DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER FOUR: THE HAMLET OF TIBERNUM
Chapter Four: The Hamlet of Tibernum
Arriving in
Nazareth on a cloudy morning by way of Caesarea, centurion Decius Publius and
his contubernia set about interrogating the few inhabitants left, at the
insistence of Thucydides of Delos. After observing the burned and collapsed
ruins of Joseph and Mary’s home, they pressed on, one wall of the structure
having fallen into the street, scorched and broken stones still lying on the
opposite sidewalk. Moving from house to house, the doctor questioned several
Nazarenes about plagues and vampires, most looking at him as a deranged
physician.
“I know nothing
about any vampire. A lot of people died here recently yes, but I didn’t, and I
don’t care,” a very elderly man named Jehoshaphat answered.
“What about her,
did she see anything?” asked Dr. Thucydides, pointing to his wife, propped up
on a dilapidated couch.
“Rachel, she’s
not even here,” said the old man, his expressionless, senile wife staring into
space.
“I’m sorry, just
one more thing, can you tell me if it was a plague that killed the others?”
“Probably, all I
know is one day they were fine, and the next they were dead and gone.”
“How did they
die?”
“Who knows, but I certainly didn’t see any
vampires lurking around, if that’s what you’re trying to imply,” Jehoshaphat
retorted before closing the door.
“Thank you,”
Thucydides said to the closed door.
They came to
another occupied dwelling, a middle-aged man answering the door, rubbing his
eyes, the scent of wine heavy on his breath.
“Have you seen
this man?” asked the doctor, holding a parchment sketch drawn with the
likenesses of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.
“Nope, who is
he?”
“Jesus of Nazareth.”
“Oh yeah, the
blasphemer. I haven’t seen him for a good while, didn’t they kill him in
Capernaum or something?” the man asked, slurring his words.
“What about this
woman?” asked Thucydides, pointing to a sketch of the Magdalene.
“Good looking
broad, she was a whore named Miriam wasn’t she?” the man asked with another
slur, leaning on the jamb.
“Mary was her
name, she was once, but we now believe she and Jesus may be vampires.”
“Speak for
yourself Thucydides,” said Decius as his second in command chuckled.
“Are you
kidding?” asked the man.
“No I’m not,
vampires are real.”
“Sure they are,”
the drunk retorted, slamming the door.
“I told you,”
said Decius, looking to Thucydides.
Passing a dozen
empty houses once owned by Jesus’ vanquished enemies, they finally came to
another occupied dwelling. A child answered the door, calling for his mother.
She arriving, the doctor began his interrogation, the woman first listening,
then looking up to the lintel in contempt of the absurd questions.
“What of his
parents?” asked Thucydides of the matron, named Anna.
“They died in a
fire, it’s obvious. If you don’t believe me, go down the main street and look
at the ruins!” Anna exclaimed, slamming the door in the doctor’s face.
The group moved
to another domicile.
“Are you
insane?” asked a resident named Octavius Yeshuas, recalling Jesus while looking
to the Greek physician, an amused Decius smiling at the remark
“No sir, I am
not,” said the doctor, “Jesus of Nazareth was crucified last year in
Jerusalem.”
“Who cares, I
haven’t seen him for nearly five years. I heard about his execution too, and
crucified people usually die don’t they?”
“Yes, but
sometimes they rise as vampires,” said Thucydides while a frowning Yeshuas
looked to Decius.
“I’m a Roman
citizen, do I have to keep answering this idiot?” Yeshuas asked, showing the
centurion a silver signet ring on his left hand.
“No you do not
citizen,” said Decius, looking to Thucydides and motioning to him with his index
finger.
“What?” asked
the doctor, turning with arms out.
“That’s the
ninth family you’ve bothered in Nazareth; no one here knows about this vampire
you call Jesus,” said Decius, looking to the physician with disdain.
“But a woman
down the street said that she saw him one night in the rain, just after the
town rabbi disappeared.”
“Yes, and the
rest of the people say she’s crazy,” Decius retorted as his fellow soldiers
laughed in the background, the centurion knowing the woman was probably telling
the truth.
“You think this
is a joke don’t you?”
“No doctor, we
don’t think vampires are real,” said Decius.
“But they are!”
Thucydides exclaimed as a frowning Yeshuas closed his door.
“So, where are
you going to drag us to next?” Decius asked, folding arms across his chest.
“North to
Gennesar, and beyond.”
“Why?”
“It’s said by
Herodotus that vampires prefer to move in straight lines, and if he came here
he would head north.”
“You have no
proof he was even here, are you mad?” asked Decius.
“I don’t need
proof, I simply know that Jesus of Nazareth is a vampire,” said the doctor with
firm resolve, looking at the well-drawn depiction of the couple.
* * *
Passing through
small towns over the next weeks, Jesus and family finally arrived at their
destination, a verdant valley in northeastern Cappadocia, situated on the Upper
Euphrates River. On an early evening just after dusk, Joseph drove the
travelers into the outskirts of a Roman outpost town named Tibernum, for Jesus
to check out the local surroundings and find if real estate was available.
Intent on settling in the area, Jesus had donned his appropriated Roman toga,
having been cleaned along the way at a watering hole used by generations of
caravans, along with his stolen signet ring and leather shoes. His entourage
had also acquired clothing, mannerisms and aliases more appropriate for those
wishing to pass for Roman citizenry.
Thinking ahead,
Jesus had made a point during this time to teach his parents Classical Latin,
so they too could converse in the common language of the Roman Empire. His
father was already familiar with spoken aspects of the tongue, having forced
himself to learn the reading and writing of Latin during their trek. Intent on
fitting in with the populace, it was only a matter of time before Joseph would
abandon Aramaic and Hebrew completely. His mother picked up the language
quickly, a determined Joseph now speaking to his son only in Latin, asking the
fluent Jesus to correct any defects in his pronunciation. After several months
of total immersion, his father not only understood Latin well, but was speaking
it idiomatically.
Joseph pulled
into town and parked the wagon in front of an inn on the main street. Jesus
stepped from the rear and rented suitable lodging for the group, while the
Magdalene saw that his parents were settled in for the evening. Later, Jesus
headed to the garrison to inquire of the centurion if land was available in the
area.
Easily gaining
admittance to the garrison by his plebian appearance, he walked to the
centurion’s torch lit quarters, noting the eagle-topped Roman Standard at the
entrance, ‘SPQR’ boldly emblazoned on it. Shaking off the chill gripping him at
the sight of the standard, Jesus forced himself to continue into an atrium
serving as an office for the commanding officer. Firmly shaking the centurion’s
hand, Jesus introduced himself to him and his aide-de-camp.
“Greetings, my
name is Julius Chrysippus, a traveler migrating from Etruria. My family and I
are looking for land to purchase for use as a farm, could you tell me if any is
available locally?”
“Yes indeed, my
name’s Caius Felix, welcome to Tibernum,” the centurion answered, pleased to
see more citizenry moving to the remote Cappadocian outpost. “You must have
heard of this area while living in Rome, it’s being opened up by the government
as a colony for people of the empire.”
“I heard that
land was available on the Upper Euphrates, this area looks good as any to me.”
“It’s become
quite popular among our wealthier citizenry, many people from the Italian and
Greek peninsulas are migrating here,” the centurion observed with pride, the
formerly lonely garrison of Tibernum having become a sort of boomtown during
the past decade.
“Really,” said
Jesus, thinking wherever there were people and money, there were also plenty of
criminals – bandits, thieves and their more organized brethren, highwaymen.
“So, you’re a
farmer?” Caius asked.
“Not presently,
my family made our fortune importing wine from Gaul, and my father has decided
to try his hand at farming.”
“The land here
is very good, but you’ll need a strong team of slaves to prepare and work it,
tall trees are everywhere,” said the centurion.
“I suppose we’ll
need to purchase a few,” Jesus replied, “So sir, whom do I see for such, and
with regard to land?”
“Our prefect
Gavinal Septimus is in charge of real estate sales, you can see him this
evening if you like. Slaves are not so easy to come by, but a Greek trader
named Callicles passes through here with his caravan once every six months or
so, usually in spring and fall.”
“He deals in
slaves?”
“On occasion,
Callicles of Athens and his procurators ply much of Cappadocia and surrounding
provinces in search of commodities. He’s known to deal in practically
everything.”
“When’s he due
in town?”
“He should
arrive within three months, but always stops by Gavinal’s first to get drunk
with him.”
“I’m rather fond
of wine too,” said Jesus, Caius nodding in agreement.
Jesus received
directions to the prefect’s home, bid his farewells, and headed to a nearby two
story marble mansion. A guard was posted at the entrance, which informed his
superior of the presence of ‘Citizen Julius Chrysippus of Etruria’. The guard
returned a few minutes later, let Jesus into the compound and led him to the
prefect’s office.
“So Julius,
you’re looking for land?” a tired Gavinal remarked at the door, shaking his
hand and raising an eyebrow at the smartly attired, toga-clad Jesus. Outside
Rome and other major cities of the empire, the Republican toga was quickly
becoming anachronistic, excepting for holidays and official functions.
“Yes sir, the
centurion said I could talk to you this evening, am I too late?” asked Jesus.
“No, it’s just
been a long day citizen,” said a yawning Gavinal as he headed to a gigantic oak
desk, “Paperwork for the procurator in Antioch, payrolls and the like, please
sit down.”
Jesus sat down,
Gavinal remarking as he took a chair at the desk, “So, you’re from Etruria,
that’s interesting, you have a Greek cognomen.”
“My great
grandfather Cephalos Chrysippus was a wine merchant from Athens, and married a
Roman woman from Etruria. The surname has been passed down from then to my
family,” Jesus swiftly lied.
“Small world
isn’t it friend, Etruria’s my homeland too,” said Gavinal with a tired smile.
“What part?”
asked Jesus in a cunning defensive move.
“Northern, by
the lakes,” the fair complected, blue-eyed blond Gavinal answered, “I haven’t
seen my home since I was assigned here by Tiberius eight years ago, so, what
part of Etruria are you from?”
“Volsinii,”
Jesus lied, “About a day’s journey north of Rome.”
“In southern
Etruria, I could tell by your accent,” said Gavinal, not knowing Volsinii,
mistaking it for the more southerly town of Vesuvii, much to Jesus’ relief.
“Anyway, what sort of land are you looking for Julius, lots, homesteads,
acreage?” he asked, reaching in a desk drawer for a list of available real
estate.
“Acreage, my
father and I want to start a farm.”
“You came to the
right place, the centurion’s surveyors have staked off several tracts a few
miles south of here, right on the Upper Euphrates, quite suitable for farming.
With the way this area’s filling up, you’ll make a lot of money here.”
“Excellent,”
said Jesus, “One should never work without the idea of making a profit.”
Gavinal
acknowledged the statement with a nod while perusing land platte and official
price list parchments. Jesus sat quietly, noting the opulence of the prefect’s
office, furnished with glass windows, a recent invention of Roman craftsmen,
and walls paneled in oiled Lebanese cedar. Fine Asian carpets lay on the
polished marble floor, a large oil lamp was suspended from the ceiling, and a
darkened winter fireplace was on the north wall, complete with logs sitting in
an iron grate.
