He sat on the high wall that surrounded the high priest’s courtyard, a stately silhouette that no one ever really noticed.
If they had looked up and it wasn’t the dark of night, the passersby would have seen how strikingly gorgeous he was. His plump body and regally arching neck were a rich golden brown and his keen black eyes shone like smoldering embers of coal. A bright scarlet comb crowned his stately head and his wings were streaked with emerald green. It was his tail plumage, though, that was his pride; a stunning display of feathers that boasted every color of the rainbow.
Fearlessly, he watched over the unusually large crowd milling in the street, awaiting the moment when he would announce the sun’s arrival like a burglar sounding reveille. Ruffling his feathers against the chilly light breeze that swirled the rubbish on the street, he watched with disinterest as men hunched closer around the fire pits.
Oblivious to the tension of restless angst and anger crackling in the air, he saw a small contingent of soldiers, officials, and Pharisees arrived with a man, the one some called Christ, under arrest. They hurried him through the gate and into the house.
Peter and John shadowed the group. John didn’t hesitate to follow the arresting party all the way into the Caiaphas’ house. However, Peter waited outside, impatiently skulking back and forth with his arms clenched tightly around his chest.
It took a few minutes, but John returned and motioned for his friend to hurry.
Jogging to catch up, Peter’s progress was halted just inside the gate by a servant girl’s voice.
“You’re one of his, aren’t you?” Her tone was half accusation, half question.
“I’m not!”
Passionately shaking his head, the disciple’s denial was strident. Upset by the interruption, he turned off to the side.
Finding a place around a newly lighted fire pit, he breathed a sigh of relief. The flames blazed high and the heat was a welcome distraction for the men gathering around, particularly one with words still ringing harshly in his head.
Another chilly gust brought them closer to the fire and one’s eyes lingered on the newcomer. Like the servant girl, he prompted the disciple.
“You were one of the ones who was with him, weren’t you?”
Peter’s denial was sullen this time. He backed up a couple steps and kept his head down. “I was not.”
But the brief exchange garnered the attention of another, somewhat younger, man. He securitized Peter for a long minute then spoke in a rush.
“But I saw you with him! I know I did! You’re a Galiean. I can tell by your accent.”
Peter’s head jerked up and his face finally flamed. Swearing angrily, his denial was a harsh snap. “Man, I was not!”
At the same moment, cock’s attention turned away from the matters of men. There was a touch of pink on the horizon and his duty summoned him. His voice rose into the morning air just as Caiaphas’ door opened and Christ was led from the house. The Lord’s eyes met Peter’s and the Galilean crumpled.
But, in his shame, he turned too quickly, missing the look of compassion in his Lord’s eyes.