Peter said nothing. His entire body began to shake. His fingers clutched at his neck as he fought to draw air through the narrowing straw of his throat.

His mind then leapt to a time when he had punched Jesus in the chest—and thought he felt a softness there.

Remembering this, he dropped to the ground, writhing and wheezing like a desperate animal.

How could he have been so deceived?

Saul watched the poison take its effect. After some time, he lifted Peter from the dust and leaned him against a rock. He waited patiently until Peter could breathe again. Finally, Peter stumbled to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Saul asked.

“To my boat,” Peter answered, weaving his way toward the water.

Saul grinned. He caught up to his new friend and swung an arm around his shoulders.

“Come now, Peter, did you not say you dislike spilling the filthy guts of fish?” Saul stopped him in his tracks. “If you will hear me out, I have a much better use for a handsome man of such obvious talents.”

Peter looked up at the magician with fuzzy eyes. The man’s words oozed like salve into his gaping wound.

Saul winked at him with enthusiasm. “Come, Peter,” he said. “Tell me all you know of this charlatan. And I will make you a fisher of men.”

CHAPTER 50

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.

The night was hushed. Families slept in circles around outlying fires.

Like shadows, a strange band of men descended on the camp and wove silently through the fires, inspecting the faces of those who slept. A young girl woke when one of the men hovered over her. She looked up at his familiar face. “Jesus?” she asked with a sleepy smile.

The flames below cast orange angles across the man’s expression. His green eyes burned with rage. “Yes. It is I,” Peter slurred.

The girl’s eyes widened with fear.

Mary knelt by an outlying fire. In the flickering light, she tended to the blistered arm of a girl whose brother had splashed her with boiling oil for disobeying him. Looking up from her work, she saw the silhouette of a lone figure walking up a distant hillside.

When he stood atop the hill and gazed into the heavens, she knew who he was.

Jesus could not sleep. A restlessness gripped his heart. Having traveled to within a few miles of Nazareth, he felt his mother’s presence all around him.

Ruth and Tabitha were already asleep when he stood and wandered into the night. He climbed to a hilltop and sat. From there, he gazed into the dome of stars. Lowering his eyes to the horizon, he faced toward Nazareth. Through the dark, he could not see the village. But he sensed the great old sycamore, waiting. He imagined her strong arms, like his mother’s, bending low to lift him.