It was a sad and disappointed Simon who returned to his family at Bethsaida. Sensing his mood, Elizabeth spoke little and avoided questions about their recent trip, preferring to give Simon time to marshal his thoughts.

He would inform them in time, she felt. Meanwhile, he was her husband for all this life, and, as a daughter of Abraham and obedient to the traditions of the fathers and Scriptures, her place was to be his helper and his wife.

Simon was grateful for the absence of curiosity and questions—grateful, too, for Beth's skillful way of insuring the children didn't come around with their irritating questions.

As the days passed, Simon found himself becoming more at peace with the decision he had made. Strange how recent memories would fade so quickly, once one was back in one's own environment.

With each black predawn rising to his boat and nets, Simon's spirits were healed. Every blistering, sundrenched day that he helped spread their catch on the racks, the familiar sights and sounds carved away more of his keen disappointment.

The keening cry of a flock of gulls, diving, swooping down to light on the water, would send Simon scurrying to hoist his sail, or bark at the servant to help him with the sculls, to approach the birds as fast as they could, knowing they were feeding on a school of minnows, and that the larger fish would be just beneath, savagely tearing into their numbers.

It was therapeutic work.

The days stretched into more than two weeks and Simon could now begin to think back over the events of these past few months with greater clarity.

Was Jesus really the Messiah?

Simon had begun to wonder. Where he had believed it, now there were doubts.

Still, he had seen healings with his own eyes; he had known long hours of spellbound listening to the incredible teachings of this plain looking, nondescript, but intense young Man who could speak of the heavens, the whole universe, the world and all the kingdoms of it, and prophesy of His soon-coming Kingdom of God. He had thrilled to Jesus' overthrowing the money changers' tables; sipped good wine he knew had been only water.

No, yes, no, maybe. His head swam with conflicting thoughts. One day reassured, he believed again. The same afternoon he wondered. That night he doubted. In the morning he was sure again.

Meanwhile, he fished.

There came a day when he and Andrew were sitting cross-legged on the jetty, having placed the servant to shoo away the gulls that were trying to steal strips of drying fish from the racks, representing yesterday's catch.

They had arisen early and had cast their nets until their backs ached, and succeeded only in collecting some weeds and grass from the shallow bottom near shore.

The sun was hiding behind a lowering, slowly moving overcast. It was cool and still, so that a man's voice could be heard a good distance away.

Andrew paused, cocked his head and listened.

Simon heard it too—the sound of a large number of people talking, growing louder as they neared the fishing sheds and boats on the shore.

Sure enough, it was a group strung out along the broad cart path for several stone's throws, clamoring out their questions to Jesus! And here He came, swinging along the road, calling out over His shoulder—and then He saw Peter!

"Lord! It's You!" Peter said.

"Yes, Peter, it's Me," He answered. "Can I come into the boat?"

"Certainly, Teacher!" Peter said gladly and with a little shame. "Come ahead . . ."

"Wait a minute—stand back there! Make room. Make room!" Peter said, and then thought: It seems like I'm forever protecting this Man from the crowds.

Jesus stepped into the boat, and Peter and Andrew cast off, poling out into deeper water so the crowd couldn't follow. Jesus asked Peter to anchor here, and, taking a position atop the little cabin, began to teach.

His ringing words echoed clearly over the glassy water as He spoke powerfully of His coming Kingdom, and told the people they must repent and turn away from their carnal vanities to the truth of God. His words assailed Peter's painful conscience like biting blows of a whip!

Now He was concluding an inspiring, vivid sermon right from Peter's boat. And here Peter was, with the stench of fruitless fishing on him, back at his trade instead of following along in Jesus' steps.

The discourse finished, Jesus leapt lightly down and, smiling at Peter, said cheerfully, "Why don't you push on out deeper into the lake and let down your nets, Peter?"

"Master, we've been throwing the nets till our backs ache all morning long and haven't caught a thing except enough weeds to foul our nets. But, because You have said, I will do it!

So they did.

