Judas staked out in the hills to get his first good look at the healer. He was shocked to learn that in his absence the number of followers had significantly increased. But there were other things that concerned him. Having moved in closer, he had noted several women working side by side with the healer. Mixing herbs and oils. This detail pricked his conscience.

Could it be?

He held himself in check. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks. He realized then that he needed to get closer. To see the healer’s face and hear his teachings. Careful to keep himself concealed, he dropped down to the river. With caution, he mingled among the crowd, pushing through joyful people. He edged his way up to where the teacher sat, along with two women. He listened as the healer described the sustaining act of returning to the earth what one takes from her. Judas felt his ears burning at the familiar teachings. And the familiar voice.

Then the healer lifted his emerald eyes.

Judas gasped in recognition and fled. He ran for miles before crumpling beneath a boulder. His body shuddered with the effort of reluctant tears. His goatskin pouch dropped from his back. He could not bear to look inside it.

Out of nowhere the horrifying memory of his mother and sister’s mutilation rushed before his eyes. Their slit throats. Twisted arms and legs. Silken robes drenched with blood. He choked with the gaping despair of a child made motherless.

Since the hour that he and his father had faced their loss, Judas had believed that the wounds in his soul could never be healed. Nothing in his life, he had once believed, would ever prove powerful enough to redeem him—until the gaze of her emerald eyes.

And now, years later, her gaze had found him again. He shook his head in disbelief.

How was it possible?

As he clung to the rock for support, the only thing Judas knew for certain was that he would not return to Pilate. And he prayed from his soul that the little he had told the Roman leader would cause no harm.

CHAPTER 43

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.

Jesus and Ruth sat on the ground eating. She had been patient while her friend struggled with the churnings in his soul. And she had other distractions. She had noticed the strange figure who followed them on a donkey drawing closer. She feared for the safety of their supporters, but most especially for Jesus.

“He is still there,” she whispered, indicating the hooded figure who had dismounted and climbed high into an olive tree to watch them.

Jesus observed the man in his peripheral vision. He knew he should honor Ruth’s concern but continued to stew in his apathy.

“He makes me uneasy,” Ruth added.

Jesus relented. He stood with difficulty. “I will be back,” he said, masking his frustration. He balanced carefully on his good leg.