“Due to the
popularity of this area, prices have risen to high levels, there’s a note on
this parchment reflecting that. Do you have a moneylender who will back you on
a note?” Gavinal asked, staring at the price list.
“Money’s no
problem for me at all friend, what’s the price?”
“Well, the
largest tract is priced at 2,562,500 sestertii, payable to the procurator in
Antioch,” Gavinal answered, reaching for an abacus to calculate the figure to a
more manageable amount in silver denarii or gold aurei.
“That would be
uh, 25,625 denarii,” said Jesus, figuring the math mentally, “In gold it’s
1,025 aurei, I think.”
“It is,” an
impressed Gavinal replied, arriving at the same amounts on the abacus moments
later, “Don’t worry Julius, with tracts the size of these we’re open to
reasonable offers.”
“The area of the
tract?” asked Jesus, not caring about the price in the least.
“Hold on, the
area’s listed here somewhere,” said Gavinal, leafing through the documents.
Pausing, the prefect looked over a papyrus document. “The area is one thousand
acres, eighty-four of them riverfront,” he finally answered, looking up from
the paper, “Enough land for twenty farms. According to the addendum, most is
arable, excepting for cliffs on the north end. A quarter is cleared and you can
split it up for tenant farmers if you like. Property taxes are low too, roughly
one percent of accessed value, in your case, they would amount to a little over
10 aurei a year.”
“When are taxes
due?”
“In fall, just
after harvest on the ides of October, if you buy the tract, you’ll only owe
about eight months for this year.”
“Sounds good to
me,” said Jesus, rising from his seat, “More than likely we’ll take it tomorrow
evening, first I want to consult with my parents and my uh, wife.”
“Don’t you want
to have a look at it first?” asked Gavinal, covering his ass while pressing
gently, so no one could say that he had misled Jesus. After all, caveat emptor
might work in most places in the empire, but never when a town prefect was
accused of malfeasance or dereliction of duty.
“Yes I would,
come to think of it,” Jesus answered as the prefect’s words dawned on him, he
never having bought land before.
“Good, I’ll draw you a map,” said Gavinal,
taking out a fresh sheet of papyrus. Tracing the path for Jesus to follow, he
added, “Head down the main street, continue about four miles south, turn left
at the pond and look for a sign marked “Tract XXI.”
“Thank you kind
Gavinal,” Jesus replied, taking the rolled up map, “I’ll look at the land
tomorrow, you should rest assured I shall buy it.”
“That’s fine, if
you decide to take the property, what form of payment will you be making?”
Gavinal asked, placing a neat checkmark on the document next to Jesus’ choice.
“Cash, in Roman
gold and silver.”
“Okay, Julius,”
Gavinal remarked slowly, impressed by the forthright candor of the wealthy
Jesus, “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Correct, in the
evening after dusk, would you like a deposit on the land?” Jesus asked,
reaching in a tunic pocket for money.
“That’s not
necessary till I draw up the contract,” said Gavinal, holding up hands, “When
you return we’ll take care of it then.”
“Very well,” Jesus
replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” He again shook the prefect’s hand,
let himself out and headed to the inn. Knocking on the door to his parent’s
room, he was let in by his consort, she enjoying the evening conversing with
his folks. “I’ve located a thousand acre farm for only 1,025 aurei!” he
exclaimed as he entered.
His mother
looked up, her jaw agape at the amount of money Jesus was so casually referring
to.
“Only 1,025
aurei,” said Joseph, “I don’t think I’ve made 1,025 denarii in my entire life,
let alone 1,025 aurei.”
“I have, though
I haven’t counted it recently. I figure we’ve amassed at least two thousand
aurei in various valuables, not to mention all the silver we’ve been lugging
around.”
Joseph smiled
and replied, “I never thought I’d hit the jackpot, it’s as if this is a dream.”
“It’s no dream
dad, it’s reality; though you may have doubted it in the past, I’ve always
wanted to make you and mother proud of me.”
“It’s a miracle
these things have happened,” his mother declared in very passable Latin.
“I don’t believe
in miracles anymore mother, I simply put it in my mind to make them.”
“I told you he’s
a genius,” said Mary, looking to her Jesus.
Planning his
next move, Jesus said, “Tomorrow evening I wish all of you to accompany me to
prefect Gavinal’s residence. He’s the real estate manager for the area and will
be selling us the property. Incidentally, I told him we’re wealthy wine
merchants migrating from Gaul via our homeland of Etruria, hailing from the town
of Volsinii.”
“Telling more
lies?” asked Joseph.
“Why not,” said
Jesus, “None of them know we’re lying, and as far as anyone knows, we’re
Romans.”
“Yeah, screw the
bastards,” Joseph agreed as Jesus raised an eyebrow, a dark thought crossing
his mind regarding Roman citizenship and its attendant responsibilities. I’ll
have to take care of that problem when I return to Rome in a few years,
entrancement should work, he thought.
His parents
settled in for the evening while Jesus and Mary ‘went out for dinner’ so to
speak, assuming chiropteric form in the shadows. Hunting was good that night,
Jesus correct in his observation that wherever people and money were,
opportunistic thieves followed. Predictably, about ten miles south of town
lurked a pair of bandits, dispatched in the usual way by the vampiric couple.
Looting and
dumping the victims in a wooded ravine, Jesus asked, “Would you like to have a
look at the property, it’s only a few miles up the road.”
“Sure,” Mary
answered, “I think it’s a great idea to buy a farm for your folks, they’re nice
people.”
“It’s also for
us Mary. We could use a base of operation instead of wandering about all the
time. Further, with the amount of loot we’re gathering from our victims we’ll
need a permanent place to keep it.”
“I hadn’t
thought of that,” the Magdalene replied, “It’s a good idea, we’ll have a place
to return should we run into trouble, along with easily available money.”
It was in fact a
very good idea, for the purchase of this property was only the beginning of
Jesus’ underground empire, which would last for millennia, he and his relatives
controlling this small plot of land in northeastern Turkey even unto the 21st
century. They walked along the dark road for a time, coming across a crude sign
nailed to a tree, marked with Roman numerals ‘XXI’. A path had been cleared
next to the sign, Jesus and consort walking onto the property. Scouting about,
they headed to the north end, marked by 100-foot high cliffs, Jesus noting the
solid sandstone promontory contained several useful caves, perfect for
containing loot.
“This is the
northernmost part of the tract,” said Jesus, folding arms across his chest,
“What do you think woman?”
“It’s huge; I
like it, and we may as well buy it.”
“My thoughts
exactly. Let’s head to the inn and I’ll tell my folks we’re going to take it.”
“Okay,” said
Mary, staring at him in awe, Jesus looking to the sky at the North Star.
They knocked on
his parent’s door, his father letting them in.
“We looked at the
parcel father,” said Jesus.
“And?” asked
Joseph, pressing for information.
“It’s
beautiful,” said Mary.
“I want to buy
the land tomorrow evening if you both agree.”
“That’s fine
with me,” Joseph replied, “I’m tired of traveling anyway.”
His mother
raised hands and shrugged, allowing Joseph to speak for her.
“Well, I guess
that’s settled,” said the Magdalene.
“Have you uh,
eaten son?” asked Joseph.
“Yes father,
thank you for asking. We found a pair of bandits lurking outside town.”
His father
nodded. “Would you care to stay over for wine and latrunculi?”
“Certainly,”
said Jesus, his father getting out the board and a bottle.
Sitting at the
table, Jesus beat his father six times in a row, Joseph glowering at the game
board. Becoming content with simply getting drunk, a resigned Joseph put away
the board and its pieces, the pair conversing about life’s vicissitudes and
drinking strong wine all night long, while Mary and his mother talked and
watched a replay of the night in Antioch.
Toward sunup, a
drunken Jesus staggered to his room with the Magdalene and collapsed into bed,
snoring loudly as he hit the sheets.
“He’ll never
change,” said a smiling Magdalene, joining him in bed.
* * *
“My head,” came
the cry as Joseph rose the following evening, holding his head in his hands.
“You really
should stop drinking so much wine dear,” said Mary, handing him another
glassful as a hangover panacea. She was not feeling particularly well either,
for the past week or so she had been feeling slightly nauseous after waking,
but it passed quickly, becoming her usual self after a short time.
“Thanks woman,”
Joseph groaned, sitting on the side of the bed, ignoring her advice and quickly
downing the wine. “Give me another.” She came over and refilled the glass.
“Aren’t you going to have something to eat?” he asked as she sat down beside
him.
“Not yet,
perhaps later,” Mary replied, though feeling better, she was not quite ready to
face food.
Jesus and
consort had arisen from slumber at sundown. Refreshed, he pulled his treasure
sack from beneath the bed, producing 930 aurei and 2,375 denarii, equivalent to
the prefect’s asking price of 1,025 aurei. Placing the money in a leather
satchel, he added another hundred denarii to cover any hidden costs.
A short time
later, a seemingly loud knock came on his parent’s door, as Joseph winced and
told his wife to let Jesus and Mary in.
“Hello father,”
said Jesus, “Are you hungover again?”
“What do you
think?” Joseph retorted with a weak smile.
“I suppose
you’re in no condition to accompany us to prefect Gavinal’s residence,”
answered Jesus, wishing that Joseph could at least witness him buying the
property. A humble man, he never, even in life, was one for boasting, but did
want his father to see he had finally made something of himself, at least as a
vampire.
“I’m sorry son,
I feel like shit, you don’t need me there do you?”
“Not really,”
said Jesus, “You and mother stay here while Mary and I purchase the land. We
should be back in a few hours, and we’ll probably fetch someone to eat along
the way.”
“Terrific,”
Joseph groaned, falling back into bed.
Jesus nodded to
his mother and left for Gavinal’s, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Your father
really hits the bottle hard at times doesn’t he?” asked the Magdalene.
“Yeah, so do I,
what can you do,” Jesus replied, walking along in the cool evening.
“But you’re a
vampire, heavy drinking doesn’t seem to bother you at all.”
“I’ve noticed
that,” said Jesus, neither realizing that their tolerance of alcoholic
beverages was increasing due to vampiric nature.
“Why do you
bother to drink like that anyway?”
“I don’t know,
enjoyment perhaps.”
“You enjoy
that?”
“Of course,
verily I say unto you, vampires do not live by blood alone: for only by the
drinking of hot blood, followed by cool wine, along with killing, lying and
robbery, do we survive,” Jesus intoned in macabre jest.
“That’s the
truth.”
Arriving at the
prefect’s residence, the guard let them in.
“Good evening
Gavinal,” said Jesus, shaking his hand firmly. “This is my wife, Maria Hittica,
a Hittite tribeswoman from Galatia.”
Mary Magdalene
smiled and politely bowed her head to the prefect.
Gavinal returned
the bow, coveting the beautiful Magdalene, and asked, “Did you look at the
site?”
“Yes, we’ll take
it,” answered Jesus.
“Excellent,”
Gavinal replied, “Have a seat, the notary’s on the way, he should be here
presently.” With those words, the notary arrived in the doorway.
“Greetings
Marcus Pertinax,” said Gavinal, “This is Julius Chrysippus and his wife Maria,
they’re buying tract twenty one next to your place.”
