We had moved no more than a dozen hard-fought steps into the courtyard when we came upon the money-changers. Long, noisy, and impatient lines of worshipers had formed behind irregular rows of crudely built wooden tables piled high with coins. At each table, looking like details from Rembrandt’s painting, sat harried officials of the Temple busily engaged in weighing and exchanging tainted foreign coins for the sacred shekels and minas which were the only pieces accepted by the priests in payment of the Temple tax and other sacred obligations. Behind each money-changer stood a bored and imperturbable guard with hairy muscled arms folded across his chest and a large wooden club dangling loosely from his wrist. Beyond the money-changers’ tables stood the reeking and flimsy stalls into which were jammed thousands of sheep and rams and he-goats and lambs, their cries and smells dominating the entire area. Near the animals were cages of doves, piled precariously high, around which were gathered the poorer pilgrims who could not afford to buy larger sacrificial offerings.

From where I was standing I could count twenty-one uniformed guards stationed along the interior wall of the courtyard. To my left, high above the Temple’s north wall, towered the Roman fortress of Antonia with a wall of its own overlooking the courtyard. Standing on the wall were four Roman soldiers, each dressed in their familiar helmets and body plates and armed with shield, spear, and sword, keeping a watchful eye on all of us.

“Why are you frowning, Matthias?” Joseph asked.

“Was it like this, six years ago, when Jesus was coming here?”

The old man shrugged. “It never changes.”

“There were guards behind each money-changer, Temple police along the walls, and Roman soldiers overhead?”

“Yes.”

“Yet Jesus, by himself, tipped over the money tables, opened the stalls and freed the animals, smashed the cages and let loose the doves—and no one laid a hand on him?”

“That is what those who were here that morning have reported. I was not witness to the event.”

“But how could he? If I were to try that, right now, I’d be unconscious or dead in minutes!”

Joseph smiled mysteriously. “All the apostles were with him, that day, although they did not join in his bold act of protest against the sorry conditions that prevailed—and still do—in this house of God. Save your questions for them. Now let us find James so that you can begin your mission.”

As Joseph turned to lead the way I had a sudden urge. “Let me show you the way, Joseph!”

His dark face turned pale. “You know where James is?”

“I think so. We have entered the courtyard from the west, judging from the sun’s position. James is probably somewhere along the east wall, preaching or praying in the area called Solomon’s Portico, overlooking the Kidron Valley.”