I Know What You Did Last Supper

by Wayne Williams, Darren Allan

Genres: Fantasy; Action & Adventure

Synopsis

The price of betrayal is more than thirty pieces of silver. Two days after Jesus Christ's crucifixion, Judas Iscariot receives an anonymous note stating, I know what you did. Wrapped with it is an eye, complete with trailing optic nerve, and a splintered tooth -trophies ripped from two recently butchered friends. Someone, it seems, knows what Judas did on that fateful night following the Last Supper. And that someone is intent on exacting a bloody and gruesome revenge. As more acquaintances and family members die in increasingly brutal ways, Judas finds himself in a desperate race against time to make amends for his act of treachery, and to uncover the identity of the mysterious hooded killer. A relentlessly paced, gripping thriller, which further explores one of the darkest bargains in human history. You might just find yourself engaged in the unthinkable: rooting for the man who betrayed Christ.

Release date: March 7, 2013

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 378

Sample

Caiaphas pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. He stared across at Judas Iscariot for a while, eyes unblinking, before leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table.

‘You are willing to go through with this?’ the fat high priest asked.

Judas nodded. The hour was late, the room lit by a solitary oil lamp which struggled to cast his shadow on the wall.

‘Good. We will only have one chance to arrest him. One chance. You must not fail the Sanhedrin. You understand this?’

Judas nodded again, his locks bobbing as he did so. His medium-length hair was the darkest of blacks, thick and tightly curled. It spilled out onto the side of his cheeks, where it tumbled down like an inky waterfall into an equally dense beard.

‘When the time comes, you will identify him to us with a single kiss.’

‘A kiss?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that not rather –’

‘Not rather what?’

‘Unnecessary?’

Caiaphas sat back, the chair cracking under his bulk as he did so. The darkness seemed to eat at his face as he leaned away, leaving just the hooked nose and two beady, hawk-like eyes visible. Eyes which now burned with annoyance.

‘You will greet him as I have indicated,’ the priest said. ‘We need it to be a kiss.’ He leaned forward. ‘You understand?’

Judas didn’t understand. At all. He was fairly sure most members of the Sanhedrin council would recognise Jesus anyway. It’s not as if he wasn’t well known to them. The theatrics of the betrayal seemed designed just to make an unpleasant situation even more hurtful. But there was nothing to be gained from arguing. He needed the money desperately. So if the Sanhedrin wanted a kiss, then a kiss it would have to be.

‘Very well,’ he said, and waited for the high priest to continue.

The two men sat in silence for a while. Judas’s forefinger traced the outline of the crescent moon-shaped birthmark on his neck, around and around.

‘The money?’ he asked eventually.

‘You will get your twenty pieces of silver once the act is complete. Now if that is all?’

‘I think we agreed thirty?’ Judas said, his voice wavering a little.

‘We agreed twenty.’

‘I think thirty is fairer. You’re asking me to betray my teacher and friend. Thirty for a kiss. It’s fair.’

The priest shook his head slowly.

‘This man, this Nazarene, is dangerous, Judas. He has delusions. I hear he proclaims himself to be the son of God. The son of God! He must answer for this blasphemy and with your help, he will. Do this and you will forever be regarded as a hero. Knowing you have helped us to… deal with the problem should be reward enough, but yes, you shall have your thirty pieces of silver, Judas Iscariot. Just make sure you earn them.’

The fat priest leaned back, indicating the conversation was over. His wooden chair creaked and popped in the darkness. Judas prayed hard that one of the legs would snap and send the pompous fool crashing to the ground, but nothing happened. God, it seemed, was not listening to him.

Jesus raised the polished wooden grail and drank deeply from it. His face remained, as always, a mask of quiet serenity.

Judas had always thought it was his master’s skin which gave his countenance such a peaceful appearance. Jesus spent many, many hours outdoors – travelling, teaching, counselling and healing – yet despite the light golden tan he bore, his skin wasn’t weathered by the sun as it should have been. There wasn’t a single line upon it, his complexion fresh and untroubled by the tracks of worry which life normally etched across the adult face.

Jesus supped from the grail once again. When he lowered the cup Judas could see the wine had stained his master’s top lip ruby red. A flick of the tongue and the colour was gone. Nothing about the action was unusual. Everyone else was partaking of wine in the same manner. To his right, Judas could see Thomas raising his cup and drinking exactly as Jesus had seconds before.

