DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER TWELVE: NACHERINE

Chapter Twelve: Nacherine

 

Waking at dusk, they headed to the beach; Jesus determined to see if the bear had been a vampire.

Finding ashes, Jesus observed, “This proves the legend is factual, even animals can become vampires and the sun destroys them.”

“That was close,” said a convinced Magdalene, staring at the ashes.

“We’d better find someone to eat,” Jesus replied, feeling his face for slash wounds.

“You’ve healed up,” said Mary, Jesus looking to his unblemished forearm.

“So I have; walking this beach is pointless, let’s take off, the central highway, Via Appia Flaminia, can’t be over fifty miles to the west.”

Both assumed chiropteric form, flying west over the mountains toward the northern Appian Way, the name of this Roman highway lost to history after the fall of Rome 440 years later.

A hungry Jesus and consort transformed on the Via Appia Flaminia four hours later, still over 200 miles from Eternal City. Finding more garbage of humanity, they consumed their blood and took their coins, a sated Jesus dropping five denarii in his satchel.

“What silly bastards,” said Mary, the bodies nearly two miles behind, battered and broken at the bottom of a deep ravine.

“They’re everywhere”, replied Jesus as they walked along.

Approaching a major crossroad, they instinctively stopped in their tracks as they entered the intersection, seeing a man standing next to an olive tree, looking at them intently.

“Who is he?” Mary whispered, looking to the man.

“I don’t know, but I’m certain he’s not a robber and is of no threat to us,” said Jesus, studying the man. To them, he looked more or less like a Roman, a well to do Plebian or perhaps an Equestrian, clean shaven with his hair short, smartly dressed in a tunic, long wool cloak and fine leather shoes. However, the vampiric couple instinctively sensed something about him was very much out of place, both drawing a blank at the lone man standing in the middle of nowhere in the wee hours of night.

Walking up, the man asked in perfect Latin, “How’s hunting for you tonight?”

“You’re a vampire,” said Jesus as Mary stared at their kindred, the undead Son of Man not believing his eyes.

“Of course, like both of you are, what’s the problem?”

“None, it’s just we’ve never met – ” said Jesus.

“Another vampire?” the man asked with a raised eyebrow, looking up to Jesus.

“Yes.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” said the man, ogling the pretty Magdalene.

“Indeed, who are you?” inquired Jesus politely.

“My true name is Nacherine of Koech, once hailing from a kingdom known as Adotalan,” the man answered, “Aside from that, I now go by whatever name may fit at the time, I’m Cuspius Valgus Porcius presently.”

“As do we,” said Jesus, “I call myself Bacchus Julius Chrysippus, my true name is Jesus of Nazareth; this is my companion Mary the Magdalene, she answering to the name Maria Hittica presently.”

“Hebrews, people hailing from the land of Judea, you Jesus probably a Levite shaman I’d venture, and this woman from the Israelite tribe of uh – ”.

“Benjamin, but my father Abram of Gilead was a Jew,” said the Magdalene.

“Jews, Israelites from the tribe of Judah, yes, I know about them too,” Nacherine replied with a nod, “They’re the remaining major tribe in Judea along with their brothers the Levites.”

“How did you discern all that?” asked a surprised Jesus.

“I’ve walked upon this earth as a vampire for 8,000 years,” said Nacherine, “During that time I’ve learned the ways of most people, their mannerisms, subtle nuances, things like that.”

“Eight thousand years?” Mary asked, staring at their kindred in awe.

“Around eight thousand, give or take a century or two, I haven’t been keeping track as of late.”

“Incredible,” said Jesus.

“I was brought to our realm at 39 years of age in the fifth year of Binu the sacred gray whale by a vampire named Occto during the celebration of Hant Shotra.”

“What does that mean friend?” an interested Jesus asked, looking for an explanation of the apparent holiday.

“Nothing really, Hant Shotra was a festival of my people honoring the leviathan of the sea, in our legends the maker of the world and all mankind.”

“Hant Shotra, a creation legend, I’ve never heard of it,” replied Jesus thoughtfully.

“Yes you have, if you’re familiar with the Hindu deity called Vishnu or the Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh.”

“Oh yes,” said a nodding Jesus, recalling his intensive studies of Hindu theology, along with the legends of ancient Babylon, blood cousins of the Israelites.

“Where is Occto?” asked the Magdalene.

“Good Occto was probably destroyed long ago, he was trying to fly toward legendary lands west of Britannia where it’s supposedly always dark,” Nacherine answered wistfully, thinking of his past friend and master.

“That’s very interesting,” said Jesus, looking to the west.

“My friend Occto was truly tired of fleeing the sun, intent on flying toward a dark land of vampires where the sun never rises.”

“Was Occto destroyed?” asked Mary.

“I haven’t seen him for nearly 8,000 years, so I imagine he was, perhaps he made it to the dark world though I doubt it,” Nacherine replied.

“Why do you say that?” asked Jesus.

“Because even in my time learned men knew the world was a sphere and the sun circled it,” Nacherine answered, “I don’t know how anywhere on this earth could never see the face of the sun.”

“Quite true, it’s a shame about Occto,” said Jesus.

Like Jesus and Nacherine, all intelligent men of the time believed the star sol, known today as the sun, revolved about the spherical earth, credit for this theory usually given to a pagan Greek man and scientist named Claudius Ptolemaeus of Egypt.

“Why do you say that friend?” asked Nacherine.

“He was your master,” said Jesus, looking off to a Roman milestone.

“So?”

“His knowledge was lost forever to us, even if he did make it to such a place.”

“No Bacchus, not at all,” said Nacherine, holding out hands, “He was with me for nearly ninety years after I was brought to our realm and he taught me all the ways of vampires.”

“I go by Julius, please tell me, how old was he?”

“He told me one night that he had seen over five thousand years of Hant Shotra, so I venture he was perhaps ten thousand years old at the time.”

“Incredible,” said Jesus, raising an eyebrow at the advanced ages of Occto and Nacherine.

“So friends, how long have you been vampires?” Nacherine asked, offering his hand to Jesus.

“Only for the past three years,” an embarrassed Jesus answered, giving Nacherine a firm Roman handshake.

“You’re only babies,” Nacherine observed, laughing loudly at the vampiric couple.

“We’ve survived this long,” said Jesus.

“Three mere years indeed, quite impressive Julius, where is your master?”

“Jesus is my master,” said the Magdalene.

“I can tell that Maria, where is his?” asked Nacherine, looking to Jesus.

“As far as I can tell I have no master,” said Jesus, “It’s a long story, a few years ago I was murdered by my fellows in Jerusalem, and on the third day I awoke in my grave as a vampire.”

“Murdered, that’s interesting,” Nacherine observed, wondering what could have transformed the dead Son of Man into an undead vampire. Thinking further, he wondered how such an incredible feat could have occurred at all, having forgotten a scroll he had read 400 years earlier in Greece that would have offered an explanation.

“Murdered, executed, whatever,” said a shrugging Jesus, “You were right in your earlier deduction, my vocation in life was a preacher to the masses, the Pharisees and Sadducees didn’t like what I had to say to them, so they had me killed.”

“They crucified him,” Mary added, looking to Jesus.

