“Many years ago,” Joseph said, “it was the custom of our ancestors to eat the Passover supper in haste, while standing. But now that we are no longer in bondage or in an alien land, we recline during the holy meal and eat it leisurely.”

The old man lowered his body until his feet extended behind him, away from the table, and his left elbow rested on one of the cushions. “This is how one partakes of the meal, Matthias, with the right hand always free to dip the bread into the common pot.”

I motioned toward the candle. “Jesus sat there?”

“Yes, with John on his right and Judas on his left and the others along both sides. This fourth side, here, was where the food was placed when it was brought from the kitchen below.”

“Judas was on his left?”

“That is what I have been told.”

“Is the table used now?”

“Many times each week. Usually by Peter or James, the brother of Jesus, when they wish to take counsel with others. However, no one ever sits there,” he said, nodding toward the cushion behind the candle.

“Does Pilate know that this place is being used as … a virtual underground headquarters?”

“There is little that takes place in this city without the procurator’s knowledge—or the high priest’s either, for that matter. But the movement has grown too large to hide.”

I kept staring at the table until Joseph read my thoughts, which no longer even surprised me.

“It doesn’t look much like da Vinci’s setting for his painting, does it, Matthias? However, as a writer you certainly must understand that while truth may be stranger than fiction, life is rarely as dramatic as art. While there is much to be said for that master’s composition and brilliant arrangement of figures, in reality it was actually quite different.”

The entire guest chamber was a sorry letdown after da Vinci. Piled high along one wall were bundles of clothing and crates filled to overflowing with sandals of countless variety. Wicker baskets, beneath the room’s three small windows, were bulging with squash, ears of corn, figs, grapes, and several fruits I couldn’t identify. Rows of thick round cheeses, wrapped in cloth and decidedly pungent, towered high in another corner, while several small carcasses, surrounded by buzzing flies, hung suspended from hooks attached to the heavy roof beams above.

“Many mouths are fed in this room,” Joseph reminded me as he followed my gaze. “Come, sit with me and rest awhile until the others arrive.”