A short story I wrote to go with a couple of manips.
The Good Thief
Story and Manips by Jollyrei
She was a thief. Her name was Tova. When she was young, her parents had died and she had become a thief to survive. She had lived on the streets for five years. Now she was in her early 20s, by her own reckoning. It was hard to keep track. At one point in her life on the streets, she had been forced to fend for herself. She wasn’t always safe. At one point she really thought her life was over. Another man was going to rape her, and probably kill her for the few copper coins she had. Then Simon came. She was lying on the dirt in an alley with her skirts torn apart, exposed, and suddenly the man assaulting her was gone in a burst of violence. Simon had run him off.
But Simon had a gentle side. He picked her up and took her to a shack he was living in. He cared for her. She went with him. He said he would keep her safe, and she had been safe for a year with him and his friends. She had slept with Simon and thought she loved him.
Then one night they had gone out, she remembered, looking for food, something to steal to get money. They had the bad luck to run into some high class Romanized Jews. Jews who wore togas and thought Rome was the way of the future. Civilization. Simon hated Jews who wanted to be Romans. He stopped them and told them to hand over their money. When one of them resisted, Simon slapped him. He just slapped him across the face, but the man had been off balance. He fell and hit his head on a paving stone and began to bleed. The others closed in. One of them had a dagger and stabbed Simon. He died in her arms as the Roman soldiers arrived.
It didn’t take long for the high class men to blame her for killing Simon. They had tried to stop her, they said. To the Romans it was clear. She was a thief and a murderer. It was just her word that said she was innocent, but the Romans didn’t like thieves, even attractive ones. They dragged her off to a dungeon cell in the fortress. She didn’t even see Pilate. She was just told that Pilate had signed the order for her crucifixion. She had broken down in sobs. Then the Romans raped her in the cell, five of them, and left her naked with her torn dress beside her.
She did what she could to pull it back on, tearing the hem to fashion a belt so it would at least close over her breasts and her violated private parts. Then she sat in the cell in the dark and cried.
Around dawn she heard a commotion. She went to the small barred window that looked out at ground level into the courtyard and watched. A man with a beard and a white tunic was being led into the courtyard, bound. He walked calmly, as if he was in a trance, or playing a role in a play. She had seen plays by street performers. She liked them. Following the man were priests from the temple. They were more agitated, yelling abuse occasionally. Some other poor fellow getting dragged in front of Roman justice, she thought. She had bigger worries.
The bound man was led into a door at the far end of the courtyard. The priests stopped in the courtyard. They would not go into a Roman’s house, least of all Pilate’s fortress, during the Passover. Wouldn’t want to be unclean, she thought. They cared a lot about that. They didn’t do much for poor girls without parents, she thought, but they stayed ritually clean.
She fell asleep. It was better than thinking about her crucifixion.
She was rudely awakened by the scraping of the door of her cell. She was momentarily disoriented, looking around and instinctively looking for a hiding place from danger. That had served her well in her life on the streets in the past. Now she saw the mouldy stone of the cell walls, the dirty straw on the floor, and remembered where she was.
A jailor, a heavyset man in his 50s, wearing a brown tunic and leather vest entered. He didn’t look particularly vicious, just businesslike.
“Time to leave, girl,” he said. “Got to get you outside so you can go to your crucifixion.”
She shrank back, as he came closer.
“No need to worry about me,” he said more gently. “I’m just going to remove these chains.” He took out a key tool and undid the manacles around her wrists. “Leave those leg shackles on for now,” he said.
He pulled her to her feet by her arm. “Out we go. You’re going to step out with the King of the Jews today, it seems. Wouldn’t do to keep his highness waiting, would it.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but it was not important. He was dragging her out of the cell and down a short corridor, at the end of which was a staircase up. She stumbled up the stairs after him into a large anteroom. A few other jailors stood around.
“Hey,” said one of them. “Crassus has himself a pretty little one. Taking her out for breakfast, Crassus?”
“In another life, mate,” said Crassus. “This one is unfortunately going to Golgotha this morning.”
“You could say she got away,” said the other jailor.
“Not today,” said Crassus. “They’ve got that King of the Jews fellow and they’re jittery. Watching everyone.”
“Bad luck,” said the other jailor cheerfully.
“Come on,” said Crassus to her. He pulled her out the door into a large courtyard. A cart pulled by a donkey was leaving through a wide gate. She thought she saw beams of wood in it.
