day. But this kiss was one of betrayal.

The captain of the temple guards stepped forward. He was older than Longinus and soft around the middle. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he licked his lips. “Are you Jesus the Nazarene?”

The clouds shifted, and the moonlight brightened over the hillside. Jesus lifted his head and seemed to grow taller. “I am.” His voice echoed over the silent garden like the call of the temple trumpets.

Several temple guards turned away with shouts. They fell to their knees like they’d been struck by lightning. Silvanus’s horse shied. The centurion muttered a curse and brought him back to his place.

I am.
What did those words mean? Was it something that only the Jews understood?

Jesus moved toward the captain. The guards shifted as if to protect their leader, but Jesus said only, “I ask you, who are you looking for?”

“Jesus of Nazareth. Are you the man?” The captain’s voice wavered on the last word.

“I told you that I am. So if you are looking for me, let these people go.”

Longinus glanced at the bound men. Jesus, like the best of generals, negotiated for the safety of his men first. His father used to say to him, it takes great strength to fight your enemies but even greater strength not to fight. Whatever enemy Jesus had faced in the garden just moments ago was infinitely stronger than these men, and Jesus had vanquished it with mere words. But this time, he was choosing not to fight.

“Let them go,” the captain said to Silvanus, his voice cracking.

Silvanus sneered but nodded to Cornelius. As the legionary
untied their hands, one of the older Jews lunged for Cornelius’s sword and scraped it out of its scabbard. He lurched toward Caiaphas.

The young disciple shouted, “No, Peter!”

The first row of legionaries pulled their swords and rushed forward.

Peter stumbled, holding the sword with both hands like a club. Caiaphas backed away, pulling his servant in front of his body like a shield. Peter brought the sword down, missing the high priest but glancing off the servant.

The man screamed and clamped a hand over the side of his head. Blood spurted through his fingers.

Longinus looked for a weapon—a stick, a rock, anything. He had to get Jesus away before this turned into a bloodbath. There was nothing but leaves and twigs around him. What could he do? Fight his own men with sticks and stones?

A rustle and flash of green caught his eye. A slight figure scuttled through the trees toward the clearing. There was no mistaking Nissa’s long wild hair and compact form. What was she doing here? Following him? She moved through the gaps between the trees to his right and toward the open clearing. She was going to get herself killed, rushing into the battle breaking out in the clearing.

Longinus lurched to Nissa and grabbed her around the waist. He dragged her back into the cover of trees.

She struggled against him. “Let me go! I have to see him.”

He pulled her close, wrapping one hand around her waist and clamping the other over her mouth. “Silence,” he hissed in her ear.

He expected more of a struggle, but Nissa stopped abruptly, her gaze riveted on the men in the clearing.

The scene was a silent tableau, as though carved in stone.

Legionaries surrounded Peter, swords drawn but motionless. Peter, the sword dangling in his hand, stared at the high priest’s servant lying prostrate on the ground. Jesus knelt over the servant.
His hand cupped the man’s ear, but the blood had stopped flowing and the man no longer cried out in pain.

The servant scrambled to his feet, never taking his eyes from Jesus. He backed away, then turned and fled from the garden.

Jesus turned to the disciple with the sword. “Put away your sword, Peter. Shouldn’t I drink the cup the Father gave me?”

Peter dropped the sword and sprinted toward the trees. The other two disciples followed, crashing through the bushes and into the dark forest.

Three legionaries moved to follow the men. “Let them go,” Silvanus commanded. “Our orders are to make sure this man gets to the Sanhedrin.” Longinus’s arms tightened around Nissa. Jesus had healed the servant, had stopped a battle that surely would have ended in death for his disciples. But still these men couldn’t see that he was no threat to them. Were they blind or just stupid?

Two legionaries wrenched Jesus’ hands behind his back and wrapped a rope around them. Jesus didn’t flinch as they knotted it tight. They shoved Jesus in front of the temple guard. The guards backed away, glancing nervously at each other.

“Take him!” Caiaphas’s face was pale beneath his swaying phylacteries. The guards surrounded Jesus and pushed him down the hill, toward the city.

Silvanus pulled himself up onto his horse and signaled to his men. The cohort pivoted and marched down the mountain and into the valley.

Nissa squirmed against Longinus.

He dropped his hands and stepped away. “What are you doing here?”

Moonlight glinted off cheeks streaked with dirt and disheveled hair. She wiped her hand across her mouth.

“I was supposed to warn him. But . . .” She bit her lip.

He rubbed his hand over his tunic, erasing the imprint of her lips on his palm. They had both been too late. A twist of anger
pulled at his gut. She had delivered Dismas to death. She was no better than Judas.

She moved out of the shadows. “I have to follow them.”

“Follow them?” What did she want with Jesus? “Why?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
I don’t care what she does.

“He has power over the Sanhedrin . . . they won’t be able to do anything to him. He’ll walk away from them.”

“And then what?”

“Then he can help Dismas. He has to.”

“Help Dismas?” Was she crazy? Dismas was a dead man. And why would Jesus help a thief? Longinus shook his head. “Go home, Nissa. You’ve done enough harm today.”

“I won’t abandon him.” Her mouth hardened into that stubborn line he knew so well. She’d lied to him and betrayed her friend. Now she wanted to undo it all.

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

N
ISSA 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.