“It’s a pleasure
to meet you Julius,” said Marcus, firmly shaking Jesus’ hand and taking a seat.
“Let’s get down
to business,” said Gavinal, pulling a parchment document from a drawer in his
desk. “The contract’s filled out, excepting for yours and the notary’s
signatures, and I also took the time to draw up the title too; everything’s in
order. The price is 1,025 aurei, plus a notary fee of 10 denarii.”
“Very well,”
said Jesus, placing a sack of money on Gavinal’s desk, opening it and dumping a
small mountain of gold and silver before them.
Gavinal and
Marcus stared at the hoard of precious metal, not believing their eyes.
“When you said
cash you meant it!” Gavinal exclaimed, the notary continuing to stare at the
pile of glittering money. “I’d best call the guard in here with a strongbox to
safeguard this money,” he added, walking to the door. Ordering his guard to
fetch an iron strongbox and lock from the garrison, he returned to the desk and
resumed his seat. “Signature or signet?” he asked, handing Jesus the contract
and title parchments.
“I’ll use my
signature,” said Jesus, taking a quill stylus from the prefect. Reading the
contract, with his left Jesus dipped the stylus into an inkwell and then signed
‘B. Julius Chrysippus’ on the documents. The notary added his signatures as
well, the Magdalene and Gavinal signing afterward as sworn witnesses.
“So, what’s the ‘B’ for?” asked Gavinal,
very interested in the new arrival in his town, a tall man who paid cash, in
gold and silver, for land. After all, B. Julius Chrysippus was a wealthy Roman
citizen; sooner or later one could get his own to marry into the family,
enriching one’s own by proxy.
“Bacchus, god of
wine.”
“Oh yes,” said
Gavinal, looking to Marcus and explaining, “His family made their fortune in
Etruria as wine merchants.”
Marcus smiled
and nodded.
“You’ve just
bought a farm, welcome to our town Julius!” exclaimed Gavinal, rising and
shaking Jesus’ hand.
“Let’s toast the
sale with wine,” Marcus suggested.
“Absolutely,”
said Gavinal, producing a fresh bottle of Gaul’s finest. Placing four goblets
on his desk, he broke the clay seal, pierced the wax stopper and opened the
bottle. “This is Gallic wine, Julius probably imported it,” he added while
filling the goblets.
“No I didn’t,”
Jesus lied, which was actually the truth, reading the Latin inscription on the
bottle, “This wine was imported by Gaius Scipio Magnentius, a competitor of my
father and I.”
“Is it good
wine?” asked Gavinal, holding his goblet up to the lamplight, looking to Jesus
for his opinion.
“Of course,”
said Jesus, taking a deep gulp, “Scipio Magnentius and sons import only the
finest Gallic wines, none ever adulterated or leaded, using only beeswax-lined
amphorae.”
“Leaded wine’s
much too sweet for me,” said Marcus, “Some have said it makes people crazy!”
“Hippocrates of
Kos said that too,” Jesus replied, pouring another libation, “I don’t know
about you folks, but I like wine to taste like wine, not like sweet lead,
honey, or fruit.”
“That’s the
truth,” Gavinal agreed, downing his glass, “The folks in Rome drink leaded and
perfumed wine by the cask. I can’t stand the stuff, it tastes like shit!” The
group broke into laughter, Gavinal quickly apologizing to Mary for his lapse in
taste, embarrassed by his utterance before a Roman matron.
“What the hell,
I’ve heard worse, I don’t give a damn,” said the Magdalene, Marcus choking on
his wine as he heard the coarse reply, a perturbed Jesus shaking his head
almost imperceptibly to her. She, a very worldly woman, smirked at her consort
and fell silent.
Looking to Jesus
with a raised eyebrow, Gavinal poured and drank another glass of the Scipio
brand, sitting down with the notary and counting the pile of money, while Jesus
and the Magdalene sat quietly, the guard standing at attention near the door.
Shortly
thereafter, the honest Gavinal frowned and remarked, “Julius, there’s 1,029
aurei here, you’ve overpaid us by ninety denarii.”
“Split the extra
with friend Marcus, I have plenty of money.”
Gavinal looked
to Jesus and said, “You are truly an extraordinary man, Bacchus Julius
Chrysippus of Etruria.”
“Thank you kind
gentlemen,” an embarrassed Jesus replied. The transaction completed, the guard
placed the money in the strongbox. Jesus slipped the Roman title in his tunic,
bid farewell to Gavinal and Marcus, and the couple stepped into the night,
returning to the inn.
“Gavinal sure
liked me didn’t he?” asked Mary, entering their room.
“Proving he has
good taste in females,” said Jesus, sitting on the bed.
“Flatter me
again.”
“Honestly Mary,
you’re far from an unattractive woman, and I’m quite certain you realize it,”
Jesus replied, relaxing on the bed.
“You think so?”
asked the Magdalene, batting her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.
“You’re a coy
little bitch aren’t you?” asked Jesus, hiding a smile.
Mary frowned at
the insult. “Sometimes you can really piss on someone’s parade.”
“Oh well, what
can you do woman?”
“Jesus!”
He smiled, rose
from the bed, and said, “Let’s find supper shall we?”
“Why not,” the
Magdalene answered, her ego deflated by his remarks.
Curiously, that
evening, they were unable to find suitable human fare, contenting themselves
with a pair of wild boars.
Returning to the
inn, Mary observed, “Your mother’s right, those pigs just don’t make it.”
“Sometimes one
has to make do,” said Jesus, opening the door.
Mary shook her
head in disgust and fell into bed. Removing his shoes, Jesus noticed that his
toes appeared inflamed, though they didn’t actually hurt, they seemed to be
sensitive to pressure from his hands.
“Look at this
Mary, my feet have turned red!”
“What?” asked
the Magdalene, sitting up and looking to his feet.
“I’m thinking
maybe the shoes are too tight, what do you think?”
“I don’t know
but it sure is weird looking, do they hurt?”
“No.”
“Maybe they are
too tight,” said Mary, falling back in bed while Jesus sat staring at his feet.
“But they don’t
feel tight, I wonder what this is.”
“Perhaps you
have a malaise,” said Mary, leaning up on an elbow, “Wash them in strong wine
and vinegar; that should kill it, whores I knew even used it for a douche when
they had malaise.”
“I would think
malaise of the crotch is different from malaise of the feet.”
“You’re probably
right about that,” the Magdalene agreed, “Maybe you should bind them in honey
for a while, it’s said that works well for skin irritations.”
“Perhaps, but I
don’t think this is a malaise.”
“You don’t?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, don’t
worry about it, we’ll figure it out later, let’s go to sleep,” a tired Mary
replied, falling to her pillow. Jesus joined her, the pair settling into sleep
for the day.
In the early
evening Joseph came knocking, Jesus answering the door.
“Hello father,
how are you feeling?” Jesus asked, letting him in.
“Fine,” said
Joseph, “Unlike you, it takes me a day or so to sleep it off.”
“I used to be
that way.”
“I remember, and
I’ve been meaning to ask, why didn’t you use the money you gave me to purchase
the land?”
“We have so much
money now that it’s ridiculous. You didn’t have the full amount in cash, so I
figured I’d let you keep that, and used my other funds.”
“Okay,” said
Joseph, raising eyebrows, “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being
rich.”
“Vampirism does
have its rewards,” said Jesus.
“Obviously,”
Joseph replied, looking to his son.
They left the
inn, preparing to take the wagon to their property. Before leaving town, his
parents stocked up on needed provisions at a store owned by a merchant named
Vitellius, as Jesus had made them aware there were no standing structures on
the property. Stopping at a restaurant, his mother purchased several loaves of
fresh bread and a large earthenware crock of soup for their late supper.
“Would you like
hardboiled eggs dear?” Mary asked, looking to offerings on a nearby counter.
“Sure, I like
them,” Joseph replied. Realizing money was no object; he and Jesus returned to
Vitellius’ store and purchased a wooden case of fine Gallic wine for 36
denarii. Arriving at the wagon, Joseph explained that it was for his and Jesus’
relaxation in the evening.
“I’m sure it
is,” Mary answered, watching her son place the heavy box in the wagon. Each
bottle in the oblong case of sixteen almost the size of a modern magnum, it was
assured that relaxation would be quickly and abundantly available for father
and son in the evenings ahead.
A full moon was
low on the horizon, providing little illumination. As they drove the dark road,
guided by the eyes of the vampiric Christ, Joseph said, “I’m damn glad we
brought my tools along, I suppose I’ll have to build us a house first.”
“That’ll be no
problem as we’re both carpenters,” Jesus replied, “Further, though many homes
in Judea are built mostly of stone, I think a wooden structure with a stone
foundation would be appropriate. Many domiciles here are crafted totally from
wood, and the area where I would like to build the house is surrounded by
trees.”
“Are you
kidding, it’d take months to fell, split and hew that much timber,” said Joseph
with concern for his wife, wondering where she would reside in the meantime.
“Not so father,
I’ll help you.”
“You’ll actually
work?”
“Yes, you will
need assistance for such a daunting project.”
“That’ll be the
day,” Joseph retorted.
“He’s done a lot
for us already,” said Mary, defending her son.
“Yeah, he
slaughtered our neighbors, burned our house down and then dragged our asses to
a foreign country,” replied Joseph, punctuated by a cynical laugh.
“He gave us the
money you have in your satchel or don’t you remember?”
“I know that
woman, I’m only kidding him,” Joseph answered, Jesus turning away to hide a
smile. They passed the pond Gavinal had spoke of, turned left and came to the
entrance to their spread. As Jesus pulled the wagon into the dark woods
surrounding the path, his father asked, “Can you even see anything?”
“Of course, so
can the horses,” said Jesus, continuing on a bumpy ride toward the north end of
the property. Stopping at a clearing about 300 feet from the cliffs, Jesus
stepped from the wagon and remarked, “So folks, here it is, what do you think
of our land?”
“A thousand
acres huh?” Joseph asked, stepping from the wagon and attempting to look about
in the dim light.
“Yes father,”
said Jesus, freeing the horses from their harnesses.
“It’s huge, you
made a good buy,” his father replied, “I suppose we’ll have to purchase oxen
and plows to work it.”
“I’ll have to
buy slaves for you too,” said Jesus, tying the horses to a tree on tethers to
rest and graze.
“Slaves?” asked
Joseph, bringing the horses’ feed bags from the rear of the wagon.
“You don’t
expect to run the farm by yourself do you?” asked Jesus, grabbing a brush to
comb down the horses.
“This is going
to be better than I imagined,” said Joseph, folding arms across his chest.
Joseph and wife
set up a temporary camp as Jesus leaned on the wagon, staring up at the night
sky, lost in thought. His mother, thinking ahead, asked her undead
daughter-in-law to fetch a few empty water skins from the rear of the wagon,
intending to fill them later at the river.
“Sure,” replied
the Magdalene, heading to the wagon and retrieving them, “Would you like me to
draw water for you?”
“Certainly,
thank you Mary,” his mother answered, pleased that she was so helpful.
“Do you want to
walk with me to the river Jesus?”
“Huh?” asked
Jesus, looking to his consort and returning to reality.
“Would you like
to accompany me to the river while I fetch water for your folks?”