Crassus pulled her to the centre of the courtyard, where there was another woman, similarly dressed in a torn wool dress.
“It seems his majesty isn’t here yet,” said Crassus. “Just like royalty, eh?” As a group of soldiers arrived, he bent down and used his tools to remove Tova’s shackles and then those of the other woman.
Tova looked at the other woman. She was a year or two older, but still attractive. She looked tired and her eyes were blank.
“Why are you here?” Tova asked.
“Fucking Romans,” said the other woman. “They caught me stealing from a Roman citizen. I was a slave. Now I’m going to be crucified. You too. Now shut up.”
“Sorry,” said Tova.
“No talking,” yelled one of the soldiers.
Tova looked around. There were lots of little groups of soldiers in the courtyard. Nowhere to run except out the gates, and there were guards there too.
Then there was a commotion. An officer, strode across the courtyard. He wore a burnished breastplate and a helmet with a red plume. A centurion.
“There are supposed to be three,” he barked at an Optio. “Where’s the last prisoner?”
“Just coming,” said a voice from a door. It looked like a carpentry shop. “Here’s your man.” A bearded man in a carpenter’s apron pushed a figure out the door. It was the bearded man from the night before, Tova saw, only now he wasn’t wearing his white garments. He wore a loincloth, and had a dirty red cloak draped around his shoulders, hanging down his back. He also had a crown of long thorns on his head. He had been badly scourged as well, she thought, looking at what she could see of the bloody red stripes on his back and ribs. He carried a large beam of wood, with his arms bound to the underside of it. The carpenter gave him a shove toward the shoulders and he staggered forward to keep his balance.
“Off you go, yer majesty,” he said. “King of the Jews indeed,” he added sardonically.
“We just walk,” said the other woman, guessing that Tova wondered why they didn’t have beams to carry. “The Romans don’t think we can carry the weight. You probably can’t, anyway. But it’ll end the same way.”
“Move,” said a soldier and the two women, were circled by the soldiers and started walking toward the gate.
“They’re leading us out to be crucified,” Tova thought. “I have to get away.” She looked around. There was no way to slip past the soldiers, and as they left the Roman fortress and went out into the city, she saw there were a lot of people. The soldiers had to push them back so the man with the beam of wood could stumble forward. The people were shouting. Some threw things at him. She would find no sympathetic haven there.
She walked on. The crowd didn’t seem to pay the two women much attention at all. The shouting was all for the man carrying his patibulum. He stumbled along the street, as the soldiers pushed the crowd back for him. “Clearing the way for the King,” Tova thought. “I wonder what he did to be condemned.”
Then he tripped or slipped on something and fell to his knees, the heavy beam falling sideways so one end hit the road. Surprisingly the man didn’t fall on his face. An older woman jumped out into the road. She was crying as she used a cloth to wipe the man’s face. He looked up into her face.
Then a soldier was pushing the woman out of the way, as two others pulled the man back to his feet and pushed him forward. Only another hundred meters or so to the city gates, Tova thought.
She looked around for a gap in the crowd, an alleyway. She could be down the street and into the labyrinth of the city. She could make it to the Jaffa Gate and out to a village. She would start a new life where the Romans wouldn’t find her. And then there it was.
An opening in the crowd. The man with the patibulum had fallen again, just before the gates. The crowd was focused on him, and so were the soldiers. There was a gap in the soldiers around her, and right there was an alley. She looked and then decided. She darted right, and then she was running for her life.
“Hey!” shouted the other condemned woman. That startled the soldiers who saw her. Two of them started in pursuit. She darted down the alley and ran. She rounded a corner, and ran into a cart, and a group of workmen unloading barrels of something. They looked at her and saw the two soldiers rounding the corner and one of them caught her by the arm.
“Escaped prisoner,” said one of the soldiers. “Good thing you caught her.” That was all the thanks they got.
She got a cuff to the side of the head from one of the soldiers that made her dizzy so she fell. Then they bound her hands and pulled her to her feet. She was pulled along by the rope binding her hands back to the main street. She was pushed back into the procession beside the other woman. Tova glared at her.
“I’m not going to be crucified by myself,” the other woman said.
Suddenly Tova felt completely alone. She was going to die on a stupid hill with people that didn’t care about her at all. There would be nobody to help her, or to care how long she suffered before she died.
She started to cry, as the procession moved to the city gates.
to be continued...