When Peter and Andrew had begun to slowly circle, then close the net, they couldn't believe their eyes! The water was shimmering with blue-black, glistening fish, the whites of their bellies and sides flashing as they darted this way and that, hurling themselves against the closing nets. Several leapt free of the water—a swirling, packed mass! A huge catch! The largest catch they had ever seen, ever even heard about, in this inland sea. And look at the size of some of them!

Excitedly, they began attempting to draw the net into the waist of the boat. Andrew, Peter and two of the hired hands all crowded to the port, hauling on the nets, and began to spill the first part of the large fish into the boat, their thrashing bodies slithering against the scuppers, tails beating frantic tattoos, splattering the men with water. The side of the boat was dipping lower into the water until the waist was taking water faster than the scuppers could shed it overboard.

It began to appear as if they were perilously in danger of swamping!

Peter's head swam. "Oh, no! Another of these fantastic miracles! " And now, because he had deserted Jesus and gone back to fishing, the Lord was going to "bless" him with a catch so big with such big fish . . wait a minute! What was he doing? Here he was, getting more excited about the size of the fish and their number than he had about Jesus' message, his selfishness and greed fairly oozing out of his pores, and he was trying to gather so many into the boat he was about to capsize them! What was Jesus thinking of him?

Here he was, like a pig in a slop trough, trying to drag so many huge fish into his boat, eyes glittering with thoughts of profit, that he was about to drown them all.

Turning to Jesus, Peter said, his voice catching, "Go ahead and leave me, Lord, because I'm not fit, and a sinful man! "

"Don't be afraid, Peter," Jesus said, "because you're going to be a fisher of men. From now on you'll only be catching men!"

So he still wants me to follow Him? Peter thought, shamefacedly. After thinking He had failed in Nazareth?

Grimly, he and Andrew began throwing much of the catch away, pitching the thrashing bodies out into the blue-green waters of the lake and keeping only a small number—much to the wide-eyed dismay of the servants, who were mumbling to themselves.

Andrew and Peter exchanged rueful glances.

Peter nodded at him, their decisions made. There was no need to talk.

They were standing in the midst of a fabulous miracle—feeling it with their hands. This Man could only be the very Son of God, the Messiah! No normal human being could do what He could do; this was the finger of God.

Peter shuddered as he pulled in the last of the net, casting anxious eyes at Jesus now and then, who had once again seated Himself atop the cabin, His back to the mast.

But Jesus was merely looking across the distances as if to see beyond the faintly visible shores on the eastern side; to see beyond Judea, and beyond their nation.

Peter knew now that he would stick it out through whatever failures or setbacks—he would follow Jesus wherever He went, no matter what came.

Then followed a time of intense activity. It seemed Jesus was ready now to work day and night, not sparing Himself any discomfort to accomplish His mission.

The following Sabbath, Jesus went to the synagogue. After reading the Scriptures in His inimitable manner, a person stood up and, with saucy, sarcastic voice, said, "Oh, why should we have anything to do with You, You 'Jesus of Nazareth.' We know who You are, the 'Holy One of God'; are You come here to destroy us?"

Strangely, Peter was to learn, demons always recognized Christ.

Jesus knew the minute the man stood up that he was possessed of an evil spirit and so said in a loud, authoritative voice, "You be quiet and come out of him!"

Aghast, the people witnessed the man thrown violently to the floor, writhing about, chewing on his tongue and foaming at the mouth, screeching in a frantic voice! Gradually, the spasmodic jerking of limbs subsided and the man lay breathing quietly.

His eyes fluttered open and he sat up and looked dazedly about.

He then stood and began talking in a rational mind.

Even the disciples were amazed. And some of the crowd commented, "What is this, this strange power He has? Why, even unclean spirits come out when He commands them! " Many people were present, so the rumor of the event in that little synagogue in Capernaum preceded them into the entire region of Galilee, and people spoke of it everywhere months later.

Immediately following this miracle, Jesus told the disciples He wanted to go back down to Bethsaida, and Peter suggested they all stay at his home. It would be crowded, of course, but they could manage, and with the nearby home of Zebedee and their small loft above the manger, plus their fisheries' sheds, they would have adequate room.

When they turned in at the gate, it was to hear from one of the servants that Peter's mother-in-law was lying in bed sick with a bad fever.