“Unfortunate, and very typical of the holy ones,” Nacherine spat. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’ve come to believe all religion is promulgated for fools by cunning bastards, as our existence as vampires proves those idiots know nothing about the true nature of the universe.”

“I’ll have to concede that,” Jesus agreed, his agnosticism deepening with each passing night.

“Why are we standing out here, I’ve a spacious villa only a few miles away, let’s go there and enjoy fine wine and conversation,” Nacherine invited, showing they way with an arm.

“You’re a wine drinker?” asked Jesus.

“No, I’m just a drunk,” said Nacherine, “Really friend, what else is there to do between killing people at night and sleeping during the day?”

“There’s reading, and contemplation.”

“I do that too, usually while drunk,” said Nacherine as they headed west to the Cuspius Porcius villa.

Arriving at Nacherine’s dilapidated villa near midnight, they were greeted by an attractive female Greek slave, to which Nacherine gruffly ordered, “Fetch an amphora of my finest wine from the cellar and three goblets.”

“Yes master,” the slave answered, her voice that of an automaton.

“Come in friends,” said Nacherine, opening double bronze clad doors leading to his daytime sanctuary, an unmade down stuffed bed in the center, empty wine bottles and hundreds of parchment scrolls littering the room. Shelves were stacked to the ceiling with scrolls, and a central oil lamp with a huge reservoir hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the large room. “Welcome to my villa Julius and Maria,” he added, removing his cloak and sitting down on a soft couch, motioning them to another couch, where they removed their outer garments and took seats.

“That’s a very nice coat madam,” said Nacherine as Mary placed her coat on an arm of the couch.

“Thank you Cuspius,” the Magdalene answered with a nod.

The slave returned with a large earthenware amphora of wine and three crystal goblets on a wheeled cart.

“The wine for tonight is white, imported from the Gallic vineyards of Gaius Scipio Magnentius,” the slave announced, “This vintage from the 781^st year after the founding of Rome.”

“An excellent choice,” said Nacherine, “Thank you, you may go slave.”

The slave bowed, exiting the room and closing the double bronze clad doors behind her.

“You will find this is a very good wine,” said Nacherine, pouring undiluted goblets. “I imagine you aren’t familiar with the nectars of Gaius Scipio Magnentius and his three sons, it is unleaded and unadulterated, imported from central Gaul in wax lined casks or large amphorae.”

“On the contrary Cuspius, I’ve drunk his products for most of my uh, life,” said a sophisticated Jesus, his host handing him a goblet.

“You have?”

“I’m not half the barbarian you may think me to be.”

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or your wife Julius,” said Nacherine, holding up hands.

“Forget it,” said Jesus, looking to a latrunculi board on a table. Pointing to the board, he asked, “Do you play?”

“It seems all vampires do these days.”

“Don’t screw with him Jesus, I’ll bet he can beat your ass just like Cyril can,” the Magdalene warned.

“Who’s Cyril?”

“One of our slaves and an expert at latrunculi,” said Jesus.

“Indeed, I’ve been playing the game from the dawn of the Republic.”

“How long is that?” asked Mary, taking a drink from her goblet.

“Four or five hundred years.”

“What the hell, I’ll play you,” said Jesus.

“Let’s go,” a smiling Nacherine answered, looking to the table.

Beating Nacherine at latrunculi three times in a row, shortly after three thirty, Jesus turned to his consort. “How do you like that woman?”

“I’m impressed,” said Mary, “But how does Cyril beat you?”

“Like you said, he’s an expert.”

“So are you, I’ve been playing this game for a very long time,” said Nacherine, envy in his voice. “I’ve never had an opponent as formidable; I’d love to meet the man who can beat you.”

“Thank you, latrunculi is my favorite of all board games,” Jesus replied, they walking to the couches and refilling their goblets.

“It’s getting late, have you a place to stay?” asked Nacherine, leaning on his desk, slightly drunk thanks to consuming most of the amphora, several gallons in all, between latrine breaks.

“No,” said Jesus, “We were looking for an inn or cave when we happened upon you.”

“I’ll have none of that,” said Nacherine, holding up hands, “I insist you and Maria stay here for the day, you may even stay a good while if you wish; I rarely have visitors of our kind.”

“What of your slaves won’t they – ”

“They’re zombies,” said Nacherine.

“Hypnosis?”

“Right,” their smiling host replied, nodding.

Talking and drinking wine until after dawn, Jesus and Mary curled up on a large couch, a slightly inebriated Nacherine securing the doors and collapsing in his gigantic bed. Jesus woke just before dusk, rising from the couch and observing Nacherine sitting at the desk, intently reading a scroll, a full glass of wine next to him. Leaving Mary in slumber, Jesus quietly slid from the couch and walked over to his vampiric host.

“You’ve risen Julius, good evening to you,” said Nacherine, looking up, “Care for wine?”

“Please, and a good evening to you.”

“There’s a fresh amphora and goblets over there, help yourself,” an absorbed Nacherine replied, looking back to the scroll, Jesus walking to a table and pouring a libation from a pitcher.

“What are you reading?” asked Jesus.

“Thucydides,” said Nacherine, “He was a historian from years back who wrote a – ”

“Treatise on vampires.”

“You’ve read it?” Nacherine asked, looking up from the scroll.

“No, Cyril has, but I’ve read Herodotus’ extensive account,” said Jesus, sitting down in a chair offered him.

“So have I, but it’s been a while, I was attempting to find an explanation for you,” Nacherine replied, rolling up the scroll, folding hands and looking to him with interest.

“You’ll find nothing in there according to Cyril,” Jesus observed, Mary waking to the conversation, yawning and opening eyes, looking to the lit lamp overhead.

“Who is this slave Cyril, and why would he of all people be reading a scroll about vampires?” a confused Nacherine asked.

“For one thing, he’s a teacher, for another, a historian, for yet another, he cannot be hypnotized.”

“I’ve ran into them before,” said Nacherine. “Why haven’t you killed him?”

“He is my friend,” Jesus answered, as if that explained all.

“Really, I’ve found with friends like that you don’t need enemies,” Nacherine retorted, drawing from past experiences. Taking a deep gulp of wine, he strolled to the table to pour another goblet, first filling the pitcher from the amphora.

“Not with Cyril,” Mary spoke up defensively, rising from the couch, “He’s truly different,” she as protective of Cyril as of the rest of her adopted family.

“If you say so Maria, and good evening to you,” said Nacherine with careless courtesy, pointing to Jesus’ empty glass and offering to fill it, Jesus handing him the goblet.

“Haven’t you had mortal friends in the past?” asked Jesus as Nacherine returned to his desk, handing them filled goblets.

“More than once I must confess,” said a ruefully smiling Nacherine, sitting in a chair and leaning back against a wall.

The conversation continuing, Nacherine, stunned, listened in disbelief to Jesus’ tales of his ministry, his crucifixion and their flight from Nazareth. The ancient vampire listening intently, Jesus told him of their farm in Cappadocia, of his saintly Levite mother Mary, his atheist father Joseph, baby brother Julian and their seven good slaves, finally hearing of the vampiric Christ’s peculiar method of selecting victims.

“Why bother with that, I take whoever I run into most times,” Nacherine remarked.

“I’ve tried to tell him that but he never listens to me,” said Mary.

“She’s right, blood is blood,” Nacherine admonished, looking to the pitcher of wine, his goblet nearly empty.