The Good Thief
Story and Manips by Jollyrei
She was a thief. Her name was Tova. When she was young, her parents had died and she had become a thief to survive. She had lived on the streets for five years. Now she was in her early 20s, by her own reckoning. It was hard to keep track. At one point in her life on the streets, she had been forced to fend for herself. She wasn’t always safe. At one point she really thought her life was over. Another man was going to rape her, and probably kill her for the few copper coins she had. Then Simon came. She was lying on the dirt in an alley with her skirts torn apart, exposed, and suddenly the man assaulting her was gone in a burst of violence. Simon had run him off.
But Simon had a gentle side. He picked her up and took her to a shack he was living in. He cared for her. She went with him. He said he would keep her safe, and she had been safe for a year with him and his friends. She had slept with Simon and thought she loved him.
Then one night they had gone out, she remembered, looking for food, something to steal to get money. They had the bad luck to run into some high class Romanized Jews. Jews who wore togas and thought Rome was the way of the future. Civilization. Simon hated Jews who wanted to be Romans. He stopped them and told them to hand over their money. When one of them resisted, Simon slapped him. He just slapped him across the face, but the man had been off balance. He fell and hit his head on a paving stone and began to bleed. The others closed in. One of them had a dagger and stabbed Simon. He died in her arms as the Roman soldiers arrived.
It didn’t take long for the high class men to blame her for killing Simon. They had tried to stop her, they said. To the Romans it was clear. She was a thief and a murderer. It was just her word that said she was innocent, but the Romans didn’t like thieves, even attractive ones. They dragged her off to a dungeon cell in the fortress. She didn’t even see Pilate. She was just told that Pilate had signed the order for her crucifixion. She had broken down in sobs. Then the Romans raped her in the cell, five of them, and left her naked with her torn dress beside her.
She did what she could to pull it back on, tearing the hem to fashion a belt so it would at least close over her breasts and her violated private parts. Then she sat in the cell in the dark and cried.
Around dawn she heard a commotion. She went to the small barred window that looked out at ground level into the courtyard and watched. A man with a beard and a white tunic was being led into the courtyard, bound. He walked calmly, as if he was in a trance, or playing a role in a play. She had seen plays by street performers. She liked them. Following the man were priests from the temple. They were more agitated, yelling abuse occasionally. Some other poor fellow getting dragged in front of Roman justice, she thought. She had bigger worries.
The bound man was led into a door at the far end of the courtyard. The priests stopped in the courtyard. They would not go into a Roman’s house, least of all Pilate’s fortress, during the Passover. Wouldn’t want to be unclean, she thought. They cared a lot about that. They didn’t do much for poor girls without parents, she thought, but they stayed ritually clean.
She fell asleep. It was better than thinking about her crucifixion.
She was rudely awakened by the scraping of the door of her cell. She was momentarily disoriented, looking around and instinctively looking for a hiding place from danger. That had served her well in her life on the streets in the past. Now she saw the mouldy stone of the cell walls, the dirty straw on the floor, and remembered where she was.
A jailor, a heavyset man in his 50s, wearing a brown tunic and leather vest entered. He didn’t look particularly vicious, just businesslike.
“Time to leave, girl,” he said. “Got to get you outside so you can go to your crucifixion.”
She shrank back, as he came closer.
“No need to worry about me,” he said more gently. “I’m just going to remove these chains.” He took out a key tool and undid the manacles around her wrists. “Leave those leg shackles on for now,” he said.
He pulled her to her feet by her arm. “Out we go. You’re going to step out with the King of the Jews today, it seems. Wouldn’t do to keep his highness waiting, would it.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but it was not important. He was dragging her out of the cell and down a short corridor, at the end of which was a staircase up. She stumbled up the stairs after him into a large anteroom. A few other jailors stood around.
“Hey,” said one of them. “Crassus has himself a pretty little one. Taking her out for breakfast, Crassus?”
“In another life, mate,” said Crassus. “This one is unfortunately going to Golgotha this morning.”
“You could say she got away,” said the other jailor.
“Not today,” said Crassus. “They’ve got that King of the Jews fellow and they’re jittery. Watching everyone.”
“Bad luck,” said the other jailor cheerfully.
“Come on,” said Crassus to her. He pulled her out the door into a large courtyard. A cart pulled by a donkey was leaving through a wide gate. She thought she saw beams of wood in it.
