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officer and Eglon subsided. “Just an idea,” he mumbled. “And if Yeshua should heal him again?” Caiaphas drawled. High priest and tetrarch stared into each other’s face, knowing what the other was thinking: Both men believed Yeshua of Nazareth ¬really did have the power to perform miracles. That said, His wonder-working was irrelevant beside the needs of the rulers to retain their authority. “I think,” Antipas conceded, “a permanent solution should be arranged for the boy as well. Peniel. Yes. Peniel. That’s his name, ¬isn’t it? How hard can it be to locate a beggar if all Yerushalayim is talking about him?”
Wary of being spotted and arrested, due to Yeshua’s warning, Peniel followed the most obscure route from the Lower City to the Sheep Gate quarter. His face concealed except for his eyes, Peniel wandered through corridors he had never seen. It took hours to reach the street of the potter’s shop. The alleyway between the fishmonger’s stall and the cubicle occupied by the

tripe seller was cramped, smelly, and heaped with things better left unexamined. It was also in exactly the right location for Peniel to approach his father’s house unseen. A man’s voice spoke in gruff, no-nonsense tones of authority. Pauses were punctuated by Mama’s shrill protests. Balanced precariously on cobbles slimy with fish guts, Peniel closed his eyes to listen. “Why ask us?” Peniel’s mother argued. “We ¬don’t know where he is.” “He’s your son, ¬isn’t he? Don’t try to deny it,” the man’s voice challenged. “You admitted it yesterday.” “Yesterday! Yesterday he was; today we have no son. Peniel’s dead to us!” Peniel winced. Best to turn and run! But Peniel needed to see who was after him. Sight was a powerful new tool, not to be ignored. Bending low he peered around the corner from behind a heap of bones and scales. There were two Temple Guards. Peniel recognized them from yesterday’s interrogation. The third man, the one speaking, wore a different uniform. Brutish of face and body, he announced gruffly, “Now you listen to me. This ¬isn’t about who ¬hasn’t paid the Temple shekel or something. We’re talking prison, see? ¬I’m Eglon, chief officer of ¬Tetrarch Antipas. My lords Antipas and Caiaphas put me in charge of finding your son, and find him I will. Once more! Do you know where he is? Listen: It’ll go hard for you if you lie to me!” Peniel’s father stood with his arms folded across his chest. His chin tucked low. Face contorted with pain. Mama’s voice grew even more strident, matching Eglon’s in intensity. “If we knew? If? We’d be first to tell you! Isn’t that right, Yahtzar?” Peniel’s father mumbled something. Mama prodded him and he gave a jerk of his head. Peniel’s heart burst with the grief of it. Dead! Papa! Papa! Oh, Mama! He wanted to slink away but remained rooted to hear the rest. “Good, loyal citizens we are!” Mama added. “We’ll send word at once if there’s any news of his whereabouts. We’ll turn him in.” Eglon sneered. “Just the same, we’re posting a guard here to keep a lookout for him. You—” he said to one of the Temple Guards—“you stay here. And you —” he ordered the other—“go door-to-door. Stop ¬everyone close to the right age. Check their stories. Ask ¬everyone about the boy. Mention the reward.” Before the instructions were finished, Peniel shrank back into the shadows. How could he ¬ever go back home again? And yet if he had a chance . . . one more chance . . . to talk to Papa and Mama alone. Explain to them. He’d try again later.
3 It was midafternoon, still on the day of Shavuot. Cicadas hummed in the brambles beyond the well of Mak’ob. Cantor pulled up the bucket and poured the water into Lily’s jar. She felt his eyes lock upon her.

Her worried gaze followed the progress of a lone woman descending the switchback into the Valley. “So. Sarai’s coming down,” Cantor said