Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal

by Christopher Moore

  Maggie and I made a nest of the cushions under the wide arched window in the front, so we could hear the slightest noise coming from the street, but as night started to fall, the footsteps became fewer and farther between, the distant singing from the Temple faded, and we settled into each other’s arms, a single lump of low, agonizing grief. Sometime after dark we made love together for the first time since the night before Joshua and I left for the Orient. All those years had passed, and yet it seemed familiar. That first time, so long ago, making love was a desperate way to share the grief we felt because we were each about to lose someone we loved. This time we were losing the same person. This time, we slept afterward.

  Joseph of Arimathea didn’t come home.

  Thursday

  It was Simon and Andrew who stormed up the steps to wake us Thursday morning. I threw my tunic over Maggie and jumped to my feet in just a loincloth. As soon as I saw Simon I felt the heat rise in my face.

  “You treacherous bastard!” I was too angry to hit him. I just stood there screaming at him. “You coward!”

  “It wasn’t him,” screamed Andrew in my ear.

  “It wasn’t me,” said Simon. “I tried to fight the guards when they came to get Joshua. Peter and I both did.”

  “Judas was your friend. You and your Zealot bullshit!”

  “He was your friend too.”

  Andrew pushed me away. “Enough! It wasn’t Simon. I saw him face two guards with spears. Leave him be. We don’t have time for your tantrum, Biff. Joshua is being flogged at the high priest’s palace.”

  “Where’s Joseph?” Maggie said. She’d dressed while I had been railing at Simon.

  “He’s gone on to the praetorium that Pilate set up at the Antonia Palace by the Temple.”

  “What the hell’s he doing there if Joshua is being beaten at the palace in this end of the city?”

  “That’s where they’ll take Joshua next. He was convicted of blasphemy, Biff. They want a death sentence. Pontius Pilate is the ruling authority in Judea. Joseph knows him, he’s going to ask for Joshua’s release.”

  “What do we do? What do we do?” I was starting to get hysterical. Since I could remember, my friendship with Joshua had been my anchor, my reason for being, my life; now it, he, was running toward destruction like a storm-driven ship to a reef, and I couldn’t think of a thing to do but panic. “What do we do? What do we do?” I panted, the breath refusing to fill my lungs. Maggie grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.

  “You have a plan, remember.” She tugged on the amulet around my neck.

  “Right, right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Right. The plan.” I grabbed my tunic and slipped it over my head. Maggie helped me wrap the sash.

  “I’m sorry, Simon,” I said.

  He forgave me with the wave of a hand. “What do we do?”

  “If they’re taking Joshua to the praetorium, that’s where we go. If Pilate releases him then we’ll need to get him out of there. There’s no telling what Josh will do to get them to kill him.”

  We were waiting along with a huge crowd outside the Antonia Palace when the Temple guards brought Joshua to the front gates. The high priest, Caiaphas, wearing his blue robes and with a jewel-encrusted chest piece, led the procession. His father, Annas, who had been the high priest previously, followed right behind. A column of guards surrounded Joshua in the middle of the procession. We could just see him amid the guards, and I could tell that someone had put a fresh tunic on him, but there were stripes of blood soaking through the back. He looked as if he was in a trance.

  There was a great deal of posturing and shouting between the Temple guards, and from somewhere in the procession Jakan came forward and started arguing with the soldiers as well. It was obvious that the Romans were not going to let the Temple guards enter the praetorium, so the transfer of the prisoner was going to take place there at the gate or not at all. I was measuring whether I could sneak through the crowd, snap Jakan’s neck, and sneak back out without jeopardizing our plan when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked around to see Joseph of Arimathea.

  “At least it wasn’t a Roman scourge they lashed him with. He took thirty-nine lashes, but it was just leather, not the lead-tipped whip that the Romans use. That would have killed him.”

  “Where were you? What took so long?”

