DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER TEN: THE WEST ROAD
Chapter
Ten: The West Road
Having bid farewell to the
family, they started their long journey to Europe. The vampiric Christ was
carrying a light leather satchel of appropriate clothing and money for the
trip, Mary occasionally looking back in the direction of Tibernum. For traveler
Jesus, it was only a brief parting from his latest residence, but for the
Magdalene, Tibernum and the Chrysippus farm was the only true home she had ever
known.
Walking for a few hours, it
wasn’t long before the garbage of humanity appeared, making demands that
varied, depending on the assailants, from money to sex. This time the
motivation was cold metallic coinage, as was usual; two thieves appearing as if
from nowhere.
“We’re not even twenty miles from
Tibernum and they’re upon us, where’s a centurion when you need him?” asked
Jesus.
“There are no centurions here
Roman, give us your money!” a highwayman barked, the leader of the pair.
“Why should I give you money,
fool?” asked Jesus, sitting their travel bag at his feet.
“Who are you calling a fool?”
“I’m calling you a fool,” Jesus
replied, “Again I ask, why should I give such as you money?”
“Because I’m bigger than you and
I’m armed,” the highwayman retorted, a gigantic man of six foot six, pulling a
gladius, staring down at the six foot two inch Jesus and his lovely consort,
Mary a petite five foot two.
“I’ve dealt with assholes like
you before. Verily I say, you’re no problem for me or my woman.”
“You call me an asshole?” the
thief yelled, growing angrier, dismissing the instinctive thought of fear
crossing his mind, glaring at the unintimidated Jesus.
“Yes, it’s obvious,” said Jesus,
Mary smiling at the remark.
“He has a lot of questions
doesn’t he?” she asked, nudging Jesus in the side, looking to the foolish man.
Taken back at their total lack of
concern, the highwayman composed himself and admonished, “You shouldn’t call
those bigger than you assholes.”
“Yes I should, and if I were you
I’d go about my business and leave us alone,” Jesus retorted, trying to give
the man an out, if only for fun.
“Why?” asked the man, confused,
his unspeaking partner at his side.
“That’s our cue, stop playing
with him,” said Mary.
Nodding to her, Jesus took a deep
breath and answered, “Because, my dear sir, we are vampires and are going to
kill you for troubling us.”
Terror crossed the thieves’ faces
as Jesus smiled broadly, fangs bared, freezing them to their spots. Mary smiled
at the statuesque thieves. “You’re really learning and are even worse than I am
at times,” she observed, “Look at these clowns, hearing our words and able to
do nothing.”
“So?”
“They know we’re going to kill
them and are helpless before us.”
“I gave them a chance,” said a
thoughtful Jesus.
“That you did, since they didn’t
avail themselves of the opportunity, shall we?”
“Of course, one can give a man
only so many chances. Woe unto you highwaymen, for your folly this night brings
you only death.” Taking
the fine weapon from the hand of the motionless thief, swordsman Jesus eyed it
and said, “Nice gladius, too bad I don’t need one.”
“What are you going to do with
it?” asked Mary.
“Watch this,” said Jesus,
throwing the weapon overhand. In seconds the blade hit dead center in the knot
of a tree nearly eighty feet away.
“Damn, did you aim for that?”
“Of course my good woman.” They
drained their quarry of blood in seconds, the emptied corpses falling to the
ground in crumpled heaps. “We hit the jackpot!” Jesus exclaimed moments later,
pulling the equivalent of twelve and a half aurei from the cooling bodies.
“I told you taking money with us
was senseless.”
“You’re right, but it’s always a
good idea to plan ahead in case of problems.”
“I won’t argue with that,” said
Mary, Jesus dropping the appropriated currency in his satchel, looted bodies
bouncing into a ravine shortly thereafter. “Those clowns were loaded; I wonder
why they wanted to rob us?”
“Greed,” said Jesus, slinging the
bag over a shoulder.
“Where are we heading tonight?”
asked Mary, continuing down the West Road on foot.
“A town called Lydias, about
forty miles further on, Callicles told me they have several fine hotels and
bars there.”
“It’ll be good hunting.”
“Indeed, from there we shall head
on toward Nicomedia and the Bosphorus strait, since we’re traveling alone we
should arrive in Greece in a month or so.”
“Then we’ll see that Parthenon of
yours.”
“Yes,” said Jesus, recalling the
beautifully painted marble building, wanting very much to have another, closer
look at the north frieze with the high-relief scene depicting Dacian vampires
saving the Athenians.
“How far is it to the Bosphorus?”
“Perhaps a thousand miles from
where we’re standing,” Jesus answered, still thinking of the magnificent
Parthenon.
“Only a thousand, do you intend
to walk the entire way to Lydias?”
“No, I’m just enjoying this
beautiful night, would you prefer to fly?” asked Jesus, looking to the starlit
sky as a gibbous moon was rising.
“It would be faster.”
“Let’s do it on the wing,” Jesus
declared, transforming with her and flying toward Lydias.
Arriving at their destination
near midnight and assuming human form, they walked into town. Much larger than
Tibernum, Lydias reminded Jesus of the constantly busy Mansahir or Antioch as
they strolled the torch lit main street lined with whores, hucksters and pimps.
“Hey Roman fellow, need a piece
of ass tonight?” asked a pimp in bad Latin from the doorway of a brothel.
“No thank you, as you can plainly
see I have a wife,” a disgusted Jesus answered.
“Even married men need something
strange now and then,” said the smiling pimp, Jesus stopping in his tracks and turning.
“You’re Anatolian aren’t you?”
asked Jesus in the man’s native tongue, looking the small man in the eyes.
“Yes,” said the pimp, surprised
at the flawless, unaccented Anatolian spoken to him, finally sensing Jesus was
quite insulted by his remarks.
“Perhaps a guileless barbarian
like you doesn’t understand when a Roman man is married he usually doesn’t
whore around on his wife, and even if he does, at least not when she’s standing
at his very side!” Jesus exclaimed, a hint of vampiric accent in his voice.
“Don’t worry about it Julius,”
said Mary, shaking her head, pulling his arm as he confronted the pimp – Jesus
towering over the little Anatolian.
“I’m very sorry, I meant no
insult to you or your wife,” said the cringing pimp.
“You’re a liar and only saying
that because I should kick your ass for saying such to me in front of my wife.
Perhaps I should call over one of our legionaries to cut your throat and dump
your worthless carcass in the gutter!” Jesus retorted, Mary continuing to tug
at his arm.
“Forget it, he’s just a pimp,”
said Mary, a livid Jesus turning to her.
“What?”
“He’s trying to make money for
the owner of the brothel.”
The pimp stood silent, thankfully
realizing the smartly dressed Roman matron must have once had friends who were
whores or had been a whore herself, thinking her tall husband knew nothing of
her past.
“You’re sure?”
“Let him go, Divia told me pimps
often accost Romans in outlying provinces – let it go, they’re barbarians,”
said Mary.
Raising an eyebrow, the pimp
discerned from her reply that the woman in his presence had indeed been a
whore, perhaps in the distant past, but definitely had been one nevertheless.
“For her sake barbarian, I’ll
forgive your disgusting remarks,” said Jesus, looking to the cringing pimp.
“I truly beg forgiveness sir.”
“I’m sure you do,” Jesus
retorted, the pair heading away.
“I thought you were going to kill
that man,” said Mary as they walked toward a hotel.
“You’re the one who stopped me.”
“I did?”
“And I’m wondering why, you
showing a mortal, especially one like him, mercy?”
“I wasn’t showing mercy, there
were too damn many people around. Had he been alone I would’ve ripped his
throat out before you did.”
“I see,” said Jesus, heading into
the hotel office. “We need a room.”
“Nine denarii a night,” said the
disinterested clerk, glancing at Jesus, then looking back at a pornographic
scroll he was reading, complete with well-drawn lewd illustrations.
“I want to check out in the
evening.”
“Nine denarii covers that too,”
the clerk answered, ogling a depiction of an attractive nude woman.