Peter thought that next early morning restive thoughts of recent events. It had been good to lie in Beth's arms again, in their own bed after a time away. Peter's dreams had been tormented with the violence of Nazareth as if seeing Jesus' body tumbling into space. Faces came and went: the leering officials in the temple demanding Jesus produce credentials. Peter tossed and turned with the feelings of shame over the meeting on the quay when Jesus had come striding along and asked Peter if He could use the boat as a floating platform to address the people before He was trampled underfoot.

He disengaged his left arm gently from beneath Beth's head (his arm was completely asleep), massaged it slowly, easing its unfeeling weight down on the top of the woolen coverlet so as not to awaken her.

What a woman she was. The miracle yesterday had done much to fill even Beth with wonder and awe, for all her earlier distress that her traditional, centuries—old way of life had been shattered by the lugubriousness of her fisherman husband picking up and trucking off after another of these would-be "deliverers" of the people. (Beth had been genuinely afraid for him, Peter knew, expecting his head had been addled by some cleverly spoken political slogans or such, and was terribly afraid he would be arrested and killed. Peter knew the fear was more than just concern over the children and what the neighbors would say; she was sincerely afraid for him.)

It was a day and age of arranged marriages.

Peter could remember the shy way she had smiled when he saw her face for the first time after her uncle (for her father had been drowned in an accident while fishing—and they, too, had been fishing folk) had arranged the dowry, and when the family was having the usual party after the promises were made, the bargains struck, and the local ruler of the synagogue asked to formalize the betrothal period. Peter had even resented—with a quick start of guilt—all that folderol about "tokens of virginity." The priest had to go through the ancient ritual, along with her legal guardian; it was terribly embarrassing. Still, Peter couldn't question the accepted rites of marriage; it was just that something had begun to develop between him and Beth that was, well, special!

Peter could remember the shy, wide-eyed way she had looked at him. Why, it had set the blood to pulsing in his temples and caused his hands to tremble, so he had quickly clasped them behind him and struck a most dignified pose, attempting to mimic the looks he had seen in a number of similar parties, when he had seen family marriages, and the six-month waiting period began.

Usually the men hardly deigned to look at the frightened little creatures that had been sold to them because of financial, tribal and family considerations—unless the word had gotten out that the girl was a spirited little filly and someone special.

Beth's simple good looks, the spattering of freckles across her nose, the generous lips and deep-set, brown eyes showing flecks of amber—her deep auburn hair—had taken his breath. Of course, there was nothing about the shapeless bridal attire, with its layers of undergarments and embroidered robes, that could reveal the slim, almost athletic body that lay beneath, and Peter tried valiantly to follow the urgent teachings of his father and the readings he had heard in the synagogue to fight down the speculations that flooded maddeningly through his head.

Maybe some would have said she was too "skinny," if the clothing required at the time could have revealed it, but Peter had found Beth was all woman and with hidden fires that almost made him wonder if her passion, when she allowed herself to express it, wasn't almost sinful. Not that Peter felt it so; he felt himself a very fortunate man—a man blessed.

After the children came along, Beth had gradually assumed a more matronly appearance; there were a few more fine lines around the corners of her friendly mouth, another couple of furrows in the brow, and a touch of gray here and there to bear testimony to the rigors of her work. Even if they were relatively successful and could afford at least one household servant and two men to help with the boat and the nets, Beth had always carried her share.

Peter thought, as he heard the cock crow distantly, how loving and almost cloying Beth had been last night, and how she had tried to show him she knew and understood now why he felt he had to follow the Master. She had quietly gone about her work during the few days after he had come back home, defeated, shamed and downcast.

They had never spoken of it, and yet when Beth had come to the quay thinking to refresh the water jugs and had seen Jesus and the crowd, and Peter sitting there looking both contrite and enraptured at the same time, she had placed the jug on the ground and had taken a seat on the rocks of the quay and listened intently to what Jesus had said.

