DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER ELEVEN: EUROPE

 

Chapter Eleven: Europe

 

Jesus and Mary headed through Thrace over the next weeks, then southeast through Greece toward Athens, slaughtering and robbing countless thieves and highwaymen along the way.

“We’re going to have to find a place to stash this crap,” Jesus spat late one evening, referring to their hoard of loot in the satchel.

“Why?”

“The weight’s becoming so excessive I soon won’t be able to carry it as a bat.”

“What if we split it between us?”

“Good idea,” said Jesus, “When we reach Athens I’ll buy another satchel and hand you half the take.”

“Right,” the Magdalene answered, the vampiric couple continuing along the dark road.

Nearing Athens on a late November evening in the moonlight, Mary noticed a high bluff in the distance as they headed south on the Roman highway. It was brilliantly lit by hundreds of torches, a large fire burning near the center, easily seen for miles around. “What’s that?” she asked, staring at the illuminated bluff.

“The Acropolis of Athens,” said Jesus, pointing, “See the large marble building sitting to the side, that’s the Parthenon.”

“The temple of Athena, she’s the goddess Electra prays to,” said Mary, focusing on the temple.

“That’s right,” Jesus replied, looking to the Parthenon in the distance, “Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to; can you carry that heavy load as a bat?”

“I’ll manage,” said Jesus, the couple transforming and flying to the Acropolis.

Alighting in the shadows, they assumed human form, standing on the Acropolis. Jesus observed various smaller temples, such as the Erechtheon and the palace of Athena Nike, heading to the magnificent Parthenon.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said, looking to the meticulously maintained, over 400-year-old marble structure, “Surely this is a temple fit for any god, on earth or in heaven.”

“It certainly is,” an impressed Mary observed, agreeing the glistening temple of Athena Parthenos was indeed magnificent.

“Let’s find the frieze Cyril told us of.”

“Haven’t you seen it before?”

“I’ve looked at them but never studied them that carefully.”

Walking about the deserted temple, priests tending the huge fire in the background, Jesus found what he was looking for. Sadly, it was an insignificant scene, displayed on the north side of the building, on the outer wall where the pillars met the roof.

“There it is!” Jesus exclaimed, pointing to the roof of the north portico, “Just like Cyril said.”

Two figures carved from solid stone were displayed, vampires with fangs bared, lunging for the throats of a pair of Spartan soldiers in defense of the Athenians. Two thousand years later, only a tiny fragment of this sculpture survives intact, one soldier displayed as part of the Elgin marbles at the British museum in London.

“So the vampires were in Athens,” the Magdalene observed, studying the frieze.

“It would seem so,” said Jesus, staring at the carvings, this artistry the only depiction of vampires made for mortal eyes up to that time.

“Paying homage to Athena?” asked a priest strolling up behind them, having noticed them walking around the building, wondering if they were thieves looking to steal from the temple treasury.

“Of course,” a lying Jesus replied in Greek, “Athena Parthenos is the matron goddess for my younger brother Julian.”

“Are you Greek?” asked the priest, noting their expensive clothing.

“Greco-Roman,” Jesus lied, “But our family has never forgotten our Greek ancestors, my great grandfather Cephalos Chrysippus was an Athenian wine merchant.”

“Welcome home to Athens,” said the smiling priest, offering his hand to Jesus.

Taking the priest’s hand, Jesus shook it firmly and asked, “Is the temple open?”

“Always,” the priest answered, smelling money and showing the way with an arm, “Goddess Athena is forever there for her faithful.”

Mary looked to her consort with a quizzical expression.

“You’ll love the idol,” Jesus whispered, she following through a pair of gigantic, polished bronze clad doors into the dimly lamp lit sanctuary.

As they approached the 38-foot statue, the priest bowed, moving to his knees in reverence to golden goddess Athena Parthenos. Jesus and consort followed suit, solemnly bowing and kneeling to the gigantic graven image out of the desire to blend in.

“What supplication do you wish to make to Athena?” asked the priest.

“Perhaps a blessing for my little brother Julian?”

“You need nothing for yourselves?” the priest asked, angling for cash.

“Great Zeus has blessed us so well, asking for more would be sacrilege,” said Jesus, looking to yet another greedy, lazy hypocrite, hiding his bitter disdain of the man’s profession.

Mary Magdalene knelt beside her consort, wishing that she could slaughter the fraudulent, hypocritical priest by sucking his blood. Then she imagined impaling the disgusting fraud on Athena’s golden spear, the point nearly thirty feet above.

Changing his approach for the con, the priest said, “Since you and your wife are so blessed by Zeus, perhaps a supplication to Athena for your brother would be appropriate.”

“That will do,” said Jesus, waiting for the disguised thief to ask for his craved lucre.

“Well then, one aureus in Roman currency will assure that Athena will protect your brother from harm for years hence,” the priest declared, hand out, looking for gold instead of denarii from his wealthy mark.

“For how many years will Athena protect Julian?” Mary asked in perfect Greek, looking to the greedy priest.

“Women are not supposed to speak in the temple of Athena,” the priest admonished.

“Really,” said Mary, narrowing her eyes, knowing the priest and his ilk were nothing but frauds like the Pharisees of Judea were, perhaps less dangerous but still colossal frauds nevertheless.

“Those are the rules of the sacred temple.”

“Oh yeah? She’s a woman isn’t she?” an angered Mary retorted in a raised voice, jerking a thumb at the idol while looking to the priest, her voice echoing off the walls.

“Athena is a goddess.”

“She’s still a woman or haven’t you noticed?”

“My wife is a Hittite tribeswoman from Galatia, she doesn’t know any better friend,” Jesus advised the priest, winking to his consort, she smirking and falling silent.

“Very well,” said the priest, looking to Mary, an amused Jesus glancing at the opulent ceiling coffers. Turning to the idol, the priest feigned his very best humbleness before his silent and golden Greek goddess, a lifeless construction having no powers at all in reality. This the priest knew only all too well, having mooned the statue once, but she did look very imposing to fools who dumped their hard-earned money by the wagonload at her gilded hollow feet, enriching the city of Athens and her greedy priests.

“Oh great and wise Athena, two of your servants uh, your names please?” asked the priest.

“Julius and Maria,” Jesus answered.

“Oh great and wise Athena, two of your servants, Julius and Maria, wish for you to use your golden shield to keep safe from harm the one called uh, what’s his name?” asked the priest, a bored Mary staring at the feet of the ostentatious idol.

“His name is Julian, I said that earlier,” Jesus replied, narrowing eyes in contempt while he looked at the man.

“Of course, Julius,” continued the fraud, “May you, powerful Athena Parthenos, keep Julian safe in his uh, place, wherever it is.”

“Really,” said a bitterly sarcastic Jesus, shaking his head and stifling laughter.

“And may you in your awesome and golden greatness protect Julian from all maladies and malevolent demons who may attempt in their monstrous evil to prey upon him, casting all who would harm him aside,” the priest finished, hoping his corny act was sufficient for his marks. The priest lay prostrate before his lifeless, gilded idol, thinking of one golden Roman aureus coin.

“How long will great Athena protect my brother Julian?” asked Jesus after the priest rose to his knees, reiterating the Magdalene’s question.

“For at least ten years,” the priest lied, knowing his declaration was absolute bullshit. He wanted to give his latest marks their money’s worth so Jesus would pay him, as he had a wife and children to feed at home, Roman gold covering the bills quite well.

“Very well,” said Jesus, rising to his feet with the priest and handing him an aureus, “May the great and powerful Athena Parthenos protect my brother from harm for ten years.”

“She shall, I assure you,” the charlatan priest lied, pocketing the aureus.

“Thank you holy priest,” said Jesus, holding back laughter, Mary snorting loudly.

“Are you all right madam?” the priest asked, while they headed to the exit, Mary feigning a cough to cover her overwhelming compulsion to laugh in his face.

“I have a cold,” said Mary, looking to the lying holy man.

“Don’t worry, I will have ten young virgins pray to our goddess at dawn so Athena will intercede for your brother,” the priest announced, patting Jesus on the shoulder while fondling the coin in his pocket.

The Magdalene stared at the fraud in utter disbelief, stifling more laughter at his remarks.

“I’m sure you will,” said Jesus, controlling urges to laugh with all his might as they left through the bronze clad doors, walking into the moonlit night to the Propylaea, the exit leading from the Acropolis to downtown Athens.

Look at those fools, what a splendid way to make a living, thought the priest, leaning against the doorjamb. Ogling his gold coin, he pocketed it and closed the doors, heading to tend the eternal fire with his fellows until his relief priest came on at dawn.

“Why did you give that thieving jerk gold?” asked Mary after they were out of hearing distance.

“It’s what he asked for, it was only an aureus, we have more than a thousand with us,” said Jesus, patting his satchel.

“It was a waste of money, Athena’s nothing but a gold and ivory statue!

“That she is, and it was a waste of money, but verily I say, people like him need lucre too.”

“He was a liar and thief.”

“Liar yes, thief, not exactly, he’s just a con man who preys on superstitious folks to make a living,” Jesus explained while they continued along the path to town.

“What’s the difference between thieves and con men?”

“Nothing on the surface, except he uses cunning and fear of the unknown to get his money, instead of a dagger or gladius.”

“Meaning?”

“He and those like him use their intelligence and employ ruses to steal money from people, unlike regular thieves. Further, unlike other thieves they rarely kill those they steal from, for they would quickly run out of gullible clients.”

“But he stole our money.”

“No he didn’t, I gave it to him, and remember my woman, we stole it from criminals we killed and looted on the way here.”

“I get what you mean,” said Mary, looking back to the Acropolis for a moment.

“That’s good,” Jesus replied.

“You know, instead of giving him money we should have killed him and stripped the gold from the idol he worshiped,” said Mary, the pair leaving the path and heading into the city.

“We cannot kill anyone within the boundaries of Athens.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes, besides woman, the gold on that silly idol is probably worth several million aurei, not to mention all the silver and jewels on it, we could never carry an amount like that away, even if we had a caravan the size that Callicles has to drag it all back to Tibernum.”

“You have a point, so, why can’t we take anyone here?”

“We cannot out of deference to Pericles.”

“You really believe the shit Cyril said?”

“No, and neither does he, but I think we should abide by it out of tradition,” Jesus answered as they headed through the entrance of a large stone building.

A sign with a special shielded and mirrored oil lamp mounted above stated ‘Welcome to the Epicurus Luxury Hotel – 24 of the best rooms in the empire’. Another small detachable sign was below it, marked ‘vacancy’.

Mary grew silent while they continued down a dimly lamp lit, carpeted hall, Jesus walking up and ringing a bell at the check in desk.

“Yes?” asked a bleary-eyed clerk, pulling back a curtain.

“We need a room,” said Jesus.

“You’re here a little late aren’t you?” the clerk asked, rubbing eyes and walking to the desk.

“We are travelers from Anatolia, we first paid homage to Athena Parthenos when we arrived,” said Jesus.

“Yeah,” the sleepy clerk answered, “The price is seventeen denarii.”

“Seventeen denarii, by the gods!” Jesus exclaimed, astonished at the price.

“You just gave an aureus to the jackass on the Acropolis,” Mary observed as the clerk smiled, “What’s seventeen denarii to you?”

Jesus stood silent, looking darkly at his consort for a moment.

“You’ve come to the very best hotel in all Athens sir,” said the clerk, “Each room is centrally heated and comes with a complimentary slave to bring breakfast in the morning.”

“We’ll take it; forget about the slave, we want to sleep till dark.”

“It’s dark now,” said the yawning clerk, not understanding.

“He means we want the room until tomorrow evening,” said Mary, thinking it was unfortunate they could not have the complimentary slave as breakfast.

“Okay, would you like breakfast or uh, supper brought to you?”

“Sure, we ought to be hungry by then,” said Jesus, handing the man seventeen denarii. Signing the register with “B. Julius Chrysippus”, the man handed Jesus the key to their room.