“Here’s twenty seven, make it
three days,” said Jesus, sitting coins on the counter, figuring they could hang
around Lydias for a few nights to kill off the local dregs of society and earn
a few aurei while doing so.
The clerk grabbed the money and
slid a key across the counter. “Room fourteen, one of the duplexes at the rear
of the courtyard, he still absorbed in his erotic reading.
“Thank you,” said Jesus, taking
the key.
“Yeah,” answered the clerk, not
bothering to look up.
Entering their room, Jesus asked,
sitting down on the bed, “What did you mean by what you said back there?”
“Come again?”
“You know, the pimp.”
“What about him?”
“About me killing him,” said
Jesus, sliding his satchel under the bed.
“Are you crazy, I told you there
were too damn many people around.”
“Yes, but he insulted you.”
“Consider the source, he was a
pimp, I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“Why should I? I was a whore
once, and men hawking whores mean nothing to you even now.”
“What do you mean?” a frowning
Jesus asked.
“What do I mean? All that ever
interested you in the past was God, afterlife and Asian philosophy, even I
never crossed your mind,” said Mary, sitting down in a chair.
“I noticed you many times, I just
kept it from you,” Jesus replied, looking to her.
“Perhaps you should have told me,
if you had it would be a lot different for us than it is now,” his consort
observed, recalling a warm fall night when she had considered seducing her
rabbi, but ceased due to his apparent disinterest in her past approaches.
Jesus sat in rumination,
digesting her words.
“Do you want to enjoy the night?”
Mary asked, not wanting to ruin the evening, as Jesus often sulked for hours on
end when she brought that subject up.
“To see what?”
“To enjoy the night you fool,
haven’t we done it before?” said a smiling Mary, rising from her chair and
taking him by the hand as he sat on the bed.
“Perhaps we should, it will make
us familiar with the town,” Jesus replied with a raised eyebrow, sensing her
need to change the subject.
Walking into the night, they
assumed chiropteric form in the darkness and flew over the unknown town,
surveying it from above. Approximately the size of Mansahir, but much more
opulent than that blighted town, Jesus and consort alighted and transformed in
an alley, walking to the deserted forum of the small city.
“Want to hang around here a few
days for the hell of it?” Mary asked.
“Why not,” said Jesus, “I rented
our room for three days, and it’s not like we have anywhere to go in a hurry.”
“They’ve a caravan encamped
outside town.”
“I noticed that, but it’s much
smaller than Callicles’ operation, I wonder what he’s selling.”
“Who knows, I reckon we’ll find
out tomorrow night,” said Mary, taking his arm in hers, the pair strolling
about town until dawn.
*
* *
Jesus awoke with a start, a pair
of hoodlums having a fistfight just outside their room near sundown. “Wake up
woman, two men are beating on each other outside,” he said, shaking her awake.
“Who cares, let them kill each
other,” a sleepy Magdalene answered, rolling over and hugging a pillow,
thinking he wanted to break up the fight.
“I don’t care either but they may
crash through the door. Besides, they woke me with their noise,” said Jesus,
sitting in his underwear on the side of the bed.
“Are you kidding?” a naked Mary
asked, sitting straight up in their bed.
“No, why should I?”
“I thought you wanted to break it
up,” Mary replied, rubbing her eyes.
“Never would I do that,” said
Jesus, pointing toward the noise, “Verily I say, when two angry brothers are
fighting each other one should never interfere.”
“How do you know they’re
brothers?”
“I listened to them yelling after
I woke,” said Jesus, one combatant crashing through a window into their room,
landing on the floor beside him.
“Good evening friend,” Jesus
greeted the bloody and battered man, Mary covering herself with a sheet.
The other crawled through the
broken window in pursuit.
“No fighting is allowed in here,”
said Jesus.
“Who are you?” asked the brother
who crawled in.
“I’m Julius Chrysippus, you and
your sibling have disturbed our rest,” said Jesus.
“Then do something about it,”
spat the brother on the floor.
“Indeed I shall,” said Jesus,
rising from the bed and lifting the battered man, heaving him through the
window like a sack of grain.
“Thanks uh, Julius,” said the
other brother, going for the door and exiting.
“Don’t mention it,” Jesus
answered to the closed door.
The brothers beat on each other
for a few more minutes, resolving whatever their dispute was by brute force,
helping each other from the hotel to parts unknown.
“This is an interesting town,”
Mary observed, dressing in a light blue stola, Jesus slipping on an off-white
tunic.
“I’ll say,” said Jesus, “Let’s
don heavier clothing over our outfits as those fighting brothers were dressed
for winter.”
“Is that all you have to say
about what happened?” asked Mary, slipping on a full length, light tan leather
coat over the delicate stola.
“No, we’ll have to tell the clerk
one of the windows in our room is broken,” said Jesus, reaching for a pair of
trousers and light jacket.
Mary Magdalene looked to her
unpredictable, honest Jesus, sighing and shaking her head at his unconcerned
reply. Heading to the office, Jesus informed the clerk of the fracas and damage
that had occurred to their room.
“That figures,” said the evening
clerk, “Don’t worry about it sir, they’re the Jovanius brothers, they’ve been
beating on each other for nearly a week.”
“Really?”
“Their father Norbanus Maximus
owned this hotel, dying from a fever a week ago.”
“They’re negotiating their
inheritance?”
“Probably, I’ll send a slave to
fix the sash; do you want another room in the meantime?”
“Will it be fixed by midnight?”
asked Jesus, thinking of their money and clothing hidden beneath the bed.
“Sure, we have plenty of
replacement sashes in the storeroom,” said the yawning clerk, “If we didn’t,
with those two around we’d be out of business in a month.”
“We’ll keep the room,” said
Jesus, wondering if the cosmopolitan trader Callicles of Athens hadn’t sold the
hotel their extra glass sashes, which in fact he had.
Nodding to the clerk, they
embarked on their hunt for an evening meal, walking through the city gates
toward the small caravansary east of town. Sidetracked from hunting as they
approached the apparent bazaar, they headed for the torch lit tents, hearing a
man addressing a crowd.
“Step right up folks, for only
one sestertii you’ll see the strangest freaks ever displayed in the entire
empire,” he announced in the fashion of a carnival barker, a well-dressed Greek
named Zeno of Khalkis. As he made his pitch, he sounded almost exactly like a
man who would live nearly two thousand years later named P.T. Barnum.
“Freaks?” asked Mary, “What are
those?”
“Malformed folks, they call them
freaks, bizarre ones without legs or arms, or maybe even dwarves or giants,”
said Jesus, having come across many freak shows in his travels.
“You’re serious?” asked a curious
Mary, never having seen such a spectacle.
“When I was in Rome they had all
sorts of shows like these, with strange women who had beards, weird men who had
breasts, one such slant eyed freak hailing from Cathay had six if I recall,”
said Jesus, not really interested in the show.
“He did?” asked Mary, firmly
resolving to see the freaks.
“Yes, they even had a pair of
twins from Egypt that were uh, fused to each other.”
“Fused?” the Magdalene asked,
confused by the reply.
“For lack of a better term. They
could never move apart, a flesh tether at their hip kept them forever tied to
one another,” said Jesus, describing an ancient set of Siamese twins.
“Really,” said a smiling Mary,
looking to the barker, “Let’s go see.”
“Okay,” said Jesus, walking up to
Zeno of Khalkis.
“So you and the lady want to see
freaks tonight,” said a smiling Zeno, throwing out hands, “You’ve come to the
right place in all the empire, freaks everywhere.”
“Not really friend, my woman
does,” said Jesus.
“Why don’t you want to see them?”
“I’ve seen them before.”
“You have?” asked Zeno, staring
at the vampiric Christ, seemingly recognizing the clean-shaven face from years
earlier.
“Many times.”
“I remember, you were here
before, maybe ten years ago?”
“Not here, unless you were set up
in Rome at the time,” said Jesus, handing the man two sestertii as other
patrons lined up behind he and the Magdalene.
