Temple Boys by Jamie Buxton Page B

tree that had been pruned so thin that twigs spread like fingers from the thicker arms. Dark rows of earth, freckled with ash, were turned and ready for seeding. But it was cold on the rooftops. Flea hugged himself and wondered where spring was.
    â€œDid you get rid of that thing you stole?” Jude asked.
    â€œChucked it down a chimney,” Flea lied.
    â€œGood. Here’s the money I owe you.”
    Flea didn’t look at it. “Don’t you think I deserve a bonus?”
    Now that his time with Jude was coming to an end, he was ambushed by sadness. It had been good to feel useful. It had been better to feel needed. What did the rest of the day hold in store for him? Nothing. He had been thrown out of the Temple Boys. He was alone again.
    Jude snorted. “For doing what we agreed? In your dreams.”
    â€œFor keeping my mouth shut. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
    â€œAbout what, in heaven’s name?”
    â€œAbout the man who was following you. About the way you went to every donkey man and camel handler in the city until you found the one that blocked the bridge yesterday. About paying him to tell you something.”
    â€œYou…” Jude grabbed Flea by the wrist and pushed him back against the tree, thrusting his face in close. Flea could see every hair of his beard, the spit threaded between his lips, the red starburst of the scar on his cheek. “Do you honestly think that if I strangled you here and now anyone would care? Perhaps that’s why I hired you, because I could use you and then throw you away when I was done.”
    Fear stuck Flea with a splinter of cold. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I take it back. I’ll leave you alone.”
    Jude gave a cold laugh and dropped him. “On the other hand, I chose you because I thought you were clever … and I was right.” Flea looked away over the flat rooftops, eyes narrowed and a muscle pulsing at the back of his jaw. He massaged his wrist and waited for as long as he could manage. “So?” he asked.
    â€œAll right. I won’t pay you a bonus but I will pay you for more work. Lucky that you’re working for me—Yesh would just say there are riches waiting for you in heaven. Ground rules first. One: Fleas should learn not to bite the hand that feeds them. Two: Fleas shouldn’t bite off more than they can chew. Three: Clever fleas jump away from trouble, not into it. Got that?”
    Flea protested. “I can’t help seeing what I saw. It’s far better you explain so I don’t get it all wrong. Please.”
    â€œPlease. He actually said ‘please.’ That’s more like it.” Jude chewed his inside cheek. “Well, if I tell you just enough to keep you out of danger, it might help. I think the man following us was Roman. He’s not … he’s not a man you want to be interested in you.”
    â€œWho is he then?”
    â€œIf he’s the man I think, his name crawled away and died of shame a long time ago. He’s got the governor’s ear, the Roman prefect himself—and he’s ambitious. It doesn’t help that the governor’s more or less given up governing, so he’ll listen to anyone with a strong opinion. And this man has a simple idea: If people don’t do what you want, hurt them until they do.”
    â€œSo he’s powerful?”
    â€œHe’s effective. Like a knife. Some people say he was once one of us. Some people say he was Idumaean, like Herod the Great. Or a Samaritan. Or a … Well, it doesn’t matter because he’s a Roman now, and that, my friend, is the power of Rome. Anyone who thinks like a Roman, is a Roman. But I don’t understand why he was following me. And that’s a worry.”
    â€œMaybe he made a mistake,” said Flea.
    â€œHe doesn’t make mistakes.”
    â€œSo maybe it was something to do with the donkey and