Lamb

by Christopher Moore

  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 won’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.”

  “You have to,” the Zealot said.

  “No, you be there, Simon. Let him see your face. Let him know you’re there. I’ll come up once the cross is set.” I had never been able to look at someone who was being crucified even when I didn’t know them. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stomach watching them do it to my best friend. I’d lose control, attack someone, and then we’d both be lost. Simon was a soldier, a secret soldier, but a soldier still. He could do it. The horrible scene at the temple of Kali ran through my head.

  “Simon, tell him I said mindful breath. Tell him that there is no cold.”

  “What cold?”

  “He’ll know what it means. If he remembers he’ll be able to shut out the pain. He learned to do that in the East.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  I wouldn’t be able to tell him myself, not without giving myself away.

  I watched from the walls of the city as they led Joshua to the road that ran by the hill called Golgotha, a thousand yards outside the Gennath Gate. I turned away, but even from a thousand yards I could hear him screaming as they drove the nails.

  Justus had assigned four soldiers to watch Joshua die. After a half hour they were alone except for perhaps a dozen onlookers and the families of the two thieves, who were praying and singing dirges at the feet of the condemned. Jakan and the other Pharisees had only stayed to see Joshua hoisted upright and the cross set, then they went off to feast with their families.

  “A game,” I said, tossing a pair of dice in the air as I approached the soldiers. “Just a simple game.” I had borrowed a tunic and an expensive sash from Joseph of Arimathea. He’d also given me his purse, which I held up and jingled in front of the soldiers. “A game, Legionnaire?”

  One of the Romans laughed. “And where would we get money to gamble with?”

  “We’ll play for those clothes behind you. That purple robe at the foot of the cross.”

  The Roman lifted the robe with a spear point, then looked up at Joshua, whose eyes went wide when he saw me. “Sure, it looks like we’ll be here a while. Let’s have a game.”

  First I had to lose enough money to give the Romans something to gamble with, then I had to win it back slowly enough to keep me there long enough to accomplish my mission. (I silently thanked Joy for teaching me how to cheat at dice.) I handed the dice to the soldier nearest me, who was perhaps fifty years old, built short and powerfully, but covered with scar tissue and gnarled limbs, evidence of broken bones mishealed. He looked too old to be soldiering this far from Rome, and too beaten down to make the journey home. The other soldiers were younger, in their twenties, I guessed, all with dark olive skin and dark eyes, all lean, fit, and hungry-looking. Two of the younger soldiers carried the standard Roman infantry spear, a wooden shaft with a narrow iron spike as long as a man’s forearm, tipped with a compact three-bladed point designed to be driven through armor. The other two carried the wasp-waisted Iberian short sword that I’d seen on Justus’ belt so many times. He must have had them imported for his legion to fit his own preference. (Most Romans used a straight-bladed short sword.)

  I handed the dice to the old soldier and dumped some coins out in the dirt. As the Roman threw the dice against the bottom of Joshua’s cross I scanned the hills and saw the apostles watching from behind trees and over rocks. I gave a signal and it passed from one to the other, and finally to a woman who waited back on one of the city walls.

  “Oh my, the gods have turned against me today,” I said, rolling a losing combination.

  “I thought you Jews only had one God.”

  “I was talking about your gods, Legionnaire. I’m losing.”

  The soldiers laughed and I heard a moan from above us. I cringed and felt as if my ribs would cave in on themselves from the pain in my heart. I ventured a glance at Joshua and he was looking right at me. “You don’t have to do this,” he said in Sanskrit.

  “What nonsense is the Jew talking now?” asked the old soldier.

  “I couldn’t say, soldier. He must be delirious.”

  I saw two women approaching the foot of the cross on Joshua’s left, carrying a large bowl, a jar of water, and a long stick.

  “Hey there, get away from them.”

  “Just here to give a drink of water to the condemned, sir. No harm meant.” The woman took a sponge from the bowl and squeezed it out. It was Susanna, Maggie’s friend from Galilee, along with Johanna. They’d come down for the Passover to cheer Joshua into the city, now we’d conscripted them to help poison him. The soldiers watched as the women dipped the sponge, then attached it to the end of the stick and held it for the thief to drink from. I had to look away.

  “Faith, Biff,” Joshua said, again in Sanskrit.

  “There, you shut up and die,” barked one of the younger Romans.

  I twi
tched and squinted at the dice in lieu of crushing the soldier’s windpipe.