“Maybe so,” said Zeno, looking
after them as they headed into the traveling freak show.
“What are we going to see in
here?” asked Mary.
“Freaks.”
“You said that before,” said
Mary, entering the torch lit tent. Walking past the exhibits, a shocked Mary
gawked at the extensive collection of freaks in the tent, transfixed by the
sight of a caged creature in a loincloth labeled ‘Dolphineous, a son of the
Great Poseidon’. This man was an unfortunate having been born with what could
be described as flippers, instead of hands and feet, excepting for three
malformed but functional digits on his right hand.
“A good evening to you ma’am,”
said the man to Mary while she stared at him, his real name Timaeus of Cyprus.
“He talks!” Mary exclaimed.
“Of course I do,” Timaeus said in
very good Latin.
“Are you truly the son of
Poseidon?” asked Mary, not sure if Dolphineous was even human.
“I imagine so, look at me,” said
Timaeus, looking to Jesus and winking.
Jesus winked back, tossing a
denarius in his direction and replying, “Good to meet you son of Poseidon,”
taking Mary by the arm to observe other freaks.
“Thank you sir,” said a grateful
Timaeus, deftly catching the coin in his right hand.
Staying for another hour, an
openmouthed Mary gawked at bearded women, dwarves, pinheads and other
curiosities. Some of the more bizarre exhibits in the tent were stuffed
‘mermaids’, ‘minotaurs’ and the like, sitting in a neat row along a wall, along
with a very small living Arabian horse, a narwhal horn crudely pasted on its
head, labeled and displayed as a unicorn. Walking to a sturdy iron cage toward
the exit, a savage, apparently bipedal creature was contained within, his
prison labeled in Latin, ‘The hairy Nubian monster from Africa’.
“I wonder if it can speak?” asked
Mary, staring at the creature intently, a mountain silverback male gorilla.
“I don’t know,” said Jesus,
narrowing eyes while the dull-witted ape stared at him and grunted.
“Tell me, is it man or beast?”
“It looks sort of like a man, but
I don’t think it’s a man at all,” a confused Jesus answered, observing the
gorilla.
“It’s not a man,” a show hand
announced from behind them.
“What is it?” asked Jesus,
turning toward him.
“It’s a hairy Nubian monster from
Africa, like it says on the cage,” said the hand, pointing to the sign with a jerk
of his thumb.
“That doesn’t tell me anything, I
can read.”
“It’s said they live in the
mountains of Nubia, eat only vegetables and have ten times the strength of any
man,” the hand explained, telling Jesus all he knew of the ‘monster’.
“We could take them,” Mary
whispered, growing hungry for blood.
“Probably, if we were in Nubia,”
said Jesus, nodding to the hand and turning.
Minutes later, the vampiric
couple exited the 200-foot long, fifty-foot wide tent, walking out into the
cool night.
“That was incredible, those poor
people.”
“What do you mean?” Jesus asked,
thinking she had enjoyed the show.
“For someone to display them like
meat or vegetables in a market,” said a frowning Mary.
“Display them?” asked Jesus, “No
woman, those people are paid by that good Greek fellow; it’s what they do to
make a living instead of being beggars in the streets.”
“They’re paid?”
“Most are, perhaps excepting for
that Nubian monster.”
“Why wouldn’t they pay him?”
“Because I believe he’s an animal
of some sort,” said Jesus, not knowing what the ‘monster’ in the tent actually
was, he, like most Roman subjects, never having seen an African gorilla.
“An animal, he looked kind of
like a man to me,” said Mary, not convinced of Jesus’ pronouncement on the
matter.
“Verily I say, I’ve been over
much of the world and have met many odd people in my travels, but I’ve never
seen any man anywhere who looked like that,” Jesus replied.
“Are we going to find someone to
eat?” Mary asked, dropping the subject, thinking of blood and wanting to leave.
“I suppose we should – ”
Zeno of Khalkis appeared, another
barker having assumed his place at the entrance.
Recognizing his customers, Zeno
walked up and asked, “So folks, how did you like my show?”
“It was excellent,” said Jesus,
now knowing exactly who Zeno was, a Greek showman who had been in Rome nearly
twelve years earlier. At the time Jesus had befriended and conversed with him
over several days, also befriending an unusual freak he had not seen this time
in the show.
Maybe his head exploded,
he thought, recalling a teenaged hydrocephalic who had been aptly named ‘Magno
Capite’. All the while, Jesus vainly hoped Zeno wouldn’t recognize him, for
when in Rome Jesus had trimmed his beard close and carried his hair quite
short.
“You look familiar,” Zeno
observed, thinking further and exclaiming, “I know who you are; you’re Jesus of
Nazareth, the traveling philosopher from Judea!”
“I’m sorry, I believe you have
the wrong person,” a shocked though stoic Jesus lied, “My name is Bacchus
Julius Chrysippus, a wine merchant from Etruria.” Mary, noting his strained
expression, looked to Jesus with hands out, he giving a nearly imperceptible
shake of his head to her.
“That’s strange, you look exactly
like my friend Jesus did,” said Zeno.
“I must have that kind of face,”
Jesus replied, offering a hand to his past friend.
Taking his hand and shaking it
firmly, Zeno remarked, “No matter, I’ve made mistakes like that before,” still
thinking he was looking at his long lost friend Jesus, then dismissing it as a
case of mistaken identity.
Changing the subject, Jesus
asked, “What is that Nubian monster from Africa?”
“Ah yes, the thing in the iron
cage,” said Zeno. “It’s incredible isn’t it, from what the Egyptian trader who
sold it to me said, there were once two legged bears in the mountains of Nubia,
and unmarried Nubian men, displeased at not having women, took them in place of
wives.”
“What happened after that?” a
playful Mary asked, looking to Zeno for an answer.
“Well uh, Nubian monsters like in
the cage were sired by those men who uh, knew the bears.”
“Knew them?” Mary asked, an
eyebrow raised, almost laughing and hiding her pleasure at the stammering Zeno.
“You know, like normal men – know
women,” a cringing Zeno explained, looking to Jesus for a rebuff, he shrugging
at the reply.
“Hey, she asked, you answered.”
“Yeah,” said Zeno, exhaling
heavily, still expecting Jesus to punch him in the face.
“I reckon that makes sense from
the way they look,” Jesus observed, “I don’t know about you friend, but if I
couldn’t get a woman I doubt seriously I would take something like a bear,
hell, I’d use my hand first or maybe even go for a man!”
“I agree,” a relieved Zeno
answered with a smile, “Then again, neither of us really know do we, for you
and I have wives, maybe it would be different if we didn’t!”
“Perhaps,” said Jesus, looking to
Zeno, wishing he could admit he was his long lost friend, Jesus of Nazareth.
“I have to head back, glad you
enjoyed the show,” Zeno replied with a parting nod, starting toward his tent.
“We did indeed,” said Jesus,
turning and walking to town with his consort.
He had to be Jesus, why didn’t he
say so? thought a frowning Zeno, entering the tent, the vampiric Christ
and consort disappearing into the shadows.
Entering their room, Jesus
immediately walked to the bed, reached under and pulled out their satchel of
money and clothing.
“We have to get out of here; Zeno
was a friend of mine in the past.”
“I figured that by the look on
your face, and since he called you by your true name,” said Mary, turning for
the door.
“Let’s use the back window shall
we?” Jesus asked, opening the sliding sash and parting the shutters.
“Right,” said the Magdalene,
heading to the rear of the room.
Assuming chiropteric form, they
headed west, leaving their rented room behind, curtains billowing from the open
window.
Flying for forty miles, with dawn
approaching they alighted and transformed on the desolate Roman highway,
exhausted from their travel, nearly a hundred miles from the next notable town
and over eighty from Tibernum.
The woodlands giving way to high
chaparral outside Lydias, Jesus looked about for shelter from the soon to be
rising sun.
“We’d best find a place to sleep
woman.”
