Ruth nodded, scratched out a few more words, then daubed her medallion into a pool of ink, pressing the image of the sycamore onto the fabric. She hoped that someday, someone would find her words, either here or in a distant land, and reopen the truth of The Way—and of Sister Anna—so that the sycamore might rise again.

Leaning down, she blew across the ink. When it had nearly dried, she rolled the silk and replaced it inside the pouch. She bowed her head and prayed that safety would accompany their separate journeys.

She then called for Mary.

CHAPTER 53

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.

Within minutes of the arrest, Judas journeyed outside the gates and sought out a band of Jesus’s supporters. He told them of Peter and Saul’s deception—and of how they had murdered the healer. He then told them to spread the word among the other supporters, and to gather them within the city. Together, he said, they would bring down the man who had dared to impersonate their beloved healer.

“But what of the teaching to show compassion to those who would harm us?” a young supporter asked.

Judas shook his head. “That time is over,” he said.

The others, overcome with grief and rage, agreed.

As the rumor of treachery reached beyond Jerusalem, Jesus’s original supporters flooded into the walls. Days later, a sea of anger swelled into a hostile mob that rushed Pilate’s quarters demanding death for the prisoner who called himself the Son of God.

“But what harm has he done?” Pilate asked, goading the crowd beneath him.

The crowd answered with an angry roar, enraged by the murder of their healer, and the treachery of the one who dared impersonate him.

Then, knowing well the accusations that would drive Pilate to condemn his prisoner, people began to yell out, “He slanders the Lord! He disputes holy Law! He claims to possess the power of a king!”

Standing behind Pilate, the golden-haired priest, Caiaphas, grinned with pleasure, certain he would soon witness the death of the man who had once dared to challenge his authority.

Pilate looked over at Jesus, wrapped in chains, and saw fear flood his eyes. He then glanced over at his betrothed, seated next to him. Her youthful eyebrows lifted in suspense, she seemed duly impressed by Pilate’s power over the crowd, and over the life of his prisoner. Wanting to prolong his performance for her benefit, Pilate turned again to the crowd.

“In honor of this holy day I will release to you one prisoner. So you must choose. First, there is the man called Jesus who claims to be the Son of God and who would see priests overthrown. Then there is Barabbas, a proven murderer and the leader of insurrection in our city. Of these two men, whom do you say I should release?”

The crowd roiled below, chanting, “We want Barabbas!”