“Oh, sure,” said
Jesus.
They strolled to
the Euphrates, returning with fresh water for his parents. Jesus lifted his
money sack from the wagon and informed his parents that they were going to
check out the caves, to be pressed into use as a daytime sleeping quarters and
convenient loot stash.
“Sounds like a
good idea,” said Joseph, making a campfire on the chilly evening. Using flint
and iron to light kindling, he soon had a warm fire burning about thirty feet
from the wagon, fueling the blaze with fallen branches from nearby trees. His
wife prepared a meal for them while Jesus and consort walked to the cliffs and
into a dark cave. The cave he had chosen was a deep, dry meandering labyrinth,
perfect for sleeping and containing valuables.
Coming to a
gallery, Mary observed, “I suppose we’ll have to fix this place up a bit, but
otherwise it’s perfect.”
“It seems fine
to me as it is, what do you mean?” asked Jesus, placing the loot in an
inconspicuous crevice.
“I don’t enjoy
sleeping on a stone floor, do you?”
“No I don’t,
come to think of it,” said Jesus after a reflective pause, Mary staring at him
with a pained look on her face. In many ways, her Jesus was quite adept, but in
others, he was still a detached, absent-minded philosopher, his head in the
clouds.
“Sometimes
you’re just not all there are you?” Mary retorted, refusing to let him ruin her
plans for house decorating.
“Why do you say
that?” asked Jesus, hurt by the remark.
“Most people,
even vampires, prefer to sleep in a nice soft bed and don’t have to take time
to think about it.”
“Oh,” said
Jesus, “I’m sorry, I was occupied thinking about other things.”
“Such as?” she
asked as they started back.
“The usual
stuff, you know, the world, life, existence, God, things like that.”
“My point
exactly.”
Walking from the
cave, Jesus saw his father had made a brightly burning campfire, he and his
mother enjoying their meals.
“Heading out for
someone to eat?” Joseph asked, as if such was a normal, everyday occurrence.
“Yes, but I
first wanted to make sure you were comfortable and settled in,” said Jesus,
concerned for their well-being in the unfamiliar country.
“We’re fine,”
his mother replied, “It’s so beautiful here.”
“Velly, I mean
very well,” said Jesus, “We’ll be back in a little while.”
With those
words, Jesus transformed. The Magdalene followed, both flying off into the
darkness. Joseph sat calmly, finishing his soup, his wife’s jaw dropping at the
sight.
“If I were you
I’d get used to it woman,” Joseph advised, looking to his transfixed wife.
“It’s so weird,
they turned into bats!” she exclaimed, “I keep forgetting they’re not quite
human anymore.”
“It’s weird all
right, but he always was a weird one anyway.”
Alighting on the
road south of town, they returned to human form. Mary asked, “Do you think it
was a good idea to transform in front of your parents?”
“Why not, they
know we’re vampires, what difference can it make?”
“It must have
been shocking to them.”
“Maybe, but
they’ve grown used to everything else, so how much of a problem can it be?”
“I suppose
you’re right,” said the Magdalene, not comfortable with the idea of
transforming in front of his parents, but realizing it would have happened
eventually. Finding supper proved easy, yet another pair of troublemakers
dispatched by Jesus and consort, their drained and looted bodies bouncing to
the bottom of a ravine.
“We’d best head
back to check on my folks,” said Jesus with a belch as the bodies landed in a
heap. Assuming chiropteric form, they flew back to Joseph’s soon-to-be farm.
Landing on the cliffs, they changed back, looking down to see the brightly
burning campfire with his parents relaxing beside it. His mother was mending
clothing, his father sitting across from her, drinking from a gigantic bottle
of wine.
“Why’d we stop
here?” asked Mary, surprised he did not want to return to his parents
immediately.
“I wanted to
take in the view, you can see the entire spread from here.”
“Yeah,” said
Mary, looking to the river, thankful they could have a bit of time to
themselves.
Jesus sat down
at the edge of the cliff and leaned back resting his head on his arms, looking
to the night sky. The moon had climbed higher; brightening nearby cumulus
clouds, and was beginning to illuminate the area. “I wonder what those are up
there,” he mused.
“What?” asked
Mary, sitting down, releasing her hair from its bindings and finger combing her
black locks.
“The stars,”
replied Jesus, looking at the moon with surprise, noticing for the first time
it was studded with mountains. Due to superior eyesight, he was not only able
to see in the dark, but also had the visual acuity of an eagle.
“According to
the priests and rabbis they’re lights shining through from heaven, signs set in
the sky for the seasons,” said Mary, looking up.
“Bullshit, they
don’t know what they’re talking about,” Jesus replied, sitting up, “Heaven my
ass, whatever they are they seem to be very far away indeed, and I suspect
there’s much more to them than meets the eye.”
“You’re really
turned off by Hebrew religion aren’t you?”
“You can say
that again,” Jesus answered, rubbing hands on his tunic as if wiping them of
something dirty, “Especially the Hebrew faith, along with any other form of
religion.”
“Yeah,” said
Mary, not believing her ears.
“Look at the
moon up there, it’s covered with mountains, like it’s another world,” said
Jesus, pointing to the sky.
“I wonder if
people live on it,” Mary replied, seeing the mountains as well.
“Maybe,” said
Jesus, looking to the silver moon.
Both grew
silent. Jesus rested his head on his arms, contemplating his undead existence,
the stars, and why there seemed to be so many worthless people in the world. He
thought further, and suddenly realized if there weren’t, it would be slim
pickings indeed for someone like him. He chuckled at the thought.
“What are you
laughing about?” Mary asked, turning on her side and resting her head on an
arm.
“I was thinking
if there weren’t so many criminals in this world I probably wouldn’t be able to
survive.”
“I suppose you
should be thankful for that, but you could drink the blood of animals if there
weren’t suitable people around.”
“Probably, but
like you, I prefer human blood, and don’t think existence would be quite as
fun, if you follow my reasoning.”
“Of course,”
said Mary, “I enjoy playing with them like a cat plays with a mouse, and like
watching you use knives on them.”
“I see, do you
remember the parable of the wheat and the chaff?”
“Yes, but what
does that have to do with this conversation?” Mary asked, not following his constantly
meandering logic.
“I’ve lately
found that most people seem to be chaff.”
“I get it,” said
Mary. She sighed, wishing the conversation would turn to a different topic.
Realizing that such hope was futile, she laid her head on his chest, staring up
at the night sky and relaxing.
“It’s funny, I
never thought it would be like this woman.”
“Like what?”
asked Mary, annoyed at his ambiguity when he was in a philosophical mood.
“That I’d become
a vampire after all I preached to people.”
“So?”
“So I once
thought that if one behaved correctly, and showed at least some respect for the
idea of God, that God, if he actually exists, would show favor on those who did
such, with a reward after death.”
“All that did
was get you crucified.”
“Precisely, I must have been very naïve to
have believed it was that simple.”
“Look at it this
way, perhaps being a vampire is your reward.”
“I don’t think
any god would give someone a reward like this,” a chuckling Jesus replied,
watching a meteor cross the sky.
“But Joseph and
your disciples said you once thought you were God, proving that, those in
Nazareth wanted to stone you as a blasphemer,” said Mary, sitting up and
getting into the spirit of the conversation.
“Yes, I must
confess at times I actually thought so, but never explicitly said that. I
simply said that I had some idea of what it was to be a Son of God. That is, I
preached that one could gain God’s favor by first accepting him as Lord of the
universe. Then, one could ask his forgiveness for any transgressions, and
afterward retain his grace by treating one’s fellow man as one would wish to be
treated.”
“I know all that
Jesus, but people don’t seem to like treating one another well, especially
those who point out they are behaving badly. From what I’ve seen they’re only
out for themselves.”
“Yeah, I wish
I’d known that before; my father often said the same things.”
“I did try to
tell you more than once.”
“I know,” said
Jesus, again looking to the stars.
“By the way, I
believe your mother’s pregnant.”
“So do I,” said
Jesus, looking to his consort and resting his head on an arm, “That’s strange,
we seem to be able to sense hidden things mortals cannot.”
“It must have
something to do with being vampires.”
“Perhaps,” Jesus
replied, thinking of his mother. They transformed and flew down the cliff,
assuming human form about a hundred feet from the campsite. Walking through the
brush to the campfire, Jesus greeted his parents, he and the Magdalene sitting
down beside them.
“That bat thing
you and Mary do is pretty neat son,” said an inebriated Joseph, offering the
magnum to Jesus.
“Yeah,” Jesus
replied, taking the bottle and drinking deeply from it, “It saves a lot of time
and effort if you need to go somewhere fast.”
A curious
proto-scientist, Joseph asked, “So, what happens to your clothes when you
change into bats?”
“I hadn’t
thought about that,” answered Jesus, “I imagine our garments and such become
part of us, after all, we were wearing them before we transformed and we’re
wearing them now.”
“True,” Joseph
replied.
“Who knows, I
just know it works,” said Mary as Joseph looked to her.
Joseph sat
quietly, ruminating on the paradox regarding mass.
“You know
father, we’re going to need picks and shovels to dig the foundation trench and
a well pit,” said Jesus after finishing the bottle.
“I thought about
that, there’s a merchant in town who deals in hardware. I suppose I’ll head
there tomorrow morning; I’m also going to need nails, pitch for the roof and
other stuff.”
“Nails are
expensive,” said Jesus, nails at the time hand made, one at a time, by
blacksmiths.
“Who cares?”
Joseph retorted, breaking into laughter, knowing he had enough money to buy
twenty wagonloads of nails if he wanted them.
“You have a
point there dad.”
“It’s getting a
late,” his mother remarked, Joseph opening and starting on another bottle.
“Yes woman,”
said Joseph, corking it, “We should turn in, I want to rise early to start on
the house.”
“Where are your
tools father?”
“In the wagon,
why do you ask?” asked Joseph, surprised that Jesus would ask for tools – to do
work.
“I want to fell
trees tonight so you can split and hew them in the morning.”
“Sure,” said
Joseph, getting up and walking to the wagon, “For starters we need about
twenty, perhaps thirty cubits long and a cubit or so wide.”
“We’ll also need
stone for the foundation, I spotted some fair-sized rocks by the river,” Jesus
replied, looking to the Euphrates.
“I reckon with
you working at night and me working by day, this shouldn’t take long at all.”
Sliding his leather tool satchel across the floor of the wagon, Joseph dropped
the heavy bag to the ground. Reaching in and producing a sharp iron axe, he
handed it to Jesus.
“It may be a bit
noisy, I hope you can sleep while we work,” said Jesus, taking the axe and
using a thumb to test the sharpness of the edge.
“I’m glad for
once to see that you’re actually working!” Joseph exclaimed, climbing into the
wagon.
“Yes father,”
said Jesus, wishing his father’s memories weren’t so accurate.
“So I’ll tell
you what, I and your mother will just have to do our best while you bust your
ass,” Joseph added, his wife joining him in the wagon.
“After we’re
finished we’ll be sleeping in the cave,” said Jesus, used to his father’s
insults.
“Good idea son,
there isn’t much room in here anyway.”
“Would you have
a few blankets, and also hand me our old clothes?” Jesus asked, thankful the
conversation had taken a turn for the better.