“Where?” asked the Magdalene,
near panic while looking to the eastern horizon, bright with false dawn, seeing
no shelter available.
“We have time, perhaps in those
cliffs,” Jesus answered, pointing south from the road.
“Let’s go,” said a frightened
Mary, obsessively thinking of the sun and its destructive rays.
Finding a cave an hour later, they
headed in, stopping about thirty feet from the entrance.
“That was close,” Mary observed
with a long exhale, brow covered in sweat, even with the forty-degree
temperature.
“What?” asked Jesus, looking to
his consort after dropping his satchel to the floor of the cave, leaning
against a granite boulder.
“Finding this cave, we’d have
burned up otherwise.”
“No, if we hadn’t found this
place, we could have dug a hole and buried ourselves.”
“Buried ourselves, are you crazy,
we’d have gotten filthy!” Mary exclaimed, looking to her exquisitely crafted
light blue stola, tan leather overcoat and soft pigskin shoes, the expensive
outfit worth nearly two aurei.
“Who cares, I can buy you a
hundred of those anywhere, and it would certainly beat being destroyed wouldn’t
it?” Jesus retorted, disdainful of his consort’s materialistic attachment to
easily replaceable clothing.
“Yes it does, I’m sorry, but you
still seem troubled by something else.”
“What bothers me is in Lydias,
outside a tent.”
“You’re still obsessed with that
Zeno character,” said Mary, dismayed by his confused priorities. The
man should be worried about the sun and instead he’s worried about some Greek
show promoter, she thought, looking out to the dawn of the new day.
“I can’t believe it,” spat a paranoid
Jesus.
“Can’t believe what?”
“That in this entire godforsaken
world I would run across someone I knew before I became a vampire.”
“Speaking of vampirism, I’m
hungry,” said Mary, neither having fed that night.
“So am I, but the sun’s up, we’ve
done without before,” Jesus replied, more concerned with Zeno having recognized
him.
“You have many times, I hardly
ever have.”
“Learn to, I did!”
“What’s got you so pissed off?”
“People recognizing us, it could
spell danger for my parents and brother, not to mention us.”
“Get you, you didn’t even care
about that a few years ago,” a smirking Mary retorted.
“I do now.”
“That’s obvious, but what are the
odds of that happening again, it’s not like you’re going to run into Peter.”
“I killed Peter in Jerusalem.”
“Who cares, you know what I
mean!” she exclaimed, annoyed at his obtuse reply.
“No I don’t.”
“Zeno was a weird coincidence, it
probably won’t happen again,” said Mary, “Besides, in a few years they’ll all
be dead, so don’t worry about it.”
“What if it does?”
“We’ll deal with it like we did
last night.”
“You’re right,” said a frowning
Jesus, “Let’s get sleep, we’ll take off at sundown.”
“To find someone to eat I hope,”
said Mary, moving to the floor of the cave.
Using the satchel for a pillow,
he moved an arm under her as she rested her head on his chest, the vampiric
couple falling into blissful slumber. Awakening before sunset, Jesus roused his
consort, passing time in idle conversation while waiting for dusk to arrive.
“What did you think of the freak
show?” asked Jesus, at last comfortable with the previous night’s happenings.
“It was okay I guess, rather
interesting actually, I never knew such people existed.”
“They’re rather rare, ofttimes
such as they are killed as infants in other societies, excepting perhaps for
Judea and Samaria.”
“That’s terrible, why?” asked
Mary, revolted by the thought of infanticide.
“I think the answer’s obvious,”
said Jesus, thinking individuals so afflicted were better off dead in most
cases.
“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Mary
replied, realizing the burden to society such creatures usually were.
“That’s why I said it was
fortunate for those freaks to have a job working for Zeno, as the ones who
survive to adulthood usually end up as beggars.”
Mary laughed.
“What’s so funny?” asked a frowning
Jesus.
“We’re freaks.”
“We are?”
“Look at it this way, we’re
walking corpses who drink warm blood to survive, and if that’s not freakish I
don’t know what is,” said the Magdalene, bursting into laughter.
“I always felt like a freak, even
before I became a vampire.”
“That figures, you were rather
weird at times, especially so in Jerusalem,” Mary retorted, wiping tears of
laughter from her eyes.
“I know,” said Jesus, reaching
for his satchel, the couple walking from the cave into the evening.
“Sorry about that Jesus,” Mary
replied, the couple dodging the carcass of a large animal, unrecognizable due
to advanced decomposition.
“Sorry about what?”
“You know, what I said back
there, I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”
“Don’t worry about it; such a
description does fit both of us.”
“Judging from what you said in
the cave, I imagine our situation doesn’t make much difference to you does it?”
asked Mary as they headed for the road.
“Not really, being a vampire
seems completely normal to me, in fact, the night I rose it seemed normal.”
“See, you are weird after all,”
she observed, Jesus looking to her impassively while they walked along the
deserted highway.
Finding no human fare on the
desolate road, they contented themselves with the hot blood of jackals, taking
the animals as they slept. They flew toward the next town, arriving the
following evening after camping out in another cave, slaughtering a pair of
thieves for sustenance after evening fell. This central Galatian town, called
Kaserium, was yet another example of a first century decadent Roman city,
painted whores, amoral pimps, and packed bars seemingly everywhere. Kaserium
had a large garrison of Roman soldiers as this town was at a strategic location
in Anatolia. A road south led directly to Antioch, a road north headed to the
Black Sea, and the Via Tiberius Romanus continued through to the cities of
Nicomedia, Chrysopolis and Byzantium on the Bosphorus strait, gateway to
Europe. Strolling into a bar, Jesus and Mary took seats, a well-dressed
bartender walking up.
“What’ll you have citizen?” the
bartender and owner, a Greek named Ulysses of Lydias, asked in good Latin.
“A stiff grog or wine if you have
it, and a beer for my woman.”
“We always have wine, where have
you been?” a smiling Ulysses asked.
“Far east of here, what kind of
wine?”
“Only the best, undiluted Gallic
wine, but it’s expensive, 8 sestertii for a large glass, four for a small,”
Ulysses answered, quite proud of his well-furnished, opulent establishment.
“Bring large Gallic wine, make it
twins,” Jesus replied, tossing a denarius to the counter.
“Right away,” said Ulysses,
grabbing the coin and quickly returning with two glasses of Gallic wine,
placing change on the counter and moving to other patrons.
Taking a sip, Jesus frowned and
spat quietly, “Undiluted my ass, there’s water in this wine. I should know, for
friend Callicles probably sold it to him, it’s Gaius Scipio’s brand.”
“I don’t really care, do you?”
asked Mary, taking a drink from her glass.
“No, except the man is a liar and
stealing lucre from his customers,” said Jesus, taking a gulp of the watery
beverage.
“We steal most all our money,
what difference does it make if he grabs a few coins from us?” Mary whispered.
“We steal from the corpses of
thieves, not living people.”
“Maybe Callicles sold it that
way,” said Mary, in effort to avoid making a scene.
“No, he sells wine by the
amphorae or barrel, always with the original seals intact,” Jesus replied,
“Callicles may be a drunk and overcharge fools for his items, but when it comes
to quality, the man never compromises on that.”
“That’s true,” she agreed,
recalling the top quality items offered at his caravansary.
Placing the emptied glass on the
counter, bartender Ulysses noticed poured two Egyptian beers for a pair of
Roman soldiers and headed to Jesus.
“Another?”
Jesus motioned him closer with
his finger.
“Yes?” Ulysses asked, leaning
toward Jesus.
“Bring us another round, and make
it undiluted wine this time will you?”
“You’re saying it was not of good
quality?” Ulysses whispered, looking to his other patrons.
“I’m certain it was before you
got hold of it. I happen to know Gaius Scipio Magnentius of Gaul; he would
never vend watery garbage like this to anyone,” replied a lying Jesus.
“Yes sir, I’ll bring you and your
wife another,” said Ulysses, “Tell me, how did you know it was Gaius Scipio’s
brand?”