  “Give me a seven. Baby needs new sandals,” said another young Roman.

  I couldn’t look at Joshua and I couldn’t look to see what the women were doing. The plan was that they would go to the two thieves first, so as not to raise suspicion, but now I was regretting the decision to delay.

  Finally Susanna brought the bowl to where we were gambling and set it down while Johanna poured some water over the sponge.

  “Got any wine there for a thirsty soldier?” said one of the young soldiers. He smacked Johanna on the bottom. “Or some other relief?”

  The old soldier caught the young soldier’s arm and pushed him away. “You’ll be up on that stick with this wretch, Marcus. These Jews take touching their women seriously. Justus won’t tolerate it.”

  Susanna pulled her shawl around her face. She was pretty, lean with small facial features except for her wide brown eyes. She was too old not to be married, but I suspected that she had left a husband to follow Joshua. It was the same story with Johanna, except that her husband had followed along for a while, then divorced her when she wouldn’t come home with him. She was more sturdily built, and she rolled like a wagon when she walked. She took the sponge and held it out to me.

  “Drink, sir?” Here the timing was critical.

  “Anyone want a sip of water?” I asked before taking the sponge. I was palming the ying-yang amulet as I said it.

  “Drink after a Jewish dog. Not likely,” said the old soldier.

  “I’m getting the impression that my Jewish money might sully your Roman purse,” I said. “Maybe I should go.”

  “No, your money’s good enough,” said a young soldier, punching my shoulder in good spirits. I was tempted to relieve him of his teeth.

  I took the sponge and feigned taking a drink. When I raised the sponge to squeeze the water into my mouth I dumped the poison over it. Instantly I handed it back to Johanna so as not to poison myself. Without dipping it back in the water she affixed the sponge to the stick and raised it up to Joshua’s face. His head rolled, and his tongue rolled out of the side of his mouth against the moisture.

  “Drink,” Johanna said, but Joshua didn’t seem to hear her. She pushed the sponge harder against his mouth and it dripped on one of the Romans. “Drink.”

  “Move away from there, Marcus,” said the old soldier. “When he goes he’ll lose his fluids all over you. You don’t want to sit too close.” The old Roman laughed raucously.

  “Drink it, Joshua,” said Susanna.

  Finally Joshua opened his eyes and pushed his face into the sponge. I held my breath as I heard him sucking the moisture out of it.

  “Enough!” said the young soldier. He knocked the stick out of Susanna’s hands. The sponge went flying off into the dirt. “He’ll be dead soon.”

  “Not soon enough, though, with that block to stand on,” said the old soldier.

  Then time began to pass more slowly than I could ever remember. When Joy had poisoned me it had taken only seconds before I was paralyzed, then when I’d used the poison on the man in India he’d dropped almost immediately. I tried to pretend to pay attention to the game, but I was looking for some sign that the poison was working.

  The women moved away and watched from a distance, but I heard one of them gasp and when I looked up, Joshua’s head had lolled over. Drool ran out of his open mouth.

  “How do you know when he’s dead?” I asked.

  “Like this.” The young soldier named Marcus prodded Joshua in the thigh with his spear. Joshua moaned and opened his eyes and I felt my stomach sink. I could hear sobbing from Johanna and Susanna.

  I threw the dice, and waited. An hour passed, and still Joshua moaned. I could hear him praying softly from time to time over the laughter of the soldiers. Another hour. I had begun to shake. Every sound from the cross was like a hot iron driven in my spine. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him. The disciples moved closer, less concerned now about staying hidden, but the Romans were too intent on their game to notice. Unfortunately, I was not intent enough.

  “That’s it for you,” said the old soldier. “Unless you want to gamble for your own cloak now. Your purse is empty.”

  “Is this bastard ever going to die?” said one of the young soldiers.

  “He just needs help,” said the young soldier named Marcus, who had stood and was leaning on his spear. Before I could even get to my feet he thrust the spear upward into Joshua’s side, the point went up under his ribs, and his heart blood pulsed down the iron in three great gushes, then ran out in a trickle. Marcus yanked the spear out. The entire hillside echoed with screaming, some of it my own. I stood transfixed, shaking, watching the blood run out of Joshua’s side. Hands latched onto my arms and I was dragged back, away from the cross. The Romans started to pick up their things to head back to the praetorium.

  “Loony,” said the old soldier, looking at me.