“Sure, hold on.”
Joseph fished around in the wagon with a candle, producing a pair of blankets,
the Magdalene’s old clothes and Jesus’ robe and sandals. “Here you go,” he
said, handing him the articles.
“Thank you my
father, and good night.”
“Good night to
you,” Joseph replied, closing the door.
Taking the
blankets to the cave, he and his consort changed into their former attire so
they wouldn’t damage their good clothes while working. Pulling off his leather
shoes, Jesus stared at his even redder feet and slipped on his sandals.
Wondering why his feet looked so strange, he looked to the shoes, and again at
his feet. They’re not too tight and it’s not a malaise; it must have
something to do with those shoes, he thought, dropping the offending
shoes to the cave floor. It was in fact the shoes, but it would take time for
him to figure out why, so he wore his sandals from that night forward, except
when he was visiting Gavinal Septimus or Marcus Pertinax.
“We must have
looked like hell parading around in these rags,” Mary observed as they walked
from the cave.
“I agree, it’s
strange how one’s tastes change over time,” said Jesus.
* * *
Over the next
hours, many earth-shaking vibrations were heard and felt by Joseph and wife as
they tried to sleep in the wagon, while Jesus, using superior strength, pushed
down over twenty large trees like a vampiric bulldozer. Using the axe to slice
off roots and branches, by three-thirty he had prepared twenty arrow-straight
logs and stacked them near the area he thought would be the best place to build
the house. The Magdalene pitched in while Jesus harvested the timber, bringing
suitable foundation stones from the riverbank, larger ones the size of a modern
V-8 engine and weighing in excess of five hundred pounds.
Jesus dropped
the last of the logs from his shoulder to the stack as Mary said, “Look at us
Jesus, we’re filthy as dogs from this work.”
“It’s a good
thing the river’s close,” Jesus replied, “Let’s take a dip to wash up.”
Satisfied with
their work, they headed to the Euphrates. Though it was only February, the
coldness of the flowing water didn’t bother them at all. Leaving their clothes
on the sandy riverbank, they jumped in and washed the grime from their bodies.
“I like being a
vampire,” said Mary, relaxing in the cold water.
“It’s not bad,”
Jesus replied, swimming further out, “I guess the legend of vampires fearing
running water is bullshit too.”
“Evidently,”
said Mary, swimming out to join her consort. Enjoying each other’s company in
the cold water, Mary said while kissing him on the cheek, “Jesus, though it was
a problem for me in the beginning, I want to thank you for bringing me to the
realm of the undead.”
“Don’t mention
it,” said Jesus, floating toward an eddy near the riverbank, enjoying the feel
of the water.
“I was trying to
be romantic you jackass!” Mary exclaimed, swimming after him.
“I’m sorry,”
said Jesus, standing up waist deep in the water, hurt by her remark.
“You’re so damn
unbelievable at times,” she replied, falling into his arms.
“I’ve never been
one for romanticism woman; I love you and all, but I’m not that good at showing
it am I?”
“Not really,
when it comes to talking.”
“I am pretty
good at that aren’t I?” Jesus asked with a broad smile, referring to the
physical component of romanticism.
“Yes, and I love
you too,” Mary answered, giving him a passionate kiss. Thoroughly cleansed and
sated, they stepped from the river near dawn and rinsed out their work rags.
Dressing in the wet garb due to Hebrew modesty, they retired to the cave and
changed into more comfortable attire.
“Say, didn’t one
of your disciples say you once walked on the Sea of Galilee?” she asked in the
privacy of the pitch-black cave, slipping on a silk nightgown acquired during
their travels.
“That was one of
John’s hallucinations, I think he was touched in the head,” Jesus answered with
a frown.
“Oh,” said Mary,
surprised he would say such a thing about one of his followers.
“Or maybe it was
frozen at the time,” Jesus ventured, looking for a way to defend his friend.
“In the summer?”
“You’re right,
he was crazy.”
Spreading
blankets over the floor, they retired and settled into well-deserved sleep. His
parents woke just after sunup, stepping from the wagon to tend to personal
needs and eat breakfast. Walking to the house site after relieving himself,
Joseph stared in astonishment at a stack of freshly felled timber and piles of
boulders that would become the stone foundation of the house.
“Good Lord!” he
exclaimed, barely believing his eyes, “They did a month’s work in one night!”
Thinking of his son slumbering in his dark cave, Joseph felt a twinge of
remorse for what he had said the previous evening, vowing to never again insult
Jesus – when it came to manual labor.
Breaking from
his reverie, Joseph yelled, “Mary, come here!”
“What is it?”
asked his wife, walking over.
“Look at this,
there’s enough timber here to build a villa. I think our son has finally
learned the virtues of work.”
“I always told
you Jesus was never afraid of working, it’s just he was more of a thinker than
anything else.”
“It also helps
when you can lift huge boulders as if they were pebbles and rip trees from the
ground with your bare hands,” said Joseph, looking to a pile of uprooted trunks
sitting a short distance from the timber. Looking closer, he noted that one
gnarled root looked suggestively like a duck, resolving to have a try at
carving the no longer forbidden images of man and beast. He recalled a set of fine
carving knives he had inherited from his father, tucked away safely in the
wagon. “What the hell, there isn’t any lousy god anyway,” he added, reflecting
on passages from the book of Leviticus.
While eating
breakfast, he observed that at the rate Jesus and the Magdalene were
progressing, he would be able to have a house ready within six weeks. “I
certainly hope they leave some work for me to do,” he grumbled while eating
leftover soup. Later, he rehitched the horses, taking the wagon into town to purchase
rope for moving logs, along with other needed hardware for house building –
shovels, picks, sickles, pitch, and nails. The distance was only a few miles,
and he arrived in Tibernum shortly after eight. Thinking ahead, he also
realized he needed a tarp for covering the drying wood, and a large hammer and
iron chisels for cutting stones. Though neither he nor Jesus were trained as
masons, he felt that between them they could create a strong stone foundation
for the dwelling.
A local hardware
merchant named Drusus the Illyrian set about filling the requests, Joseph
introducing himself as Julius the elder, father of B. Julius Chrysippus,
placing the order for the products from him in Latin.
“You’re building
a house?” Drusus asked, making a list of Joseph’s order, “You came to the right
place, we have most of this stuff.”
“Yes, I
purchased tract twenty-one on the south road,” said Joseph, eyeing other items
in the shop.
“Gavinal told me
about you folks, you’re the family of Etrurian wine merchants.”
“Former wine
merchants,” Joseph lied, adding truth to his reply, “I figured I’d try my hand
as a farmer, but first I have to build a house.”
“Have you built
one before?” asked Drusus, leaning on the counter, he a skilled carpenter.
“Several, but
not one like this,” Joseph answered, “My son wants to craft most of the
structure from wood, lucky for us we’re both carpenters.”
“As am I, many
houses in Tibernum are made of wood. Mine is too, trees are everywhere here.”
“You’re a
carpenter?” Joseph asked, noting that he had better make a serious attempt at
farming, for apparently there was no real use for another carpenter in the
area.
“I built my
place a few miles west of here about fifteen years ago,” said Drusus, finishing
with the list and calling, “Slave!”
“Yes master
Drusus?” a slave answered, walking up.
“Fill this man’s
order and bring it to the loading entrance.”
“Yes master,”
the slave replied, taking the list and walking away.
“You’ll find
there’s a lot of oak around here Julius, perfect for setting as floor beams,”
said Drusus.
“I noticed that,
but oak’s tough to work with,” Joseph replied, walking to a shelf stocked with
coils of rope.
“Lay them green,
that’s what I did,” said Drusus, “They hardly warped, and oak beams are as
strong as Hercules.”
“That’s an
idea,” replied Joseph, placing a length of hemp rope on the counter, thinking
that setting oak beams and rafters green might actually work.
“What’ll you be
using the rope for?” asked Drusus.
“Moving logs,”
Joseph answered, perusing other items in the shop.
“We have iron
chain for sale,” said Drusus, “Very strong, made in Anatolia, perfect for
moving logs.”
“I’ll take some,
can you make it the same length as the rope?”
“I haven’t a
blacksmith, it’s only available in lengths of fifteen paces.”
“That’ll work,
make it two,” said Joseph.
“Coming up,”
Drusus replied, looking to another slave and nodding. His efficient slaves
placed the order at the loading dock on a wheeled cart, while another loaded
the requested items into the wagon. Joseph paid him mostly with orichalcum
sestertii to be inconspicuous in his dealings. Bidding the merchant farewell
and returning to his farm at eleven, Joseph unloaded the cargo, sitting it in a
neat heap just outside the wagon. He unhitched the horses, tying one to a tree,
and led the other to the log pile while Mary was washing clothes by the river.
Fashioning a
padded rope harness for the beast, he tied a length of chain to the rope and
secured the chain around a log. Placing the harness on the horse, he used it to
pull several logs into position in the shade of an oak for splitting and
hewing. Using his expertise as a carpenter, he drove iron wedges into the
trunks with the blunt side of an axe, splitting them lengthwise, reducing them
to rough beams. As late afternoon approached, a sweating Joseph hewed several
beams smooth with an adze and dragged the finished beams aside to dry.
Satisfied with their quality, he quit for a well-deserved lunch.
“I’ve split up
five trees, that should be enough for the foundation beams,” he said
breathlessly, relaxing in the shade, finishing a rough sketched plan for the
dwelling on a piece of parchment.
“Yes dear,” Mary
replied, looking to her exhausted husband, handing him food and a cup of wine.
“Are you all right Joseph?”
“Certainly,”
said Joseph, putting down the parchment, “I’m just tired, what do you expect
after what I’ve been doing?”
“You’re not
exactly a young man, you shouldn’t work so hard.”
“I’m not exactly
dead either,” Joseph retorted, annoyed that she would think that he could not
do the work. She relented; knowing it was impossible to reason with her
obstinate husband once he had made up his mind. A stubborn man, Mary realized
that Joseph would either build them a house, or die trying in the attempt.
Looking at the
cup of wine, he frowned. “It’s much too early for this woman; do you have
water?” Joseph asked, eating dried dates. She handed him a leather water bag,
which he quickly drained of liquid. Changing his mind, he gulped down the wine.
He wiped his face and said, “I have to set up a tent over the finished beams to
keep them from splitting in the sun. We’d best start clearing the home site so
Jesus and his girl can place the foundation stones tonight, and I can set the
floor beams in place over the next few days.”
Mary nodded,
turning from him and walking to the wagon.
“Do we have any
vinegar?” Joseph called, exhausted from the work.
“There’s some
left over from pickled artichokes, what do you want it for?” asked Mary,
turning.
“I need to drink
it, for strength, like soldiers do on their marches.”
“Oh yes, but if
you want more you’ll have to head to town, there are other staples we need as
well.”
“Right,” Joseph
replied, opening a woven hemp tarp to protect his fresh hewn lumber. Erecting a
makeshift tent over the beams, Joseph drank the vinegar, closing his eyes at
the bitter taste. Later, his wife assisted him clearing the house site using a
sickle while he cleared larger saplings with an axe. The site Jesus had picked
was practically level and would require only a small amount of digging where
the foundation footer stones would be placed. They finished as the sun moved to
the horizon. Tossing the saplings and brush in a pile, with dusk approaching
Joseph stoked up the fire, he and his wife sitting down to relax.