“Up the stairs, room 3A, fourth door to your right.”

“Fourth door?” asked Jesus.

“The first door is the custodian’s supply room.”

“Oh, that explains it, thanks.”

“May you both have a good night guests,” said the clerk, heading back to bed.

“Shall do, thanks,” Jesus answered, he and consort climbing the dimly lit steps to the third floor.

“Why do you want them to bring us food, it’s as useless as tits on a boar,” said Mary as Jesus unlocked the door to their room.

“It does look good to others doesn’t it?” asked Jesus as they walked in.

“You’re right,” said a nodding Mary, closing and barring the door behind them.

The suite was the most opulent hotel room they had ever seen, two lit oil lamps were perched on opposite walls, illuminating a pair of large down stuffed beds. A table and chair stood near another threshold several feet across from the entrance doorway. Oiled, wood covered heated stone floors, covered with plush Asian carpets, completed the suite. A small lavatorium and private bath with hot and cold running water was provided for the guest, along with a two foot wide, floor length, polished bronze mirror sitting opposite the tub.

“I love this place!” Mary exclaimed, leaning on the far threshold and looking into the lavatorium, “I’m going to take a bath!”

“Is the tub big enough for both of us?” asked Jesus, pushing his satchel under one bed.

“It’s huge,” said Mary, staring at a gigantic tub, “It has bronze faucets and all!”

“Figures,” said an unimpressed Jesus.

“What do you mean?”

“Rich people throughout the empire have running water, hot and cold, in their villas.”

“We’re rich.”

“That’s right,” a smiling Jesus answered.

“Sometimes I still can’t believe it,” said Mary, thinking of her past life, when even finding enough money for a decent meal had been a problem at times.

“It’s real, shall we have our bath?” asked Jesus, walking into the lavatorium.

“I have to fill the tub, that’ll take a while,” Mary replied, placing a stopper in the drain and turning on the water.

“Goddamnit, there’s one thing we forgot to bring with us,” said Jesus, perturbed, staring at the mirror and rubbing stubble on his chin.

“What’s that?”

“Soap, it’s in the cellar at the farm.”

“We don’t have a strigil or oil with us either.”

“Nope,” said a frowning Jesus, folding arms across his chest.

“We’ll have to do without them,” Mary replied while the tub filled, disrobing and stepping into the warm water.

A hot bath was exactly what they needed that evening. They relaxed in the soothing water; later sating carnal physical urges even the undead have on occasion. Stepping from the tub nearly two hours later, drying off with a white Egyptian cotton towel, Mary asked, “So my love, how long do you want to stay in Athens?”

“If it’s going to be like this, forever,” said Jesus, languishing in the huge bronze tub, arms dangling over the sides.

“I mean seriously.”

“Just a few weeks, it’s going to be damn tough finding food around here,” Jesus observed, rising from the tub and pulling the stopper from the drain by a bronze chain.

“Only because you say we can’t take anyone in Athens,” said Mary, slipping on a silk nightgown, grabbing a hairbrush and walking to the mirror while Jesus dried off with another towel.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” Jesus replied, dressing in a tan cotton tunic.

“I guess,” said Mary, brushing her black locks, Jesus standing behind her giving himself a dry shave. “You’ve learned to use a razor well,” she added as he finished shaving without the tiniest nick, afterward folding the straight razor and returning it to the pouch.

“Yeah, and not wearing a beard seems completely normal to me,” replied Jesus, looking at his clean-shaven, pale, undead countenance in the mirror.

“You Roman!” a playful Mary exclaimed, snapping a towel at her consort.

“You bet your ass,” said a smiling Jesus, grabbing the towel as it crossed his legs, holding it taut before she let go.

The time nearing four, a tired Mary yawned.

“We’d best hit the sack,” said Jesus, “I wish I’d picked up wine before we came here.”

“Why?” asked the Magdalene, falling into bed, knowing the answer.

“So I could get a little drunk,” Jesus answered, joining her.

“What is it with wine and men?”

“I enjoy it.”

“Obviously,” said Mary as Jesus put fingers to her lips, shaking his head.

Wrapping arms around his beloved Mary, in their soft bed they fell into peaceful slumber. They slept deeply in the luxury hotel, only interrupted by a light knock near noon, which roused Jesus, hearing terse language just outside, dim daylight penetrating the room through the closed shutters.

“Look at the chalk mark above the lock, they rented this room until evening!” scolded a detached voice.

“Sorry Demetrius,” another voice replied, both fading into oblivion as Jesus fell asleep.

A loud rap on the door at five thirty roused Jesus with a start.

“Christ,” said a sleepy Jesus, opening eyes while struggling from the bed, easily walking to the door in the pitch darkness, the lamps having run out of fuel during the day. “What is it?” he asked, opening the door to the suite.

“Your complementary meals sir, for you and your wife,” an Anatolian slave answered, standing with a wheeled cart containing hot food and a bottle of wine.

“Thank you; sit it on the table over there will you?”

“I can’t see where the table is sir.”

“I’m sorry, do you have oil for the lamps, they must have ran out while we were sleeping,” Jesus apologized, scratching himself.

“Oil is just down the hall, I’ll fetch it,” said the slave.

Returning with oil and a lit lamp, the slave made his way to the empty lamps, filling and lighting them as the Magdalene woke from her slumber.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Mary asked, rubbing eyes and pulling a sheet over herself.

“He’s bringing supper.”

“Oh yeah, dinner,” said Mary, the slave bringing food to her bedside, pouring a cup of wine and handing it to her. “The service is impeccable isn’t it?” she observed, sipping the wine and taking a tray of food from the slave.

“Seems so,” said Jesus, looking to the dutiful slave.

“Would you like to rent the room for another night sir?” the slave asked, setting a plate of food and glass of wine on the table for Jesus, he looking to the meal of pork tenderloin, fresh bread and vegetables wistfully.

“Yes,” said Jesus, turning to the slave.

“I’ll inform the clerk, you will be staying during the day?”

“Yes.”

“You can pay him at the office or he’ll send up a collector within the hour,” the slave advised, standing at the threshold with his empty cart, bowing and closing the door.

“We got our seventeen denarii worth here, they treat us like kings,” said Jesus.

“What do you want to do with the food, shall I heave it down the latrine?” asked Mary, moving the tray the floor and rising from the bed, sitting her wine on the table.

“We may as well, excepting for the wine,” a frowning Jesus answered, wishing he didn’t have to waste the wholesome food.

“What’s your problem, we can’t eat this crap anyway,” said Mary, taking the plates to the lavatorium.

“I know that woman.”

Dumping the hot food into the running sewer thirty feet below, she returned and sat the empty dishes on the table. Seating herself on the bed, she lifted her nearly full goblet and downed it.

“I’m sorry Mary, but that was a waste of good food,” said Jesus, staring at the empty plates.

“They probably have tons of it in their kitchen,” Mary replied, shrugging and pouring another goblet, relaxing on the bed.

“I’ll bet there are people starving in a hovel not twenty stadia from here,” said Jesus, taking the open bottle and drinking deeply from it.

“Who cares,” Mary retorted, reclining on the bed and staring at silk curtains covering one of the windows, a wooden storm shutter covering the panes to keep out light during the day.

“I do,” said Jesus.

The collector arrived just after they had dressed, Jesus having donned a tan, warm winter tunic, his consort wearing a pale lavender stola, the dress clinging tightly around her hips.

“I’m here to collect the rent sir,” the collector announced, stunned by the gorgeous Mary sitting with her glass of wine, he a very short, fat Greek man, a little dwarf who struck Jesus as more of a troll than a man.

“Hold on,” said Jesus with a wave of a hand, walking back and reaching in his dirty tunic pocket for the funds.

“The clerk stated you will be staying during the day, do you wish for me to place a ‘Please do not disturb’ sign on the door?” the dwarf asked while Jesus produced the currency.

“Yes please,” said Jesus, recalling the light knock at noon.

“I’ll hang one on the knob after I leave,” said the dwarf as Jesus returned to the door.

“Thank you very much, here you go,” said Jesus, leaning down and handing the troll eighteen denarii, one extra as a tip.

“Thank you sir!” the troll exclaimed after counting the currency, Jesus closing and locking the door.

The dwarf waddled down the stairs and handed the money to the clerk, who nodded to him, placing a chalk checkmark on a gray slate board painted with the 24 rooms of the hotel.

“Please remember Andronicus, the guests in 3A want the room until tomorrow evening,” the dwarf remarked.

“I made a note of that Critias,” said the clerk.

“Right,” the efficient dwarf answered, pulling a ‘Please do not disturb’ sign from a shelf. Waddling up the stairs, he hung the placard on their door, like any good troll.

“He was a weird looking bastard wasn’t he?” Mary observed shortly after Critias left.

“I’d say he belongs in Zeno’s show instead of here,” said Jesus.

“I’ve never seen one like him; the ones at the freak show were much taller than he is.”

“You’re talking about dwarves?” Jesus asked in Egyptian, hearing the little troll placing the sign on the door and looking in his direction.

“Is that what they’re called?” she asked in kind.

“Yes, they’re very short people.”

“They’re rather rare I gather,” said Mary, returning to Latin after Critias left.

“Not really, they’re usually in freak shows, I wonder why Zeno didn’t have any real dwarves this time,” Jesus mused, recalling a nearly five foot man and slightly shorter woman brazenly displayed as ‘dwarves’ in Lydias.

“Maybe because they’re working at hotels?”

Jesus burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“What you said, it certainly fits,” said Jesus after regaining his composure.

“Shall we enjoy the night love?” Mary asked, slipping on a tan overcoat, walking to a closed window and pulling back the curtains.

“Yes indeed,” said a hungry Jesus, reaching for a winter cloak while his consort opened the hinged panes and flung open the shutters, exposing the night.

They transformed, flying from the window and out of Athens. Walking along a moonlit road heading toward Sparta an hour later, they found sustenance in the form of thieves.

“That takes care of dinner for this evening,” Mary observed after her victim hit the ground with a dull thud, skull cracking on a curbstone. A broken front tooth flew from the body, unnoticed by her as the mouth struck a loose stone on the pavement. Wiping her lips with a cloth, she added, “What do we do now?”

“It’s early, let’s take in the sights of Athens,” said Jesus, kneeling down and looting the corpses of a few sestertii.

Disposing of the bodies in a ravine, the lone broken tooth sitting forlorn on the pavement, they flew back to Athens, alighting in an alley and walking out to the nearly deserted city forum.

“This is a beautiful city,” said Mary, looking at ornate marble buildings.

“It certainly is,” Jesus agreed, “When I was here twelve years ago I didn’t have time to look the place over very well, excepting for the Acropolis.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to check out their local gods and head to Rome.”

“Why?”

“To see if they were real.”

“So Jesus, what did you find?” Mary asked with a stifled laugh, knowing the answer.

“They’re not, none of them are, you know that.”

“I see,” said Mary, taking his hand in hers, strolling around town for several hours.

Walking in one of the poorer sections of Athens, they came across a homeless woman and her three children, huddled under a makeshift lean-to in an alley.

“A good evening to you madam,” Jesus greeted, the time well after one.

“I suppose it’s a good evening, at least we’re not freezing tonight,” the woman answered, sitting on an old blanket with legs crossed.

“Do you not have a place to stay?” asked Mary, looking to her undernourished children.

“Not anymore, excepting for this dump, my husband died in a construction accident three months ago and the landlord threw us out in the street a week after he died.”

“What do you and yours do for food these days?” a concerned Jesus asked.

“I work as a scrubwoman when I can find employers who don’t have slaves.”

“Have you tried to find a job at the Epicurus hotel?” asked Jesus.

“They have enough help.”

“Have you or your children had anything to eat this evening?” asked Mary.

“We had old bread I bought from the baker down the street.”

Jesus looked to his consort, recalling the inedible but delicious dinner she had dumped in the lavatorium, Mary shrugging.