And yet…

Miracles like walking on water and raising the dead were awe-inspiring and breathtaking, but watching Jesus perform everyday actions – eating, drinking, sleeping – had always seemed just as profound to Judas.

That had been the case ever since he’d met his master. He was passing through the village of Emmaus, around ten miles west of Jerusalem, when he first encountered Jesus. There had been a landslide, and a huge boulder had tumbled down a slope, smashing into some poor fellow’s house and crushing half of it. Judas tried to help Jacob, the owner, and his friends lever the rock out of his home, but it was so massive that this had proved an impossible task.

Then they noticed a man approaching the dwelling, his stride long and purposeful. He held himself noticeably upright, a bearing that made him seem taller than his already above-average height. Russet brown, shoulder-length hair framed his face, which tapered down to a pointed chin neatly outlined with trimmed bristles.

Jacob’s friends had looked bemused when Jesus said he could help, and asked them to stand back. They motioned him through, sniggering as he passed them. Judas, however, wasn’t laughing.

Jesus approached the boulder, and stood directly behind it.

‘Would you help me push, friend?’ he asked, motioning Judas to come over.

‘I don’t know what on Earth you’re thinking, but there’s no way we can move that rock,’ Judas had replied.

‘Please. Indulge me.’

Judas did as he was bid, placed his hands on the boulder, and began to exert himself. The stone was so heavy, he might as well have been pushing against a mountain. Then Jesus laid his palms on it. The boulder jolted, and began to roll slowly forwards.

The other men stood mesmerised.

The rock seemed to have lost all its weight, and while it still looked perfectly solid, Judas could feel the stone vibrating wildly beneath his hands. Judders ran up his arms, through his chest, into his skull, yet the tremors didn’t grate in his bones, they seemed to resonate throughout his body like the most delicately plucked harp chord.

They pushed the rock onwards. Through joyously teary eyes, Judas looked across and saw that Jesus’s hands weren’t even touching the boulder. They hovered a short distance away from it.

When the stone was clear of the dwelling, the vibrations ceased as Jesus lowered his hands. The massive rock reverted to its previous density, solid and immovable.

Jesus then promised to help rebuild the house, and Jacob prostrated himself at his saviour’s feet in thanks. The men gathered materials, cypress wood beams, tools and ladders, and set about repairing the broken walls and roof.

Judas worked on the ladder next to Jesus, hammering nail after nail into the wood. The other folks dared not speak to him, merely whispering among themselves about the man who had worked a miracle, but after a while, Judas had to ask what they were all thinking.

‘Why don’t you use your powers to fix this beam into place?’

‘The rock, I could not move with my bare hands alone,’ Jesus had replied. ‘But the nails, I can hammer. As can Jacob.’ He turned to face Judas directly. ‘As can you. There is a lesson to be learned in the nails.’

In the presence of Jesus, Judas found his work seemed to gain clarity, a focus, as if he was fully and completely dissolved into the action of driving each nail home. As if that was all there was in the world. Judas felt different inside – calmer, more relaxed. His everyday cares and worries ebbing away to nothing. It was a sublime release. He worked harder still, beads of sweat clustered on his face, but a joyful feeling bloomed deep in his gut.

When they were done, Judas lay down, exhausted and spent, yet numb with a kind of… ecstasy. He’d never forgotten the words Jesus had spoken as he’d placed one hand on Judas’s aching shoulder.

‘Whether a nail is hammered, or a king is crowned, everything is just an experience. This is the true path of life. It is not what you do, but how you do it that matters.’

And so it was with Jesus. It wasn’t just the miracles, but also the nails.

Each simple breath, word, movement of his master all carried an equal significance. Every moment of his life shone with an empyreal vitality. When Jesus ate lamb and washed it down with wine, he wasn’t merely feeding his own body; he was nourishing the whole of humanity.

Judas left the village of Emmaus with Jesus, and had been a steadfast follower ever since. The potent memory of his experience at Jacob’s house had always remained with him, but this evening, it seemed much weaker and more distant.

‘Are you not eating?’ Thomas said.

The question jolted Judas from his introspection. He stared over at his fellow apostle, and then let his gaze wander across the considerable feast laid out on the table in front of him. Jugs of dark red wine stood alongside loaves of flatbread, roasted lamb and scatterings of greenery; lettuce, watercress and parsley. The enticing smell of lamb intermingled with freshly baked bread hung in the air, but food was not on his mind. Tonight was not about enjoying himself. Tonight was about betrayal, and Judas felt sick to his stomach.

