At the sound of his name the old man’s face brightened and he leaped from the bench. I did likewise, and my knees felt weak as the onrushing figure came ever closer until I was, at last, face to face with the man whose brother I had condemned to the world as a hoax.

five

AT FIRST GLANCE, James was a disappointment to me. Watching the two old friends embrace, it was difficult to realize that the powerful head of a great trade caravan, richly costumed Joseph of Arimathea, was paying homage to this unimpressive-looking individual whose shabby appearance fell far short of the image I had built in my mind.

I was disappointed and yet I welcomed the disappointment as if his unkempt looks and self-effacing manner indicated a weakness that I might be able to exploit through my questions. I should have known better. I’ve been around too long to let first impressions deceive me, but they still do.

James was short in stature, like most of his countrymen, with long, untended strands of black hair hanging loosely over his jowls and down his broad back. His dark square face, dominated by a wide forehead above heavy eyebrows and light brown eyes, was framed by a full but untrimmed beard, glistening with perspiration and partially covering a barrel-like chest. The front of his faded linen tunic was frayed, exposing knees so raw and calloused from constant praying that they really did look like those of a camel, as I had remembered reading.

At last Joseph turned and extended his palm in my direction. “Here is a friend of mine, Matthias by name, from Rome. He is preparing, for his countrymen, a history of our nation and our great leaders and prophets.”

James came close enough to give me a brief embrace. I opened my mouth but the voice box refused to cooperate. Could it be? Was I actually in the Temple built by Herod, and was this the brother of Jesus who had put his hands on me?

It was obvious, now that we were only at arm’s length, that this man was close to exhaustion after his long and strenuous sermon to the people. His eyes were streaked with blood, and he blinked his puffy lids frequently as if it took great effort to keep them open. Even so, he smiled cordially and said, “Peace be with you, Matthias, and with your work. Another history for the mighty eagle to chew? Livy’s great work was sufficient for Augustus. Tiberius wants more?”