And now her own mother had been spared; Beth had been truly frightened for her, Peter knew. He had seen the symptoms; Jesus had been so compassionate, so understanding, somehow! He knew Beth's heart and mind, it seemed—knew what these other men, unannounced, would mean to the household. He had walked over there, looked down at Beth's mother, who was flushed with high fever, with rapid, quick breathing and brightly burning, fever—charged eyes, and had reached out with His strong, broad hand and taken her hand in His, looked briefly up, spoken only a few words, almost as if in a sigh under the breath, and then, nodding His meaning to Beth's mother, had lifted her right up off that sickbed!

Well, that did it! Beth had been almost fawning in her thanks. And, though the women turned immediately to their work, to prepare a fine meal (it had been unusually good, of fresh fish, with a thick gruel of lamb and barley, and even fresh greens and home-baked loaves), Beth had turned to steal admiring glances at the Lord now and again, and Peter knew now that Beth would never again chide him for what he was doing.

Peter stirred and, carefully easing his feet to the floor, parted their hastily rigged privacy curtain of goat-hair tenting material and squinted at the bleak, brittle light of a new day. Time to get up, he thought, dreading having to leave the warmth of his wife, and even wondering whether . . . but, no, Jesus would be wanting to lay out the day, and he'd better be moving.

Going out to the loft where Jesus had insisted on sleeping (He had politely but firmly refused Peter's offer of their own bed and had insisted on sleeping out there, saying He really preferred it), Peter found it empty!

He stopped at the well, drew up a bucket, and, rinsing off his sleep-swollen face and running his comb through his mane of hair, began looking around for Jesus. He stopped by the kitchen door, which opened directly on the lake to the rear, and saw only a sleepy servant slowly gathering wood to start the morning fires. Puzzled, he began meandering out through the streets.

As the sun's rays began painting the mountains above him, he became mildly alarmed. He knew the Lord had many enemies, and had worried about Him sleeping out there by Himself. Could anything have happened to Him? Peter was past the last house on the higher ground, and, looking up as the pinkish hues of the sun began to swathe the mountainside, he thought he saw a man, or maybe a goat or a sheep, up there. No, it was a man, and coming down the trail now, briefly hidden by larger rocks or trees. And then, with a sigh of relief, Peter saw it was Jesus!

"Is everything all right, Lord?" He called.

"Fine, Peter," Jesus answered, and then commented on the beautiful morning God had given.

It was then Peter saw the reddish imprint of His forehead and recognized it for what it was: the imprint of Jesus' own clenched hand where He had cushioned His head as He had been praying . . .

Peter was to learn (and feel twinges of guilt at his own inattention or lethargy) that Jesus often did this: disappeared to a private place alone to pray.

They walked together back to the house to find everyone astir and their breakfast ready.

In the weeks that followed Jesus kept them moving at an almost breathless pace, as if an urgency was on Him to reach every town, village, hamlet or city in the whole Galilean region and in Decapolis and beyond.

Not only was Jesus seemingly concentrating on reaching as many of His own countrymen as possible, but one outstanding miracle in Capernaum showed He was willing to show mercy upon gentiles.

Years earlier, Peter had heard of the exploits of the favorite centurion around the northern part of the Sea of Galilee, Alexios. He was a well educated, intelligent man, married to a half-Jewish woman. Through her, he learned much of the Jews' religion, and, though he was not a convert, or a proselyte, he came to admire and respect their rich history.

Wealthy in his own right, and possessing substantial sums as a result of his exploits (officers were given shares of captured booty, depending on rank), he had been moved to contribute most of the money toward the construction of a new synagogue. The devout Jews all through the region talked of Alexios and his famous heroism. Was part of it exaggeration?

Peter didn't know, but old Ben-yehuda had told the story as if true in every detail.

Alexios had been involved in a lengthy siege against some embattled Halmanni, a fierce tribe of savage warriors who had taken refuge in a walled city of huge tree trunks far up in the Dacian foothills.

Alexios was under the command of General Aristubulos, a graduate of the Academy of Rome and fellow student of Titus.

Aristubulos was laboring along the trails, dragging a vast siege train. There were hundreds of horses and mules and eight thousand mercenaries dragging the ponderous stone launchers, battering rams and pitch kettles. The wagons and chariots were laden with all their cordage and hemp, tackle, springs, pulleys and blocks, trenching tools and sacks of square nails and spikes, all the equipment they would need for building trenches and protective battlements as they advanced to within hurling distance of the walls.