By way of an answer, and to placate his friend, he reached over and gathered some parsley, which he dipped in a bowl of salt water before chewing slowly. Judas turned back to Thomas, but he was now talking to John.

All twelve apostles had been gathered together for this meal in a sparsely furnished room on the upper floor of a house in Jerusalem. Its stark white walls were punctuated by hanging green tapestries, woven with simple patterns in gold thread. The apostles sat around a low table, reclining on cushions or perched on short stools, gathered either side of Jesus.

Throughout the evening Judas had found himself feigning laughter at Philip’s attempts at humour, listening to Thomas bickering with Bartholomew, and just generally trying to behave as if everything was normal. As if this was just another ordinary day. When it was manifestly anything but.

Jesus stood, drawing the gaze of every single apostle as he did so. Quiet descended on the room, the only audible noise coming from the large bowl-shaped lamp which was suspended on a long chain from the high ceiling. Twin flames wavered on opposite sides of the vessel, whispering to each other in brittle crackles.

Jesus shed his robe down to his waist, the doubled-up folds of the mauve-coloured material rustling against his legs as he walked a couple of paces to pick up a nearby bowl of water.

He took a white linen towel, tied it around his midriff, and then one by one he thoroughly washed the feet of each apostle, carefully dabbing them dry with the towel afterwards. Judas said nothing when it came to his turn, he simply willed it to be over quickly. What he had to do later tonight would be difficult enough without additional kindnesses such as this.

Of all the apostles, only one spoke when Jesus kneeled in front of him with the bowl.

‘I refuse to let you wash my feet, master,’ Peter said, crossing his legs underneath him.

‘I do this with good reason, I assure you. You must let me cleanse you, Peter.’

After a few moments of hesitation, the apostle acquiesced.

When he had finished, Jesus sat back down and said, ‘Do you understand why I have done this?’ He paused, but no answer was forthcoming. ‘I have washed your feet, even though you consider me your master, because every man should selflessly serve others. You should wash each other’s feet. That stranger, that beggar in the street – you should wash his feet, or her feet.’

‘Everyone is equal,’ Bartholomew said.

‘Exactly. Nobody, not even me, is master over anyone.’

Down the row of apostles Judas could see Matthew diligently recording everything Jesus said, scribbling on a piece of parchment with his inky quill.

‘But you’re the son of God, aren’t you?’ Thomas said. ‘I think that makes you rather special.’

‘We all carry the light of creation, Thomas. We all carry the light of God within us at a fundamental level, whether it is awakened, or not.’

Thomas nodded, a slight and not entirely convincing tilt of the head.

Judas let the to and fro of the conversation that followed wash over him. The gathered apostles were questioning, debating and philosophising as always and it was strange to watch them carrying on as normal, so blissfully unaware of the actions that he was about to set in motion. Jesus seemed no different in this respect. Like those around him he had absolutely no idea of what was to come. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so sagacious after all.

Judas cast a glance in his master’s direction and watched as Jesus stood again and cleared his throat. All talking respectfully ceased. ‘This meal with you tonight,’ he began, ‘will be our last supper together.’

‘Last?’ Peter said.

Judas felt his body stiffen, his breath caught in his throat.

‘Yes. For one of you, sat at this very table now, is going to betray me.’

‘Surely not!’ Peter cried out.

The room burst into life as every apostle began speaking at once. Heat spread across Judas’s cheeks, his mind a whirlpool of questions. How could Jesus know? Had someone told him? Who…⁠? He pushed those thoughts away, momentarily, to concentrate on muttering his own protestations, looking around the table as if trying to identify the would-be betrayer. Thomas reached over and grabbed his arm with long, bony fingers. A gesture intended to reassure himself as much as his friend.

‘Enough,’ Jesus said, his voice cutting the chatter dead. ‘I am to suffer. But he who brings this betrayal will suffer far, far more. He will wish that he had never been born.’

There was a period of uneasy quiet as the apostles tried to absorb what their teacher was saying. Judas’s heart was beating so loudly he was convinced that everyone in the room could hear it. He pulled his arm away from Thomas so the apostle wouldn’t feel the rush of blood thundering through his veins.

He felt sick, but he had to hide it. If anything, the necessity to conceal it made the nausea worse. Could he still go through with all of this, with Jesus somehow knowing, or having been warned, a betrayal was coming? Did that make any difference? He couldn’t think straight. He needed some air.