“I don’t agree Cuspius, those who are just should be passed over,” said Jesus.

“To each his own, and you’re not unique Julius, during my travels I’ve met several like you, they don’t seem to last very long usually,” Nacherine observed, again filling the pitcher from the amphora, bringing it and his empty goblet to the desk.

“Why?” asked Jesus, surprised at the revelation.

“Preoccupation in such a fashion occasionally leads to fatal mistakes,” said Nacherine, refilling their glasses, “These blunders stemming from indecision, carelessness in being noticed or by wasting time hunting for suitable victims, not to mention possible starvation.”

“We won’t starve, when there’s no one suitable, we fast or take animals for sustenance,” Jesus explained with the air of a bright student one step ahead of his teacher.

“Oh brother,” said a shocked Nacherine, shaking his head at the remark, sitting down heavily in his lacquered, padded chair.

“What’s wrong Cuspius?” asked Mary, Nacherine looking to her with a melancholy expression.

“Vampires should consume human blood, not the bitter blood of beasts – sanguis vero pecorum”, spat a frowning and disgusted Nacherine, pointing a finger like an admonishing uncle to the vampiric couple.

“Why?” asked Mary.

“You shouldn’t do that often friends,” said Nacherine, “Those who do are called ‘bestia acetabulis’."

“Beast suckers - it’s considered wrong to do that?” asked Jesus.

“No, for the subjective term wrong doesn’t apply to us, but I must tell you, most of our kind think it’s very poor taste to consume the blood of animals unless you’re truly starving,” Nacherine told the naïve Jesus. “Hell, I’d fast for a week rather than take one.”

“I think it’s better to do that than to take the life of an innocent person,” Jesus countered, defending beliefs forged during his life and ministry.

“You say innocent, what is that?”

“I mean those who are not uh, evil, or who have not crossed us,” said Jesus, relying on his innate sense of justice.

“That figures,” Nacherine scoffed, not wanting to discuss a subjective term like evil with Jesus.

“Why do you say that Cuspius?” asked an indignant Jesus, offended by the curt reply.

“I’ve met others who felt the same way you do and did the same things. I venture it depends on what one’s station in life was before one becomes part of the undead, for the outlooks of others like you are similar to yours, and I recall there is a scroll, penned by a Spartan fellow – ”

“You don’t say?” Jesus asked, raising eyebrows and looking to his consort.

“Yes, but unlike others, I concede you at least have the common sense to take a beast when hungry, not risking destruction waiting around for the right victim, whatever that is,” said a defeated Nacherine with a sigh, not understanding Jesus’ convictions.

“You think he’s weird don’t you?” asked Mary with a stifled giggle, Jesus staring at his consort darkly.

“No Maria, strange yes, but not weird, each of us are obligated to make our own choices regarding who to take when we come to the realm of the undead.”

“We are?” asked Mary, looking to Jesus and smiling, thinking she had an out regarding Jesus’ strict specifications.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” said Nacherine, sternness in his voice, “You Maria must always defer to the wishes of your master Julius when he is present, and must honor his orders regarding anyone he states must be spared.”

“I know that Cuspius,” said a disappointed Mary.

“How long can we fast?” asked Jesus, recalling Nacherine’s earlier statement.

“Now there’s something, I once went two weeks without in the far north, then I had to take an animal, a strange white beast, I think it was a bear.”

“We can go without that long?” asked Mary.

“We can but I wouldn’t recommend it. I felt terrible before I took the beast but there were no people you see. I was in a strange land of ice, with weird shimmering lights in the darkened sky, they looked like curtains of luminance.”

“What were you doing there?” asked Mary, recalling her consort’s tale of the Vindkald icemen, neither she nor Jesus pressing further regarding the inexplicable Northern Lights.

“I was exploring the world.”

“We’ve never went without that long,” said Jesus.

“Nor have I excepting for then, as for myself, normally I take whoever I want. Don’t worry, I always spare children and of course mortal friends of fellow vampires, why such as you would have them I’ll never know,” Nacherine explained, finishing his goblet.

“It’s said in Herodotus’ text vampires always spare children,” said Jesus, emptying his goblet.

“Indeed,” Nacherine replied, “Young ones must never be taken, it seems to be an unalterable part of our ways, all our fellows I have ever met have never taken a child.”

Jesus sat quietly, recalling his taking of Pilate’s enslaved twins, children of perhaps twelve.

Looking to a water clock, Nacherine rose and observed, “How time flies, it’s getting near midnight, we should break our fast.”

“Where are you heading Cuspius?” asked a suddenly hungry Jesus, rising from his seat.

“I’ll fly to one of the villages and kill somebody.”

“Would you care to join us instead?” Jesus asked, hoping he could save perhaps one innocent victim from the ruthless fangs of Nacherine.

“No offense meant Julius, but if you can’t find someone suitable you’ll take an animal, I haven’t done that in 800 years,” answered Nacherine, opening the sash and shutters of a window, transforming and flying into the night.

“He does have a point,” Mary observed from her repose on a couch while the vampiric Christ stared at the open window.

“It is wrong to do such a thing woman,” said Jesus with firm resolve.

“For him or for you?” Mary asked, studying her nails, smirking at the score she had taken.

“As I have no control over friend Cuspius, only for us apparently.”

“Whatever,” said Mary, vainly wishing he would lighten up regarding their victims.

A pair of thieves filled the order this evening, Jesus entertaining his consort beforehand by having a heated fistfight with the larger man, letting the hapless robber exhaust himself.

“Don’t you feel pain?” asked the exasperated, tired thief, looking to his bloody fists, Mary having frozen the other to his spot.

“Not really, considering I’m a vampire,” said a smiling Jesus with fangs showing, the Magdalene laughing.

“I’ve always had this kind of rotten luck!” the thief spat, hurling himself at Jesus.

Holding the thief in a headlock, Jesus said, “You’re a good fighter, too bad I have to kill you.”

“Get it over with you vicious bastard,” the resigned thief retorted, struggling to free himself from the Son of Man’s viselike left arm.

“If you say so,” said Jesus, closing his arm and breaking the man’s neck with a loud crack, the limp corpse falling to the ground.

“What do we do with the other one?” asked Mary.

“Just kill him woman,” ordered Jesus, kneeling down and sinking fangs in the neck, sucking the warm cadaver dry.

“What’s your problem?” asked Mary, dispatching her victim, wiping her mouth on his tunic.

“People like him bug the shit out of me,” said Jesus, staring at the drained corpse.

“Why?”

“Even in the yawning jaws of death he would not relent.”

“That’s because he was a man.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” said the Magdalene, eyeing the bloodless body, “What did you expect him to do, kiss your ass, he was defeated and knew it, for him to ask for mercy would have compromised his honor.”

“Really?”

“Are you stupid, even I can see it, you did the same thing when they nailed you to the cross!”

“I did?”

“You’re the one who once thought you were God, a man who told the Pharisees and Pilate to screw themselves and were murdered for your beliefs,” the Magdalene answered, pointing to the corpse, “What’s the difference between you and him?” She looked to her teacher for an answer.

“It’s not the same, I only wished for my fellow man to – ”

“Bullshit, there is no difference and your fellow man is garbage if you ask me,” Mary retorted, “Who cares about them, they never cared about you!”