The Halmanni had refortified their captured city with thousands of huge tree trunks set deeply in the ground, sharpened at the top, with log runways around the perimeter. They were skilled bowmen and expert with the sling. Though they possessed no chariots, they mounted sturdy little horses and wore shields and helmets of iron.

They were a fierce, blond-bearded race, blue-eyed and standing two to three hands taller than the average Roman. They had come boiling out of Samatia above Pontus Euxinus, and the distant borders of the empire above Pannonia were seriously threatened by their increasing numbers.

They must be taught a lesson. A Roman lesson.

Should Rome allow even this one incursion to prove successful, the news would surely travel, and the whole northern flank of the empire from Germania to the plains of Dacia and the Oloia river drainage could be turned, and it might require several legions to contain.

The Halmanni needed to be dug out, and quickly.

The story said that Alexios, growing impatient with the long wait required for the ponderous siege train of Aristubulos to arrive, had developed an ingenious surprise. Perhaps it was a combination of the coup of the Persians under Darius the Mede and the Trojan Horse! Darius' men had diverted the course of the river and assaulted Babylon from within, walking under the river gates dry-shod while Belshazzar and his citizens were asleep following a drunken orgy. Everyone knew about the famous horse of Troy!

Alexios had been studying the site from a distant hill, pacing up and down, arms clasped behind his back. His juniors kept their distance when their commander was like this, knowing he was puzzling out some plan.

Water. The Halmanni had an inexhaustible supply, while his own men had to carry it in leathern buckets to their dry camp, in peril of scattered Halmanni scouts who would slip out of the town at night and attempt to waylay wood or water details.

The city sat squarely astride the small river, which surged against the logs of the river gate, disappearing within and flowing out the other side to fan out over a long, fertile valley whose small villages had been put to the torch and the fields left untended.

That river barrier intrigued Alexios. The current was strong, and few of his men could swim. Any man weighted down with shield, sword, helmet and bronze greaves would surely drown.

Alexios had been puzzling over the problem for over two hours, pacing until he paused, seeing a wood detail unloading its supply of dried sticks, branches and reeds.

Reeds!

To the startled soldier he said, "You, come here!"

"Sir!" the soldier said, more loudly than necessary, stamping his feet as he jerked to attention.

"Where did you get these?" Alexios asked, seizing one of the large reeds.

"Along the marsh yonder, sir! " the man said, turning to gesture beyond their camp, where a circling flight of ducks could be seen dropping toward the distant flags of green stalks that bordered a shallow slough.

Orders were barked to the men, and within minutes another load of the largest and strongest reeds were hacked down and brought to camp.

Alexios chose thirty of his men, some of whom could swim, and explained his plan.

They were to leave everything except sword and dagger, those would be strapped around their waists with only one belt, and their greaves, helmets, shields and leggings, even their clothing, would be left behind.

They extinguished one of their fires and built up several more, instructing the men to move back and forth before the flames to allow the Halmanni in the city to see their movements. From the muck of the ashes, they smeared themselves with black until they looked like hideous savages, their pale skins all but invisible in the growing darkness.

Alexios led them to the river bank, taking more than two miles to reach the forest beyond the slough, and then followed the river bank below the cut it made in the plain, so their shadowy progress would not be seen unless scouts were in the river bed itself.

He spent several minutes explaining what they would do.

It would take steel nerves, and no mistakes.

They would quietly advance to within a few hundred feet of the walls and slip into the river two or three at a time. They would seize a large, rounded stone, of which there were countless thousands along the banks and in the river, and, clenching the reed in their mouths, walk along the river bed with only the last two or three inches of reed projecting above. If water came into the reed, they would hold their breath, turn sharply right and move toward shallower water, lightly blowing the reed free.

If any man panicked and began thrashing about like a stranded whale, he could be picked off by bowmen from the parapets; one weak link in the chain and they were dead.

Alexios' speech had the desired effect. That, and a firm Roman grasp of the forearm and a "good luck" to each man personally.