Still the question persisted… could he do this?

Could he betray his teacher, his master, his friend?

A simple image flashed into his mind in reply. His uncle’s face. Streaked with blood.

He didn’t have a choice.

His eyes were drawn to a pair of nails, the heads of which were visible on the corner of the table. Was it a sign? A timely reminder to focus on the task at hand, one nail at a time. One step at a time.

It is not what you do – but how you do it that matters.

And sometimes, why you do it.

Judas looked up as his master leaned forward and took a hunk of bread from the table. Blessing it in the name of the Lord, Jesus broke the bread and passed it around to the apostles, saying, ‘This bread represents my body, which I give to you. And when you eat it, remember me.’

He then took a cup, filled it with wine, and passed that around saying, ‘This wine represents my blood, of which you must take your fill. And when you drink it, remember me.’

The meal continued in a very subdued mood. Judas, heart still racing, excused himself as quickly as he felt prudent, saying that he had some urgent business to attend to. No one questioned his departure. As he was leaving he heard Jesus say to Peter, ‘When we have finished eating we must take a stroll. First to the Mount of Olives, then afterwards to the garden at Gethsemane.’

As the stone wall surrounding the garden came into view, Judas Iscariot began to reflect on the path that had led him here. Not the long and winding one, strewn with occasional rocks that had conspired to trip him up along the way, but rather the path he had most recently chosen through life.

Jesus was a good man. No, he was a great man. He was the man Judas would like to have been, if things had been different. If he’d been born to a virgin mother, a deity father, and blessed with a divinity that shone from within, for example. Jesus made him aspire to be a better man, and here he was about to betray him. To give up the son of God for thirty pieces of silver.

Judas shook his head. This was all his Uncle Daniel’s fault. Daniel and his stupid gambling habit. His uncle had always suffered from a weakness for the dice, an addiction that was never going to end well, but the trouble he’d managed to get himself into this time around went beyond belief.

The grey-haired man carrying a burning torch out in front of Judas stopped and turned, wheezing lightly, and momentarily unable to speak. The uphill walk hadn’t caused Judas to break so much as a sweat. He was fit, even for a man still in his late twenties, his lean legs well used to walking long distances when following the ministry of Jesus, and spreading his word.

‘We’re here,’ the man eventually managed to gasp. Judas was well aware of that fact. The apostles visited Gethsemane regularly – sometimes individually, often as a group – to pray or just to enjoy the peacefulness among the whispering leaves.

Judas looked back at the group of followers behind him. The mob, bearing torches and weapons, was made up of Roman soldiers, Sanhedrin temple guards, and various servants of the priests armed with makeshift staves.

They had all stopped, every one of them now staring at him expectantly. Judas turned his attention back to the garden, and scanned the familiar lines of olive trees which were intersected by narrow dirt paths marked out using small rocks. He could see well enough, just about, by the light of Thursday night’s full moon, coupled with the glow from the many torches carried by the crowd.

It wasn’t long before he spotted what he thought was his master, standing along with several others to the side of the shed which housed the olive press, underneath one of the older olive trees with its impossibly thick and gnarled grey trunk. He moved a little closer, until he could be certain it was Jesus. The messiah appeared to be animatedly imparting wisdom to Peter, John, and James the Greater. Or berating them for something, perhaps…

‘That’s him,’ Judas said, pointing. No one moved. ‘In the middle there, that’s him. The one holding up his hands.’

Malchus, the bull-necked right-hand man of the high priest Caiaphas, took a step closer to Judas, faint traces of sweat glistening on his bald head. ‘Identify him as agreed,’ he growled. The menace in his voice was as unmistakeable as the madness in his eyes.

Judas took a slow, measured breath, trying to calm his thudding heart. He could do this. Jesus knew this moment was coming. He had said that one of his apostles was about to betray him, and if he knew that then maybe he even knew it would be Judas.

‘All right, let’s go,’ he said, and set off towards Jesus, his band of followers trailing a short distance behind.

The chain of events that had led to this moment had begun last week when Daniel had come to see him. Judas had been with Jesus and the apostles at a gathering to celebrate Lazarus’s return from the dead. Desperate and in tears, his uncle had confessed to owing a small fortune to a fierce war veteran known as ‘the Butcher’, a grizzled ex-gladiator renowned for his short temper and fast blade. What the hell Daniel had been thinking gambling with such a man, Judas didn’t know, but the Butcher had a unique – and persuasive – method of dealing with debtors.

