“The lower city. The slums—where two thirds of Jerusalem’s population struggle merely to survive as the poor have struggled in every city since the beginning of time. A breeding place for disease, crime, vice, and violence. More than half the infants born there die at birth, and few of them ever manage to break their bonds of poverty, if they survive, to cross over those bridges and eventually become honored residents of this upper city.”

“See that valley separating the upper and lower city, running north and south? Would you by chance know its name?” the old man asked, watching me curiously.

“Yes. It is called the Valley of the Cheesemongers, but the people who live there call it the Valley of Dung. Everything from garbage to dead bodies is dumped into it, and that smoke we see is from the ever-replenished marsh of burning scum which spreads its vile stench across the entire lower city, day and night.”

Joseph nodded. “Despite your regretfully accurate description, Matthias, is there anything in that area that would attract pilgrims when they come to Jerusalem?”

I tried to keep from smiling at his choice of words. “Oh, I almost forgot. For reasons I could never understand, the most ambitious and varied marketplace in the entire civilized world is located in the heart of all that squalor. Hundreds of shops and bazaars are there, as well as many fine restaurants, all catering primarily to those who come from far off to worship in the Temple.”

In rapid succession I identified, for him, the hippodrome, the theater, the Hasmonean palace where Herod Antipas stayed when he visited the city, and the Pool of Siloam. Finally he grasped my shoulders in obvious frustration and turned me so that I was facing directly toward the north. “And what is that place, Matthias?”

“That mighty piece of real estate was the residence of Herod the Great. The wall enclosing the buildings is more than forty-five feet high. In one wing of the palace are at least one hundred bedchambers that Herod filled with guests, each room boasting its own bath complete with fixtures of gold and silver. Those three towers were built to defend the palace. Each soars sixty feet above the wall and is capable of holding a company of soldiers.”

A sly expression crept over the old man’s face. “Herod gave each tower a name, Matthias. Your extensive research did not, by any chance, uncover what he called them?”

I paused to try to collect my wits. If this was the strangest quiz show of all time, I wanted to win it. I answered slowly, “One is named … Hippicus, after a friend of Herod’s. Another is called Phasael, after his brother, and the third is … is …”

“Ah, ha!” chortled Joseph.

“The third is called Mariamne! After the wife he said he loved the most but still executed.”