The Thief (18 page)

A group of girls, most younger than her, bathed just a few steps away. She’d seen them here before. A few sat on the edge of the pool, braiding one another’s hair. Two more, so alike they must be sisters, splashed nearby.

One smiled at Nissa.

Nissa dunked her head under the cold water and came up gasping for breath.

The girl moved closer. “Cold today, isn’t it?”

Nissa nodded and climbed the steps quickly, wringing out her sopping hair. She glanced back at the girl, who watched her with a surprised face. Nissa fumbled her cloak and water jar into her arms and hurried to the steps, her tunic dripping.
I should have been more polite.

She pounded down the stairs, her sandals echoing on the hard stone.
She’s probably a good Jewish girl. She wouldn’t want to be friends with a thief and a liar.

She braved the street of drunkards and brothels and reached her courtyard out of breath and freezing cold. After throwing some wood on the fire, she changed into her new tunic of soft green wool with delicate embroidery on the neckline and hem. It fit better than anything she’d ever owned and made her feel soft and feminine, like the girls Gilad watched in the marketplace.

She wrapped a striped belt of deep blue and white linen around her waist and buckled on her new leather sandals.

It would be nice to have someone braid my hair, like Mama used to do.
Before Mama had found more happiness in her wine amphora. The girl at the pool had looked like someone she could talk to, even confide in. Someone who wasn’t her brother or a donkey.

She’d had friends when she was younger, friends in the lower city where her parents lived. But one by one, they’d married. Watching them cuddle their babies while suitors rejected her rent her heart. Her friends’ pity hardened it to stone.

Then Dismas had found her stealing copper coins and figs in the lower city market. He’d taken her on as an apprentice, and her life had changed. He’d taught her how to distract a shopkeeper, how to slip her hand into a purse, how to disappear in a crowd. They worked together, and they were good at what they did. She brought food home to Cedron and kept a roof over their heads.

Dismas admired her. Cedron loved her. They were enough,
even if she had to hide her true self from both of them. She didn’t need friends.

She opened the cedar cask in the corner of the house and took out an ivory comb, a tiny amphora of perfumed oil, and an alabaster pot. She combed out her hair, anointed it with the oil that cost more than she should have spent, and twined it into a long braid. Wrapping it in a coil, she pinned it with a shining brass brooch, then dipped beeswax balm from the tiny pot and smoothed it over her lips.

Pretty Nissa, Longinus had called her. She frowned.
I couldn’t care less what that centurion thinks.
But, maybe today, Gilad would think she was pretty.

Finally, she removed two silver coins from the cask. Only a handful of brass was left, but the thought didn’t make her chest tighten as it had when they lived with Mama and Abba. There was more money where that came from. She and Cedron had a decent house, new clothes, good food.

All thanks to Mouse.

She tucked the coins in her belt. They should keep Gilad happy until the end of Shevat.

The gate creaked open. Gilad was right on time. She smoothed her hands over her hips and hurried out the door, a smile on her lips. But it wasn’t the handsome rent collector stepping into the courtyard. It was the last man Nissa wanted to see.

“What are you doing here?”

The centurion was without his armor and helmet. Just a bright white tunic cinched with a studded leather belt. It was kirtled higher than the Jews wore their tunics, showing freckled knees and a glimpse of muscled thighs. His cloak lay across his shoulders but was thrown back to reveal his sword.

Longinus raised an eyebrow and inspected her from the top of her head to her new leather sandals. “Such a warm welcome, Nissa. Tell, now, did you dress up just for me?”

“For you?” she sputtered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were waiting for someone, that much is clear. When a girl looks as pretty as you, it’s for a man.”

Her mouth dropped open. Again he called her pretty. Why did he do that? They both knew it was a lie.

He stepped closer. “And your mouth is far prettier when it is closed.”

She snapped it shut and clenched her teeth. Was he mocking her? She stamped to the fire and bent to stir it. “Cedron is not here. And even if he was, he wouldn’t talk to you.”

Longinus ran a hand over his face and frowned. “I’ve got some questions for him.”

“He won’t answer them.”

Longinus turned to her, and his eyes narrowed. “We had a deal, your brother and I.”

“That was before you arrested the Samaritan.” She folded her arms over her chest. He needed to leave now, before Gilad came.

“That man killed my friend. It had nothing to do with Cedron.”

He had friends? Somehow she’d pictured him alone. Like her. Nissa crossed the courtyard and motioned to the gate. “Cedron should have known not to trust a Roman.”

Longinus’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw went tight. He moved toward her, his eyes fixed on her face.

She pressed her shoulders against the wall, the tiny thorns of the climbing rose pricking her back. He was so much bigger than her, even bigger than Abba. She raised her chin.
He can’t think I’m afraid.

He stopped, close enough that she could smell the lye that had bleached his tunic white. Nissa’s heart pounded, and her legs trembled.

His voice rose. “Tell him I need to talk to him if he wants Stephen freed.”

Her temper flared, just as it had so many times when Abba
had loomed over her like this. “I’m not your messenger; tell him yourself.”

He expelled a breath like a charging bull. She flinched and closed her eyes, but the expected blow didn’t come. She snuck a peek.

His brow furrowed, but not in anger. She stood her ground, her heart pounding in her ears, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath.

He stared at her for a moment, then lifted a hand and reached behind her to the vine that climbed the wall. He snapped off a pink rosebud and tucked it behind her ear, his callused fingers brushing like a hummingbird against her cheek. “I might be a Roman, but I don’t hit women.”

She glared up at him, her cheeks burning and her mouth as dry as dust.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find Cedron myself.” His mouth eased into a smile, but his eyes looked sad. He pushed through the gate, pulling the sagging door shut behind him.