“It is not my place to – ”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jesus and Mary, forever at odds on the idea of who was proper to take, looted and disposed of their victims, returning to Nacherine’s villa, flying in through the same window.

“How was hunting?” asked Nacherine after they transformed, having returned to his villa at a little after two, Jesus and consort arriving at four thirty.

“We killed a pair of thieves on the Via Appia Flaminia,” said Jesus.

“Very good, you’re consuming human blood,” replied a pleased Nacherine.

“Who did you take?”

“Someone wandering about a village, I didn’t bother to ask his name,” said Nacherine, relaxing in a chair, reaching for a pitcher of Gallic wine on his desk.

“Oh,” replied Jesus, looking to the floor.

“At least I’m being honest with you,” said Nacherine, offering him a goblet of wine.

Sitting down heavily, Jesus took the goblet and asked, “So Cuspius, you know I was a preacher before becoming a vampire, what were you in life?”

“I was trained in my youth as a mason but was drafted into the King’s service during a civil war, my job at that time was the commander’s chief executioner,” said Nacherine.

“I guess that explains you,” replied Jesus, smiling weakly.

“Probably,” said Nacherine, breaking into a laugh, Jesus and Mary joining him.

Drinking wine and conversing until dawn, they settled into sleep shortly after sunrise. Spending several weeks at the villa, the vampiric couple found plenty of deserving human victims along the highway leading to Rome, filling their pockets with money and the ravines with bodies.

Their host continued to slaughter people within a thirty-mile radius of his villa, not caring in the least as to whom they were, dumping his victims into ravines or caves, always returning to his lair long before his guests.

All arriving early from their predations one evening near midnight, Jesus observed the villa was in dire need of paint and repair, noting it was quite dilapidated and the grounds overgrown with saplings and weeds.

Mentioning this to his host, Nacherine replied, “I don’t care, I’ve been languishing here for nearly seven years, it’s about time I move to greener fields.”

“What will happen to your villa?”

“Who knows,” said a shrugging Nacherine.

“It must have cost a lot of money.”

“Probably, but I didn’t buy it and I don’t care.”

“How did you acquire it?” asked Jesus, his host handing them goblets of wine.

“I came by one evening, killed the owner and his wife, hypnotized a few of his slaves and moved in,” Nacherine answered.

“See Jesus, he’s normal,” said a playful Mary, pointing to Nacherine, he smiling at the remark.

Frowning at her, Jesus asked, “What about the census?”

“What are you saying?” asked a confused Nacherine, finding Jesus’ meanderings difficult to follow.

“They take the census every five years or so, how did you fool them?”

“What, those stupid Romans?”

“Yes.”

“If you must know, I led the censor to believe I was citizen Cuspius Valgus Porcius, legal owner of this villa.”

“You used hypnosis, a brilliant idea,” Jesus observed, not bothering to judge Nacherine for his murder of the owners.

“I suppose,” said Nacherine, “The next census will be taken in two or three years, if I’m still here when those jokers come around I’ll do the same thing.”

“Indeed, that’s why we’re heading to Rome.”

“Come again?” asked Nacherine, not following.

“We’re going to Rome to place my family on the roster of Cappadocia,” Jesus explained, “That will assure they have citizenship and no problems with the government.”

“I understand, that’ll be easy,” said Nacherine.

“It will?”

“Entrance one of the Emperor’s scribes, have him fill out the necessary documents and the problem will be cured, if you don’t want to bother with that, you can do it yourself on a late evening when they’re asleep.”

“Have you done such a thing before?” asked Mary.

“Several times, and yes, I did it for mortal friends,” said Nacherine, pouring wine.

The conversation continued through the night, with discussions about the Roman Empire, philosophy, and religion, finally settling on a most important subject, the finer points of vampirism.

“As you have no master Julius, I suppose it’s my duty to instruct you,” said Nacherine, hands folded with index fingers steepled, “And if you did have a master, I would say nothing.”

“Why?”

“Another unwritten rule, no vampire blunders in and tries to tell other vampires how to conduct themselves, especially with their master around.”

“I see,” said a nodding Jesus, “Mary and I, with the help of our slave Cyril, have studied the writings of Herodotus, and he also told us of Thucydides’ scroll.”

“Very inaccurate documents penned by ignorant mortals.”

“I agree, but since you are perhaps 8,000 years older than we are, I imagine you of all vampires must truly know the ways of our kind,” said Jesus.

“I do, just ask and I will inform you of the truth.”

“Okay, what’s the thing about garlic?” Jesus started, “Some say garlic can harm vampires but it doesn’t bother us at all.”

“Amulets of garlic and other herbs like wolfbane are bullshit, along with stories of our fearing to cross running water and of animals fearing us, I’m sure you’ve found that out already,” Nacherine explained, Jesus and the Magdalene listening intently.

“Yes we have,” replied Jesus.

“What else?” asked Nacherine, leaning back in his chair.

“What of silver?”

“What of it?”

“It’s said it can harm us but we have suffered no ill effects from handling it.”

“More bullshit, I have mountains of it all over Europe, but it does come in handy when you need to buy something, like wine,” said a smiling Nacherine, raising his goblet.

“As we have found,” said Mary, thinking of the finer things she had purchased with their appropriated money.

“Instead of questioning me, perhaps you should explain what you believe can harm us Julius, it may save time,” Nacherine suggested, having heard these interrogatives many times from vampires whose masters had been destroyed before they could learn the ways.

“Very well, we know the danger the sun, oak stakes, and intimate contact with fire present, other than that we are ignorant,” answered Jesus.

“Those are the three, it seems to be instinctive for most of us,” Nacherine observed.

“Are they truly deadly?”

“Deadly no, as we are already dead, but there are degrees to everything. All those things can destroy us yes, but only in certain ways.”

“Such as?” asked Jesus.

“The wood of oaks is quite poisonous to us. If an oak stake is applied to the heart of any vampire, certain destruction always follows.”

“He is very sensitive to oak,” said Mary, touching Jesus lightly on the shoulder.

“As am I,” a nodding Nacherine admitted, “I can’t come in contact with something like oak tanned leather for very long, further, I even avoid the living trees.”

“Neither can I, but Mary can wear all forms of leather and it doesn’t bother her at all.”

“Like I said, there are degrees,” said Nacherine, staring at the oil lamp.

“What of fire?” asked Mary.

“That’s not half as bad as some would like to say it is Maria. Fire is seemingly no more destructive to us than it is to a mortal, yes, fire can destroy us, but it seems fire will also destroy anything else too, living and undead.”

“What of the sun?” asked Jesus.

“Now there’s something, and good Occto pointed that out at the first,” said Nacherine.

“How’s that?”

“Direct sunlight, the sun high in the sky, unimpeded, is certain destruction within minutes for us, but there are times when we can walk among the living in daylight.”

“We can?” asked an excited Mary.

“On heavy overcast days and when the sun is low on the horizon we may walk among the mortals in the light,” said Nacherine, “Perhaps within a half hour of its rising and setting, but only then.”

“Incredible,” said Jesus, “I always believed we could never walk upon the earth when the sun shines.”

“For the most part that’s true,” Nacherine agreed. “However, I assure you friends, there are times when I have strolled about the forum in Rome at high noon, providing the clouds are thick. Only perhaps an hour or two, we do start to feel it should we stay out longer.”