“I’m a wine drinker and
merchant,” answered a half-lying Jesus, “His vineyards in central Gaul are some
of the finest in the empire, my father and I have purchased wine from him by
the wagonload.”
“I’ll open a new amphora for
you,” a subdued Ulysses replied with a terse smile, heading to the back and
returning with two fresh glasses of undiluted wine.
“That’s more like it, thank you,”
said Jesus, tasting the wine, tossing another denarius to the counter.
“Don’t worry about that sir, it’s
on the house,” Ulysses declared, holding up hands.
“You need to make money too,”
said Jesus, pushing the coin toward him.
“But – ”
“No buts,” Jesus replied with a
shake of his head, “Take the money, I don’t care if you sell other idiots
fermented goat piss in place of wine, as long as you don’t try to sell it to
me.”
“Yes sir, I thank you for not
making a scene about this,” said Ulysses, a hint of apology in his voice.
“Don’t mention it; keep the
change from the other drinks too.”
“Are you sure?” asked Ulysses,
staring at Jesus.
“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have
offered them,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink of the fine fermented nectar.
“Thank you sir!” Ulysses
exclaimed, grabbing the coins, “Wave me over if you need another for you and
your lady.”
“Shall do,” said Jesus.
“You’ve got class Jesus, I’ll say
that,” Mary observed, beaming at her controlled and cultured consort.
“He’s a talented businessman and
thief, trying to make extra money from fools who wouldn’t know a good drink if
they fell over it.”
“I thought you always killed
thieves.”
“Not ones like him, he and others
like him employ theft by deception like a con man does.”
“I guess we won’t be killing any
con men either.”
“Hell no, people foolish enough to
be conned deserve what they get, caveat emptor,” said a smiling Jesus.
“With you around, it’s more like
caveat venditor,” Mary observed.
“Exactly,” said Jesus, waving
over Ulysses.
“Another?”
“Yes, that’ll do it for us,
thanks for bringing your best,” said Jesus, tossing another denarius to the
counter while the bartender headed to the back.
“Here you are,” said Ulysses,
returning with the drinks, “I’ll have your change in a minute.”
“Keep it,” Jesus replied, taking
another drink as the bartender nodded and turned to other patrons. “Let’s find
a room woman”, he added, downing the wine, stepping from the bar and heading
for the door as Mary followed.
Renting a suitable room, Jesus
entered, sliding his satchel under the bed.
“You enjoy putting people on the spot
don’t you?” Mary asked, closing the door.
“Especially when they’re trying
to fool me,” said Jesus, lying down and relaxing on the bed.
“How far is it to the Bosphorus
now?”
“Maybe 700 miles, we’re making
good time aren’t we?”
“I’ll say, do you want to hang
around here a while?” asked Mary, joining him on the bed.
“Why not, there are plenty of
criminals we can take, considering even the townspeople seem to be criminals of
a sort,” said Jesus, breaking into a laugh.
“Do you want to head out
tonight?” asked Mary, resting her head on an arm.
“I’m too damn tired,” said Jesus,
the time near three.
“I’m tired too,” a sighing Mary
agreed, the couple turning in early.
*
* *
Over a week went by before they
left Kaserium, the pair having slaughtered nearly twenty thieves, thugs,
troublemakers and other assorted criminals lurking about the town. Finding and
dispatching vermin every night, they, like vampiric policemen, temporarily rid
the town of such undesirable people, fattening their purse with thirty aurei and
adding jewelry to Mary’s fine collection of glittering baubles. Stopping in
early at Ulysses’ bar before leaving, Jesus ordered Gallic wine for he and his
consort, the owner bringing the undiluted beverage.
“Here you are sir, fine Gallic
wine for you and your lady,” said Ulysses, placing glasses before them, Jesus
dropping another denarii to the bar top.
“Undiluted?” Jesus asked.
“Of course, try it,” a pained
Ulysses answered, knowing his Roman customer was a practiced connoisseur of
alcoholic beverages. Taking a sip, Jesus nodded in approval, Mary lifting her
glass from the counter as the bartender left to tend to other patrons.
“I’d say he learned his lesson
with us,” Jesus observed.
“Really, where are we heading
tonight?” Mary asked, vainly looking about the bar for someone to eat.
“There’s no one left to take
here, forget it,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink.
“I can think of a few, can’t
blame me for trying can you?”
“No, don’t worry, we’ll find
someone or something outside town.”
Spending an hour at the bar,
after paying Ulysses off and leaving his usual substantial tip, they left the
city through the west gate, resuming their journey to the Bosphorus strait
separating Asia from Europe.
“We’ll have to remember that
town, thieves seem to gravitate there just like with Mansahir,” said Jesus,
walking the west road, a half moon rising above their heads.
“The whole damn town seemed to be
nothing but a pack of seedy criminals or perverts,” Mary replied, recalling a
brazen, mannish-looking lesbian outside a bathhouse who had accosted her one
evening. The woman had approached and informed the Magdalene of her many
abilities. This event had occurred days before, she first cringing at her
disgusting offers, then wanting to kill her for her remarks while Jesus had looked
on, oblivious.
“Why do you say that?”
“Remember the dyke on the main
street?”
“Yeah her, I see what you mean,
sorry,” Jesus answered, laughing.
“Why are you laughing about it?”
Mary asked, stopping on the stone paved highway, placing hands on hips and
looking to Jesus.
“If I were a lesbian I’d go after
you, you’re a damn good looking woman.”
“You rotten bastard you’re a man,
all men say that!”
“You are very good looking, I
don’t blame her,” said Jesus, playing with her, knowing what his angered
consort meant by her protest.
“How would you like it if someone
like calvus Callicles or Gavinal said something like that to you?” a livid
Magdalene asked.
“I’d say you know Latin now,”
said Jesus, noting the word calvus meant ‘bald’.
“Who cares about that you arrogant
asshole!”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, I
was only kidding – ” started Jesus.
“I can see it now, that
baldheaded, drunken Greek walking up and saying: “Hey friend Julius, how would
you like if I knelt down, pulled aside your tunic and sucked your – ” Mary
spat, attempting her very best to mock Callicles’ voice.
“I understand woman, do you have
to be so graphic?” Jesus asked, holding out hands in bitter surrender, wishing
he had not so carelessly toyed with her.
“I’m sure you do,” the Magdalene
retorted.
“I’m sorry, I was only kidding,”
said Jesus, the couple resuming their walk along the deserted road.
“Tell me, are you even remotely
attracted to the thought of Callicles sucking your phallus?” Mary asked
sharply.
“No!” a wincing Jesus answered,
nauseated by the vivid picture induced in his mind, a lurid encounter with
trader Callicles, nephew at his side, drunk and making lewd homosexual offers,
cup of beer or wine clutched in his hand.
“Then you must understand I find
nothing attractive at all sexually about a woman, unlike you, as you are a
man.”
“I’m sorry, I was only kidding.”
“Then you have a damn strange
sense of humor, and if you know what’s good for you, next time don’t laugh
about dykes who bother me in our travels.”
“I shall not in the future. So,
why didn’t you kill her?”
“There were too damn many people
around, like with the pimp in Lydias,” she answered, the couple heading into
the darkness.
Hunting was not good that night,
they settling on pair of porcine creatures, transforming and flying to a small
town named Ionus, eighty miles from Kaserium. Knocking on the door of a hotel,
a bleary-eyed clerk appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, eyeing the
pair. “By Jove man, don’t you know what time it is?” the clerk asked, rubbing
his eyes.
“No, I really don’t,” said Jesus.
“Neither do I, but it must be
four or five in the morning, where the hell have you been?” said the clerk,
ears ringing from lack of sleep.
“Traveling.”
“At this time of night?”
“We make better time after
sundown,” said Jesus, attempting an explanation.
“Whatever,” the clerk retorted,
tiredly leaning against a doorjamb, “A room for you and this broad will cost
eight denarii.”
