Read Online The Thief by Stephanie Landsem - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephanie Landsem
Ads: Link
entrances to the central courts where the Roman soldiers stood guard. The pagan Romans couldn’t pass through the Beautiful Gate or into the Court of the Women beyond it. Farther into the complex rose the Court of the Israelites, for ritually pure men, and then the Court of the Priests, where bulls, lambs, and pigeons were sacrificed on the great altar of unhewn stone.
Nissa sidestepped pilgrims gazing openmouthed at the Holy of Holies, the dwelling place of the Lord, but she averted her gaze from the gold-and-white-stone structure. If she didn’t look up, perhaps God wouldn’t see what she was doing in his temple. She reached Dismas in the shade of the Royal Stoa.
He bent to whisper in her ear, “Like robbing the blind and deaf,” before jerking his head toward the other side of the Stoa and fading into the crowd.
Dismas was right. It was almost too easy. A coin purse peeked from a short, rotund man’s belt as he stretched on tiptoes to see over the crowd. Her fingers itched. There could be enough silverin there to feed her and Cedron for weeks. She eased closer. He didn’t blink when she bumped against him and lifted it off his protruding belly.
As the weight in her pockets increased, so did her hopes. They could do it. They could find a house—a small one—just big enough for her and Cedron. Away from Abba and Mama. Mouse would take care of them.
Shouts rang out toward the front of the crowd. Was Dismas in trouble? She squirmed through the tangle of bodies. An elbow hit her in the face. Pushing through, she found herself in front of the Beautiful Gate, just a stone’s throw from the line of Roman soldiers. She ducked behind a black-garbed Phoenician and peered around him.
A man stood on the stone steps in front of the gate. He wasn’t tall, but he looked strong, like a farmer or builder. His clothes were homespun, and his wood-and-reed sandals were worn and cracked. His hair and beard—both the warm brown of roasted grain—framed a face that wasn’t lined with age, but neither was it youthful.
Six Pharisees and a scribe stood at the base of the steps, just ten paces from the solitary man. The blue tassels of their coats trailed on the ground. Their gold-and-purple embroidered tunics fluttered in the breeze, and heavy phylacteries hung over their foreheads.
Between the Pharisees and the lone man, two temple guards held a woman. Her body sagged limply. Her head was uncovered, and henna-dyed hair hung to her waist. A long tear marred her fine linen gown, and blood trickled from her mouth.
Nissa glanced sideways as a tall form pushed close to her. Dismas. Her heart sped up. The soldiers weren’t far away. It wasn’t safe for them to be so near each other. The crowd pressed in from behind, trapping her. It seemed every person in the Court of the Gentiles was gathering to watch the scene before them.
One of the Pharisees stepped forward and pointed at the woman. “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery.” His booming voice carried to the corners of the court.
The Phoenician shifted and blocked her view. Gasps of outrage came from the crowd.
“Stone her!”
“Harlot!”
The Pharisee’s voice was lost in the din. Nissa cringed backward, her heart pounding louder than the voices around her. That could be her, caught by the guards, sentenced to death. She must get out, but the crowd packed even more tightly behind her, pushing her to the front.
Panic surged through her, and she glanced at Dismas. He shifted and shook his head. He was right. If she tried to leave now, she would only draw attention to them. She pulled her head covering closer around her face. Soon, they’d drag the poor woman out of the city to stone her. Then, she and Dismas could divide their spoils and disappear.
The rustic man approached the temple guards. He held out his hand to the woman. The guards released her, and she fell to the ground in front of him. The man leaned down and put his hand on
Nissa sidestepped pilgrims gazing openmouthed at the Holy of Holies, the dwelling place of the Lord, but she averted her gaze from the gold-and-white-stone structure. If she didn’t look up, perhaps God wouldn’t see what she was doing in his temple. She reached Dismas in the shade of the Royal Stoa.
He bent to whisper in her ear, “Like robbing the blind and deaf,” before jerking his head toward the other side of the Stoa and fading into the crowd.
Dismas was right. It was almost too easy. A coin purse peeked from a short, rotund man’s belt as he stretched on tiptoes to see over the crowd. Her fingers itched. There could be enough silverin there to feed her and Cedron for weeks. She eased closer. He didn’t blink when she bumped against him and lifted it off his protruding belly.
As the weight in her pockets increased, so did her hopes. They could do it. They could find a house—a small one—just big enough for her and Cedron. Away from Abba and Mama. Mouse would take care of them.
Shouts rang out toward the front of the crowd. Was Dismas in trouble? She squirmed through the tangle of bodies. An elbow hit her in the face. Pushing through, she found herself in front of the Beautiful Gate, just a stone’s throw from the line of Roman soldiers. She ducked behind a black-garbed Phoenician and peered around him.
A man stood on the stone steps in front of the gate. He wasn’t tall, but he looked strong, like a farmer or builder. His clothes were homespun, and his wood-and-reed sandals were worn and cracked. His hair and beard—both the warm brown of roasted grain—framed a face that wasn’t lined with age, but neither was it youthful.
Six Pharisees and a scribe stood at the base of the steps, just ten paces from the solitary man. The blue tassels of their coats trailed on the ground. Their gold-and-purple embroidered tunics fluttered in the breeze, and heavy phylacteries hung over their foreheads.
Between the Pharisees and the lone man, two temple guards held a woman. Her body sagged limply. Her head was uncovered, and henna-dyed hair hung to her waist. A long tear marred her fine linen gown, and blood trickled from her mouth.
Nissa glanced sideways as a tall form pushed close to her. Dismas. Her heart sped up. The soldiers weren’t far away. It wasn’t safe for them to be so near each other. The crowd pressed in from behind, trapping her. It seemed every person in the Court of the Gentiles was gathering to watch the scene before them.
One of the Pharisees stepped forward and pointed at the woman. “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery.” His booming voice carried to the corners of the court.
The Phoenician shifted and blocked her view. Gasps of outrage came from the crowd.
“Stone her!”
“Harlot!”
The Pharisee’s voice was lost in the din. Nissa cringed backward, her heart pounding louder than the voices around her. That could be her, caught by the guards, sentenced to death. She must get out, but the crowd packed even more tightly behind her, pushing her to the front.
Panic surged through her, and she glanced at Dismas. He shifted and shook his head. He was right. If she tried to leave now, she would only draw attention to them. She pulled her head covering closer around her face. Soon, they’d drag the poor woman out of the city to stone her. Then, she and Dismas could divide their spoils and disappear.
The rustic man approached the temple guards. He held out his hand to the woman. The guards released her, and she fell to the ground in front of him. The man leaned down and put his hand on
Similar Books