“Will you be here tomorrow madam?” asked Jesus.

“More than likely, since we’ve nowhere else to go,” said the woman, looking to her little ones.

“My wife and I will come by early tomorrow evening with a good meal for you and your children,” said Jesus.

“Why?” asked the woman, not believing her ears, looking to the tall Roman before her.

“Verily I say, women and children should never go hungry nor should they live in conditions such as this through no fault of their own,” Jesus intoned, turning from her and taking Mary’s hand in his.

“We’ll see you tomorrow night,” called the Magdalene, she and Jesus resuming their stroll.

“Sure you will,” the woman spat under her breath.

Moving out of hearing distance, Mary asked, “You want to give them our meals from the hotel don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Jesus, “We’ve no use for them, that woman and her little ones need wholesome food.”

“You are truly a good man my Jesus,” said Mary, the couple walking off arm in arm, returning to their warm and opulent room near three.

Their meals arrived precisely at five thirty the following evening, the dwarf Critias arriving at six to collect the rent.

“Here you go,” said Jesus, handing the troll eighteen denarii.

“You gave me eighteen last time,” said Critias, staring at the coins in his hand.

“So?”

“Are you sure, the rent’s only seventeen.”

“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have handed it to you. The extra denarius is for you.”

“Thank you sir!” Critias exclaimed, turning and waddling down the stairs to the clerk’s office, Jesus closing and locking the door.

“I’d say he likes you,” said Mary while she rose and slipped on a lavender stola.

“It’s good to make people happy if they deserve it.”

“Of course,” said Mary, pouring a goblet of wine and handing Jesus the bottle.

“The woman and her children will need wine with their meal,” Jesus observed, looking to the bottle, not taking even a small drink.

“Okay,” said Mary, Jesus corking the bottle and sitting it next to the tray of hot food, on this evening composed of tender roast kid, fresh bread and baked vegetables.

Taking the food and covering the tray with a towel, Jesus covered this bundle with his cloak, wearing only a long winter tunic and auroch skin shoes. Mary followed suit, slipping the bottle in her overcoat, the vampiric couple exiting their room in normal fashion, Jesus locking the door behind him.

“Where are you folks heading tonight, to see the play at the amphitheater?” asked the day clerk Andronicus as they came down the stairs and headed toward the hall.

“We’re going to see a friend,” Jesus answered, pausing.

“You should see the play if you can, it’s an old comedy called the Citizen King by a playwright named Aristophanes.”

“Have you seen it?” asked Jesus, knowing the play.

“Twice, it had me in stitches both times.”

“We’ll make an effort to take it in, thanks for telling us,” said Jesus, walking down the hall and leaving the hotel.

“This is a nice town,” said Mary, heading in the direction of the poor section.

“Nice for those of us who are wealthy.”

“I understand,” said Mary, knowing exactly what the vampiric Christ meant, looking to the cloak covering the food.

Arriving in the alley fifteen minutes later, Jesus noticed the children were present, but the mother was missing.

“Good evening lad, where’s your mother?” asked Jesus of the eldest, a handsome Greek boy around twelve, the youngest a girl around eight.

“She left to buy bread sir,” the bright-eyed but hungry boy answered politely, feeling uncomfortable in the company of the tall man before him.

“Will she be back soon?” asked Jesus.

“Yes sir, the baker’s only down the street.”

The woman appeared with her stale bread, astonished at seeing Jesus and Mary.

“A good evening to you madam,” Jesus greeted.

“Hello, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you – ”

“Would come?” finished Jesus, “No matter, here is a fine meal for you and your children.”

Jesus unveiled their dinner, somewhat cold, but a feast for hungry people who hadn’t eaten a decent meal in months.

“By the gods, it’s an entire side of roast kid,” the woman said breathlessly, tears welling in her eyes, “Thank you so much sir, please come in and sit with us while we eat.”

“We have wine for you too,” said Mary, producing the bottle.

“Thank you,” said the woman, taking the bottle, the pair crouching down and entering the tiny, cold hovel.

The near starving group of Athenians literally inhaled the food, even the youngest washing it down with wine, grateful to the tall stranger for their meal.

“Thank you, I didn’t get your name,” the woman said to Jesus.

“Nor did I yours, Julius Chrysippus, this is my wife Maria Hittica.”

“Demia of Athens,” the woman replied, introducing her family, “These are my children Homer the eldest, Phaedo his brother, and daughter Anastia.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Jesus, looking to the children, each staring at him.

Unnerved by their penetrating glances, Jesus turned to Demia.

“Why did you do this for us?” she asked, looking to Jesus.

“You and your children are in need and we have plenty, those who have plenty should always help those in need.”

“You’re obviously not from around here,” Demia observed.

“No, we are traveling to Rome from Anatolia.”

“Well, thank you very much for our supper, I’m very sorry we have nothing to give you in return,” said Demia, looking to the half-full tray.

“If I were looking for something madam I would have already asked you,” Jesus replied as the tired and full children lay down beside each other for needed sleep.

“I imagine you would have at that,” said Demia, looking to Jesus with a melancholy expression.

“For as long as we are here we will bring food each evening for you and your children,” Jesus declared. “Keep the remainder on the tray for breakfast; we’ll pick it up tomorrow evening.”

“May I ask why you are doing this sir?”

“Because it is the right thing to do,” Jesus answered, looking Demia in the eyes as he rose with his consort.

Bidding goodbye, they left the tiny alleyway hovel and assumed chiropteric form further down, resuming their gruesome hunt for human quarry outside Athens.

Walking along the highway leading to Sparta, Mary remarked, “I think I understand what you mean about helping people, those who deserve it that is.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I may not agree with you most times regarding such things, but I think Demia and her kids are an exception, what you’re doing for them is good.”

“Really? So my woman, perhaps you are still learning from me after all.”

“Maybe, as long as you don’t overdo it.”

“What if I do?” Jesus asked, not understanding her cynical admonition.

“I’ll let you know if you are, just remember, most people are worthless bastards, and I’ll tell you that till the end of time,” said Mary, Jesus frowning at the reply.

Dispatching a trio of criminals, Jesus looted and disposed of the remains, the couple flying back to Athens at half past eight.

“I wonder if the play is still being presented at the amphitheater,” said Jesus while they walked past the hotel, after having purchased an additional satchel for Mary from a local vendor.

“What play is that?”

“Aristophanes’ comedy called “The Citizen King”, the clerk told me of it as we were leaving the hotel.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen it.”

“I have, it’s pretty good, shall we take it in if we can?”

“Why not?” said the Magdalene, Jesus taking her hand in his.

Arriving at the torch lit amphitheater, Jesus discovered to his pleasure the play hadn’t started yet. Heading to a vending booth, he bought tickets for the reasonable price of two sestertii, the couple seating themselves in delta row close to the stage.

Ancient comedy was very different from that considered humorous today, as it was with ancient sports, blunt, to the point, at times brutal.

“Oh citizen King Gorgias, in your wisdom given by Goddess Athena Parthenos, please tell, why must we kill the aristocracy by hurling them headfirst from the tall Acropolis?” asked a supporting actor of the star performer midway into the play.

“Because they look down on we lowly Athenian citizens that’s why,” bellowed the smiling and tyrannical star, looking to his aide Hesperos arrogantly, sitting on a simple wooden stool serving as a throne.

“Couldn’t we poison them with hemlock great King, it would be a lot easier,” suggested the supporting actor playing Hesperos.

“For them or for us?” asked the smiling Gorgias, the crowd chuckling in the background.

“Perhaps for them?” pleaded Hesperos to his citizen king, more laughter erupting from the spectators.

“Never, think of all the work the poor poison makers would have to do if we used poison!” the star scoffed, arms in the air, the crowd roaring with laughter.

“You are so wise great King, I will fetch the slaves to carry them to the Acropolis,” answered Hesperos, Jesus and the crowd laughing loudly at the bitter irony as the scene closed.

“I don’t get it,” Mary whispered.

“What?” asked Jesus, wiping tears from his eyes.

“The play, I don’t see what’s so funny about what they said.”

“King Gorgias hates the aristocracy and wants to kill them all.”

“That’s very obvious,” said a smirking Mary, looking to the torch lit stage.

“The aide Hesperos thinks it would be more efficient and merciful to kill them by using poison, but wise Gorgias realizes the drudgery involved in preparing the poison to kill them with. He doesn’t want his poison-making subjects to have to go through the trouble,” Jesus answered, chuckling as the play resumed.

“Oh, I get it now,” said Mary with a weak smile, still not considering the scene particularly funny.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in Athens for nearly three weeks into mid December of 35 CE. Sleeping during the day, bringing food to Demia and her children by night, they afterward flew south, finding and killing common criminals, as of late, well over fifty miles from the city.

“Goddamnit Jesus, this is getting ridiculous,” the Magdalene spat, dropping her victim to the highway, looting the body of two denarii after it fell.

“Why?”

“Athens is so far north we may as well be flying to the moon!” she exclaimed, tossing the coins to her consort.

“Yes, we’d best be moving on,” Jesus agreed, looking to the nearly full moon overhead.

“Only because you say we can’t take anyone in Athens!” Mary retorted, wiping her mouth with a cloth, recalling when Jesus had simply hypnotized a pair of thieves in Athens, making them fall asleep in a dark alley, afterward robbing them of a few sestertii just to rub it in.

“Some things dear Mary are better off left alone.”

“Why?”

“Because from what we’ve seen statesman Pericles knew the Dacian vampires who existed long before us, such is illustrated on the north portico of the Parthenon.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true.”

“Further, it was written by Herodotus of Halicarnassus that Pericles assisted them regarding the Spartans, and they helped him in gratitude during the first Peloponnesian war. Therefore, I believe we should defer to the legend and its injunctions, whether they be true or not.”

“I guess,” said Mary, “I suppose they wouldn’t have carved that weird frieze on the Parthenon if there hadn’t been some truth to what Herodotus wrote in his scroll.”

“Precisely my point.”

The next night, they paid their final visit to Demia and family, bringing them a fine pot roast of bull auroch and a covered bowl of liquamen broth for seasoning, otherwise known as Roman fish sauce. Included were large helpings of assorted vegetables and a loaf of fresh bread, together with a bottle of Gallic wine.

“You are much too kind Julius Chrysippus,” said Demia while Jesus handed her the food, “My children and I have regained our full strength thanks to you and your good wife.”

“Yes Demia, but alas, we will be leaving for Sparta on the morrow, you will probably not see us again.”

“No matter, I still thank you and your wife Maria.”

This was the very reply Jesus had been hoping to hear.

“We will survive,” Demia added, “As of late I have found work at the Telecles Gryphos cloth works west of here, and am earning three sestertii per day instructing slaves in weaving.”

My god, thought Jesus, At that rate, they can afford perhaps two stale loaves of bread per day, if I don’t do something, death will arrive for all here in less than a year.”

“I will not allow such to happen to you madam,” said Jesus, drawing on his thoughts, Mary raising eyebrows, knowing what he was going to do.

“What do you mean friend Julius, I have a good job.”

“A good job? Perhaps if you were single madam, but not with three young children to care for.”

“How else can I survive?”

“I am a very wealthy man, much wealthier than you can imagine,” said Jesus, “So, how much do you think a domicile would cost in this city?”

“You want to buy a house?” asked Demia, not following.

“No woman, how much does an average house here cost in Roman gold?” Jesus asked, terseness in his voice.

“Between forty and eighty aurei, my husband Laertes was arranging with a moneylender to buy one for us shortly before he died,” a confused Demia answered, still not following her benefactor.

“Good, stay here, we’ll be back in half an hour,” said Jesus.

“For what?” asked an uncomprehending Demia, Jesus and consort walking off toward their hotel.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon,” Jesus called, he and consort melting into the shadows.

“You’re going to buy them a house aren’t you Jesus?”

“We haven’t time for that, I’m going to give her money so she can buy a place.”