* * *
A refreshed
Jesus and Magdalene appeared from their cave just after sundown carrying their
work clothes. Sitting the rags on the wagon’s seat, Jesus greeted his parents
while observing the work Joseph had performed during the day. Voicing approval
at his father’s accomplishments, they sat down, enjoying cups of wine while his
parents had dinner.
Supper finished,
Joseph and Jesus walked to the home site and finalized plans for building the
foundation, his father noting the measurements on a piece of parchment nailed
to a tree for use as reference. They also worked out fireplace and chimney
placement, agreeing that building a large hearth on one side of the future
kitchen would be best. Satisfied with their plans, they headed to the campsite
and enjoyed another cup of wine together. While the fire burned in the cool
evening, his mother related that Joseph had gone into town during the morning
and purchased needed tools for the construction project.
“So, what did
you buy father?” Jesus asked.
“Rope, chain,
picks, shovels, nails and the like, we’re short on tools for a project like
this.”
“Good, we need
items like that anyway.”
“I also bought an
iron hammer and hardened chisels for the foundation stones.”
“Excellent, I’m
not a mason, but it can’t be that hard.”
“My thoughts
exactly,” said Joseph, finishing a cup of wine.
“Incidentally,
how the hell did you fell and strip twenty trees in one night?” Joseph asked,
amazed at the work his son had accomplished.
“It was easy,”
said Jesus, “I pushed them over, cut off the roots and branches and carried
them to the pile.”
“Carried them,
that’s incredible,” replied Joseph, wishing Jesus had been as interested in
carpentry in the past as he seemed to be now.
“I carried the
stones,” said the Magdalene.
“Really?” Joseph
asked, his jaw dropping.
“I told you
we’re much stronger than mortals are father.”
“I know, but I
didn’t think you were that strong,” said Joseph, staring at the petite Mary
Magdalene, trying to envision her lifting such a load, she a vampire who could
easily lift half a ton.
“It still
surprises me too,” she confessed with a sheepish smile.
Walking to the
wagon and grabbing another bottle, Joseph sat down and poured fresh cups of
wine for he and Jesus. “So, what do you intend to do tonight son, build the
house?”
“No, I figured
since you bought picks and shovels I’d work on the foundation. After I’m
finished with that I can dig a well and perhaps a latrine.”
“Both?”
“Well, maybe not
both, since I’ll have to shape stones for the well first,” said Jesus. I can
probably start both pits tonight, but before we do, Mary and I have to head out
for a bite to eat.”
“Yes,” replied
Joseph, smiling at the euphemism, “By the time you return your mother and I
should be asleep. I want to rise early tomorrow to start setting the foundation
stones.”
“I’ll try to
keep the noise to a minimum,” said Jesus, he and Mary rising to their feet.
Walking from the
camp, his father called, “Why don’t you fly son, you’ll get there faster.”
“I figured we’d
walk tonight.”
“Suit yourself,”
said Joseph, opening the door to the wagon, his wife having already bedded down
for the night. Walking off, the last sounds they heard from the camp was
Joseph, snickering about something, as usual.
Finding suitable
sustenance each evening was not as easy as Jesus had first imagined when
arriving in Tibernum, as the town was small and very well protected by the
garrison. Most robbers and highwaymen avoided the area, thanks to prefect
Gavinal and his efficient centurion, who summarily executed any they caught
wishing to pursue these methods of employment.
Reluctantly
contenting themselves with the blood of wild boars, Jesus said as they returned
to the farm, “I think it’s good that Gavinal and his men keep the area free of
criminals, but if this doesn’t change soon we’ll have to move on sooner than I
imagined.”
“We could fly to
Mansahir, it’s a large town with plenty of thieves,” said the Magdalene.
“We may have to,
but it’s well over a hundred miles, even as bats it would take hours to get
there.”
“That’s true,
but there are other towns between here and Mansahir, and perhaps there are
bandits up north.”
“Doubtful,” said
Jesus, “Tibernum’s the northernmost settlement in this area. We’d have to fly
over the mountains to see what lies beyond.” Arriving, Jesus noted that his
parents were asleep in the wagon with the fire burning low, not banked as it
should have been for the night. The ever-thoughtful mother of Jesus had stated
they might want warm water to wash up, an exhausted Joseph dismissing the
suggestion as unnecessary.
“Why?” asked his
mother.
“If they want
warm water let them fix it for themselves,” Joseph retorted, not wanting to
tend the fire.
“Let’s start
building the foundation, that’ll surprise dad,” said Jesus.
“Why not,” Mary
replied. They changed into work garb, placing their good clothes on the wagon
seat.
“I noticed
you’re wearing sandals,” said Mary, looking to his still reddish feet.
“Yes, the ones I
took from Peter are still in good shape and will have to do till I find another
pair of shoes.”
“I wonder what’s
wrong with them.”
“I don’t know,
but I can’t wear them for more than a few days, otherwise my feet turn red and
start to itch like hell.”
“Perhaps you
need socks.”
“Maybe,” said
Jesus, turning to the stack of tools. He took a pick and pair of shovels
sitting next to the wagon and handed a shovel to his consort, showing her how
to prepare the ground for the masonry. Quickly digging a perimeter trench for
the stones with the pick, Jesus perused the parchment for proper figures
regarding depth, finishing the excavation in less than two hours. The couple
then placed suitable large stones at the corners of the trench and others in
areas between.
“Cutting and
shaping the foundation stones will have to wait till tomorrow,” said Jesus at a
little past two, “The noise produced would definitely wake my parents.”
“True,” an
exhausted Magdalene replied, wiping sweat from her face.
Jesus was lost
in thought, looking at the foundation.
“The ground here
is firm and dry; I’ll speak to father about building a cellar too.”
“For storing
wine?”
“Of course,
among other things.”
“Okay, what do
we do now?” Mary asked, knowing he was teasing her.
“Dig a latrine
and well,” said Jesus, looking to the nearly finished foundation. Walking ten
paces from the front of the foundation, he marked the area for the well,
pushing a long stick into the ground to mark the spot. As they were close to
the Euphrates, he supposed a depth of 15 cubits would be appropriate, as the
elevation was around ten cubits where they stood.
“We’ll need
medium size rocks to line the well, perhaps you should gather those while I dig
the latrine,” said Jesus.
“Okay,” Mary
replied, and she headed for the river. Watching her for a moment, Jesus
measured off ten paces from the rear of the foundation. Taking the pick, he
broke ground for the latrine. Over several trips, the Magdalene created a small
mountain of stones, piling them near the area where the well was to be dug,
with Jesus finishing the latrine pit within an hour. Almost ten feet deep, he
leapt from it easily, noting that he could have jumped fifty feet into the air
if he needed to.
“Dad’s going to
have to build an outhouse,” said Jesus, pushing a shovel into a pile of dirt.
“We’d best cover
the hole, someone could fall in.”
“Yes, verily I
say, it is good you are here Mary, you’re a wise and observant woman.”
“Thank you
Jesus,” said an embarrassed Magdalene, not used to honest compliments.
They headed to a
grove and ripped several medium size trees from the ground. Jesus stripped them
of their roots and branches with an axe, he and Mary placing the trunks over
the hole. Relaxing afterward, Jesus remarked that his father could later split
the trees and build an outhouse right where they lay, saving him labor in the
process. Walking to the future well, Jesus broke ground with the pick and began
to dig a few feet into the earth using a shovel. Stopping as the horizon
lightened, he stepped out, leaning the shovel and pick against a tree.
“Dad’s going to
have to pick up mortar for the stones. I wonder if they have any in town,” said
Jesus, wiping his sweaty face on a rag.
“Probably, leave
him a note and he can pick it up tomorrow,” Mary replied.
“That’s a good
idea.”
Scratching a
note on the parchment with a piece of charcoal, Jesus requested ten bags of
pozzolana concrete, and trowels for applying it. Their chores completed, they
washed up by the river, gathered their clothing, walked to the cave and settled
into sleep.
Joseph awoke
early; stepping from the wagon to observe the latest miracles his son had
accomplished during the night. As usual, it was much more than he expected, the
foundation was nearly finished, the latrine pit was dug, and the well was on
its way to being excavated, a pile of liner stones stacked nearby. Looking at
the parchment, he noticed Jesus’ note scribbled at the bottom of the sheet. “Oh
well, I’ll have to head to town again,” he remarked to Mary as she was making
breakfast. “Jesus left a note asking for more supplies.”
“What does he
need this time?”
“Concrete and
trowels,” he answered, she handing him food.
“He’s certainly
accomplishing a lot of work during the night.”
“I’ll say,” said
Joseph, “The foundation’s almost done.”
* * *
Such was the
routine over the next weeks, the vampiric couple doing much of the heavy work
during the night, Joseph finishing lumber and nailing beams and boards in place
during the day. His father approving, Jesus dug a spacious cellar beneath the
future kitchen, shoring it up with mortar and stones. On early evenings, Jesus
would cut and shape stones with hammer and chisel, split timber and do other
things that made a great deal of noise, his parents watching him do the work of
ten men. Later in the night, he would work finishing the cellar, lining the well
pit, moving dirt, and other chores he could accomplish quietly while his
parents slept. One evening, with no heavy work to do, Jesus decided to finish
digging the well, having reached cap rock the previous evening at the depth of
sixteen cubits, or nearly twenty feet. Joseph was standing above the lined pit,
while Jesus split away the soft rock with a pick, placing the fragments in a
bucket Joseph lowered into the well.
“Take it up
now,” Jesus called, his father struggling with the heavy load of stone and
earth.
“Allow me,” said
the Magdalene, returning from a riverside stroll. Grabbing the rope, she pulled
the hundred pound plus bucket of rubble to the surface, dumping the debris on
the ground.
“Thanks,” Joseph
replied, Mary lowering the bucket.
“Don’t mention
it,” said Mary, asking Jesus, “Haven’t you hit water yet?”
“Hell no woman,”
Jesus replied, swinging the pick, “This cap rock’s as thick as – ”
A torrent of
water began flooding into the well.
“Goddamnit!”
exclaimed Jesus, frigid water hitting him in the face, the well rapidly
filling. Seeing this, the Magdalene moved back, pulling Joseph from the
opening. Leaping from the well while still having a foothold, Jesus, pick in
hand, landed nearly ten feet from the opening, his father watching in
amazement.
“Jesus Christ!”
Joseph exclaimed.
“Yes?”
“How the hell
did you do that?”
“I leapt down
the well, so I leapt up.”
“How?” asked
Joseph, amazed at his son’s physical feats, staring into the deep well, rubble
bucket floating in the water.
“I guess
vampires can do things mortals can’t,” said Jesus.
“You can say
that again,” Joseph replied, staring at his son.
Soon the house,
nearing completion, was livable, Joseph and Jesus spending time making
furniture for the dwelling and a much-needed bed for their cave. The home
design, as with others in the area, was not dissimilar from a large stick-built
farmhouse, a pitch-covered wooden roof extended over the front to create a
porch. His mother did her best to keep up, washing their rags on occasion and
making meals for her husband. Lately, to the chagrin of Joseph, she was feeling
sick almost every morning. “I missed my time last month,” she said as he was
eating breakfast, “It’s hard to believe, but I think I’m pregnant.”
