“I have never thrown a javelin in my life,” I admitted, gradually beginning to realize that tomorrow morning I was going to die and neither Kitty nor my sons nor anyone else would ever know what had happened to me. Then I suddenly remembered why I was in such a predicament. “I am so sorry I got you involved in this, James. It was nothing but selfishness on my part. Joseph had warned me of the risks, but I just had to talk with you again.”

He pulled me close to him, stroking the back of my head to comfort me. “Do not concern yourself with me, Matthias. I have been here before. In a day or two, Pilate will give me another taste of the whip and then release me, always with the threat that someday he will hang me on a tree, just as he did my brother. Now, what was it that you came to the market to ask me? In all this confusion I’m afraid we both almost forgot that you visited me with a purpose.”

We sat next to each other on the foul-smelling mattress. I struggled to put Porcius and his favorite sport out of my mind. Despite all the testimony I had heard from the others, even Shobi, I had to understand clearly what had changed this man, in particular, from a disbeliever while Jesus lived to one of his most ardent worshipers after the crucifixion. So … I tested him.

“James, where have they hidden the body of Jesus?”

“Matthias, why do you ask such a question? If you have completed your investigation and done it thoroughly, you have already come to the conclusion that no one could have removed the body of Jesus from Joseph’s tomb. For me, such an investigation was never necessary, even though, before his death, my own doubts were far greater than yours.”

“Are you saying that faith alone became enough for you—blind faith?” I asked. “That would never suffice for me!”

James shifted his position so that he was looking directly into my eyes. “No. Faith alone would never have been enough for me either. To leave a comfortable, peaceful life and a loving family behind in Nazareth, as I did, in exchange for the abuse, humiliation, aggravations, hard floors, crusts of bread—and, yes, even prison cells—which I now endure, requires far more than faith. Remember, Jesus was my brother. Together we played and raced and fought and worked and grew in each other’s shadows. For many years we slept in the same cot. He told the truth, of course, when he said that for a prophet to find honor in his own house is difficult, if not impossible. Even Pilate’s orderlies, I am certain, laugh behind his back when they bathe the powerful ruler. Familiarity breeds many things, but rarely respect and never adulation. No, Matthias, faith alone would never have changed me into what I am today.”