Judas's Shadow

Among us walked Judas Iscariot. A strange current ran through him, a ripple in the otherwise still waters of our fellowship. We were fishermen, tax collectors, men of simple means, united by a Man who spoke with the authority of the heavens. And then there was Judas. He was a different breed, sharp-eyed, always calculating, his mind a labyrinth of plans and possibilities. When Jesus spoke of a kingdom, it was always the spiritual, the eternal, that captivated us. But Judas, I sensed, always saw something more tangible, something that glittered with earthly power.

"He's too clever for his own good, that one," Andrew muttered to me one evening as we sat by a sputtering fire, the scent of salt and pine heavy in the air. The day had been long, filled with Jesus’ parables and the eager faces of those who sought Him.

I nodded, not taking my eyes off Judas, who stood a little apart from the rest of us, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the flickering flames. "He watches, Andrew. He watches everything. But what does he see?"