  “The prosecution took forever. Jakan went on half the night, taking testimony from witnesses who had obviously never even heard of Joshua, let alone seen any crime.”

  “What about the defense?” asked Maggie.

  “Well, I put forth a defense of good deeds, but it was so overwhelmed by the accusations that it was lost in the noise. Joshua didn’t say a word in his own defense. They asked him if he was the Son of God and he said yes. That confirmed the blasphemy charge. It’s all they needed, really.”

  “What happens now? Did you talk to Pilate?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  Joseph rubbed the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. “He said he’d see what he could do.”

  We watched as the Roman soldiers took Joshua inside and the priests followed. The Pharisees, commoners in the eyes of the Romans, were left outside. A legionnaire almost caught Jakan’s face in the gate when he slammed it.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and I looked up to a high, wide balcony that was visible above the palace walls. It had obviously been designed by Herod the Great’s architects as a platform from which the king could address the masses in the Temple without compromising his safety. A tall Roman in a lush red robe was standing on the balcony looking down on the crowd, and not looking particularly happy with their presence.

  “Is that Pilate?” I asked Joseph, pointing to the Roman.

  Joseph nodded. “He’ll go downstairs to hold Joshua’s trial.”

  But I wasn’t interested at that point in where Pilate was going. What interested me was the centurion who stood behind him wearing the full-crested helmet and breastplate of a legion commander.

  Not a half hour later the gate was opened and a squad of Roman soldiers brought Joshua out of the palace in bonds. A lower-rank centurion pulled Joshua along by a rope around his wrists. The priests followed along behind and were mobbed with questions by the Pharisees who had been waiting outside.

  “Go find out what’s going on,” I said to Joseph.

  We waded into the middle of the procession that followed. Most were screaming at Joshua and trying to spit on him. I spotted a few people in the crowd that I knew to be Joshua’s followers, but they were going along silently, their eyes darting around as if any second they might be the next one arrested.

  Simon, Andrew, and I followed behind at some distance, while Maggie fought the crowd to get close to Joshua. I saw her throw herself at her ex-husband, Jakan, who was trailing the priests, but she was stopped in mid-leap by Joseph of Arimathea, who caught her by the hair and pulled her back. Someone else was helping restrain her, but he wore a shawl over his head so I couldn’t tell who it was. Probably Peter.

  Joseph dragged Maggie back to us and handed her over to me and Simon.

  “She’ll get herself killed.”

  Maggie looked up at me, a wildness in her eyes that I couldn’t read, either anger or madness. I wrapped my arms around her and held her so her arms were pinned to her sides as we walked along. The man with the hood walked along beside me, his hand on Maggie’s shoulder, steadying her. When he looked at me I could see it was Peter. The wiry fisherman seemed to have aged twenty years since I’d seen him Tuesday night.

  “They’re taking him to Antipas,” Peter said. “As soon as Pilate heard Joshua was from Galilee he said it wasn’t his jurisdiction and sent him to Herod.”

  “Maggie,” I said into her ear, “please stop being a madwoman. My plan just went to hell and I could use some critical thinking.”

  Once again we waited outside of one of the palaces built by Herod the Great, but this time, because it was a Jew
ish king in residence, the Pharisees were let in and Joseph of Arimathea went in with them. A few minutes later he was back outside again.

  “He’s trying to get Joshua to perform a miracle,” Joseph said. “He’ll let him go if Joshua performs a miracle for him.”

  “And if Joshua won’t do it?”

  “He won’t,” said Maggie.

  “If he won’t do it,” Joseph said, “we’re back where we started. It will be up to Pilate to order the Sanhedrin’s death sentence carried out or to release Joshua.”

  “Maggie, come with me,” I said, tugging at her dress as I backed away.

  “Why, where?”

  “The plan’s back on.” I ran back to the praetorium, with Maggie in tow. I pulled up by a pillar across from the Antonia Palace. “Maggie, can Peter really heal? Really?”