“That’s good to know,” said Jesus, “It would be wise to move about during daylight hours when occasions permit, one can avoid suspicion that way.”

“Exactly.”

At a little past four, they received their ultimate revelations from Nacherine the vampire.

“We flew as bats across the Mare Adriaticum into Italy about a month ago,” said Jesus.

“Good for you, but there’s a faster way,” replied Nacherine, filling goblets of wine.

“What do you mean?” asked Jesus.

“What do I mean, watch this,” said Nacherine with a sinister grin.

Nacherine stilled, fading away within a second, disappearing into fog while holding his goblet, vanishing before their eyes.

“Where did he go?” asked a confused Magdalene, looking about.

“Over here,” Nacherine called, standing before the bronze clad doors, still holding his goblet.

“We can do that too?” asked a fascinated Jesus.

“Of course,” said Nacherine, reappearing at the desk almost instantly, sitting his goblet down.

“That’s incredible,” said an impressed Jesus.

“It’s nothing, try it.”

“I believe I shall,” Jesus declared, concentrating and turning to fog within a second.

The experience was like nothing the Christ had ever imagined; his physical existence seemed to vanish, his consciousness unfettered by a body.

“I’m here too Jesus,” said Mary, speaking by thought alone in a netherworld of existence.

“As am I,” added Nacherine, joining them.

“This is incredible, almost like transcendental meditation,” said Jesus.

“It is what we are,” said Nacherine as they returned to human form.

A breathless Jesus sat down, shaken by his literal out of body experience, joined by his consort, she also deeply moved.

“Didn’t know about that did you Julius?” asked a smiling Nacherine.

“You are the wise teacher of my vision!” Jesus exclaimed.

“I don’t know about all that, but figured I should tell you of our ways before you left.”

“What else can we do?” asked Mary.

“Only one more thing, watch this,” Nacherine answered, hands on his desk, again transforming.

The ancient vampire closed his eyes and vanished for a moment, reappearing with four furry paws standing on the pine desktop.

Growling and licking his chops, Nacherine had assumed the form of a wolf, yellow-eyed with fangs bared. Narrowing eyes, he again transformed, reappearing sitting at the desk, hands folded with index fingers steepled.

“What do you think of that?” asked Nacherine, his hazel, human eyes looking to the vampiric couple.

“I like it,” said Jesus.

“Those are our ways,” said Nacherine, head leaning to one side. “That is all my friend Julius, as for your style of taking people, like I told you, it’s not uncommon, a friend of mine named Knossos of Crete always insisted upon taking only the unjust.”

“Who was he?” asked Mary.

“You mean who is he Maria, he’s still among us as far as I know,” said Nacherine, “Good Knossos has walked this earth for perhaps two thousand years.”

“Really?” asked Jesus, looking to Mary.

“Yes, maybe four hundred years ago he befriended a mortal named Pericles in Greece and his minions slaughtered most of the Spartan army,” said Nacherine.

“The Athenian legend is true?” asked Jesus, thinking of the frieze on the Parthenon.

“Indeed it is, and I’ve seen the frieze on the Parthenon too. Further, following tradition, I’ve never taken anyone residing in Athens since that time,” Nacherine answered, resting his head on an upright arm.

“Interesting,” said Jesus, looking to his consort.

“I suppose, I haven’t talked with young Knossos for perhaps four hundred years, at that time he and his band were heading to Scythia after they destroyed the Spartan army.”

“You must have been there, were you part of it?” asked the Magdalene.

“No Maria, I was passing through, I don’t get involved in that sort of crap.”

“Herodotus wrote they headed to Dacia,” observed Jesus.

“Don’t believe everything you read, I should know, I was there.”

“I assure you I don’t,” said Jesus, the conversation continuing on into the night.

“So Cuspius, where does our kind come from?” asked the Magdalene several hours later.

“Herodotus said Dacia was our original home,” Jesus added.

“That’s probably a crock too,” answered Nacherine, “Even Occto had no answer for that question. In my opinion we’ve been around from the dawn of time, our origins shrouded in antiquity.”

“Another unanswerable question,” said Jesus.

“Apparently,” Nacherine agreed, pausing to refill their goblets.

“Hey Jesus, why don’t you ask him about your problem?” asked Mary, Nacherine handing her a glass of wine.

“What problem is that woman?”

“You know what I mean,” answered Mary, giggling.

“Oh yes, that,” a smirking Jesus retorted.

“You have a problem Julius, tell me about it, perhaps I can help,” offered Nacherine, handing Jesus his goblet.

“It has to do with his voice at times,” said Mary.

“What’s the problem?” asked Nacherine, sitting down at the desk and folding hands.

“All right Cuspius, if you must know, when I become angry or upset, my voice at times becomes accented, for lack of better words,” confessed Jesus.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about but don’t know as to why, incidentally, Occto had the same problem and it always bothered him too.”

“He did?” asked Jesus, taking a gulp of wine, no longer feeling quite as strange.

“Yes, and I’ve met a few others like you in my travels. From what I’ve been able to gather, those of us who can speak in that manner are more powerful than average vampires,” said Nacherine, a hint of envy in his voice.

“Hmm,” a ruminating Jesus muttered, rubbing stubble on his chin.

Pressing further, Nacherine asked, “Tell me Julius, as a vampire have you ever done anything that could be considered uh, outside the powers of the undead, something unusual?”

“Yes he did Cuspius, Jesus can kill someone with a single utterance, I watched him do it in Jerusalem,” the Magdalene declared proudly, recalling the hapless guard outside Pilate’s residence.

“As could Occto,” observed a very impressed Nacherine, looking to Jesus.

“He could?” asked Jesus, shocked at the revelation.

“It seems those like you are special,” said Nacherine, “Perhaps with research and study it may one day explain you. I remember Occto told me one evening he had met another like him, many thousands of years before he turned me who also claimed to have no master, I think I have an old scroll here somewhere alluding to that – ”

“Who was Occto’s master?” Mary interrupted.

“She was a woman hailing from the east. Her name was uh, Bes… or was it Veh…,” said a frowning Nacherine, the room growing silent while he tried to remember the name. “I’m truly sorry Maria, I forget her name after all this time, I was told of that nearly 8,000 years ago,” he added after a few moments, folding hands at his chin, disappointed he could no longer recall the name.

“Is she still around?” asked Mary.

“Don’t know, I never met her,” a wistful Nacherine replied, looking to the Magdalene.

They spent a few more days at Nacherine’s villa, the vampiric Christ intent on heading to Rome, a warm April spring having blossomed across the Italian peninsula.

“When will we see you again friend Cuspius?” asked Jesus in the middle of a pleasant spring night, preparing to leave, having sated themselves with the blood of highwaymen earlier.

“At times of parting my name is Nacherine of Koech, friend Jesus of Nazareth,” their vampiric host corrected, calling the Christ by his true name.

“Very well Nacherine,” replied Jesus, “When shall we?”

“Who knows,” said a shrugging Nacherine, “Perhaps in a year, or maybe five centuries Jesus, but I’m certain we shall cross paths again, and I wish you well on your journeys until then.”

“As do we you,” Jesus replied, intending to put out his hand.

“Hold on, I have something for you,” said Nacherine, heading into the house and returning in moments, holding a scroll. “A gift for you and Mary to read,” he offered, handing him the tied scroll.