“That’s a good thing to do, we have plenty with us.”

“Yes we do,” Jesus said, terseness in his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“This world is so evil I swear it’s a nightmare!”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Mary, rolling eyes at the statement.

“If I can keep one family from suffering such a terrible fate, I will have finally done my job on this goddamn earth,” said an embittered Jesus in his vampiric accent, angry at the situation that had befallen Demia and her children through no fault of their own.

“What do you mean, you saved those Greeks who were robbed south of Mansahir and you saved me from death in Magdala,” said Mary, “Not to mention uncounted others you helped during your ministry.”

“So what,” said Jesus, altering his approach and continuing in his usual voice, “Verily I say, if a man has more than plenty and does not assist those truly deserving, surely he should burn in the bowels of hell!”

“I thought you didn’t believe in hell anymore.”

“I don’t, it’s a figure of speech,” Jesus retorted, the couple rounding the corner approaching the hotel.

“Regardless of what you may say, you haven’t changed one bit,” an Egyptian speaking Mary observed as they entered the hotel, climbing the stairs to their room, Jesus sliding the key in the lock and opening the door.

“Yes I have, I hate and kill those who prey on the innocent, and I don’t think there is a caring god anymore, anywhere in the universe or on this rotten earth,” answered Jesus in kind, slamming the door behind him.

“You’ve said that before,” said Mary as Jesus headed to the bed.

“That’s right, so in lieu of nonsense about god, for as long as I exist in this realm, I will care instead for those deserving,” Jesus replied, reaching for his satchel beneath the bed.

“You are pissed off aren’t you?” asked Mary, Jesus grabbing aurei from the satchel, lesser coinages spilling to the floor.

“You could say that,” a quietly furious Jesus answered, “Children should never have to endure what Demia’s kids are going through.”

“What about Demia?” asked Mary, wanting to learn another lesson from her rabbi.

“Demia’s a grown woman, not that she’s bad or evil, but I don’t care about her,” said Jesus, “A child’s life is different, they should be allowed to grow to the fullness of adulthood without undue pain.”

“I agree, adults are a different thing altogether, they have choices children don’t, even such as I would never take a child no matter what.”

“Proving you are a true and good vampire, regardless of our many disagreements on who to take. Herodotus wrote over 400 years ago even a starving vampire will never take a child,” Jesus answered, pausing and raising an eyebrow while staring at his golden coins. Hiding a frown from her, Jesus thought of the time in Jerusalem when he had taken the lives of two children as a vampire, the enslaved girls at Pilate’s mansion, having never admitted this secret to anyone.

“I didn’t know that,” said Mary, Jesus counting out his coins after ruminating a moment on his vampiric sin.

“Cyril told me, it’s at the beginning of the fifth cubit on Herodotus’ scroll,” said Jesus, dropping coins in a leather pouch, still thinking about the girls he had taken. Pondering this once more, Jesus rationalized that regardless of anything Herodotus had written on the subject of vampires taking children, the two he had killed were better off dead, rather than living their lives as sex slaves. Dismissing his bothersome thoughts, they made their way to Demia’s hovel as her children were bedding down for the night.

“Good evening again Julius, you’re going to need the tray back.”

“Forget that,” said Jesus, standing at the entrance of her shack, “May we come in?”

“Of course, you’re always welcome here.”

They crouched down in the tiny hovel, the vampiric Christ remarking, “As I told you, Maria and I will be leaving Athens tomorrow and I wanted to give you something to remember us by.”

“We will never forget you for what you and she have done for us already.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to have this,” said Jesus, pulling a pouch from a tunic pocket and placing it in Demia’s hand, her hand dropping toward the ground from the weight.

Demia stared at the heavy pouch, drawstring pulled tight.

“Please open it madam.”

Nodding, Demia opened the pouch, over a hundred aurei falling into her lap.

“By the gods, is this for us?” Demia asked, looking to the small fortune of gold coins, more than enough to buy a house.

“Yes Demia, it is yours.”

“This is a lot of – ”

“Don’t worry Demia, he’s loaded,” said a smiling Mary, looking to Jesus.

“What will I do with this money?”

“Are not women allowed to buy houses in the empire?” inquired Jesus.

“Yes, but – ”

“Then it’s up to you dear madam, go buy a fine house for you and your children or employ your best skills and open a business. You may do whatever you wish with the funds; just remember to spend it wisely.”

Demia burst into tears, looking at Jesus, coins still in her lap.

“Why do you weep woman?”

“No one has ever been so kind to me,” said Demia in a hoarse whisper, wiping tears from her face, “This is a miracle from the gods.”

“No it isn’t,” said Jesus, “The gods, if they exist at all don’t care about us in the least, but I do.”

“Why do you care Julius Chrysippus?” Demia asked, still wiping away tears.

“You and your family were in dire need, I have plenty, much more than we can ever use.”

“But it is your money.”

“Yes, and I can do as I wish with it, so I’ve given some to you. All I ask from you is should you ever come across another in need, do your very best to help them as we have helped you.”

“If the time comes how will I tell who is right to help?” asked Demia, looking to the coins in her lap.

“Let your heart guide you, it’s always worked for me,” said Jesus, looking to Mary.

Leaving Demia of Athens and children to whatever fate awaited them, it was time for the couple to check out of the hotel and resume in their trek across Europe, the Greek city of Sparta their next stop.

“I’m going to miss this place,” said Mary while Jesus retrieved his satchel from beneath the bed.

“So will I, but where there is one there must be others.”

“Other what?” Mary asked as they headed for the door, thinking he was going to start helping widows and orphans elsewhere.

“Other hotels as opulent as this.”

“Oh,” said Mary, Jesus closing and locking the door.

Ringing the bell at the clerk’s office at nine, the night clerk appeared from behind the curtain, knowing them by their assumed names, asking, “What can we do for you tonight Julius?”

“We’re checking out.”

“Is anything wrong sir?” asked the night clerk, named Thaddaios.

“No, we’re heading to Sparta,” said Jesus, placing the key on the counter.

“Sparta, there isn’t much to see there,” Thaddaios observed.

“Yes, I’ve been there before, one could say Sparta is rather ‘Spartan’,” Jesus replied, Thaddaios smiling at the corny jest.

“But you paid us for this evening.”

“Keep the rent as a tip for you, Critias and Andronicus.”

“Okay, you two sure keep odd hours,” Thaddaios observed, he the man they encountered when checking in three weeks earlier.

“We do at that,” said Jesus, he and Mary heading to the hall exit and into the night.

Sparta their next destination, they assumed chiropteric form a few minutes later in a dark alley and flew from Athens, noting the gigantic fire on the Acropolis and the magnificent Parthenon receding in the distance.

Encountering no one until nearly 60 miles from Athens, as bats they spotted warm human figures on the highway below, alighting and transforming a few hundred yards from them.

“I wonder who they are?” asked Jesus, on the prowl for blood.

“Hopefully food.”

“Hopefully,” Jesus agreed.

Seeing a man running to the roadside and lying down, feigning injury, Mary noted the ruse and added, “From what I just saw, they’re food.”

“We don’t truly know that, he could be lying down for needed sleep,” said an optimistic Jesus while they headed toward the still figure, always trying to make the best of any situation.

“Sure, and Judas was your very best friend, along with good old Pilate, after all, they and the Pharisees had you murdered because they liked you so much.”

“You’re right, look at the others in the brush,” said Jesus, seeing a pair of figures from body heat standing close by in the dense chaparral, holding swords.

“Of course I’m right, let’s play with them and give them what they deserve,” Mary answered, the pair approaching the evil men.

“Yes,” said Jesus, regretting his earlier optimistic statement.

“Please help me,” a scoundrel named Yorgos croaked, lying on his back in a culvert.

“Are you all right friend?” asked Jesus, kneeling beside his victim, the Magdalene standing in the background.

“Of course I’m all right asshole,” Yorgos retorted, taking a dagger and slashing Jesus’ throat, the other highwaymen stepping into view.

An amused Jesus, playing along, fell to the ground with a thud, playing dead, leather satchel at his side.

“You evil men you killed my beloved Julius!” Mary screamed while the thieves closed in on her.

“Yeah, and we’re going to make you screw us before we cut your throat as a favor bitch,” a pirate named Kyros growled with a sly grin, sliding a gladius into its scabbard on his hip.

“Who are you calling a bitch you Greek prick?” the Magdalene retorted, folding arms across her ample chest, instinctively returning to her normal vampiric self, Jesus looking to her from the ground and winking.

“What do you want me to say, he just called me a bitch!” Mary exclaimed, the men turning around and looking to the fallen and still Jesus. He had again closed his eyes, pretending to be dead, or more accurately, a deanimated corpse.

“Are you crazy, he’s dead, what are you talking to him for?” asked Yorgos, kneeling down and pulling Jesus’ satchel from his side, a limp arm hitting the ground.

“Yes he is,” an unconcerned Mary observed, Yorgos opening the satchel and declaring, “Look at this Savas, there must be a thousand aurei in this bag!”

“What?” asked Savas, ignoring the Magdalene and joining his confederates.

“It’s money!” a smiling Yorgos exclaimed, Jesus, eyes barely open, watching them from his repose on the pavement.

“Let’s take the money, kill the broad and head to Athens,” suggested Kyros, looking in the bag, this man the leader of the band.

“Right,” replied Savas.

“Aren’t you going to make me screw you first?” asked an insulted Mary, the group looking to her.

“Hell no, what do we need you for, I can buy a whorehouse in Rome with this money!” Kyros exclaimed, moving to her and pulling a sword, a bored Jesus rising to his feet behind them.

“Verily I say, all you’ve bought is a ticket to the bowels of hell,” said Jesus, the left side of his throat-gashed open, Mary smiling, fangs showing.

“They are dead, they’re vampires – let’s get out of here!” exclaimed Savas, turning to run.

“Not so fast,” Jesus retorted, grabbing Savas by the hair and throwing him to the ground, Yorgos dropping the heavy satchel, aurei and denarii spilling over the pavement.

Two attempted to flee, Mary freezing them to their spots and asking, “How do you like that?”

“I don’t think they like it at all, and this charade was fun,” Jesus observed.

“Indeed it was,” said a smiling Mary, walking over and plunging fangs in the throat of Kyros, sucking him dry in seconds.

“Say goodbye to this life friend,” said Jesus, lifting Savas and sinking fangs in the neck.

A terrified Yorgos stood frozen, staring in horror at Jesus and Mary.

“Do you want him?” asked the Magdalene politely, looking to Yorgos.

“Ladies are always first,” Jesus answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, be my guest, please,” said Jesus with a contrived bow, looking to Yorgos.

“He was the one who cut your throat wasn’t he?”

“Who cares,” said Jesus, glancing at his spilled satchel, one of his neatly folded tunics and a clean stola belonging to his consort on the pavement.

The Magdalene walked over and dispatched the last of the thieves, his emptied body hitting the stone highway seconds later.

“I’d best pick up our money.”

“Let’s get rid of the bodies, then we’ll get the money,” said Mary, pointing to the corpses.

“Yes, I agree,” a nodding Jesus replied.

Looting and disposing of their victims, Jesus walked about a section of stone pavement for the next half hour, picking up silver and golden currency, together with lesser denominations, not missing one during his retrieval operation.

“You’re good at that,” said Mary as Jesus dropped the last coins into the satchel.

“Why steal it if you can’t keep track of it,” Jesus declared, buckling the satchel, his consort’s large leather purse also nearly full of appropriated loot.

“So, where’s the nearest town?” asked Mary, observing the dark and desolate surroundings, the time well after one.

“Who knows,” a shrugging Jesus answered, “Sparta’s still a hundred miles or so from here. If I recall correctly there’s a town called Corinth ahead.”

“How far?”

“Maybe twenty miles,” said Jesus, slinging the bag over his shoulder, heading south at a crossroads.

“Do you think your throat will heal before we arrive?” Mary asked while they walked along.