  “Yes, I told you.”

  “Wounds? Broken bones?”

  “Wounds, yes. I don’t know about bones.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  I left her there while I went to the highest-ranking centurion stationed outside the gates.

  “I need to see your commander,” I said.

  “Go away, Jew.”

  “I’m a friend. Tell him it’s Levi from Nazareth.”

  “I’ll tell him nothing.”

  So I stepped up and took the centurion’s sword out of its scabbard, put the point under his chin for a split second, then replaced it in its scabbard. He reached for the sword and suddenly it was in my hand and under his chin again. Before he could call out the sword was back in its scabbard.

  “There,” I said, “you owe me your life twice. By the time you call to have me arrested I’ll have your sword again and you’ll not only be embarrassed but your head will be all wobbly from your throat being cut. Or, you can take me to see my friend Gaius Justus Gallicus, commander of the Sixth Legion.”

  Then I took a deep breath and waited. The centurion’s eyes darted to the soldiers closest to him, then back to me. “Think, Centurion,” I said. “If you arrest me, where will I end up anyway?” The logic of it seemed to strike him through his frustration.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  I signaled to Maggie to wait and followed the soldier into Pilate’s fortress.

  Justus seemed uncomfortable in the lush quarters they had assigned him at the palace. He’d had shields and spears placed around the room in different places, as if he needed to remind anyone who entered that a soldier lived here. I stood in the doorway while he paced, looking up at me occasionally as if he wanted to kill me. He wiped the sweat from his closely cropped gray hair and whipped it so it drew a stripe across the stone floor.

  “I can’t stop the sentence. No matter what I want.”

  “I just don’t want him hurt,” I said.

  “If Pilate crucifies him, he’ll be hurt, Biff. That’s sort of the point.”

  “Damaged, I mean. No broken bones, no cut sinew. Have them tie his arms to the cross.”

  “They have to use nails,” Justus said, his mouth shaping into a cruel frown. “Nails are iron. They’re inventoried. Each one is accounted for.”

  “You Romans are masters of supply.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Okay, tie him then, only nail through the web of his fingers and toes, and put a board on the cross so he can support his weight with his feet.”

  “That’s no kindness you’re doing him. He could linger a week that way.”

  “No he won’t,” I said. “I’m going to give him poison. And I want his body as soon as he’s dead.”

  At the word “poison,” Justus had stopped pacing and looked up at me with open resentment. “It’s not up to me to release the body, but if you want to make sure the body is unharmed I’ll have to keep soldiers there until the end. Sometimes your people like to help the crucified die more quickly by throwing stones. I don’t know why they bother.”

  “Yes, you do, Justus. You of all people do. You can spit that Roman bitterness toward mercy all you want, but you know. You were the one who sent for Joshua when your friend was suffering. You humbled yourself and asked for mercy. That’s all I’m doing.”

  Now the resentment drained from his face and was replaced by amazement. “You’re going to bring him back, aren’t you?”

  “I just want to bury my friend’s body intact.”

  “You’re going to bring him back from the dead. Like the soldier at Sepphoris, the one the Sicarii killed. That’s why you need his body undamaged.”

  “Something like that,” I nodded, looking at the floor to avoid the old soldier’s eyes.

  Justus nodded, obviously shaken. “Pilate has to authorize the body to be taken down. Crucifixion is supposed to stand as an example to others.”

  “I have a friend who can get the body released.”

  “Joshua could still be set free, you know?”

  “He won’t be,” I said. “He doesn’t want to be.”

  Justus turned from me then. “I’ll give the orders. Kill him quickly, then take the body and get it out of my jurisdiction even quicker.”

  “Thank you, Justus.”

  “Don’t embarrass any more of my officers or your friend will be asking for two bodies.”

  When I came out of the fortress Maggie ran into my arms. “It’s horrible. They put a crown of thorns on his head and the crowd spit on him. The soldiers beat him.” The crowd milled around us.

