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

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 twitched 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.