“What is it?”

“Thucydides’ treatise on vampires.”

“Thank you very much,” replied Jesus, offering his hand, giving Nacherine a firm Roman handshake.

“Thanks for dropping by friends, you two had best get going on your trip,” said the ancient vampire, moving from the threshold, placing a hand on one of the doors.

“Take care our friend Nacherine,” said the Magdalene, she and Jesus standing before the threshold.

“May you take care friends Jesus and Mary,” Nacherine replied, closing the bronze clad doors to his sanctuary.

The couple returning to the highway leading to Rome, Mary said, “I like Nacherine, I hope we will encounter him again.”

“So do I, we probably will,” Jesus answered, slinging the satchel over his shoulder.

“You don’t mind the way he takes people?”

“I cannot mind as his way is none of my business.”

“But you would prefer he take only those you consider deserving.”

“I thought about that for a while, I found I don’t care what he or others like us do, however, I will never change my ways regarding our victims,” said a resolved Jesus.

“Oh,” said the Magdalene, realizing the word our referred to she and he.

“Shall we head to Rome?” asked Jesus while they walked along.

“Aren’t we doing that now?”

“Yes, but what I meant is do you want to head there in another form, Nacherine said it was faster,” a smiling Jesus answered.

“You mean as mist or fog don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why not, I found it rather interesting the first time.”

Those words said, Jesus and consort faded from view, becoming little more than momentary wisps of fog heading south, vanishing from the highway.

Traveling much faster than on foot or as bats, at five they appeared on the northern outskirts of Rome, seeing the lit metropolis from over ten miles away.

Breaking into a disused aqueduct maintenance shack near dawn they found shelter for the day.

“This place is rather small isn’t it?” asked Mary after barring the door, looking about the cobweb filled, roughly twelve by twelve foot poured concrete building, rusty tools, hardened bags of mortar and dust littering the place.

“It’s not the Epicurus Hotel but it’s as good a place as any right now,” said Jesus, dusting off a large, strong wooden table to be used as a bed, placing his cloak on top, pressing he and the Magdalene’s satchels into service for use as pillows.

“You have a point there,” said Mary, beholding sunlight coming through a crack in the upper mortar, illuminating a long abandoned bird’s nest on a rafter.

“Let’s get sleep, we have Rome to see tonight,” said a yawning Jesus after he lay down on the table, motioning his consort over.

“Sure,” Mary replied, joining him.

Coming out shortly after dusk, Jesus observed a clear darkening evening sky, looking to the city of Rome.

“So this is Rome,” said Mary, walking from the shack, stunned as she stared up at a towering aqueduct, a marvel of modern Roman engineering.

“Yes, Rome is capitol of the empire,” replied a smiling Jesus, strolling to a road named the ‘Via Flaminia’ leading into the city, a route lined with monuments to wealthy citizens who had died in the centuries preceding theirs, the First Century of the Common Era.

“That aqueduct is huge!” exclaimed a stunned Mary, still staring at the gigantic structure leading into the city.

“You haven’t seen one before?” asked Jesus while they walked along, looking to the aqueduct.

“I have in Jerusalem but not like these,” Mary answered, awestruck at the gigantic aqueduct.

“Indeed,” said Jesus, recalling the only large aqueducts in Judea were at the port of Caesarea, a Roman city she had never seen. A full moon was low on the horizon, the vampiric couple leisurely heading to Rome, the time a little past seven.

“What do we do tonight?” asked the Magdalene as they neared the city, holding his hand in hers.

“I guess we’ll check out the sights first, take a few criminals along the way for supper, hit a few bars later on and find a place to sleep, how does that sound my woman?”

“Not bad,” said a smiling Mary, looking to him as they entered the city near eight, the torch lit streets still filled with people, horse drawn carts, and military personnel.

“Are you looking for slaves this evening?” a vendor called to Jesus as they walked past.

“No thanks,” answered Jesus politely, the pair heading south toward Augustus’ Forum.

Even at this time, vendors were hawking wares along the sidewalks, selling everything from carryout food, to jewelry, to whores.

“Love for sale, hear me good citizens, the Venus brothel on the Esquiline has love for sale,” declared a pimp to passers by, standing on a stool.

“Imagine that, love for sale,” the Magdalene observed, chuckling at the lewd vendor as Jesus smiled.

“It’s a full moon, the Circus Maximus is open till twelve tonight, any takers on a pair of tokens, only ten sestertii for both!” yelled a vendor.

“Perhaps I am,” Jesus shouted back, walking to the salesman.

“I have two fine tokens for you,” said the vendor, “Alpha row at the gates, for three heats between the finest Arabian stallions you’ve ever seen!”

“Who’s racing tonight?” an interested Jesus asked, having enjoyed the circus many times in his twenties.

“The usual guys, Diomedes the Spartan is favored, with a team of horses owned by Ramos the Egyptian, pitted against Senator Commodus of Vesuvii using his own horses, and the Plebian merchant Quintellius driving his giant war horses.”

“Really.”

“As an extra, a condemned slave named Lodacer of Germania is racing too, driving the Emperor’s steeds, wagers placed on him will pay a hundred to one if he wins.”

“He’s using Tiberius’ horses?” asked Jesus, the Magdalene looking on silently, having never seen a horse race.

“Yeah, if he doesn’t win, a gladiator will kill him by beheading after the heats.”

“Why do they want to kill him?”

“It’s said he raped his mistress’ daughter and then tried to rape her too. If he wins tonight, he goes from the circus a free man, if he doesn’t he dies.”

“Is Lodacer good with racehorses?” asked Jesus.

“He’s been featured at the circus many times, racing for his master.”

“Do you think he did it?” asked Jesus.

“Probably, it’s rumored Claudius his master found him on the Palatine, trying to get on top of his wife,” answered the vendor.

Unknown to Jesus and the vendor, his musing was inaccurate, as the slave had actually been defending his mistress from the real rapist who had escaped during the fracas, his master upon arriving wrongly blaming him, even over the protests of his wife and daughter.

“Sold,” said Jesus, reaching in a pocket for funds, the vendor handing him the tokens.

“Why did you buy those?” asked the Magdalene as they strolled toward the circus.

“So we can see the races tonight,” said Jesus, looking forward to a fine evening at the Circus Maximus.

“You want to see them kill the German slave don’t you?”

“Not at all,” said Jesus, ”Verily I say, the slave Lodacer is racing for his very life and will win, that’s why I’m going to bet ten aurei on him, at a hundred to one.”

“Why, we don’t need money!” exclaimed Mary.

“Because it will be fun,” a smiling Jesus answered as they entered the circus, a huge wood, concrete and marble structure capable of seating over 30,000 people, complete with an oval earthen racetrack and central arena.

Heading to the betting booths, Jesus announced to a clerk, “I want to bet ten aurei on the German slave Lodacer, at a hundred to one.”

“It’s two hundred to one now, thanks to Quintellius getting in the race,” answered the clerk.

“Make it twenty, give me my slip,” replied Jesus, sitting twenty aurei on the counter.

“That’s four thousand if it pays out,” stammered the clerk.

“So, that isn’t a problem for true circus gamesters, place my bet.”

“It’s your funeral,” said the clerk.

“I hope not,” Jesus retorted, the Magdalene smiling in amusement.