“More than likely, the wound’s closed,” said Jesus, feeling the left side of his throat.

Checking in at a Corinthian hotel two hours later, a sleepy clerk handed Jesus the key at four, the couple heading to their latest rented room.

The room was humble but very clean and functional, Jesus locking the door and sliding his satchel under the low double bed. The Magdalene headed to a polished bronze mirror, sitting her purse on a nearby table.

“I wonder why they didn’t like me?” asked Mary, staring into the mirror.

“Who?” asked Jesus, relaxing on the bed.

“The men we killed back there.”

“What do you mean?” a confused Jesus asked, leaning over and resting his head on an arm.

“At first they wanted to rape me, but once they discovered the money they ignored me.”

“So?” asked Jesus, holding out a hand in supplication for her to come to him.

“So I was the best looking whore in all Judea and was never turned down by anyone!” the Magdalene retorted, still staring in the mirror.

“There’s a first time for everything, and easy money always tends to cloud one’s judgement,” Jesus observed, annoyed at her vanity.

“I suppose,” said Mary, walking to the bed in pitch darkness and joining him.

“Besides, those lesbians and I still like you,” a smiling Jesus added, breaking into laughter.

“You dirty bastard!” Mary exclaimed with a playful grin, hitting him with a pillow while he laughed loudly.

“Shut up over there!” yelled a voice from an adjacent room, a baby starting to cry in the background.

“Go to hell!” Jesus retorted to his unknown assailant.

“We’d better keep it down; they’ve a baby with them.”

“You’re right,” Jesus replied, his little brother crossing his mind.

After a few moments of silence, Mary asked, “Why do you tease me about lesbians?”

“Why do you tease me about my accent or my way of taking people?”

“I see,” a disarmed Mary answered, falling back on a pillow, both still clothed. A little later, she asked, “The man back there, you told him to say goodbye to this life.”

“Yes, I did,” a sleepy Jesus replied, lying on his back, hands folded beneath his head.

“Why did you say that to him?”

“I don’t know; Hindus in India believe death is not the limiting factor in mortal existence.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, Hindus believe one comes back over and over again from the grave in spirit, migrating to a new body while still in the womb, they call it reincarnation.”

“That’s interesting, they do?” asked Mary, looking to her placid consort.

“Yes,” a yawning Jesus said.

“Do you believe it happens?”

“No, I believe death is final.”

“Oh,” Mary replied, having intended to ask him if they would return to life should they be destroyed as vampires, but realizing what the answer would have been, dropping the subject.

“Let’s get sleep woman,” said Jesus, rolling to his side, both falling into slumber shortly thereafter.

Awakening at dusk, they left their room, handed the clerk the key and resumed heading to Sparta, much of it on the wing. Arriving after eleven, on December 20, 35 CE, Jesus found an adequate room for the evening.

“Guess what, tonight is Julian’s birthday,” said Jesus, closing the door.

“It is isn’t it?” Mary replied, watching her consort slide their satchels beneath the bed.

“I wonder how they’re doing.”

“I’m sure they’re fine, don’t worry about them,” Mary answered, placing a hand on his arm, then freshening up using a small bronze mirror.

Heading out, they strolled the chilly slums of Sparta, looking for victims. Finding sustenance easily, they slaughtered a pair of criminals in an alley, looting them of orichalcum dupondii. Jesus belched, staring at the emptied cadavers, one leaning against a stone wall as if asleep.

“How will we get rid of them, there are no sewers in this goofy town,” said Mary, having searched for one beforehand for nearly an hour.

“Let’s find an outhouse, that’ll work,” an unconcerned Jesus answered, later dumping the corpses in a deep public latrine.

“With no sewers we can’t hang around here long,” Mary observed, entering their room.

“Yeah, those bodies are going to start stinking in that shaft after a few days. We’d better take off tomorrow night or perhaps the night after,” said Jesus, rubbing stubble on his chin.

“To where?”

“To Rome, first heading north through Macedonia and Illyria, then west through Pannonia.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I’ve been here before, don’t you recall?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry,” said Mary.

Staying in Sparta only a few days, six bodies occupying the local latrine, they left the southern Greek town and headed north over the Aegean peninsula during the next month, later heading through almost empty western Macedonia and Dalmatia, into Illyria. The weather turning much colder during the fourth week of January 36 CE, the vampiric couple took the coast road on the Adriatic Sea to a Roman city called Illyricum, capitol of Illyria. During a snowstorm, a tired and wet Jesus and Mary, having killed a pair of thieves a few hours earlier, arrived in Illyricum just after one. Making their way through the inclement weather into the business district, they looked for a hotel while gale-force winds blew snow into high drifts along the eastern side of the main street.

“Look!” Jesus yelled over the howling wind, pointing to a familiar sign marked ‘Epicurus Luxury Hotel’.

“Let’s go!” yelled Mary, dark locks coated in snow, struggling to the entrance.

Walking in and closing the door behind them, snow landing on the Asian carpet, Jesus headed to the desk and rang the bell.

“Yes?” came the voice of an older Roman man, pulling back a curtain.

“We need a room sir,” said Jesus.

“I don’t doubt it citizen,” the stunned clerk answered in the warm room, a large fireplace blazing in the background, “You and your wife look like you’re frozen solid, how the hell did you make it here in the storm?”

“Tenacity,” said Jesus, looking to the hearth.

“A deluxe suite is twenty denarii and comes with a complimentary breakfast in the morning,” the clerk offered, Jesus having heard the same routine in Athens.

“We want to stay till evening, perhaps for a week or two,” said Jesus.

“Twenty denarii will cover that too, for each day.”

“Very well.”

“Since you’ll be staying during the day, a fine dinner will be brought at six by one of our slaves,” the clerk added in the same manner as the clerk in Athens had.

“Okay, thank you friend, here’s the money,” said Jesus, tossing an aureus to the counter, sporting the chiseled face of Augustus Caesar.

“That’s an old one,” the clerk remarked, lifting and looking at the obverse of the coin.

“What is?” asked Jesus.

“This coin, it’s well over thirty years old and in beautiful condition,” the clerk answered, making change of five denarii, placing common silver currency in Jesus’ hand.

“That’s interesting,” said Jesus, “Whose face is on the coin?”

“Octavian Augustus, the first true Caesar,” said the clerk, actually the owner of the hotel, “I’m going to add this to my collection.”

“You’re a numismatist.”

“That’s right,” the man answered with a smile, handing the room key to Jesus after he signed the register. “Yours is room two, third door on your right, down the hall,” he added, pointing to the lamp lit hallway.

“The third door?” Jesus asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“The first door on each floor is for the custodian,” replied the clerk, this hotel having three.

Jesus nodded, holding his key, observing, “When we were in Athens we stayed at a hotel with the exact same name as yours.”

“The Epicurus Luxury Hotel is chain of hotels.”

“A chain?” Jesus asked, not understanding the vernacular.

“Yes, a chain, meaning we have sister hotels in Hispania, Greece, Egypt, Gaul, Anatolia, along with many others throughout the Italian peninsula, clear to Sicily,” the owner answered, a Plebian citizen named Petronius.

“Who was the man that founded such an ingenious system of hotels?’ asked Jesus, raising an eyebrow.

“A wealthy citizen from Pompeii, a Patrician investor named Numerius Trebius Aper, nearly fifty years ago.”

“He’s brilliant; I found the hotel in Athens the most opulent and noteworthy in all Greece.”

“Was brilliant friend, he’s dead,” said Petronius, “When I was a young man of thirty in Rome, Numerius was at the forum one day and sold me on an idea he called a chain franchise. He provided me with plans for this building, a method for running it and even loaned me money to start it.”

“Has it been profitable?” Jesus asked, Mary looking to the ceiling in utter boredom, staring at polished cedar beams, her hair dripping from melted snow.

“Very, this method works well. Three of my sons attended the University of Alexandria in Egypt, my daughter is married to a Patrician senator thanks to a large dowry, and my wife Julia and I live in a spacious villa south of Illyricum with five Greek slaves serving us,” said Petronius.

“Good for you,” said a smiling Jesus, melted snow from his cloak puddling on the marble floor in the warm room.

“If you would like I can show you the ropes, there are Epicurus franchises opening up in northern Gaul and Libya,” Petronius offered, instantly taking a liking to the vampiric Christ.

“No need, my good father Julius the Elder made our fortune before I was born, as a wine merchant in Gaul,” Jesus lied, “Verily I say, we have more money than we know what to do with.”

“As do all Romans these days,” said Petronius, offering Jesus his hand.

“Petronius Caius Illyricus is my name, I’m glad to meet you.”

Shaking Petronius’ hand, Jesus answered, “And I you, Bacchus Julius Chrysippus is mine, this is my wife, Maria Hittica.”

“You’re Greco-Roman, my mother Sephia was Greek.”

“My great grandfather Cephalos was from Athens, my other ancestors are Plebians from Etruria,” Jesus lied.

“My people hail from Sparta and Rome,” said Petronius, leaning on the counter.

“Then we’re probably cousins somewhere down the line,” answered a lying and yawning Jesus, “I’m sorry, I’m really tired, if you’re going to be here I’ll see you tomorrow night, if you like we can continue our conversation then.”

“I’ll be here, have a good night,” Petronius replied as Jesus and Mary turned and made their way to their room.

Unlocking and opening the door, Jesus noted the lamp lit room looked almost exactly as their room in Athens had, complete with wood covered stone floors, plush Asian carpets and a spacious lavatorium and bath.

“I love places like these,” said Mary, taking off her coat and heading for the bathroom, returning with a towel.

“They are nice aren’t they,” said Jesus, extinguishing two of the lamps to conserve fuel.

“So Jesus, what is a numisa, mat – ” Mary asked in the dimly lit room, drying her hair.

“Numismatist,” Jesus finished.

“What is one?”

“A coin collector, Petronius is a man who collects valuable coins.”

“Valuable coins, why would someone do something as stupid as that? Coins are money to be spent for one’s needs!”

“Petronius is a rich man, those such as he save coins minted in the past, ones not in common circulation today,” Jesus explained, sliding the satchel under the bed and removing his damp cloak.

“So?”

“So some people long for the past it seems, wishing for its return, saving relics from the past is called nostalgia,” said Jesus, hanging his damp cloak on a nearby hook.

“He sounds like a miser, hoarding and saving old coins, who cares about that?” asked Mary, tossing the wet towel in a chair and taking out her hairbrush.

“Some people do, don’t ask me why.”

“Where would he keep them after he saves them?” asked Mary, thinking collecting coins was stupid.

“In a strongbox I imagine.”

“That’s goofy,” said Mary, brushing out her damp hair.

“Perhaps, but it’s said some men who collect coins have bought and sold older coins for much more than face value.”

“Face value?” asked Mary, sitting down in a chair, listening to her rabbi and consort.

“The intrinsic value of a coin, it would be like buying an old Augustan denarii coin in exceptional condition for perhaps an aurei.”

“That Jesus, is insane,” stated the Magdalene flatly.

“Nevertheless, some wealthy people do it. For example, the statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero was an avid coin collector,” said Jesus with a yawn, sitting on the bed.

“Who was he?”

“A Roman senator and consul from the time of Julius Caesar.”

“Weird,” said Mary as Jesus shrugged, leaning back and relaxing on the bed.

“It’s too damn bad we don’t have any wine tonight,” said Jesus, thirsty for fine alcohol.

“We could get some,” said Mary, still thinking about the concept of coin collecting.

“They’ll bring some tomorrow evening,” Jesus replied, not wishing to rise from the comfortable bed.

Later, the Magdalene remarked, “I was thinking, since we’re going to live forever, or at least longer than mortal folks do, perhaps we should save some of the better coins from today, and sell them to collectors a thousand years from now.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said a smiling Jesus while he relaxed in their opulent suite, rearranging two pillows behind his head.