“Okay,” Jesus replied, reaching
into a pocket and producing the currency, “We need to stay till tomorrow
evening.”
“I don’t doubt it since you’re
checking in near dawn,” the clerk spat, Jesus handing him money.
Fumbling around with an oil lamp,
the sleepy clerk found the proper key, handing it to Jesus. “Room twelve, to
your right and down the walkway,” he directed with a jerk of a thumb.
“Thanks,” said Jesus.
“Yeah,” the clerk replied,
closing the door and falling in bed seconds later.
Entering their room, Jesus closed
the door, sat his satchel in a corner, and surveyed the surroundings in pitch
darkness.
“Pretty austere for eight
denarii,” a frowning Magdalene observed, looking at the cheap furnishings with
vampiric eyesight.
A bed, more like a cot, with a
plainly lumpy mattress, sat low on the floor. Two tattered seat cushions were
placed to serve the guest for pillows and a worn wool blanket was rolled up at
the foot of the bed. Wrought iron stools were sitting on either side of the
bed, a shelf on the far wall containing a bronze water bowl and a poorly
polished bronze mirror above.
“Look at this pigsty!” Mary spat.
“Beats a cave,” said Jesus,
flopping on the bed after barring the door and checking the windows to assure
the shutters were closed.
“I guess,” she replied, joining
him, resting her head on the cushion serving for a pillow.
On her side, Mary tried to relax
as dawn approached, but became aware of a foul odor, Jesus dozing beside her on
his back. She looked down at her pillow, the stench emanating from there.
“This pillow smells like shit!”
Mary exclaimed, rising in disgust and throwing the filthy cushion across the
room.
“So does mine,” said a frowning
Jesus after turning his face to it for a second.
“Let’s use the blanket for a
pillow,” Jesus suggested, sitting up and flinging his cushion to the floor.
Moving the blanket to the head of the bed, Jesus lay down, motioning her to
join him.
“What’s the blanket smell like?”
asked Mary, arms folded across her chest.
“Sort of like a sheep does,” said
Jesus, sniffing the gray fabric.
“I guess that’s normal,” she
replied, joining him in the bed.
The pair lay silent for a few
minutes waiting for slumber to arrive, a cock crowing in the distance as the
sun broke the horizon.
“I think the cushions belonged on
the stools woman.”
“That’s obvious,” Mary replied,
rolling to her side, both falling asleep shortly thereafter.
Waking just after sunset, they
exited the humble room, leaving the key on the shelf next to the basin without
bothering to check out. They had no intention of returning to such a
substandard hotel that provided seat cushions in place of pillows, which also
smelled like excrement.
“What a dump,” Mary observed as
they strolled though town.
“Are you referring to the town or
the room?” asked Jesus, slinging his satchel over a shoulder.
“Both,” said a disgusted Mary.
Ionus was a small burgh, not much
bigger than the hamlet of Tibernum, but was a lonely, blighted town on the high
Anatolian chaparral, having two brothels, a tavern and restaurant, a small
bathhouse and a barbershop, along with three fleabag hotels.
“Let’s ditch this place, it’s
depressing,” Jesus declared as they approached an abandoned and falling down
livery stable on the outskirts.
“I’ll second that,” the Magdalene
agreed, the couple heading from town on their nightly search for someone to
eat.
Finding no one on the desolate
highway, they took animal fare, assumed chiropteric form and flew on toward the
Bosphorus strait. Approaching the Bosphorus and the cities of Chrysopolis and
Byzantium a few weeks later, Jesus and Mary were on the prowl for human blood,
naturally after the fall sun had dipped below the horizon. Walking along a
remote section of highway fifty miles from Nicomedia, the vampiric couple,
wearing winter garb as the weather had turned cold, were met on a dark night by
a pair of their favorite people, mounted highwaymen in search of plunder.
“Hold it right there,” ordered a
man speaking very good Latin, stepping down from an Arabian stallion.
“What do you want?” asked Jesus,
easily seeing both men by their body heat.
“We want money and your woman,”
his partner answered, “As for yourself, you can give them to us and live, or
die for refusing us.”
“Die, that’s a laugh, and you can
have neither friend,” a smiling Jesus retorted.
The first thief chuckled at
Jesus’ blunt reply, pulling a gladius from its scabbard, replying, “Friend you
say, with friends like us you don’t need enemies.”
“You don’t say?” asked Jesus,
smirking.
“I’ll take that smirk off your
face,” growled the second thief, leaping from his horse and heading toward
Jesus.
“You know, you two, like most
Anatolians we’ve met lately, are very stupid men,” Mary observed as the pair
walked up.
“I’m half Greek, why do you say
that woman?” asked the first thief.
“You will not call my woman –
woman, you asshole,” Jesus spat.
“What will you do about it
Roman?” asked the second thief.
“It’s not what I will do; it is
what we will do.”
“And what are you going to do?”
the first thief asked, raising a gladius to Jesus’ throat, only inches away,
his hot, bad breath blowing in his face.
“We’re going to kill both of you
for bothering us,” said Jesus, freezing the bandits where they stood.
“Let’s kill them,” said Mary,
hungry for blood, fangs showing over her lower lip.
“Not yet, I want them to stand
there for a while so they and I can enjoy the thought of their deaths,” a
morbid Jesus replied, holding an arm in front of her.
“That’s weird, why do you want to
do that?”
“Because I’m a vicious bastard
tonight,” said Jesus, taking the sharp gladius from his victim’s hand and
tossing it aside.
“If you say so, it’s early yet,”
Mary observed, narrowing her eyes, “What do you want to do, make them kill each
other?”
“No, not something as crude as
that, I want to have a little fun with them, it won’t take long.”
“What are you going to do?” she
asked, confused at the ambiguous reply.
“Nothing physical like with
Judas, I was simply wondering what our victims think when they realize we’re
vampires.”
“What?”
“We never have asked them before
you know,” said Jesus, the pitch of his voice rising as he finished the
sentence.
“We already know, they’re scared
shitless. You’ve seen it, like the one I took who was by the smokehouse,” said
Mary, recalling the night thieves had dared to attack the Chrysippus farm.
“I know, I just want to ask them
for my own satisfaction,” said Jesus, turning to one and releasing him from
hypnosis.
“Since you cannot escape us, how
does it feel knowing you’re going to die on this night at our very hands?”
asked a macabre Christ.
“Please let me go vampire, I have
a wife and children at home,” the second thief pleaded.
“That’s the wrong answer if I
ever heard one, you’ve neither anywhere,” Jesus scoffed, looking to the thief.
“My wife, her name is uh,
Daphne,” said the man, thinking of the name of a bar whore he had laid the
night before, the lewd memory serving as his only plea for mercy. As he vividly
recalled Daphne’s scented black hair and her shapely nude body, pretty smile
and hazel eyes, the thief wished he was again lying with her, enjoying her
favors in her hovel. Could this be a nightmare, for aren’t the
stories of vampires only myths? thought the frightened thief, hoping he
was dreaming.
“Your wife, sure she is, verily I
say, even at the end of your worthless life you’re nothing but a liar!” Jesus
exclaimed, shocking the thief back to reality.
Sinking fangs in his throat, the
drained body collapsed to the stone pavement seconds later.
“My God,” said an appalled
Magdalene, almost taking pity on his victim.
“You’re next,” said Jesus coldly,
ignoring his consort’s utterance, pointing to the remaining man, looking into
his eyes.
“Why are you bothering with
this?” asked Mary.
“I thought you liked to play with
them,” said Jesus, turning to her.
“I do, but this strikes me as
weird, even sick, can’t I just kill him and get it over with?” asked Mary,
bored with his odd philosophical bent regarding practically everything.
“Don’t you want to know what he
thinks about this?” Jesus asked, Mary feeling a chill run up her spine at his
question.
“No, what you’re doing is
bizarre, even cruel. I don’t care what he thinks, I’m not that morbid.”
“Morbid?”
“Very morbid,” she answered while
her victim stood helplessly, arching eyebrows as she looked to him.
