Free The Thief by Stephanie Landsem Page A

sinner”?
    Jesus spoke: “Neither he nor his parents.”
    Nissa’s blood pounded, and her knees weakened.
    “He is blind so the works of God might be made visible through him.”
    The works of God made visible?
    Men and women brushed by Nissa, gathering around Cedron and Jesus, pushing her backward. She inched through the bodies, closer to Cedron but not too close to Jesus.
    Jesus spat on the ground once, then again, his saliva a dark puddle on the dust. “While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” He stirred the puddle with his finger—the same finger that had made the Pharisees flee—and scooped the gray mud onto each thumb.
    What was he doing? Nissa glanced at his followers. Their faces reflected her question.
    Jesus laid the palms of his hands on each side of Cedron’s bearded face.
    Cedron’s eyes fluttered closed.
    As gently as a mother with her infant, Jesus smoothed his thumbs over Cedron’s sunken lids until they were sealed shut with a thick layer of mud.
    Cedron sat as motionless as a stone column.
    A few people backed away; others shook their heads and shrugged. The Galileans kept their eyes on Cedron.
    Jesus stood. “Go now. Wash in the Pool of Siloam.”
    Nissa scooted closer. The gray clay was packed over Cedron’s eyes like mortar on a cracked wall. What is this supposed to do? When she raised her head, Jesus and his followers had disappeared into the crowd. She blew out a breath of relief. At least the prophet hadn’t exposed her sins.
    “Go.” An old woman pulled at Cedron’s sleeve. “Go wash, as he says.”
    Wash in Siloam? All the way down in the lower city?
    Cedron tipped his head to the side, and his brow creased. “Nissa?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Take me to Siloam.” His hand went to his eyes but stopped short of touching the mud already drying on his lids. “Hurry.”
    She helped him up. The Pool of Siloam? He’s lived beside it his whole life. He washes in it, drinks from it every day. How could this time be any different?

Chapter 7

    L ONGINUS SHIFTED RESTLESSLY on Ferox. Just a few minutes into his watch at the temple and he already itched to get out of the packed courtyard. His men lined the eastern wall, and more were stationed at each of the gates. So far, everything was peaceful. He’d make sure it stayed that way until the evening horns blew and the feast was over. There would be no revolution while he was on duty.
    He scanned the faces passing below him—young, old, dark-skinned and light-, Jews from every province of Rome. But not the little thief and the tall Greek he’d been seeking for two weeks. Not likely to find them in this crowd, but he watched nonetheless.
    At least it was the last day of the feast, and the city would soon empty of pilgrims. He couldn’t wait to see the back of Silvanus tomorrow when he and most of the legion returned to Caesarea. Silvanus had put more than a few of his men in the hospital tent with his bad temper and brutal reliance on his vitis.
    Thank the gods Marcellus was better today; he’d even managed to make a joke when Longinus had checked on him this morning. The salve that cost Longinus a week’s wages and a day’s travel to the Dead Sea was probably what had saved Marcellus from infection and a lingering death, the physician told him. Good. It was about time the worthless legionary stopped lounging on a cot and got back to his duties.
    Voices rose in the center of the court. Something was happening near the marble steps leading to the gold-covered door. He nudged Ferox into a walk and angled him through the crowd. Disputes in tight quarters were never a good thing. These Jews could get worked up and start a revolt faster than any people he knew.
    A group of men clustered at the edge of the crowd. “ Vigilate! ” He raised his vitis, and the men scattered. The rest of the crowd moved aside, giving him a narrow passage to the steps.
    A man stood on the second step, his head down. A girl with familiar wild hair