Little did Mary or Jesus know the future time she was so casually referring to would be known in today’s history books as the ‘Dark Ages’. This was the future backward era they would experience firsthand, wandering through Europe and Asia across the centuries, meeting a few friends along the way, at times retreating to their family spread in Anatolia. One day they would indeed sell some of their loot as collector coins, but not for over 1900 years, to wealthy numismatists living in the twentieth century.

Waking at dusk, Jesus discovered to his dismay Illyricum was completely snowed in, over three feet having fallen during their slumber. Walking to the desk to pay the evening’s rent, Jesus observed several sweating slaves shoveling snow from the doorway. Luckily, the wind was beginning to die down, and the slaves were making good progress in their work.

“How’s the weather?” asked Jesus of the day clerk, looking to the struggling slaves.

“Cold and snowy,” the clerk answered, “Another guest from up north said his god Thiazi was paying Illyricum a visit.”

“Who’s Thiazi?” asked Jesus.

“Don’t ask me, must be a god of snow,” said the shrugging clerk.

Returning to their room, Jesus relit the lamps and roused Mary, remarking, “We’re snowed in, I guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

“What?” a panicked Mary asked, “What will we do for food?”

“We’ll manage,” said Jesus, “Even if we can’t find human fare, I’m sure there’s suitable livestock nearby.”

“How do you know that?”

“The food served here is from fresh kills, so there must be a barn nearby filled with pigs, goats and the like.”

“I hate sucking pig blood, why don’t we take some of their slaves?”

“Because it would be wrong,” said Jesus, a hint of vampiric accent in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because I say so,” said Jesus.

“You can be such a wet blanket at times,” spat an exasperated Mary.

A knock on the door interrupted their sparring, a slave delivering food and fine wine.

“Just leave the tray and cart slave,” said Jesus, the German slave nodding to the couple, bowing and leaving the room, Jesus locking the door.

“What do we do with the shit on the tray?” Mary teased.

“Since there is no one present to give our nightly meal to, dump it in the latrine, excepting for the wine.”

“What are you going to do with that?” his consort asked, knowing the answer, staring at two large bottles of undiluted Gallic wine.

“As I’ve nothing better to do, after we find sustenance I’m going to get a little drunk,” Jesus answered bitterly, annoyed at her sarcastic remarks.

“That figures,” said the Magdalene, grabbing filled plates and walking to the lavatorium, dumping seasoned roast tenderloin of kid, fillet of tuna, liquamen sauce and baked vegetables into the running sewer below. An amused Mary watched a waterlogged loaf of bread disappear from view and sink to the bottom of the latrine like a stone, the other refuse floating off. Later they transformed and flew out into the cold night, locating a large barn filled with livestock standing at the rear of the hotel property.

Flying in and perching on the rafters upside down, the pair observed a slave extinguishing several oil lamps, indicating he was finished with his duties for the night. He headed to the door and exited, Jesus and Mary assuming human form in the darkness.

“What are you going to do with the carcasses or haven’t you thought about that yet?” asked Mary, Jesus eyeing several pigs in a stall.

“Let’s come back after everyone’s asleep, then we can take a pair of these animals and dispose of them quietly,” said Jesus.

“How?” asked the Magdalene, confused.

“Using the same method we use to dispose of people in cities, heaving them down the latrine when we’re through with them,” a smiling Jesus replied, index finger in the air.

“Domestic hogs are a lot heavier and bigger than people are,” Mary observed.

“That’s no problem for us.”

“No, but if someone sees us carrying a pair of 400 pound pig carcasses over our shoulders, they may ask a few questions, I certainly would,” said Mary, hands on her hips.

“You’re right,” said Jesus.

“So what do you intend to do?”

“That’s why I’ve decided to take them later on, and if we do encounter anyone, I’ll entrance them,” said Jesus, looking to the swine as Mary stared at the rafters.

“What if he can’t be entranced?” asked Mary, twirling a lock in her fingers.

“You may kill him woman,” an exasperated Jesus answered, rubbing his forehead.

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that, I don’t care, at least not tonight,” said Jesus, assuming chiropteric form and flying through an open window, she following.

Not much to see in Illyricum that evening, they flew from town, finding everything for miles was covered in snow on the bitterly cold night. Surveying their surroundings for a few hours as bats, they returned to the city and found an open tavern, also having located a lavatorium nestled among the snowdrifts, just down from the barn. The tavern was packed and a wide footpath had been cleared for most of the block, connected of course to a nearby brothel and latrine. Even at this late hour, Jesus noted the torch lit main city streets were being cleared of snow by teams of Roman soldiers using broad wooden shovels, filling wagons pulled by draft animals. Walking into the bar, Jesus ordered a pitcher of Gallic wine and two glasses for he and consort from the bartender’s wife, walking to an empty table to enjoy their drinks.

“At the rate the soldiers are progressing the streets will be cleared by morning,” Jesus observed over the din.

“Good, I don’t feel like dining out on too many pigs anyway,” said the Magdalene, taking a deep drink of wine.

“We wouldn’t be able to do that for long, a pair of missing pigs or goats is one thing, perhaps overlooked, but we could clean out their stock quickly and I’m sure they’d notice that,” Jesus answered with a chuckle.

“You don’t say,” Mary replied, laughing.

“Would you like to forego it?” asked Jesus, pouring another glass from the pitcher.

“Sure, we’ve done without before.”

“Very well, after we finish this pitcher why don’t we head to the hotel and kill time talking with Petronius?”

“You can talk to him if you like; I want to take a hot bath.”

“Okay.”

Returning to the hotel near ten, Mary headed to their room for her bath, Jesus engaging Petronius at the desk.

“Good evening Bacchus,” a nodding Petronius greeted.

“I go by Julius friend,” Jesus answered, smiling.

“Then good evening Julius.”

“How’s business tonight?” asked Jesus, leaning on the counter, making small talk.

“Not bad, even storms don’t present problems in this section of Illyria,” Petronius observed, looking to his chalkboard, the hotel at over three-quarters occupancy.

“Indeed,” said Jesus, “One would think a business such as this is always in demand by travelers.”

“That’s what Numerius Aper said,” said a smiling Petronius, “So Julius, you’re a wine merchant?”

“Not anymore,” said a lying Jesus, which was more truth than lie, considering Jesus had never so much as sold even a bottle of wine, preferring to drink all in his possession.

“You’re retired?” Petronius asked, figuring Jesus was a little young for retirement.

“You could say that, though I never worked that hard when I wasn’t retired,” said Jesus truthfully, his father’s harsh remarks regarding work crossing his mind.

“Oh yes, you told me last night that your father made your fortune,” Petronius replied, recalling their previous conversation.

“Indeed he did,” said Jesus, thinking of his father robbing the publican before he was born.

“Would you care for wine?” asked Petronius, reaching for a bottle and goblet.

“Sure.”

“Come around the counter and have a seat back here,” Petronius offered, producing another goblet and filling the glasses to the brim, Jesus taking a seat behind the check in desk.

“So Julius, where do you hail from?” asked Petronius, handing Jesus a goblet, drinking deeply from his, resting his head on an arm.

“Volsinii in Etruria originally,” lied Jesus, taking a deep drink, adding truth to his reply, “We now own a farm in Anatolian Cappadocia in the town of Tibernum.”

“You’re a long way from home, on a business trip?” Petronius asked, downing another gulp of wine.

“We’re heading to Rome to see a merchant who buys our goods,” Jesus lied, finishing his glass.

“He owes you money doesn’t he?” asked Petronius with a sly grin, emptying his goblet in a manner reminding Jesus of the trader Callicles.

“No, I need his signature on contracts my notary has drawn up. He’s in Rome for the winter and I want them signed before the spring planting,” Jesus explained, easily creating a believable story.

“Why didn’t you mail them?” asked Petronius, pouring libations for them.

“The wife wanted to see Rome.”

“Ah yes, Rome,” said a smiling Petronius, lifting his glass and drinking deeply from it.

They conversed and drank wine for hours, until well after midnight, the owner becoming so drunk he had to call for a night slave to tend the desk, then, in double vision, telling Jesus he had to retire for the evening.

“No problem,” replied a sober Jesus, feigning drunkenness while Petronius staggered to his bed, “I’m pretty drunk too, I’d best get back to my wife.”

“She’ll probably kill you Julius,” slurred Petronius, pulling back a curtain behind the desk.

“That’ll be the day,” a chuckling Jesus replied, heading to his room near two.

“If it isn’t the return of the prodigal vampire,” said Mary while Jesus closed and locked the door of their room.

“Petronius is an interesting person,” Jesus answered, noticing one wine bottle was open.

“And a wine drinker too,” said Mary, smelling alcohol on his breath from across the room.

“Aren’t you one to talk,” Jesus observed, reaching for the open bottle and noting it was empty.

“I saved one for you.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” said Jesus, opening the other bottle and drinking deeply from it.

“Did you get your bath?” Jesus asked, sitting the near-empty bottle on the tray.

“I figured I’d wait for you so we could take one together,” she answered as Jesus smiled, the couple moving to the bath.

Emerging from their warm, cleansing bath two hours later, a physically and spiritually sated Jesus and Mary tended to more mundane bodily chores, she drying and brushing out her dark locks, and he, towel around his waist, dry shaving his face with a gleaming steel straight razor. Having thoroughly enjoyed the evening, they, feeling somewhat hungry, retired to bed at a little after four.

Awakening to the knock of a slave an hour after dark, a groggy Jesus slipped on a clean tunic laid out earlier and let the servant in, a meal being delivered with two bottles of Gallic wine.

Opening a bottle and pouring drinks for them, the slave announced, “The entrée for tonight is minced turtle and gravy from the Mare Adriaticum, followed by veal with rice in stuffed apples, venison tenderloin and six vegetable medley, all delicately seasoned with pepper and liquamen.”

“Indeed,” said a sighing Jesus, recalling the wonderful taste of turtle flesh.

“The wine tonight is from a famous vintner in Gaul, his name is Gaius Scipio – ”

“Magnentius,” finished Jesus.

“That’s right sir, and for dessert, honey cheesecake with date syrup,” added the slave.

“A fine meal,” Jesus observed, reaching in his tunic while Mary snored in the background, “You are an excellent waiter, would you like a tip for your service?”

“I am a slave.”

“So, wouldn’t you like to buy your freedom one day?”

“Yes I would,” the slave answered, a young Greek of perhaps twenty-five.

“Well then, here you go,” replied a smiling Jesus, handing the man twelve denarii.

“By the gods, thank you sir!” exclaimed the slave at the threshold, looking at the silver in his hand.

“I thank you slave,” said Jesus, closing the door.

The smiling slave walking off to tend to other duties, Jesus roused Mary and asked, “Our supper is here, will you do the honors?”

“Sure, since you have a problem with throwing away worthless food,” a yawning Mary answered, rising from the bed and dressing, afterward dumping their hot and delicious, but inedible, meals into the flowing latrine.

Jesus, ignoring his feelings about wasting food, opened a window, surprised to find it was much warmer outside, realizing much of the snow must have melted during the day. Noting the streets were mostly clear and filled with people, he closed the shutters and headed to the lavatorium where Mary was brushing her hair.

“The weather has changed and it’s a lot warmer outside.”

“That means thieves should be about tonight,” Mary ventured, still brushing her locks.

“My thoughts exactly.”

They left the room and strolled the streets of Illyricum on the prowl for the garbage of humanity. Walking past a garrison and onward to the seedier section of town, Jesus noted armed Roman guards standing at nearly every block.

“Good evening citizen,” one of the guards called as they walked past.

“A good evening to you centurion,” Jesus answered, stopping to converse with him, “We have only just arrived in Illyricum, traveling to Rome from Anatolia. I noticed there are guards on every block, is something wrong tonight?”

“Not at all, our prefect Lucius Valquo is justly proud of the city of Illyricum and will not permit criminals and thieves to skulk about town preying on honest citizens. So he posts guards throughout the city; we dispose of unseemly types like that here.”