“Perhaps you’ve
reached the end woman,” Joseph ventured, looking to his devoted wife.
“No, I feel
different, like the other times, and have never missed even once without being
pregnant.”
“You’re kidding,
right?” You can’t have a baby now, you’re forty-nine years old!”
“The signs don’t
lie, I’ve had bad sickness every morning for the past month.”
“Good Lord, I’m
old enough to be someone’s grandfather, not their father,” said a smiling
Joseph, hugging his wife. His attitude toward her changed from that day
forward, from a sarcastic, boorish man, to a doting, thoughtful husband. That
evening, Jesus and consort appeared shortly after sundown and were told of the
good news.
Congratulations
mother,” said Jesus, taking a seat in the kitchen after kissing her on the
cheek. It was something, as the eldest, he had always done when told he was
going to be a big brother again.
“It’s
wonderful,” the Magdalene declared, taking a seat beside her, “We’ll have to
take care of chores around the house during your time and help you with the
baby afterward.”
“I can’t believe
it,” said his mother, “I’m old enough to be someone’s grandmother, and I’m
going to have another baby.”
“We already
knew,” said Jesus, “Mary and I could tell a month ago.”
“How?” asked
Joseph.
“Who knows,”
answered Jesus, “We haven’t figured that out, but Mary and I feel it has
something to do with being vampires.”
“I read of such
legends when I was younger,” said Joseph, “The scroll said the undead are
endowed with great powers that mortals can never understand.”
“Really?” Jesus
asked, “Who wrote the scroll?”
“A Greek
historian called Herodotus; he lived in Athens several hundred years ago.”
“Interesting,
I’d heard of vampire legends during my travels, that’s what made me aware of
our strengths and limitations, but I’ve never read Herodotus.”
“We should find
a copy,” said the Magdalene, “We’re sketchy on the finer points.”
“Yes, and that
brings us to the original question,” Joseph replied, “Without someone to bring
him the realm of the undead, how did our Jesus even become a vampire?”
“I don’t think
I’ll ever know that dad,” said Jesus, troubled deep inside about his origins.
At times he thought his very love of life had allowed him to triumph over the
grave, but couldn’t be sure, since he didn’t have all the facts. Then again,
could it have been the deep rage he had experienced while dying on the cross?
After all, had he not thought he would kill them all if he could only live
through that? Have I unwittingly made a deal with the evil one?
Jesus mused, quickly dismissing the thought.
“When are you
due?” the Magdalene asked, changing the subject and snapping Jesus from his
reverie.
“You probably
know as well as I,” answered Mary, “I figure a little under eight months.”
“That’s about
right,” said Jesus.
“I wonder if
it’s a boy or girl,” his mother thought aloud.
“It’s a – ”
“I’d rather not
know right now,” she interrupted, looking sternly at her son.
“Very well
mother,” said Jesus, the others looking to him, noting he had not said ‘velly’
for a change.
* * *
Sensing his
parents needed them, Jesus and consort stayed at the house and moved into an
adjacent room, retrieving their bed from the cave, to assist in preparation for
the baby. A hurried Joseph put the finishing touches on the house and built an
outhouse over the latrine pit. Jesus completed the top of the well during the
next nights, building a stone structure, roof, and dip bucket. Joseph and wife
found a personal well a luxury they truly appreciated, for in Nazareth they
always had to take a long walk to use the community well, waiting in line as
their hateful neighbors shunned them and derided their eldest son as a
blasphemer of the Hebrew god. Jesus’ next project was to finish constructing
the fireplace and chimney. Using his acquired talent as a stonemason, it was
quickly and professionally finished over several evenings, his father mixing
lime mortar, looking on while his son set the stones in place.
His mother
taking care of housekeeping, the dwelling was shaping up fast, thanks to Joseph
and his undead assistants, Jesus coming up with new ideas practically every
night.
“You know, we
need windows for this place,” Jesus observed, sitting on the porch one early
evening after having finished building a cradle for the baby.
“You mean glass
ones?” Joseph asked, pouring cups of wine, looking to oiled parchment covering
holes serving as windows.
“Why not, they
have them in Rome, prefect Gavinal has them at his residence too,” said Jesus,
taking a cup.
“They’re
expensive aren’t they?”
“So?”
“Yeah, I see
what you mean,” Joseph replied, looking about the house, and again realizing
money was no object. “Terracotta roof tiles and plastered walls would be nice
too.”
“They would
indeed father, does Drusus carry such?”
“He has bundles
of tiles and plaster at his store, I suppose I’ll have to pick some up.”
“We’ll have to
build the slave quarters and a stable too,” said Jesus, “The trader’s due in
town soon.”
“Where do you
want to put those?” asked Joseph, finishing his cup and pouring another.
“I figure about
a hundred cubits toward the east, near the river,” Jesus answered, “We can even
put a grain mill down there; I’ve read of such systems installed on rivers in
Greece and Italy.”
“So have I, it’s
said they use the running water to turn a grinding stone,” said Joseph.
“I wonder if he
has windows.”
“Who?” Joseph
asked, not following his son’s meanderings.
“The trader of
course.”
“It would help at
times if you’d speak in complete sentences.”
“Oh,” said
Jesus, shrugging.
The door opened
and the Magdalene stepped out. “Your wife is resting so I made food for you,”
she said.
“Thanks,” Joseph
replied, smelling the aroma of the fine meal, “I was getting a bit hungry.”
“So am I,” she
agreed, looking to her consort.
“Let’s take
off,” said Jesus, rising from his seat as Joseph stepped into the house, “We’ll
be back in a while father.”
Walking into the
darkness, they strolled the property, heading to the adjacent parcel of notary
Marcus Pertinax. Lately they were staying off the local roads, as robbers were
rarely available in Tibernum and hunting for them seemed to be a waste of time.
Occasionally they would fly south toward Mansahir when they felt the need for a
human blood treat, perhaps once a week. Most times they stayed near home,
contenting themselves with the blood of wild boars or deer. While not finding
it particularly tasty, they had grown used to the odd flavors, and it did fill that
certain void. On this night boar blood was the fare, the couple dispatching and
draining two of the ferocious creatures easily. Dropping the remains to the
ground, Jesus leaned against a pine tree and belched loudly.
“It’s a terrible
waste to leave these animals to rot after we’re done with them,” said Jesus,
staring at the emptied carcasses.
“No it isn’t,
jackals will eat them,” Mary replied.
“True, but why
don’t we bring them home for my parents to eat instead?”
“They could use
meat, but do you think they can eat these animals after the way we took them?”
“Jackals eat
them and it hasn’t killed or turned them into vampires,” said Jesus, taking a
dagger from his tunic.
“What are you
going to do?” Mary asked, watching him.
“Gut them.”
Preparing the
carcasses for transport, Jesus lifted them over his shoulder, heading back to
the farm.
“You have pig
blood all over your tunic,” said Mary as he dumped the meat at the porch steps.
“It washes out,”
an unconcerned Jesus replied, his father opening the door.
“Where’d you get
the hogs?” Joseph asked, looking to the gutted animals.
“A few miles
from here; I figured you could use meat, especially since mom’s pregnant.”
“Did you drink
their blood?”
“Of course,”
said Jesus, “I figured it was a waste leaving good food to rot in the woods, so
I brought them home for you and mother.”
“Are you sure we
can eat it?”
“Yes,” answered
Jesus, “The same jackals, ravens and other scavengers have been eating the
remains we leave behind for months and have had no problems, so I figured what
was good for them should be good for you.”
“Thanks,” said
Joseph, unconvinced by Jesus’ theory, but willing to take a chance on the fresh
meat. “We’ll tell your mother I killed them, okay?”
“Sure, would you
like to help me split and roast them, after they’re finished cooking you can
take the choice cuts.”
“Okay,” said
Joseph, stepping to the porch, “It’s a shame we can't preserve more of it.”
“There’s plenty
more where this came from; we won’t be able to save most of the meat from these
animals anyway. The woods are full of boars, this is best till we build a salt
room and smokehouse.”
“You’re always
finding work for me to do aren’t you?” his father observed with a fond smile as
they butchered the hogs. After splitting the carcasses, Jesus dug a pit, his
consort bringing rocks from the riverbank to build an oven. Leaving one side
open, Jesus laid three courses of stones around the pit, stringing chains over
the third course. Setting another layer on top to secure them, he created a
grate like structure from the chains to be used for roasting the meat. Joseph
built a fire in the pit, using dried tree stumps and roots his son had split,
sitting the meat on the chains to cook. Jesus, having nothing better to do at
the time, ducked into his bedroom to don a fresh tunic, afterward returning to
the makeshift grill.
His wife
strolled to the porch, smelling the roasting pork and asking, “Where did you
get the meat Joseph?”
“Jesus caught
them and I killed them.”
“It’s pork?”
“There’s not
much else to eat around here mother, especially when it comes to larger wild
animals,” said Jesus, “There are deer and auroch roaming about, but boars are
much more plentiful.”
“You drank their
blood, didn’t you?” his mother asked, as if making certain he had cleaned his
plate.
“Yes mother,” a
patient Jesus replied.
“Good,” said
Mary, turning from the doorway, “Please bring some in when it’s done.”
Stunned, Joseph
and Jesus looked at each other, the Magdalene remarking, “Well, that was easy.”
Soon the meat
was well done, Joseph removing the tenderloin cuts from the animals for he and
his wife, along with the hams. The other meat was not salvageable, as in a
short time it would have spoiled, so it was left to burn up in the fire. His
parents feasted on pork tenderloin, Joseph relating he wanted to pick up salt
from town for the hams.
“Tell me the
truth, you didn’t kill those pigs, Jesus killed them in his usual way didn’t
he?” his wife asked after finishing her meal.
“Well, yes,”
Joseph answered, “I just didn’t want you to – ”
“Complain?”
“That’s part of
it, but – ”
“Look Joseph,”
his wife continued, “You may not realize it and may still want to shield me
from it, but I’ve grown as used to this situation as you have.”
“You have?”
“Yes, our son
Jesus is a vampire,” she said, rising from the table and collecting the dishes.
“We know that,
but he – ”
Looking her
husband in the eyes, she continued, “He is a vampire, he kills people and
animals to survive and he sucks their blood.”
“Yes woman, but
– ”
“Our son also
robs the corpses of the people he kills on occasion, that’s why we have this
farm. Jesus purchased it with money he took from his victims. At times he even
broke in and looted some of their homes after he killed them. Further, as long
as he and his woman don’t bring people here for us to eat, I don’t care what he
does.”
Joseph sat, jaw
agape, digesting her words. “Okay,” he replied as his wife cleared the table,
afterward retiring to her room. He looked to the door, seeing Jesus and consort
heading into the kitchen, joining him at the table.
“Did you enjoy
the food?” Jesus asked, pouring a cup of wine.
“Yes, your
mother did too, she also knows how you killed it,” said Joseph.
“She does?”
asked Mary.
“Yes indeed,”
Joseph replied, “She’s very perceptive nowadays, and she also told me she
doesn’t care what you do, as long as you don’t bring people here for us to
eat.”
