The old man reached inside his tunic and removed the leather cord and gold amulet from behind his neck. “You are a joy to be with, Matthias. Here! Take this. Wear it under your tunic while you are with us. It might make your task easier.” He smiled. “It may even protect you from evil spirits.”

An outline of a fish had been cut into the piece’s crudely hammered finish. Resting on the fish was the rough scratching of an anchor. Five Greek letters had been carved on the fish’s body. It was, as I knew, one of the earliest symbols of the persecuted followers of Jesus, a predecessor to the cross that Christians later adopted.

“Do you know what the five Greek letters represent, Matthias?”

“Yes. They are the Greek word for ‘fish.’ Their letters also make an acrostic for the initials of the five Greek words that mean ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior.”

“And the anchor?”

He had me. I was sure I knew, but I just couldn’t remember. I shook my head.

Joseph gleefully clenched his hands together in prayer and raised them toward the Temple in an exaggerated act of gratitude. “Finally I have managed to confound this brilliant master of words and history. Perhaps I may be able to contribute some small share to his efforts, after all.” He placed both hands on my shoulders, leaned forward, and whispered, “The anchor is our symbol of hope—hope that someday man will realize the truth that was crucified but not destroyed here in Jerusalem, six years ago.”

I hefted the amulet in my hand. “It must be very valuable, Joseph, and I appreciate your generosity but I cannot accept it. I’m not one of you, not any longer.”

He was insistent. “Take it anyway. Wear it as a charm—a piece of good-luck jewelry—or, if you must, just to please an old man.”

I rubbed my hand softly against the rough surface. It felt warm and pliable, almost as if it were alive. Maybe it would come in handy in a tight spot. After all, some of these original Christians were pretty rough characters. This might be my passport from danger if I should ever slip and let any of them suspect that my real motive was to expose their crucified leader.

I nodded my thanks, passed the leather cord over my head, and carefully tucked the “sign of the fish” beneath my tunic, out of sight.

His return was expected at any moment.

Each day the followers of Jesus, increasing in number, gathered beneath the shaded colonnades of Solomon’s Portico along the east wall of the Temple courtyard, praying and waiting. Soon he would come in glory. Maybe today!