  “Where is he now?”

  The crowd roared and people began pointing up to the balcony. Pilate stood there next to Joshua, who was being held by two soldiers. Joshua stared straight ahead, still looking as if he were in a trance. Blood was running into his eyes.

  Pilate raised his arms and the crowd went quiet. “I have no complaint with this man, yet your priests say that he has committed blasphemy. This is no crime under Roman law,” said Pilate. “What would you have me do with him?”

  “Crucify him!” screamed someone next to me. I looked over to see Jakan waving a fist. The other Pharisees began chanting, “Crucify him, crucify him.” And soon the whole crowd seemed to join in. Among the crowd I saw the few of Joshua’s followers that were left begin to slink away before the anger was turned on them. Pilate made a gesture as if he was washing his hands and walked inside.

  Friday

  Eleven apostles, Maggie, Joshua’s mother, and his brother James gathered at the upper room of Joseph of Arimathea’s house. The merchant had been to see Pilate and the governor agreed to release Joshua’s body in honor of the Passover.

  Joseph explained: “The Romans aren’t stupid, they know our women prepare the dead, so we can’t send the apostles to get him. The soldiers will give the body to Maggie and Mary. James, since you’re his brother, they’ll allow you to come along to help carry him. The rest of you should keep your faces covered. The Pharisees will be looking for Joshua’s followers. The priests have already spent too much time on this during a feast week, so they’ll all be at the Temple. I’ve bought a tomb near the hill where they’ll crucify him. Peter, you will wait there.”

  “What if I can’t heal him?” Peter said. “I’ve never even tried to raise the dead.”

  “He won’t be dead,” I said. “He just won’t be able to move. I couldn’t find the ingredients I needed to make a potion to kill the pain, so he’ll look dead, but he’ll feel everything. I know what it’s like, I was in that state for weeks once. Peter, you’ll have to heal the wounds from the lash and the nails, but they shouldn’t be mortal. I’ll give him the antidote as soon as he’s out of sight of the Romans. Maggie, as soon as they give him to you, close his eyes if they’re open or they’ll dry out.”

  “I can’t watch it,” Maggie said. “I can’t watch them nail him to that tree.”

  “You don’t have to. Wait at the tomb. I’ll send someone to get you when it’s time.”

  “Can this work?” Andrew said. “Can you bring him back, Biff?”

  “I’m not bringing him back from anything. He w
on’t be dead, he’ll just be hurt.”

  “We’d better go,” said Joseph, looking out the window at the sky. “They’ll bring him out at noon.”

  A crowd had gathered outside of the praetorium, but most were merely curious; only a few of the Pharisees, among them Jakan, had actually come out to see Joshua executed. I stayed back, almost a half-block away, watching. The other disciples were spread out, wearing shawls or turbans that covered their faces. Peter had sent Bartholomew to sit with Maggie and Mary at the tomb. No shawl could disguise his bulk or his stench.

  Three heavy crossbeams leaned against the wall outside the palace gates, waiting for their victims. At noon Joshua was brought out along with two thieves who had also been sentenced to death, and the beams were placed upon their shoulders. Joshua was bleeding from a dozen places on his head and face, and although he still wore the purple robe that Herod had placed on him, I could see that blood from the flogging had run down and left streaks on his legs. He still looked like he was in some sort of trance, but there was no question that he was feeling the pain of his wounds. The crowd closed in on him, shouting insults and spitting on him, but I noticed that when he stumbled, someone always lifted him to his feet. His followers were still scattered among the crowd, they were just afraid to show themselves.

  From time to time I looked around the periphery of the mob and caught the eye of one of the apostles. Always there was a tear there, and always a mix of anguish and anger. It took everything I had not to rush in among the soldiers, take one of their swords, and start hacking. Afraid of my own temper, I fell back from the crowd until I came alongside of Simon. “I can’t do it either,” I said. “I can’t watch them put him on the cross.”