He’d promised Daniel that if he didn’t receive the money he was owed by the end of Passover, he would chop off both of the unfortunate gambler’s arms. And then his legs, and finally his head. Those body parts would then be delivered to his close family, the likes of his wife, daughter, and his brother Simon, Judas’s father.

Daniel, not wishing to worry his immediate family, had begged his nephew for help, but of course Judas didn’t have anywhere near enough coins. He didn’t even have anything to sell, or anything of value for that matter. Except Jesus’s friendship. Which, as it happened, was something Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin were prepared to pay handsomely for.

As they drew near, Jesus looked up and said something to the apostles. They all turned to see Judas and his crowd approaching.

When they were just feet away, Judas stopped and looked at his teacher. While Jesus appeared calm on the outside, his eyes told a different story. Their usual piercing powder-blue clarity was enervated by a dreadful knowing sadness that seemed to encompass all of the grief and misery in the world. Doubt tore through Judas and for a second he contemplated pointing out Peter instead, but he knew the deception would be short-lived.

He tried to tell himself that betraying Jesus wasn’t a big deal. He’d sought assurances from the Sanhedrin regarding his master’s treatment, and was told he was to be arrested and then questioned. That was all. What Caiaphas’s word was actually worth was another entirely different matter. There were darker motives at work, no doubt. Yet whatever the Sanhedrin had planned, they’d clearly underestimated Jesus and the extent of his powers. He could conjure miracles. What sort of jail could hold his master, when he was capable of collapsing the four walls around him by his very will? Jesus would surely escape, and life would continue as always.

It would be the Sanhedrin who were betrayed then. The council would look like fools, having paid him thirty pieces of silver for nothing. When it was all over and the dust had settled, Judas was sure his friend would forgive him. Forgiveness was his thing, after all.

Even if he didn’t, even if Jesus cast Judas out of the apostles and the group turned their backs on him forever, he still had to do this for Daniel. He couldn’t let his uncle die. He couldn’t bear the thought of his father opening the front door one morning, and seeing his brother’s bloodied, severed head staring up at him.

Those thirty pieces of silver would prevent all that. They’d save a life, and immeasurable heartache. Surely that was something his master would understand.

‘Friend, do what you are here to do,’ Jesus said. The sadness in his eyes vanished as he spoke, replaced by a steely resolve.

‘I…⁠’ Judas wanted to speak, wanted to explain, but the words turned to ashes on his tongue. He felt worthless and ashamed, but grateful too. Jesus had been expecting this. Unless Judas was mistaken he even seemed to be willing him on. Perhaps he knew why Judas was doing this. Perhaps he did understand.

A hard shove came from behind, Malchus no doubt, and he stumbled forward. Jesus put out a hand to stop him falling and overwhelmed with gratitude – Friend, do what you are here to do – Judas embraced and kissed him hard.

The kiss felt right and natural. He stepped back, his part in this complicit act of betrayal complete. Jesus looked a little surprised.

‘Judas, are you betraying the son of man with a kiss?’ he asked.

Then total chaos erupted around them.

‘That’s him!’ a voice shouted from somewhere to the right of Judas.

‘Arrest him!’ another voice shouted, or it might have been the same one.

The temple guards surged forward and grabbed Jesus. Judas was pushed out of the way, and through a gap between the backs of two soldiers he saw Peter leap into the fray, a sword in his hand. He watched the blade flash in the moonlight and heard someone yell in pain. The soldiers fell back briefly to reveal Malchus clutching at one side of his head with a crimson hand.

‘Stop,’ Jesus commanded. It wasn’t immediately clear who he was addressing, but the effect was electric. Everyone froze and fell silent. ‘All who live by the sword shall die by the sword,’ Jesus said to Peter. ‘Put down your weapon and cease your resistance.’

Peter lowered his head and his sword. Jesus placed one tender hand on Malchus’s wound and at once the bleeding stopped. The man’s ear, which Judas could have sworn had been hacked clean off, was whole again.

After a little awkward shuffling and some muted apologies, the band of soldiers led Jesus away, with the three apostles following a short distance behind. Malchus kept touching his ear as they walked, almost as if expecting it to fall off again at any moment.

When they had left Judas looked around the now empty garden. The shadows looming from the walls and ancient trees seemed somehow darker, more dense. He pulled his robe tightly around him to w. . .