“There goes the neighborhood,” spat Mary, Jesus giving her an icy stare.

“Really, our hometown Tibernum is also guarded in this fashion by our prefect Gavinal Septimus and his centurion Caius Felix,” said Jesus.

“Very good,” answered the centurion, “Is Tibernum as large as Illyricum?”

“No, but the centurion and his troops have their work cut out for them, as Tibernum is one of the furthest outposts in the empire, barbarians are to the east across the Euphrates river.”

“In Cappadocia.”

“Yes.”

“Well don’t worry citizen, you and your wife are deep within the empire and may walk the streets at any hour, guards are posted all night long and during the day,” said the centurion.

“That’s good to know,” said the Magdalene, almost choking on her words.

“There are no thieves here, especially after we crucified a pair three months ago and beheaded another the month afterward, he was a citizen you see,” the centurion continued, looking to an older man with a prostitute on his arm walking by and asking, “How are you tonight Nigilius?”

“Not bad, as you can plainly see my good Vibius Rufus,” a smiling Nigilius answered, walking on, the man also a pimp.

The centurion laughed loudly and remarked to Jesus, “Old Nigilius loves those pretty whores of his, I wonder how he makes a profit since he usually screws – ” Realizing a Roman matron was present, the centurion quickly apologized, “I’m very sorry friend I forgot myself, your wife is here.”

“No offense taken,” replied a smiling Jesus, holding up hands as the Magdalene giggled.

“Mine’s a soldier’s life for the past 25 years, I’m forty-two and have no wife thanks to duty, sometimes I – ” the centurion stammered.

“Forget it,” replied Jesus with a parting wave, he and consort moving on, the centurion nodding and returning to his duty.

Walking into a lavatorium, Mary spat, leaning on a wall next a row of commodes, “That’s just great; there are no criminals here thanks to centurion bigmouth and his cronies!”

“We’ll head from town; criminals are like rats, if you hunt them in one place they move to another,” said Jesus, “Remember, Gavinal does the same thing in Tibernum.”

“I know that, but I’m hungry now,” Mary retorted.

“I’m sure there are suitable folks prowling the highways.”

“And if there aren’t?”

“Then we have a date with the pigs.”

“Oh god, not tonight,” a smirking Mary replied, her consort looking to her impassively.

Assuming chiropteric form, they flew from the city. After all their vexing problems in Illyricum, hunting was good that night, taking a quartet of ruthless highwaymen only five miles from town, robbing them of their lives and a cache of denarii, dumping the bodies in a cave.

“We have to find a place to stash this crap,” said Jesus, another five pounds of silver added to the kitty on this night.

“Where?”

“We’d better find someplace soon,” said Jesus, “We have around 100 pounds of loot, and it’s a bitch to fly around as a bat that way.”

“No shit, my purse is already too heavy.”

“But where?” Jesus mused

“Let’s take off, we’ll worry about it later,” said Mary, thankful they weren’t carrying their heavy satchels at the time.

Arriving at the hotel, the pair transformed after flying through the open window, Jesus looking about the darkened room and having a brainstorm.

“We’re on the first floor you know.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Mary, looking to Jesus.

“The floors are heated, but not toward the outside walls,” Jesus continued, oblivious of the Magdalene’s acrid inquiry.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m sorry, I was thinking, why not bury most of our loot under the floor of this room, then we’ll know where it is, and we can return later to take it with us.”

“When, a hundred years from now?” Mary asked, “We should just throw it away, who cares, there’s tons more around anyway.”

“We’ll return and grab it all before we return to the farm next year,” said Jesus, ignoring the last part of her sentence.

“Why?”

“Because it’s money that’s why,” Jesus answered, wisely knowing money could buy practically anything, perhaps excepting friendship, love, or immortality, these commodities he already having in abundance, with his beautiful consort Mary, along with being a vampire.

“At the rate we’re going, by that time we’ll have a thousand pounds to carry,” Mary observed, looking at a pile of bright silver denarii on their bed.

“Probably, maybe more, I guess we’ll need to buy a wagon,” Jesus ventured, thinking ahead.

“What about when we cross the Bosphorus?”

“When we get there I’ll buy a boat,” said Jesus, smiling at his brilliant plan.

“Really,” Mary scoffed, thinking he was becoming a little greedy, envisioning a sailboat, captained by Jesus with her as lieutenant. A fine vessel, hold laden with stolen lucre, horses and wagon tied on deck, floating eastward across the Bosphorus strait toward their Anatolian home. “Oh brother,” she spat, shaking her head at the ridiculous thought.

“Huh?”

“Forget it,” said Mary, heading to a table holding their complimentary wine.

“I’d best get started on this project immediately,” said Jesus, walking over and making certain the door to their room was locked.

“Whatever,” said Mary, pouring wine and sitting down hard in a chair.

Undaunted by the Magdalene’s reply, Jesus carefully removed a section of wood floor in a far outer corner of the room, exposing the stone masonry beneath. Noting it was mortared in place, he frowned. “That figures,” Jesus remarked, pausing while he stared at the floor.

“What does?” asked Mary, walking over and handing him a glass of wine.

Taking the glass, Jesus rose, took a gulp and answered, “The floor masonry’s mortared in place, I’ll to have to rip it out.”

“That shouldn’t be much trouble should it?” she asked, not understanding his ire.

“No, but it may make noise, not to mention a mess.”

“I’ll help you clean up, and these walls are so thick they probably won’t hear anything,” said Mary, looking about the darkened room.

“I reckon you’re right about that,” said Jesus, returning to his project.

Looking for a convenient grip, he found a gap toward the outer wall. He slid his fingers into the crevice and pulled with all his might, effortlessly ripping out a two-foot square block of stone from the floor, mortar flying as he tore the stone from its moorings.

“Good work!” the Magdalene exclaimed, applauding him as he rose up and turned to her with a contrived bow. Jesus looked down the hole, inspecting his soon-to-be vault. He had been right; the building indeed had a double foundation, built upon hard packed earth. The inner wall was warm to the touch from the blazing underground furnace, this structure perhaps a foot thick, the outer wall being at least that, exposed clay at the bottom of the pit.

“Please hand me the dinner tray will you Mary?” asked Jesus.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, handing him the platter.

“I have to get rid of this dirt,” said Jesus, placing the tray on the floor, using his bare hands to tear at the hard-packed soil. Filling the tray with clay in minutes, Jesus inspected the hole he had created, making sure the foundation stones were at least as deep as his excavation. “That should do it after another load,” he remarked, Mary peeking into the hole.

“What do we do with the dirt?” asked Mary, looking to the tray containing perhaps a hundred pounds of earth.

“Dump it down the latrine,” said Jesus, still peering into his vault.

“Okay,” the Magdalene replied, easily lifting the load, the bronze platter bowing slightly due to the weight as she walked to the latrine. Returning, she dropped the tray beside her consort and sat down, pouring another glass of wine, Jesus again filling the tray with another load of orange-brown clay. Taking this tray to the latrine, she returned, sitting the tray next to the hole, expecting another load of earth from miner Jesus. He had sat on the bed to relax, nursing a cup of wine, she asking, “Aren’t you going to fill it again?”

“It’s deep enough.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Put our excess money in the hole,” Jesus answered, “Once that’s done I’ll drop the stone in place, and I think we’d best pick up mortar to reset the block.”

“I guess,” said Mary, thinking at the rate they were amassing funds it was pointless.

The next few hours were spent with Jesus carefully counting out their money, saving only 100 aurei in various denominations, placing the remaining gold, silver and lesser coinages in the secret vault, along with jewelry Mary couldn’t have cared less about. As they headed toward Rome, the vampiric couple had found their victims were much wealthier than the pretenders in Anatolia; Jesus remarking their cache of loot was worth nearly 2,500 aurei, this sum taken in only four months.

“That’s incredible,” said the Magdalene, finally agreeing the money and jewelry should be safeguarded.

“Yeah, the criminals here seem to have more money than the Pharisees of Judea,” Jesus replied, returning the four hundred pound block of rough-hewn travertine limestone to its original position on top of their loot. Carefully replacing the wood flooring over his vault, he added, walking into the bathroom to wash his hands, “We’ll pick up mortar tomorrow, cement the block and set the wood floor in place.”

“Won’t you need nails?” Mary asked as he returned.

“No, the wood is shaped not to need nails,” Jesus explained, “Each piece has a carved slot another piece fits in, the last piece held down by these pins,” showing three wooden dowels to her.

“That’s neat,” said Mary.

“We’d best get sleep,” said Jesus, noting dawn had arrived, slits of sunlight shining through a shutter.

The next evening, after their meals arrived Jesus gave another large tip to the same slave prior to leaving on his quest for building supplies. Purchasing mortar from a local retailer, Jesus smuggled it into the room through an open window, handing it to the waiting Magdalene. He finished his repair of the stone floor, using cold water from the tub faucet to mix the concrete.

Sliding the wooden floor panels into place an hour later, he pounded the dowels down with his fists and replaced the carpet, the floor appearing undisturbed.

“Our money is safe,” Jesus announced, smiling and admiring his handiwork.

“What do we do with the excess baggage here?” asked Mary, staring at twenty pounds of pozzolana concrete mix in a burlap bag.

“Dump it down the latrine along with the food,” said Jesus. He looked darkly to a cold dinner of newborn piglet side with cheese sauce, anchovy liquamen and vinegar over baked clams, yet another huge ‘vegetable medley’, whatever that actually was, and airy honey cakes stuffed with raisins, a delicious dessert neither could stomach.

“Okay, I’ll get rid of the garbage too,” said Mary, garbage her term for mortal food.

Their money safe, over the next weeks they concentrated on putting the local centurions out of jobs, killing thieves and highwaymen by the wagonload just outside Illyricum. Another snowstorm arrived after they had taken their latest victims, dumping them in a river and returning to their opulent room on a night in late February.

“Jesus Christ, what are we going to do about these storms?” asked Mary, looking out a window viewing a practical whiteout.

“Nothing, there’s nothing we can do, we’re not God,” said Jesus, dumping aurei and denarii on their bed, glancing at the floor containing his vault.

“No kidding,” Mary replied, a violent wind howling outside.

“I think dad and Brutus were right, we should have taken off in the spring,” Jesus observed, listening to the cold wind.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Mary retorted, pouring glasses of white wine bottled in Cisalpine Gaul.

“We’re in the mountains too, the further north we go the worse it will get,” Jesus continued, oblivious of her sarcasm, taking a glass from her.

“Meaning?” asked a defeated Mary.

“It seems the further north one goes the colder it gets, especially in winter,” said Jesus, taking a gulp of wine, “Further, there are far northern places in the empire called Germania and an island called Britannia where it is almost always cold regardless of the season.”

“Why?” asked Mary, looking to Jesus.

“Who knows,” said Jesus, downing his glass, no one at the time truly understanding why such phenomena occurred.

“That’s weird,” said Mary.

“Yes it is, when I was traveling through Gaul in my twenties, I recall hearing from a trader that far north of here is a wilderness of nothing but ice, and a tribe of giant red-haired men called the Vindkald dwell there.”

“I wonder how big they are,” said Mary, pouring more wine, trying to imagine what a person with red hair would look like.

“Don’t know,” a yawning Jesus answered, rubbing his temples.

“Maybe we should head south.”

“If we went south we’d end up in Greece,” Jesus replied, taking his glass from her.

“So?”

“We need to get to Rome.”

“The census isn’t for another year and a half, what’s the hurry?”

“None, but it is warmer there, and I don’t feel like retracing my steps.”

“Oh,” said Mary, downing her wine, shaking her head as the strong beverage finally hit her, clumsily placing her empty glass on a table.

“Perhaps we could fly west across the Mare Adriaticum into Italy.”

“You want to fly across an inland sea? How the hell do you expect to do that in one night?”