  Joshua looked at me one last time, then closed his eyes and died.

  “Come away, Biff,” a woman’s voice said in my ear. “Come away.” They turned me around and started marching me toward the city. I could feel a chill running over me as the wind came up and the sky started to darken under a sudden storm. There was still screaming, going on and on, and when Johanna clamped her hand over my mouth I realized it was me who had been screaming. I blinked tears out of my eyes, again and again, trying to at least see where they were leading me, but as soon as my sight would clear another sob would rock my body and the water would rise again.

  They were leading me to the Gennath Gate, that much I could tell, and there was a dark figure standing on the wall above the gate, watching us. I blinked and caught a single second of clarity as I saw who it was.

  “Judas!” I screamed until my voice shattered. I shook off the women and ran through the gate, swung myself up on top of one of the huge doors, and leapt to the wall. Judas ran south along the wall, looking from side to side for a place to jump off.

  There was no thought to what I was doing, nothing but grief gone to anger, love gone to hatred. I followed Judas across the roofs of Jerusalem, tossing aside anyone who got in my way, shattering pottery, crashing down rooftop chicken cages, pulling down lines of hanging clothes. When he came to a roof that led no further, Judas jumped two stories to the ground and came up limping as he ran down the street toward the Essene Gate at Ben Hinnon. I came off the roof full stride and landed without losing a step. Although I heard something tear in my ankle I couldn’t feel it.

  There was a line of people trying to get into the city at the Essene Gate, probably seeking shelter from the impending storm. Lightning crackled across the sky and raindrops as big as frogs began to plop onto the streets, leaving craters in the dust and painting the city with a thin coat of mud. Judas fought through the crowd as if he were swimming in pitch, pulling people past him on either side, moving a step forward only to be carried back a step.

  I saw a ladder leaning against the city wall and ran up it. There were Roman soldiers stationed here on the wall and I brushed by them, ducking spears and swords as I made my way to the gate, then over it, then to the wall on the other side. I could see Judas below me. He’d broken out of the crowd and was making his way along a ridge that ran parallel to the wall. It was too far to jump, so I followed him from above until I came to the corner of the battlement, where the wall sloped down to accommodate the thickness required to hold the corner. I slid down the wet limestone on my feet and hands and hit the ground ten paces behind the Zealot.

  He didn’t know I was there. The rain came down now in sheets and the thunder was so frequent and loud that I could hear nothing myself but the roaring anger in my head. Judas came to a cypress tree that jutted over a high cliff with hundreds of tombs gouged into it. The path passed between a wall of tombs and the cypress tree; past the tree was a fifty-yard drop. Judas pulled a purse from his belt, pulled a small stone out of the opening to one of the tom
bs, then shoved the purse inside. I caught him by the back of the neck and he shrieked.

  “Go ahead, put the stone back,” I said.

  He tried to wheel on me and hit me with the stone. I took it from him and fitted it back into the tomb, then kicked his feet out from under him and dragged him to the edge of the cliff. I clamped onto his windpipe and, holding the cypress tree with my free hand, I leaned him out over the cliff.

  “Don’t struggle!” I shouted. “You’ll only free yourself to the fall.”

  “I couldn’t let him live,” Judas said. “You can’t have someone like him alive.” I pulled the Zealot back up on the cliff and whipped the sash from around his tunic.

  “He knew he had to die,” Judas said. “How do you think I knew he’d be at Gethsemane, not at Simon’s? He told me!”

  “You didn’t have to give him up!” I screamed. I wrapped the sash around his neck, then pulled it tight over the crook of a cypress branch.

  “Don’t. Don’t do this. I had to do it. Someone did. He would have just reminded us of what we’ll never be.”

  “Yep,” I said. I shoved him backward over the cliff and caught the end of the sash as it tightened around the branch. The sash twanged when it took his weight and his neck snapped with the sound of a knuckle cracking. I let go of the sash and Judas’ body fell into the darkness. The boom of thunder concealed the sound of impact.

  The anger ran out of me then, leaving me feeling as if my very bones were losing their structure. I looked forward, straight over the Ben Hinnon valley, into a sheet of lightning-bleached rain. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I stepped off the cliff. I felt a bolt of pain, and then nothing.

  That’s all I remember.

  Epilogue

  The angel took the book from him, then went out the door and across the hall, where he knocked on the door. “He’s finished,” the angel said to someone in the room.