Writing down the wager on a papyrus slip, the clerk passed it to a notary for his stamp.

“All right sir, that’s twenty aurei at two hundred to one, placed on Lodacer the German, here’s your – ” the clerk announced.

“Hold on Juvenus,” ordered the manager, walking up and looking to Jesus quizzically, “You’re betting twenty aurei on the German?”

“That’s right, there’s my money,” said Jesus, staring for a moment at the manager’s totally bald head, not a hair visible on his entire cranium.

“Twenty aurei’s a lot of money, with the amount of your wager it’ll break the bank if he wins,” said the manager.

“So?”

“Well, uh – ”

“You say he won’t win, I say he will, what’s the problem baldie?” asked a smiling Jesus, arms in the air.

“The odds,” the manager answered, looking to Jesus darkly, the notary snickering in the background.

“What about them?”

“It’ll pay 200 to one!”

“Are you trying to say you won’t pay off if he wins?” asked Jesus, his expression changing to a frown, looking the man in the eyes.

“I didn’t say that, it’s just – ” started the manager, wiping sweat from his ample forehead with a cloth, the thought of a gigantic payout crossing his mind.

“Forget it Julius, the races are probably fixed anyway,” said Mary, looking to her consort.

“No they’re not madam and we always pay off a winner,” the manager protested, noticing Mary, dressed as a Roman matron, was very good looking.

“Why won’t you take my bet?” asked Jesus, placing hands on the counter, the manager noting a golden signet ring on the third finger of his right hand.

“Place the citizen’s bet Juvenus, it’s his money,” ordered the manager, frowning and walking to the notary. “We’d best send notice to Lucas the Jew at the treasury in case that guy wins, people don’t like waiting for their money after a race,” he advised.

“Right away baldie,” answered the smiling notary, rising from his seat.

The manager, a thick-skinned individual, laughed at the insult, ogling the Magdalene from the window of another booth.

“Here’s your slip, placing twenty aurei at 200 to one, good luck,” said Juvenus, handing Jesus a piece of papyrus marked with his wager, stamped with the notary’s seal.

“That’s more like it,” said Jesus, putting the slip in a tunic pocket. His wager made, they headed to Alpha row, the circus lit by both moonlight and torches.

“You think he’ll win?” asked Mary while they took their seats.

“Probably, but even if he doesn’t, who cares?”

“I get it; after all it’s just a race, right?”

“For us, yes my woman, for that man sitting at the gate, not at all,” said Jesus, pointing to Lodacer standing in his chariot.

With those words, the gates opened wide, sixteen horses thundering from the gates for three exciting rounds about the Circus Maximus.

“Go man go!” yelled Jesus, while the sweating German slave sped his horses from third place to second at the finish line, eliminating Senator Commodus of Vesuvii.

During a rest period and intermission between the heats, four condemned men clad in loincloths were ushered into the arena to fight to the death with swords for the bloodthirsty crowd, providing grisly entertainment for all.

“Do you enjoy watching this carnage?” asked an overwhelmed Mary, watching one combatant lose most of a left hand, the crowd cheering wildly. Undaunted, the man fought on, bleeding to death in the arena, wielding the sword in his right.

“I’ve seen better,” an absorbed Jesus answered, observing a Nubian bandit hacked to death by an Egyptian criminal, an incredulous Mary staring at him.

Later, two wounded victors were carried away on stretchers for first aid, followed by their vanquished victims, dragged from the arena by slaves. After other slaves replaced and relit the torches, a full moon overhead, the remaining race contestants lined up at the gate, twelve steeds thundering down the racetrack shortly before ten. The second heat turning ugly, Diomedes the Spartan cracked his whip into the face of the plebian Quintellius, almost putting out an eye as the whip slapped across his forehead. Cutting into his flesh, the whip sent the competitor sprawling as he fell from his chariot to the track, getting up and scrambling to the stands before he was trampled to death.

“What a bastard that Greek racer is!” Jesus yelled, Mary observing the cruel Diomedes using his whip, later he and the German slave crossing the finish line, a smiling Diomedes placing first. For that last heat five circuits was the requirement, the contestants and their steeds coming to the gate at a little after eleven after slaughtered swordsmen were removed from the arena.

“I’ll take you rapist!” yelled Diomedes.

“I’m no rapist, and you’ll take me only if you cheat you Greek bastard!” yelled the innocent Lodacer, tightly holding the reins of his horses.

“Vadere!” shouted the starter, the gates opening, eight Arabian thoroughbreds racing for a man’s life.

The first three circuits around the track proceeded as usual, both men using their skill to compete.

Lodacer pulled ahead in the fifth lap, Jesus cheering him on, the cruel Diomedes slapping the slave’s back with the end of his whip, tearing his flesh.

Turning around, Lodacer hurled his whip at Diomedes, slashing open a cheek with a steel razor embedded at the end.

Undaunted, the laughing Spartan cracked his whip once more toward the German, missing him by a hair as the slave pulled further away.

“Nobody beats me!” yelled Diomedes, raising his whip as his lead horse broke a foreleg at the knee. Dropping the whip and pulling hard on the reins in an attempt to regain control, he glimpsed Lodacer giving him the finger, pulling away. This disastrous event sent the horses and their driver tumbling to their untimely deaths just before the finish line.

“I always knew this would happen!” an anguished Diomedes yelled as he lost control, looking to the cheering crowd for a fleeting second.

The chariot slid sideways, breaking an axle, the horses crushed by each other as they fell to the ground. The Spartan’s neck snapped while the chariot rolled over twice, his torso colliding hard against a concrete guard post. Bouncing off, the broken body flew through the air, landing in a lifeless heap on the track, the callous and bloodthirsty spectators laughing loudly at his misfortune.

“Lodacer wins his life!” exclaimed Jesus, the slave and his horses thundering across the finish line as the crowd of 20,000 cheered for the victorious slave.

“This is entertainment?” asked a shocked Mary.

“You bet your ass it is, they sure know how to give a good show in Rome!” a smiling Jesus exclaimed, the couple leaving the stands and heading for the payoff booth.

The manager was there, smiling broadly as the vampiric Christ walked up.

“That was a hell of a race wasn’t it?” asked the manager, opening the door to the booth.

“Indeed it was,” said Jesus, offering his hand while he and Mary walked in.

“You’re tonight’s winner and you broke the bank, how did you know the German would win?” the manager asked, giving Jesus a firm Roman handshake.

“Verily I say friend, when a man is racing for his very life, it isn’t surprising he often wins,” intoned a smiling Jesus, the freed slave Lodacer walking from the track behind them, surrounded by young ladies and other admirers.

“It also helps if one of your competitor’s horses breaks a leg in the fifth lap,” the manager answered with a laugh, a burly guard walking in carrying a strongbox containing 4,000 aurei.

“He was ahead of the Greek, he would’ve won anyway,” Jesus observed.

“That’s true,” the manager admitted, “We had to send to the treasury for your winnings, please don’t come back for a while, otherwise you’ll drive us into bankruptcy!”

“We’re just passing though,” said Jesus, the Magdalene handing him his satchel.

“Fortunate for us,” replied the smiling manager.

“Do you think it will fit in there?” asked Mary, Jesus and the guard kneeling down and dumping handfuls of gold and silver from a bag into the satchel while the manager looked on.