“You’re taking pity on him
woman?” asked Jesus, pointing to the remaining thief.
“Hell no,” Mary retorted, shaking
her head at the ridiculous statement, “But unlike you, I only look at them as
food. Regardless of what you say, you have a very vengeful, evil streak in your
soul Jesus, almost satanic.”
“You think so?” Jesus asked,
shocked at the reply.
“We should kill them and move on,
without any weird analysis of their feelings and such, it’s disgusting.”
“I didn’t know you felt that
way.”
“Well I do, and it’s nearly the
same feeling I have regarding those slaves of yours, but you never ask me about
my feelings do you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jesus, as their
motionless victim looked on, hearing the strange conversation.
“That’s nice, can I kill him
now?” an exasperated Magdalene asked, not caring about his replies, wanting to
get the slaughtering of her victim over with.
“By all means,” answered Jesus,
waving a hand in the direction of the first thief.
Walking to the highwayman, Mary
plunged her cold fangs into the throat, ending his life. The corpse dropping to
the pavement beside his cooling partner, a satisfied Mary turned and
reiterated, “See, I don’t care about these bastards, good or bad, they’re
nothing but food to me.”
“I see,” said Jesus, thinking his
consort was shallow when it came to the philosophical concepts of vampiric
existence.
“Incidentally, didn’t your
parents say you should never play with your food?” she asked, looking to the
corpses, wiping her mouth with a cloth.
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Looting the bodies, the vampiric
Christ appropriated their money, a silver Egyptian ankh pulled from the neck of
the first thief, and a golden ring from a finger of the second.
“Is that a necklace?” the
Magdalene asked, expecting her cut of jewelry.
“No,” answered Jesus, tossing her
the ring, “It’s an ankh; I’m going to keep this.”
“What’s an ankh?”
“A charm, the Egyptian symbol for
life itself,” said Jesus, slipping the talisman around his neck. It settled
next to his Janus amulet, woven with he and the Magdalene’s hair.
“Why would you want to wear such
a thing?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve always
liked them.” Looking to the stallions in the background, Jesus added, “Let’s
get rid of these clowns and we’ll take their horses to Nicomedia.”
Dumping the bodies in a ravine,
ravenous jackals descending on them moments later, Jesus and Mary mounted the
steeds and headed west, stopping at a cave near dawn, letting the tethered
animals rest and graze during the day. Only fifteen miles from Nicomedia, they
mounted the horses at dusk, arriving at the bustling city an hour later.
“This place is huge,” Mary
observed while they walked the horses along the busy, torch lit main street.
“It’s nothing compared to Rome.”
Nicomedia seemed to be a pleasant
city, the main street lined with artisan’s shops, restaurants and the prefect’s
mansion. Riding by, a guard at the entrance of the mansion acknowledged Jesus,
greeting, “Good evening citizen.”
“A good evening to you sir,” a
nodding Jesus answered.
Stopping at a tavern, Jesus
tethered the horses and walked in.
“Why are we stopping here?” asked
the Magdalene, heading to the bar, noisy and filled with people.
“I need a drink,” said Jesus, sitting
his satchel at his feet and mounting a stool.
“Oh,” said Mary, taking a seat
next to him.
“What’ll you have citizen?” asked
the bartender.
“Do you have beer?” asked Jesus,
leaning toward the waiter.
“Yes, do you want Anatolian,
Egyptian or Gallic?”
“Gallic, make it two please.”
“Coming up,” the bartender
replied, pouring two large mugs from a pitcher next to an amphora of Gallic
beer. “That’ll be twelve dupondii,” he declared, sitting mugs on the bar.
Jesus dropped a denarius bearing
an image of Emperor Tiberius into the man’s hand. Returning and placing change
on the counter, the absorbed bartender moved to another customer.
“Why did we stop here?” Mary
asked.
“For beer,” said Jesus, taking a
deep drink from his mug.
“I know that, but what’s on the
agenda tonight?” asked Mary, taking a sip from hers.
“We have to get rid of the
horses, find someone to eat and head to Chrysopolis,” said Jesus, leaning to her
ear.
“That shouldn’t be hard to do,”
Mary replied, thinking she understood.
“It may be, our horses are stolen
and have no titles.”
“I forgot about that,” answered a
frowning Mary, “Why don’t we kill them for food in an alley and be done with
them?”
“I want to sell them to someone
just for the hell of it,” said Jesus over the din, finishing his mug and waving
for the bartender.
“Another?”
“Make it twins,” said Jesus,
looking to Mary as she finished hers.
“Right,” the bartender answered,
returning with two mugs of beer and taking twelve dupondii from the change on
the bar top.
Finishing their beer, Jesus dropped
a denarius to the counter as a tip and lifted his satchel, growing ever
heavier, from the floor. Nodding to the bartender, they left as their smiling
host stared at the tip Jesus had left.
“How are we going to get rid of
them?” asked the Magdalene, mounting her horse.
“Down by the docks, it should be
fairly easy,” said Jesus, mounting his, the pair heading for wharves on the Sea
of Marmara.
“Is this the Bosphorus?” Mary
asked, riding along the docks, looking out to the dark water.
“No, we have to head to
Chrysopolis; the Bosphorus strait separating Asia from Europe is there.”
“How far?”
“Maybe seventy miles,” Jesus
answered, looking to the deserted warehouses.
“Why don’t we kill somebody on
the road tonight and get rid of these horses after we reach the strait?”
“Why?” asked an annoyed Jesus.
“So we can ride them there and
save steps,” said the Magdalene.
“Let’s take them to Chrysopolis,
if you insist,” Jesus replied, pulling back the reins and turning his horse
around, his consort annoyed at his apparent stupidity.
Leaving Nicomedia at eleven,
Jesus and consort rode the thoroughbred steeds for nearly thirty miles before
stopping at a wooded area along the desolate highway.
“There’s no one to take around
here,” Mary observed, dismounting her horse, Jesus tethering the animals to a
tree next to a stream.
“There were many in Nicomedia but
you said we should take the horses to Chrysopolis.”
“What does that have to do with
anything?” asked Mary, not following.
“Thieves don’t usually bother
people on horses, that’s why I wanted to sell the animals in Nicomedia,” said
Jesus, leaning against a tree and looking up to the starlit night sky.
“They don’t?”
“Hardly ever, I should know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“As of late you’ve been much too
busy trying to tell me how to run my life, so I figured I’d let you run it
tonight too and bear the consequences,” Jesus retorted, looking to her with a
frown.
“You’re still pissed off about
what I said outside Ionus regarding those thieves?” asked Mary, incredulous.
A sullen Jesus remained silent.
“Oh brother, you’ve got to be
kidding my mister sensitive, I simply found what you were doing to them morbid
and unnecessary, and you take it as if I cut off one of your goddamn arms!”
“You compared me to Satan.”
“So what, from what I’ve heard
you, Cyril and your father say over the past few years, Satan probably doesn’t
exist, and I agree,” Mary retorted, folding arms across her chest.
“Nevertheless it was insulting.”
“So was what you were doing, it
was disgusting,” said Mary, anger in her voice.
“It was?”
“Yes Jesus, as vampires we are
hunters, hunters of people, hunters of blood, but like any hunter, we should
take our quarry out of our need to take them, never by cruelly tormenting
them!”
“We did it to Judas in the
graveyard.”
“He was different and you know
it, he betrayed you and got what he deserved!”
“But you said you don’t care
about them and like to play with them.”
“I do like to play with them like
a cat does with a mouse, and I don’t care about them at all, excepting for what
strikes me as unnecessary cruelty.”
“You thought I was cruel?”
“From what I saw, I swear if you
were bored and had nothing better to do you’d entertain yourself pulling wings
from flies.”
“I’d never do such a thing, and
didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then what did you mean?” asked a
smirking Mary.
“I actually wanted to know what
they thought, like I said.”
“Don’t you see such terrible
thoughts are morbid, we know what they think, like you thought when Pilate
condemned you to death in his praetorium!”