Crassus pulled her to the centre of the courtyard, where there was another woman, similarly dressed in a torn wool dress.
“It seems his majesty isn’t here yet,” said Crassus. “Just like royalty, eh?” As a group of soldiers arrived, he bent down and used his tools to remove Tova’s shackles and then those of the other woman.
Tova looked at the other woman. She was a year or two older, but still attractive. She looked tired and her eyes were blank.
“Why are you here?” Tova asked.
“Fucking Romans,” said the other woman. “They caught me stealing from a Roman citizen. I was a slave. Now I’m going to be crucified. You too. Now shut up.”
“Sorry,” said Tova.
“No talking,” yelled one of the soldiers.
Tova looked around. There were lots of little groups of soldiers in the courtyard. Nowhere to run except out the gates, and there were guards there too.
Then there was a commotion. An officer, strode across the courtyard. He wore a burnished breastplate and a helmet with a red plume. A centurion.
“There are supposed to be three,” he barked at an Optio. “Where’s the last prisoner?”
“Just coming,” said a voice from a door. It looked like a carpentry shop. “Here’s your man.” A bearded man in a carpenter’s apron pushed a figure out the door. It was the bearded man from the night before, Tova saw, only now he wasn’t wearing his white garments. He wore a loincloth, and had a dirty red cloak draped around his shoulders, hanging down his back. He also had a crown of long thorns on his head. He had been badly scourged as well, she thought, looking at what she could see of the bloody red stripes on his back and ribs. He carried a large beam of wood, with his arms bound to the underside of it. The carpenter gave him a shove toward the shoulders and he staggered forward to keep his balance.
“Off you go, yer majesty,” he said. “King of the Jews indeed,” he added sardonically.
“We just walk,” said the other woman, guessing that Tova wondered why they didn’t have beams to carry. “The Romans don’t think we can carry the weight. You probably can’t, anyway. But it’ll end the same way.”
“Move,” said a soldier and the two women, were circled by the soldiers and started walking toward the gate.
“They’re leading us out to be crucified,” Tova thought. “I have to get away.” She looked around. There was no way to slip past the soldiers, and as they left the Roman fortress and went out into the city, she saw there were a lot of people. The soldiers had to push them back so the man with the beam of wood could stumble forward. The people were shouting. Some threw things at him. She would find no sympathetic haven there.
She walked on. The crowd didn’t seem to pay the two women much attention at all. The shouting was all for the man carrying his patibulum. He stumbled along the street, as the soldiers pushed the crowd back for him. “Clearing the way for the King,” Tova thought. “I wonder what he did to be condemned.”
Then he tripped or slipped on something and fell to his knees, the heavy beam falling sideways so one end hit the road. Surprisingly the man didn’t fall on his face. An older woman jumped out into the road. She was crying as she used a cloth to wipe the man’s face. He looked up into her face.
Then a soldier was pushing the woman out of the way, as two others pulled the man back to his feet and pushed him forward. Only another hundred meters or so to the city gates, Tova thought.
She looked around for a gap in the crowd, an alleyway. She could be down the street and into the labyrinth of the city. She could make it to the Jaffa Gate and out to a village. She would start a new life where the Romans wouldn’t find her. And then there it was.
An opening in the crowd. The man with the patibulum had fallen again, just before the gates. The crowd was focused on him, and so were the soldiers. There was a gap in the soldiers around her, and right there was an alley. She looked and then decided. She darted right, and then she was running for her life.
“Hey!” shouted the other condemned woman. That startled the soldiers who saw her. Two of them started in pursuit. She darted down the alley and ran. She rounded a corner, and ran into a cart, and a group of workmen unloading barrels of something. They looked at her and saw the two soldiers rounding the corner and one of them caught her by the arm.
“Escaped prisoner,” said one of the soldiers. “Good thing you caught her.” That was all the thanks they got.
She got a cuff to the side of the head from one of the soldiers that made her dizzy so she fell. Then they bound her hands and pulled her to her feet. She was pulled along by the rope binding her hands back to the main street. She was pushed back into the procession beside the other woman. Tova glared at her.
“I’m not going to be crucified by myself,” the other woman said.
Suddenly Tova felt completely alone. She was going to die on a stupid hill with people that didn’t care about her at all. There would be nobody to help her, or to care how long she suffered before she died.
She started to cry, as the procession moved to the city gates.
to be continued...