“We would never
do that!” Mary exclaimed, “What kind of people does she think we are?”
“She thinks
you’re vampires,” answered Joseph, looking to the Magdalene.
“We are
vampires,” said Jesus.
“That’s
obvious,” Joseph retorted.
“You told her we
took them?”
“No son, she
figured it out herself, not that it was that hard to.”
* * *
The next day
Joseph drove the wagon to town, picking up salt, more tools, roof tiles, lime
plaster and other provisions. Inquiring as to the availability of glass
windows, Drusus told him Callicles the trader was due in town within weeks and
that he would probably have those items aboard his caravan.
“Prefect Gavinal
bought the last load of windows for his home,” said an envious Drusus.
“My son told me
he carries slaves on occasion.”
“Most times, and
off all kinds too, Greeks, Jews, Nubians, Egyptians, and sometimes ones from
further east who have strange looking eyes. Along with slaves he carries most
everything else too, over eighty wagons usually, some products coming from as
far as Hispania and Cathay.”
“You don’t say,”
Joseph replied, paying him, “I’m certain we’ll be doing business with him.”
As the weather
warmed, Jesus and father used the next weeks to build a salting room,
smokehouse, a large slave quarters for up to ten slaves and a stable for horses
and oxen. The smokehouse was pressed into use as Jesus brought carcass after
carcass of boars, deer and auroch to the farm nearly every night, Joseph
remarking they may have to go into the meat business if they kept stockpiling
such a hoard. They finished their work on the slave quarters and stable none
too soon, for Callicles and his caravan came rolling into town only days after
they had completed the structures. Drusus informed Joseph of this when he came
to town on a late afternoon, relating that the caravan was a day away, and that
Callicles was at the prefect’s mansion, getting drunk.
“Does he do
business in the evening?” asked Joseph, knowing he would need Jesus for some
transactions, especially for the purchasing of slaves.
“Callicles would
do business at four in the morning if money was to be had,” Drusus replied with
an amused smile.
“Excellent,”
said a relieved Joseph.
Returning to the
farm, Joseph unloaded the wagon and walked into the house. Jesus and the
Magdalene had risen at their customary late hour, sitting in their dimly lamp
lit room in the back, with the window openings shuttered up tight against the
western sun. Knocking on the door, Joseph entered, excited about the news of
Callicles being in town.
“So, his caravan
will be here tomorrow,” said Jesus. “Does he do business in the evenings?”
“Yes, and that’s
good for us, considering you can't walk about during daylight hours.”
“I’ll say,” said
the Magdalene, “You certainly have developed a new talent when it comes to
understatements Joseph – you sound like Jesus.”
Joseph smiled
and said, “Like father, like son.” Looking to Jesus, he added, “I’ve never
bought slaves before.”
“Neither have I,
but buying slaves can't be much different from buying oxen.”
“True, Drusus
says he has those too.”
“Good, Mary and
I will stop by tomorrow evening to buy the slaves. Would you like to head to
town earlier to purchase windows and such and we’ll meet you there after
sundown?”
“Sure, I’ll get
the horses and wagon ready in the morning and arrive there as soon as I can.”
At sunset, Jesus
and the Magdalene assumed chiropteric form, flying from town in search of human
fare, seeing Callicles’ long string of wagons proceeding southeast on a narrow
service road about five miles from Tibernum. Noting heavily armed men on each
wagon guarding the train, they headed south toward Mansahir, figuring that
bandits wouldn’t have the stomach to attempt robbing such a well-defended
group. Returning to human form thirty miles south of Tibernum, they strolled
the road near a small village, attempting to lure the dregs of society into
what they did best, stealing from those who worked for a living.
“Did you see
those men guarding Callicles’ wagons?” the Magdalene asked.
“They’re
mercenaries,” said Jesus, “I’ll bet the man has never been robbed, verily I
say, he who guards diligently against his attackers shall never be attacked.”
Mary smiled,
reflecting on the truthfulness of the statement.
Walking further,
they came upon a pair of bandits blocking their path. The swarthy duo appeared
as if the pursuit of robbery hadn’t been profitable profession as of late,
looking as if they hadn’t bathed in years and acting as if they were moonstruck
lunatics instead of thieves.
“Give us your
money you Roman bastard!” one growled, drawing a short sword.
“Why?” asked
Jesus.
“Because we’re
robbers - that’s why!” the thief stammered, his partner moving to Mary,
grabbing her arms and holding them behind her back.
“You are?”
“What are you,
stupid?” asked the other thief, holding a blade to his consort’s throat.
“No,” said
Jesus, “I just don’t feel like giving money to robbers tonight, so why don’t
you try to take it from us?”
“Suit yourself,”
the robber retorted, raising his sword.
Jesus stood
unmoving as his assailant drew back to strike. The sword moving toward him, he
put out his left and grabbed the thief by his wrist, stopping the weapon cold.
Calmly taking the sword, Jesus threw it to his right, where it sunk deep in the
trunk of a tree. Mary, overcome by hunger, slipped from the other robber’s
grip, took his dagger and drained him on the spot while his horrified partner
looked on.
“Woe unto you
simple thief,” Jesus declared in his vampiric accent, “Verily I say, beware of
Hebrew vampires dressed as Romans.”
Jesus plunged
fangs into the neck of his tormentor, sucking him dry. Dropping the victim to
the pavement, he asked, “Do they have any loot?”
“Not a shekel,”
a disgusted Mary answered, finished checking the other corpse.
“Let’s dump them
in the woods,” said Jesus. He grabbed one by his filthy tunic; the other by his
matted hair and dragged the bodies from the road. Disposing of them fifty feet
from the roadside, they transformed and flew toward Tibernum.
Flying over
Callicles’ wagons a few hours later, Jesus noted they had reached town, slaves
setting up a caravansary by torchlight on the main street in the fashion of an
open market or bazaar. Transforming in a secluded area, they walked to the main
street and browsed the items for sale. The merchandise offered was incredible,
all varieties of household items, furniture, clothing, tools, jewelry, farm
animals, beasts of burden and of course slaves, with other extended wagons piled
high with casks of wine and preserved exotic foods from all over the empire.
“Drusus was
right, he carries everything,” said Jesus, inspecting the items.
“We’re not open
for business yet sir,” a young Greek of fifteen years announced while they
walked among the wagons.
“I understand,”
said Jesus in passable Greek, “I’m only taking a look at what you have. Is the
merchant Callicles of Athens available?”
“No sir, he’s at
the prefect’s residence getting drunk,” the teenager replied with a fond smile
for his employer.
“That’s
something I enjoy,” said Jesus.
Nodding, the
adolescent continued, “We’ll be opening tomorrow at noon, I’m hoping he’ll be
in some sort of condition to conduct business.”
“Will your
bazaar be open tomorrow evening?” Jesus asked, making certain that he would be
able to shop for slaves during the night.
“Of course,
uncle Callicles makes most sales in the evening anyway, after everyone else has
returned from their work.”
“Good, my father
will arrive here around noon. He’s looking for glass windows and oxen. I’ll
stop by in the evening, I’m looking for slaves, and do you carry plows for
turning earth?”
“We have plenty
of those items aboard the wagons,” the lad answered, “Tibernum’s one of the
first extended stops we make on our trips from the ports of the Bosphorus. From
here we head south to Antioch, and from there into northern Judea and back.”
“How long will
you be here?” Mary asked, having picked up Greek during their travels.
“A week or two,
depending on sales.”
“Excellent, does
your uncle speak Latin; my father doesn't understand Greek at all.”
“Most of us do,
even the slaves,” said the lad in Latin, “Why didn’t you ask me earlier sir?”
“It didn’t occur
to me,” Jesus answered, slightly embarrassed, “Please forgive me son, I didn’t
realize you could speak Latin.”
“Latin’s the
tongue of all you Roman folk,” the young Greek observed, “You guys run the
world, if we couldn’t speak Latin we wouldn’t be able to sell much merchandise
to you would we?”
“I reckon not,”
said Jesus, feeling guilty for a moment; masquerading as a Roman citizen. His
guilt passing quickly, he took pride in being citizen B. Julius Chrysippus,
wealthy wine merchant hailing from Etruria with his wife Maria, they so much better
than all lowly barbarians.
“So, what’s your
name son?” asked Jesus.
“Demosthenes.”
“After the
lawyer?”
“Yes, I was told
my father always admired him.”
“You’re a young
man, where’s your father?”
“He and my
mother died in a plague in Thebes when I was a baby,” said Demosthenes, “My
uncle took me in and treats me as if I were his own son.”
“Thebes, in
Greece or Egypt?” asked Jesus.
“The city of
Oedipus,” Demosthenes replied, a slave calling to him.
“Ah yes,” said
Jesus, knowing where he hailed from. “We’ll see you on the morrow,” he added,
the couple leaving the caravansary.
“Who the hell is
Oedipus?” asked Mary as they walked from town.
“Was Oedipus; a
legendary guy from Greece who killed his father, was afterward made a king, and
then screwed his mother.”
“Really,” said a
chuckling Magdalene, “Kind of kinky wasn’t he?”
“He didn’t know
she was his mother when he was screwing her.”
“I find that
very hard to believe, did he ever find out?”
“Yes, his mother
killed herself upon learning of the news, and he blinded himself for whatever
reason.”
“Why?”
“Who knows and
who cares, legends like that come down from the past and they’re probably a
pack of lies anyway.”
“Like the Hebrew
faith is?”
“Precisely,”
said Jesus.
Returning to the
farm near midnight, Jesus found his parents awake, his mother feeling ill. She
lay in their bed, an unconcerned Joseph remarking in the kitchen that she had
always felt ill when pregnant. “She’s had seven kids and it’s always been the
same way,” said Joseph.
“She gets sick
while pregnant?” Mary asked.
“Only till the
sixth or seventh month, after that she’s fine till the baby’s born.”
“I never had
babies when I was alive,” said the Magdalene, thinking of children she would
never have.
“The whole damn
thing’s overrated!” Mary yelled from the bedroom, Joseph looking to the
doorway.
“We stopped by
Callicles’ market,” said Jesus.
“What did you
find?”
“He carries
everything; beasts, furniture, tools, slaves; you name it, he has it.”
“Furniture too?”
Joseph asked, looking about their sparsely furnished home, he and Jesus only
beginning to create chairs, tables and the like.
“Indeed father,
all kinds, that’ll save us work.”
“What about
glass windows?”
“He has those too,” said Jesus, “They open at
noon, I reckon you should head to his market then. Buy the windows and a pair
or two of draft oxen, along with anything else you want. I’ll meet you there at
dusk and we’ll buy the slaves.”
“Okay, I’ll bring
the wagon and tethers for the oxen.”
“Do you need
money?” Jesus asked.
“Are you
kidding?”
“Sorry, I
forgot,” Jesus replied.
“Jesus,” Joseph
asked, “Once you purchase them, how will we keep the slaves from discovering
you and Mary are vampires?”
“Entrancement,”
answered Jesus, “First, I’ll convince them that you and mother are the masters
of this farm, then I suppose I’ll figure out some kind of story to explain Mary
and I.”
“You can do
that?”