His rust-colored eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes, yes, him I remember. A troublemaker! Our patience is tested by many false prophets, every year. That one actually believed he had been sent by God to personally redeem everyone’s sins. Went around stirring up the crowds with promises of a new kingdom here on earth—a flagrant act of sedition against Rome. I had no choice, in accord with my sworn oath to protect the safety of my people, but to turn him over to your esteemed procurator, Pilate, for punishment well deserved.”

I was alone with the high priest of the Jews, Joseph Caiaphas, in a second-floor room of the palace where Jesus had been tried and condemned to death, and I was sitting only a few feet away from the man who, according to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, had engineered the whole thing. Listening to the cultured enunciation of Caiaphas, I almost pitied him. How could he possibly envision, in his wildest dreams, that his name was destined, along with Herod’s and Pilate’s, to live forever in infamy?

Joseph of Arimathea, bless him, had somehow managed to promote a private audience for me. After delivering his tithe, a massive chest carried into the palace’s underground vaults by a straining Shem, the old man had graciously endured the effusive gratitude from scores of young priests who dutifully formed a reception line to embrace him, one at a time, with an accompanying kiss on both his cheeks. Then he was ushered upstairs to meet with Caiaphas while I waited nervously in the busy lobby and pretended not to notice the double takes from passersby when they caught sight of the purple stripe on my tunic. Roman citizens, I gathered, were not frequent visitors in the house of the high priest.

Joseph finally descended the worn marble steps, after what had seemed like hours, and patted my shoulder. “You are in luck, Matthias. His excellency has agreed to meet with you immediately. I shall wait for you here. Since I am still a member of the Sanhedrin, over which he presides as always, I fear that my presence might inhibit his responses. However, I have told him many things about you, and be seems more than willing to answer your questions.” He winked, and on his dignified features the act looked almost grotesque. “May you find the truth,” he said, shoving me gently.

Climbing the long stairway, I kept wondering what the old man had told the spiritual leader of the Jewish people that was impressive enough for Caiaphas to interrupt his busy schedule in order to be interviewed by an unknown historian. I wasn’t long in finding out.

“And how are things in Rome, sir?”