“I see now,” said a thunderstruck
Jesus, realizing Mary, as usual regarding such matters, was right after all.
“I’ve been wondering, did that
clown back there actually have a wife and children?”
“Who?”
“The man you were so sadistically
torturing about a hundred miles back outside Ionus.”
“Oh him, who knows, I’ve no
idea,” a shrugging Jesus answered, arms in the air.
“I thank whatever god that may
exist for that.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked
Jesus, looking to her.
“What do I mean?” asked Mary, “If
I know you like I think I do, you’d start feeling guilty about killing him as
you walked about Athens or somewhere. Then you’d hotfoot it back to Ionus and
hand his family a thousand aurei in Roman gold and take care of them for years,
just for righteously killing a worthless piece of shit at the side of a road!”
“No I wouldn’t.”
“Yes you would, I know so,” Mary
retorted, Jesus staring at the ground.
“You think I’d do something like
that?” asked Jesus, looking up and needing confirmation.
“Without a doubt.”
“What do you want to do for
food?” asked Jesus, changing the subject, hoping their sparring would end.
“I’ve done without before, so
have you,” said a sighing Mary, “If we don’t find boars or something soon,
let’s just find a cave and get sleep.”
Walking about for nearly two
hours, the vampiric couple found nothing to sate their hunger so they settled
into a cave to slumber for the day.
“You’re so damn unbelievable at
times,” Mary observed, Jesus holding her in the darkness.
“I am?”
“Yes you are, let’s get sleep,”
she answered, Jesus staring at the stone ceiling, his thoughts occupied with
her earlier pronouncements.
*
* *
Just after sundown they left the
cave, heading to the horses, Jesus untying the beasts.
“So we’ll be in Chrysopolis
tonight?” asked Mary, mounting her horse.
“Yes, and I’m sorry about our
argument last night, you were right about what you said,” Jesus answered,
climbing into the saddle.
“Forget it,” said Mary, never
having been one to hold a grudge, especially against a fellow vampire. “I’m a
bit hungry,” she added, heading to the highway with Jesus.
“So am I,” agreed Jesus, stopping
his horse while holding up an arm, Mary stopping hers.
“What’s wrong?”
“Soldiers or a caravan on the
road passing us. Don’t you hear them?”
“I do now, can you tell if they’re
heading east or west?” Mary asked, agreeing it was best to avoid encountering
people other than criminals when traveling the road.
“They’re heading east
thankfully,” said Jesus.
Waiting several minutes, Jesus
trotted his horse to the road, looking east and observing a contingent of Roman
soldiers with support equipment receding in the distance, heading toward
Nicomedia. Waving the Magdalene ahead, they resumed their trek west, arriving
at Chrysopolis and the Bosphorus strait just over three hours later. Not
wishing to stay in the city, Jesus headed for the docks to dispose of their
steeds.
“Who’s going to buy them, we have
no titles for these animals,” said Mary, riding along a side street, the
Bosphorus strait on their left and a string of warehouses on their right.
“Someone will turn up, they
always do,” said an unconcerned Jesus, rounding a corner and seeing a man who
fit the bill perfectly, obviously a Roman warehouseman and merchant working
late, looking over an inventory list by torchlight with an employee or slave.
“Good evening sir,” Jesus
greeted, stopping and dismounting, “Would you be looking for a pair of horses
tonight?”
“Depends,” answered the man,
“What’s your price?”
“Your best offer.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing, excepting they have no
titles.”
“Then something’s very wrong with
them friend, perhaps because they’re stolen,” said the smiling merchant, waving
away the other man.
“Yes, but we didn’t steal them,
we took them from a pair of highwaymen,” an honest Jesus explained as the other
man headed into the warehouse.
“That’s a first, I don’t care
about that anyway, let’s have a look at them,” said the merchant, walking over
to Jesus’ horse while Mary dismounted hers.
“These are fine animals, Arabian
stallions,” the merchant observed after checking for testicles, turning down
the lower lip of one and inspecting an identifying brand. “Both horses were
foaled in Syria six years ago,” he added, inspecting the other horse’s brand.
“I’ve no idea who originally
owned them; we acquired them from the highwaymen as we were heading to
Nicomedia.”
“I believe you citizen,” said the
merchant, looking to Jesus, “The original owner of these animals is probably
dead thanks to thieves, so these horses are clear.”
“Clear?”
“Clear in that no one will ever
file a title challenge for claim to them in court,” the merchant said, patting
the Magdalene’s horse.
“I understand.”
“That’s why I believe what you
say about these horses, you’re pretty green regarding this forsaken place,” the
merchant replied, tiredly rubbing his forehead.
“Green you say?”
“Yes, very green,” the merchant
said with a smile, “You’re no thief, you couldn’t be. From what I’ve seen, the
Anatolian barbarians marauding around here would steal anything not guarded by
an entire contubernia!”
“That’s why we’re heading to
Rome,” said a lying Mary.
“Lucky you, I’ve been stuck in
this province since my brother died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that friend,”
said Jesus.
“No matter, he was a mean bastard
anyway. Tell you what, I’ll give you two hundred denarii for the pair, no
further questions asked,” the merchant offered, pulling out a moneybag.
“You have a deal,” said Jesus,
lifting his satchel from the saddle, “I hope you can make good use of these
beasts.”
“I can,” said the merchant,
“There’s a guy named Callicles who comes here every six months or so, always
looking for horses and oxen for his traveling caravan.”
“Callicles, I’ve met him, he
carries fine merchandise and drinks like a fish.”
“That’s right, baldheaded
Callicles loves wine like others love a woman. I’ll have the prefect’s scribe
forge titles for these animals and sell them to him when he gets here,” said
the merchant, handing Jesus eight aurei. Calling the other man, not a slave but
his cousin, the merchant remarked as he walked to meet him, “Take these beasts
to the stable and secure them,” ‘secure’ a euphemism for hide.
“Right,” the cousin answered,
knowing exactly what was meant, taking the reins.
“Early tomorrow see Majorius,
slip him some denarii and tell him I need titles for these beasts by tomorrow
evening.”
“Shall do,” said the cousin,
leading the horses into the warehouse, having performed this errand many times.
“Nice doing business with you,”
said Jesus, offering a hand to the merchant.
“So was it with you,” the
merchant replied, giving Jesus a firm handshake, “If you come across more
stolen horses to sell in the future don’t hesitate to drop by, my name’s
Claudius Illius Vespianus of Tuscany.”
“Julian Bacchus Cassius of Rome
is my name,” a lying Jesus answered as the merchant released his grip. “I
really don’t think we’ll be back this way, but if we should happen to be in
Chrysopolis and have need your services, your establishment will be the first
place we will stop.”
“I’m sure you will,” said a
smiling Claudius, looking into the warehouse at his retreating pair of stolen
Arabian stallions, Jesus and consort walking off into the night.
“You’re pretty savvy when it
comes to dealing with people,” Mary observed as they headed to the shortest
part of the Bosphorus strait, north of Chrysopolis.
“Traveling the world does have
its benefits,” said Jesus, the couple coming to a bluff overlooking the water.
“Why don’t they have a bridge
here?” asked Mary.
“If Emperor Tiberius lives long
enough they will,” said Jesus, “Engineers were surveying this area a year ago,
reporting that a bridge is feasible, taking between five and ten years to
build.”
“Who told you that?” she asked,
staring at the strait dividing Asia from Europe.
“Gavinal.”
“Oh.”
With no bridge available they
transformed, flying across into Europe, arriving in minutes on the outskirts of
Byzantium, sister city of Chrysopolis.
“Welcome to the European
continent,” Jesus announced after assuming human form.
“So this is Europe,” said Mary,
standing on the Thracian shore, looking back to Chrysopolis, “Doesn’t seem much
different from Asia over there.”
“Verily I say unto you, land is
land, and it’s high time we found dinner.”
“That’s the truth,” said Mary,
“Lead on to parts unknown, my Jesus.”