“From here in Illyricum to the coast is around thirty miles,” said Jesus. “From there across the sea to the east coast of northern Italy maybe a hundred. If we took off one night at dusk, we could be in Italy by perhaps five in the morning.”

“You want me to fly across an entire sea?”

“No, I want us to fly across an entire sea.”

“We’ll be destroyed!”

“We’ll have more than enough time to get there before sunrise.”

“How do you know?” asked Mary, narrowing her eyes.

“I’ve taken boats across, it’s only about a hundred miles if we cross at the port of Octavinum.”

“Where’s that?”

“About thirty miles east of here.”

“And a hundred miles across the sea?”

“Yes, a hundred twenty at most.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“That’s fine with me,” said Jesus.

Two days later, with the weather warmer and the roads mostly clear, Jesus rose well before dusk, dressed, and woke his consort. Wearing a tan winter tunic and fine leather shoes, he inspected the room for misplaced items, and made one last check to make certain his vault was secure. While Jesus tended these chores, Mary dressed in her favorite garments, a light blue stola, delicate pigskin shoes, and full-length leather overcoat, accessorized by her large purse and several items of jewelry. Grabbing his much lighter satchel, they walked to the office at dusk, Jesus informing the day clerk of their intention to leave.

“It’s still pretty snowy out there,” said the clerk.

“We’re heading southwest to Octavinum, it should be warmer there,” Jesus replied.

“I imagine you won’t need your dinner tonight,” the clerk observed.

“Not that dinner, enjoy it yourself if you like, and please bid friend Petronius goodbye for us,” said Jesus.

“Shall do,” replied the clerk as Jesus handed him the key, the vampiric couple walking into the cold evening. The streets were cleared of snow by efficient Roman troops, Jesus strolling to a nearby bar.

“Why are we stopping here?” asked Mary, “I thought we were heading to Octavinum.”

“We are, I want to get a drink first,” said Jesus.

“What about the sea we have to cross?” Mary asked, having accepted the idea of crossing the Mare Adriaticum on the wing.

“I’ve changed my mind, we’ll get a room in Octavinum and cross tomorrow night, weather permitting,” said Jesus, waving over a bartender.

“How long should that take?” asked the Magdalene, a bartender walking over.

“Eight hours or so,” said Jesus, looking to the bartender.

“What’ll you have citizen?”

“A large goblet of Gallic wine, undiluted if you’ve got it.”

“Sure do, anything for the wife?”

Jesus looked to his consort, who replied, “Make it the same as his please.”

“Coming up,” said the waiter, almost immediately returning with their drinks. Placing them on the bar top, he added, “That’ll be twelve sestertii.”

“Here you go, keep the change,” replied Jesus, handing him a denarius.

“Thank you sir,” said the bartender with a nod, raising eyebrows at the substantial tip, moving to other patrons.

“I take it you realized we may not have enough time to head to the coast and cross the Mare Adriaticum all in one night,” Mary ventured while they sat at the far end of the bar.

“We probably could, but why take the chance,” answered Jesus, nursing his drink.

“Informed caution is a sign of wisdom too,” said Mary, holding her glass.

“You sound like Cyril,” a chuckling Jesus replied, staring into his wineglass.

“Perhaps it rubs off,” Mary observed, taking another drink, “Cyril’s brilliant and I’m glad I didn’t kill him.”

“You’re learning woman,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink from his glass.

Flying to Octavinum, they alighted a few miles outside the coastal town, the vampiric Christ noting the sea-level weather was much warmer, well above freezing. Encountering a trio of thieves almost immediately, the leader demanding money, a bored Jesus slaughtered them without saying a single word by breaking their necks, handing his lovely consort a fresh corpse to feed on.

“Thank you Jesus, that was quick,” said Mary, sucking the warm cadaver dry in seconds.

“Don’t mention it,” Jesus replied, “Let’s head to town and find a room after we dispose of these jerks.”

“Okay,” said Mary, checking the bodies for loot.

Finding nothing save a lone sestertii coin, Mary handed the meager booty to Jesus, who hurled the corpses into a stand of ash trees, shearing off a head as one collided with a thick trunk. Not knowing or caring that one corpse had met such an ignominious fate, wolves consuming the remains; they headed to Octavinum, checking into a fleabag hotel an hour later.

“Only one goddamn sestertii between the three of them,” said an incredulous Jesus after they had settled in their humble rented room.

“So what, we have a ton of money, and they did have a lot of blood in them,” said a smiling Mary, attempting to cheer Jesus up.

“They did at that,” said a stoic Jesus, slipping the bronze coin in a pocket.

“Why are you so damn somber tonight?” the Magdalene asked, looking to Jesus, relaxing on a straw filled cot the size of a double bed.

“They wasted their lives,” said Jesus, waxing philosophical.

“Who cares, it was their choice, they screwed with us so they died,” Mary replied, rolling over on the cot after motioning Jesus to her side.

“You’re right,” a sulking Jesus answered, joining her and falling into slumber.

Rising at dusk, they abandoned their humble room, heading toward the Adriatic coast after killing and dumping another group of thieves, four in all, just outside Octavinum. Feeling bloated on the blood of their victims, the Magdalene suggested that they purge some of their supper on the eastern beach of the Adriatic.

“No, we may need the sustenance to cross this sea,” a belching Jesus declared, looking to the moonlit Mare Adriaticum, seeing only dark water to the horizon.

“You think so?”

“Yes, let’s take off,” said Jesus, assuming chiropteric form, followed by his consort, heading west toward Italy.

A tailwind assisting in their flight across the moonlit Adriatic, they arrived on the eastern coast of Roman Italy at half past two on the cool and clear morning of March 2, 36 CE, alighting on a sandy beach 240 miles northeast of Rome.

“So this is Italy,” said the Magdalene after resuming human form, looking about her surroundings.

“I imagine you think it doesn’t look any different from Illyria.”

“On the contrary, this place is heavily forested like our home in Cappadocia is,” Mary observed.

“Indeed, there are many trees on this peninsula, excepting in Rome,” said Jesus, looking southeast to the Eternal City, his home for nearly a year when he was in his twenties.

“Why?” asked Mary, not understanding he was being facetious.

“Probably because it’s a city and made of marble,” a chuckling Jesus answered.

“Where to from here?” asked Mary, watching waves break on the Italian shore.

“I guess we’ll head south walking along this beach for a while,” answered Jesus, “I’m a little tired from our trip.”

“So am I, and I feel hungry again too,” said Mary, starting down the beach.

“Me too,” observed Jesus, “Flying across the sea must have used up our blood, it’s good we took two each tonight.”

“Do you think we should find someone?”

“We’ll be fine, but we’ll have to find a hotel or cave in a few hours,” said Jesus, slinging the satchel over a shoulder, glancing across the Mare Adriaticum to the eastern horizon. Walking south along the rugged beach for two hours, they found no towns of significance, only small fishing villages and coastal villas dotting the coastline for the fifteen miles they walked. Thankfully coming to a sandstone promontory, Jesus located a suitable cave, he and Mary walking in for protection from the coming daylight.

“I guess it’s a cave tonight,” said Jesus, sniffing the air, instinctively sensing something was not right.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” started Jesus, hearing a low growl from behind a fallen boulder. “What the hell – “ he exclaimed, a brown bear leaping at him, knocking him to the floor, biting down hard on his right shoulder and slashing him with his claws.

A fearless Mary, feeling he was in danger, leapt on the bear’s back, attempting to sink fangs in its neck. Pulling back as the bear mauled Jesus, she spit out a mouthful of fur in disgust. “Shit!” she exclaimed, again trying to kill it with her fangs.

“Go for the throat,” Jesus advised, seemingly not bothered by the bear’s brutal attack.

“I am goddamnit, where in the hell is this bastard’s jugular?” Mary yelled as the angry animal heaved to and fro beneath her, the right shoulder of Jesus clamped in his frothing jaws.

“Probably in his neck,” said Jesus, his head smashing hard against a protruding rock.

“I know that, there’s so much fur in the way!” Mary exclaimed, Jesus attempting to extricate himself from beneath the beast to no avail, an adult bear as physically strong as any vampire. Finally finding her mark, the Magdalene sunk fangs in the neck, sucking the blood, the six hundred pound bear collapsed in a heap on top of Jesus.

His assailant apparently dead, Jesus pushed the carcass aside, his consort tumbling to the floor of the cave next to it. “He was big one wasn’t he?” an unperturbed Jesus observed, rubbing a hand against his battered skull.

“Yes he was,” said a bloated Mary, staring at the brown mountain of bear flesh.

Jesus stood impassively, feeling no pain from his wounds thanks to vampiric nature. Aside from that, the right side of his cloak and tunic were tattered due to bite marks to the shoulder, and the left side of his face was slashed to the bone from forehead to chin. His left arm was mauled with deep claw marks, the humerus bone showing through the parted flesh.

“You look like hell,” said Mary, Jesus folding arms over his chest and leaning tiredly against the wall of the cave.

“I feel fine,” said Jesus, staring at his gashed arm, raising a torn eyebrow as he looked at the exposed bone.

“You sure don’t look it!”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Jesus retorted, feeling the gashed flesh on his face.

“Would you like a mirror?”

“I’m sure your observations are correct,” said Jesus, staring at bits of scalp on his left hand, wiping them off on his tattered tunic.

“I imagine you’ll heal up before sundown.”

“I hope so,” said Jesus, looking to the carcass and frowning. “We may have a problem here my woman.”

“Worse than what just happened, how?” Mary asked, rising to her feet.

“The bear bit me before it died, as a precaution we should behead it and drag it to the beach to await sunrise.”

“Why?”

“It tasted my blood, according to legend it may become a vampire.”

“You’re kidding, a bear vampire?”

“According to the scroll of Herodotus, any creature on this earth may become a vampire,” Jesus explained, “All that is needed is intimate contact with the blood of another vampire.”

“We’d best deal with it now, before sunrise,” said Mary, looking to her battered consort.

“Indeed,” said Jesus, reaching in his satchel and producing his straight razor.

“What are you going to do?”

“Remove its head, then we’ll drag the carcass to the beach. If this bear is in fact a vampire, it’ll burn up with the rising sun.”

“Why do you care?”

“According to the scroll, lower animals must be immediately destroyed if the possibility of vampirism exists,” Jesus replied, cutting into the flesh of the bear.

“Why?” asked Mary, Jesus slashing the neck to the spinal column, twisting off the head and dropping it to the floor of the cave.

“Lower animals are not endowed with the power of reason like we are,” said Jesus, “Animals act only by instinct; such vampiric creatures could endanger us and our kind, prowling about at night taking anyone or thing they come across.”

“In other words, you’re saying they’re normal vampires,” Mary observed, staring at the decapitated carcass.

“Perhaps,” said Jesus, narrowing his eyes at the Magdalene’s curt reply, “But as vampires, animals act without reason, such as they are incapable of perceiving the consequences of their actions according to the scroll.”

“Then I guess it’s best,” Mary agreed, staring at the aborted ursine vampire.

Jesus dragged the carcass to the beach, Mary tossing the head into the breaking waves just before dawn.

Returning to the cave, Mary asked, “How will we know if it was a vampire?”

“If ashes are in its place tomorrow evening we can be certain it was,” said Jesus, moving to the floor to lie down for much needed rest, taking her into his arms. “By the way, I thank you my dear woman.”

“For what?”

“For disposing of the bear,” said Jesus, her head resting on his left shoulder.

“Don’t mention it.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Have a lot of trouble with bears I imagine,” said Mary, “You know, bear blood isn’t all that bad.”

“You don’t say,” replied Jesus, fingering his torn face, “It’s too bad there aren’t more of them around.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” said Jesus as she attempted to put his mangled eyebrow in place, the couple falling into blissful slumber shortly thereafter.

The sun rising while they slept, the bear’s carcass smoldered on the beach after the first hour and then burst into flames, proving that much of Herodotus’ writings on vampires had not been legend or falsehood, but were in fact the absolute truth.