Nissa pressed her hands to her cheeks.
He is dangerous.
That’s why her heart was pounding and her body felt like the burning bush on Mount Horeb. He was looking for the thieves, and he’d never give up.

The gate creaked open. She straightened and caught her breath, her hand going to the rose behind her ear. Was he back?

Gilad sauntered into the courtyard like King David entering his palace.

He wore a royal-blue tunic embroidered with gold and a coat of deep-brown wool. Not a strand of his jet-black hair or perfectly trimmed beard was out of place. His ebony eyes landed on Nissa.

She swallowed and croaked a greeting. “Shalom.”

Gilad’s glance flicked over her smooth hair, the linen tunic, before resting on the rose. “Nissa. I find you well. A flower in your hair, pink in your cheeks. I’ve never seen you looking better.”

He noticed. Isn’t that what she wanted? He stepped closer, close enough to reach out and touch her. Was this the moment she’d been waiting for? Had he finally realized what a good wife she would be? Her pulse fluttered like a tambourine at a wedding feast.

Gilad’s mouth twisted. “And that Roman who just left had a smile on his face.”

Longinus? What did he have to do with anything?

“I’d wager you have Roman coins in your belt.”

Nissa sucked in a breath. Roman coins?

Gilad’s ebony eyes narrowed. “Romans seem not to care if their women are flat-chested and sharp-tongued. At least you’ll be able to pay me the rent.”

“Gilad.” Nissa’s face flamed as his words turned her hopes to ash. “No. I’m not—it’s not—”

Gilad’s smile was more like a sneer. “Don’t be ashamed, Nissa. Your brother is an am-ha-arez; your parents have thrown you out. What else are you supposed to do? I’m just surprised you are able to make any money at all.” He looked around, assessing the jars of food, the bright linen drying in the sun, the manger full of barley. “Beauty clearly doesn’t matter to a Roman dog.”

How could he think that of her? She’d dreamed of marriage to him since she was a child, and now he thought she was selling her body to a Roman? “Gilad. It’s not like that.”

He held up a hand. “Say what you will, but I’m guessing your brother doesn’t know how you are keeping him in wheat and oil.”

Nissa took a step back, shaking her head. He was wrong, so wrong. But how could she explain the food, the new clothes, the rent money? Gilad knew exactly how much everything cost.

“I didn’t think so.” He advanced on her. “I have nothing against whores, Nissa. But if you’re doing business in my house, your rent just doubled. You aren’t beautiful, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I know centurions pay well.”

Doubled? “Gilad, I—You can’t—”

“Do you want me to tell your brother about your little business?”

She swallowed hard. Cedron wouldn’t believe him. But he would start asking questions. Questions about where she got the money. And once Cedron started asking questions, he wouldn’t rest until he got answers.

Hot tears burned in her eyes.
No, I won’t cry. Not because of him.
She dug the two silver pieces from her belt and slapped them into Gilad’s open hand, wishing she could slap the smirk off his face.

He looked at the coins. “I’ll be back next month. And I’ll expect six drachmas, two more for this month and four for next.” He looked over her hair and tunic, his gaze lingering on her chest. “You better hope that centurion doesn’t get bored with you.”

Indignation flared in her breast. She stepped up then, her hand flying toward his face, but Gilad was ready. He caught her wrist in an iron grip and stopped her before the palm of her hand met his cheek. He twisted her wrist until she cried out. His fist caught her across her temple, sending her stumbling back against the courtyard wall, blinded by a bolt of pain.

She threw her arms over her head, waiting for more blows. When they didn’t come, she risked a look.

Gilad wiped his palm down his tunic. “Have the money by the beginning of Shevat, or I’ll have a talk with Cedron.” He turned and walked through the gate, leaving it swinging open behind him.

She rubbed her stinging cheek. The pink rose fluttered to the ground, its petals scattering in the dust. Which hurt worse, that Gilad thought she was selling her body to the men of Jerusalem or that he wanted to profit from her humiliation? He might be handsome and rich, but he was a pig.

Longinus was strong—much stronger than Gilad—but he didn’t hit women. If only she had someone like him to turn to.
Cedron would never forgive her if he found out she was a thief. Dismas could never know she was a woman. No, she had to keep Gilad from talking . . . and the only way was to pay him.

She crouched next to the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees. Mouse would just have to take more silver. She would find a rich priest or one of the Pharisees. They always had plenty of money. Mouse would be careful—more careful than ever.

She’d make the mark on the wall of Siloam today.

Chapter 15

L
ONGINUS STALKED PAST
the brothels and taverns of the tanners’ district. He still needed to find Cedron, and Nissa hadn’t been any help, except to demonstrate just how much she and her brother hated him. A pang in his chest surprised him.
Get over it, centurion. A Roman isn’t anyone’s friend.

As he turned toward Siloam, he passed the peacock of a Jew he’d met the night he almost killed Nissa. He looked just as pompous as he had months ago, but what was he doing in this part of town?

He wound his way through the maze of narrow streets. At least now he had a small idea of why Nissa looked at him as though he might bite. He shouldn’t have raised his voice. But how could he have known that under that porcupine skin, Nissa was afraid? Not of his sword or his position. She probably feared all men, except perhaps Cedron. He’d known enough women to guess why. He’d like to get her father in a dark alley sometime. No wonder she wasn’t married, when she used her sharp tongue like a dagger to protect herself. No one else seemed to be stepping up to protect the girl.

Guilt stung him. Who was he to be so self-righteous? No, he didn’t hit women, but he and Scipio had harassed many a maiden in Caesarea and every other city where they’d been stationed. They hadn’t harmed them, not really. He didn’t have to force his women. Even before he’d made centurion, he’d
never had a shortage of women willing to be with him. Sometimes for brass coins, more often for a few cups of wine and some sweet words.