If the plan worked, they were to continue past the river gate for a count of one hundred steps, which should carry them well beyond the guards on the walls. They would wait until just before false dawn for their attack, waiting until all their camp fires had long since been allowed to smolder out and the Halmanni had been convinced the Romans were asleep, except for their outposts.

Meanwhile, their remaining force would likewise blacken their bodies and leave all heavy armor behind, armed only with swords and bows—no helmets, no shields and no shin greaves—and steal as close as they dared to the two gates on the south and the dung and animal gate, much smaller, to the east. They would use the cover of the tree stumps that remained and move very slowly.

The faint murmuring of the river the only sound, Alexios and his men had slipped slowly into the icy river, their faint gasps of breath coming as the shock of the water hit them, and, lowering their bodies slowly, stooped to pick up a large rock, weighing at least a quarter of their body weight or more.

Their frozen progress was made terrifyingly difficult by the slippery river rocks, and not a few of the men found themselves losing their footing, filling their reeds with water, and having to struggle toward shallower water to pause, gasping furiously for air from their large reeds, eyes wide with fright.

Another terrifying moment was holding their breath when they were swept, their feet leaving the bottom for several strides at a time, under the boiling wave caused by the river gate.

But the noisy gurgling of the river gate current prevented their being heard, and the sleepy guards on the parapet, lulled by the somnolent whisper of the river, and believing the Romans asleep, did not notice.

It was to their peril.

Sleepy guards at the gates had awakened moments later to see the unbelievable sight of naked, dripping men falling upon them on silent feet, swords and daggers plunging and hacking. The screams of the wounded and dying alerted the men in their bull-skin huts, and those along the walls, but all three gates were opened and hundreds of Romans came pouring in.

Soon the carnage was over.

With a loss of only thirty-seven men, most of those from bowmen on the walls, Alexios' small force of a few hundred had carried the city, overpowering a large garrison more than three times its size!

Aristubulos and his ponderous siege train had arrived three days later to see the imperial flag flying from the battlement and to be greeted at the gate by Alexios, resplendent in silver helmet and breastplate, sitting astride a captured Halmanni horse.

Peter knew Alexios was much beloved by his men, that he was, for all his fierce exploits in war, a well educated and cultured man, and that he wore the honor of a decoration from Caesar himself.

Though he was uncircumcised and a gentile, he was said to place much weight on the Scriptures, and he especially liked hearing the story of David and his heroism.

They were strolling along the colonnaded porches and arches of the finer part of Capernaum one day when they happened near the house where Alexios the centurion lived Peter remembered the vivid stories he had been told about Alexios when it occurred that Jesus met him personally.

Alexios had come striding out to see Jesus, and, when Peter identified Him, the officer said his household servant was very sick and asked Jesus to heal him!

"Imagine!" Peter thought. "One of the most famous of the Roman officers in the land, and, though he is not circumcised, he asks the Lord a heal a servant, a Jewish servant. "

"I will come and heal him," Jesus said, smiling.

"Don't bother Yourself, Lord," Alexios protested. "I am not worthy that You should come into my home, under my roof. I am not even worthy to appear here before You. Just say the word and I know my servant will be healed.

"For I am a man who is under authority," he continued, humbly. "And I have many soldiers under me. I tell this one 'go,' and he goes; another 'come here,' and he comes. I tell my servants 'do this' or 'do that,' and it is done. "

Jesus' eyes widened at this, and He remarked to Peter and the others about the man's faith.

"I tell you," He said in a booming voice, "I have not found faith as great as this even among My own people in Israel. I tell you, many will come from the east and the west and sit down with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the Kingdom of God, but the sons of the kingdom…" turning to the Pharisees and scribes standing near, listening, ". . . shall be cast out into outer darkness, and there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth!"

Peter beamed at Jesus and stood studying the glittering splendor of the silver breastplate Alexios wore.

"Go your way," Jesus said to the officer, "and as you have believed so it will be done!" Word came back before they had covered two blocks further that the centurion's servant had been completely healed!

That made quite a stir. Peter was happy now. It seemed as if the Master was really stepping up His campaign. He preached the most powerful, inspiring, encouraging messages, painting vivid word pictures of God's love and compassion to the people, and sometimes talking in puzzling, mystifying terms about His soon coming kingdom.