“Probably not,” said Jesus, winking to her and asking, “Say guys, could you use some gold and silver?”

“Are you kidding?” asked the guard, jaw dropping.

“Not at all, take some for yourself, have some too baldie,” said Jesus, looking up to the manager.

“If you say so, thank you sir,” stammered the manager, Mary dumping a handful of aurei and denarii into his hands.

“Give some to the clerk and the notary too,” said Jesus, grabbing fistfuls of precious metal from the strongbox, the guard and the manager staring at Jesus in awe.

“Right,” said the Magdalene, grabbing another bag from the strongbox.

“Where did the German guy go?” Jesus asked of no one in particular.

“You mean Lodacer?” asked the manager while Mary headed to the betting booths.

“Yeah, I’m sure he can use money too.”

“I imagine he’s around here somewhere,” said the manager, tunic pockets stuffed with aurei.

“Have someone find him, I’m sure he’ll be very happy when I give him gold,” Jesus declared.

“See to it please,” ordered the manager to the smiling guard.

“Right,” said the guard, walking out to search for the former slave.

Returning with Lodacer the German a few minutes later, Jesus observed, “So, you’re the man who made me 4,000 aurei tonight.”

“You bet on me?” Lodacer asked, an arm around the waist of a beautiful young woman, laurel leaves around his head, a palm frond in his left hand.

“I did indeed, you’re a fine racer,” said a smiling Jesus, “It’s high time to reward you.”

“How’s that?” asked the former slave.

“Have a thousand aurei, in gold and silver,” Jesus announced, tossing a bag to the man’s feet.

“Are you serious?”

“I assure you he is,” said the incredulous manager.

“Why?”

“Why? Perhaps because I can’t fit any more money into this satchel, I imagine that’s as good a reason as any.”

The Magdalene smiled, watching her consort give away well over 2,000 aurei in winnings.

“What’s your name friend?” asked Lodacer, reaching down and lifting the bag of coins.

“Julian Cassius of Illyricum,” said a lying Jesus, lifting the strongbox and dumping the remaining coins into the satchel, filled nearly to bursting with gold and silver.

“I’ll bet that’s heavy,” the manager ventured.

“I’ll manage,” said Jesus, easily lifting the hoard of coins. “A good evening to all of you,” added Jesus, bidding farewell to the men, he and Mary walking to the exit atrium.

“That man is incredible,” said the manager after the vampiric couple had departed.

“Damn generous too,” the smiling guard replied, patting his overstuffed money belt, Lodacer staring at his bag of gold and silver.

“Congratulations Lodacer of Germania, not only are you still alive, you’re a rich man,” the manager observed.

“Yeah, earlier tonight I thought I was a dead man,” said Lodacer. “To hell with that, I’m going to buy a house on the Aventine and perhaps marry this good woman here, it’s strange how the fates work sometimes.”

“Great Jupiter and his pantheon of gods have smiled upon you this evening,” declared the guard, tucking thumbs in his overstuffed money belt while ogling his woman.

“Indeed so,” a smiling Lodacer agreed, unbelieving of his good fortune.

“He has on us all tonight,” added the manager, patting his pockets and thinking of Jesus Christ.

Leaving the gigantic Circus Maximus complex, Jesus and Mary quickly found a suitable hotel, not of the Epicurus chain as he had come to prefer, but nevertheless one comparable in luxury. However, this fine establishment offered lodging without the complementary breakfast or dinner, which naturally made no difference to Jesus, considering he and consort were vampires.

Sitting the heavy bag of money on a polished cedar nightstand, Jesus lay down on the bed to relax.

“How can you watch those horrible games, people butchering one another with swords, arms flying off and the like?” asked Mary, looking to him with a disenchanted frown.

“They’re amusing,” said a yawning Jesus, hands folded behind his head.

“Amusing? They’re barbaric, a half-dozen people were slaughtered back there!”

“Verily I say, I’ve seen things elsewhere in this godforsaken world making the games here look like a joke.”

“You have?” asked the Magdalene, shocked at his revelation.

“Yes, in India and Cathay. Besides, it was only five people, they were mostly condemned criminals, what do you care?” asked Jesus, looking to her with a confused expression.

“I don’t care all that much, but I’ve never seen such things and thought you of all people were against killing.”

“I am against killing generally speaking, but I can’t do anything about fools slaughtering each other in an arena, so I figure I’ll enjoy watching them do it on occasion.”

“They’re forced to do it,” Mary retorted, having a twinge of pity for the night’s victims, vividly remembering a cringing and defeated Nubian hacked to death by a maniacal Egyptian wielding a gladius.

“Not always, and those who are forced to fight are always condemned criminals anyway.”

“They’re criminals?” asked a frowning Magdalene, staring at her consort.

“Yes, further, the condemned are usually given a choice, either being beheaded or crucified, a certain death, or being pitted against another fighting to the death in the arena, with a chance, albeit a small one, of surviving, that is of course until the next battle comes,” Jesus explained.

“You were a condemned criminal and were innocent of any wrongdoing, how do you know they weren’t?”

“I don’t know, that’s true, but there’s nothing I can do about it,” said an exasperated Jesus. “Besides, like you say, I was guilty of nothing in Jerusalem and no one did anything to save me.”

“I think it is wrong,” said the Magdalene, her personal morality coming to the surface.

“Probably, I’ll have to concede that to you,” Jesus admitted, staring at the ceiling.

“What about Lodacer, he was condemned and they had him racing the Emperor’s horses,” asked Mary.

“Sometimes that happens, I imagine his master had something to with it, figuring he’d lose the race and get beheaded anyway,” Jesus ventured.

“I don’t see how anyone can enjoy watching people slaughter each other,” said Mary, not knowing Romans had been doing such things as wholesome family entertainment for centuries.

“Get used to it woman, it’s the way of the world today. I did, watching many games like that when I was in my twenties, and grew to enjoy them,” said a sighing Jesus, sitting up in the bed.

“You did?”

“I certainly did.”

“Must be an acquired taste,” his frowning consort replied, not having known Jesus had spent many pleasant days at the circus when living in Rome.

“Probably, do you want to head out in a bit for supper?” asked Jesus, changing the subject.

“Sure,” said a subdued Mary, grabbing a brush and combing out her locks before a polished bronze mirror.

“Before we go I need another shave,” said Jesus, pulling his razor from her satchel and walking into the bathroom.

I wonder what he sees in those terrible games, thought Mary, never having seen the darker side of her Jesus.

The moon approaching the horizon, they strolled into the night, looking for suitable victims among the inhabitants of Rome. Moving to the Esquiline slums, the vampiric couple found the dregs of humanity lurking in a dark alley, daggers pulled and demanding lucre. Draining their blood, looting them of bronze quadrans and dumping them in a latrine, the bodies later floated out to the Tiber River via the outlet of the Cloaca Maxima, main sewer of Rome. Stopping by a bar, Jesus picked up a magnum of Gallic wine for the evening, handing the owner Antony two denarii, he and consort returning to the hotel.

“Why didn’t you stay at the tavern and have a drink?” asked Mary, Jesus opening the magnum and taking a gulp from it.

“I’ve had enough people for tonight, so I figure I’ll use the rest of the evening to relax and write a letter to my folks and Cyril.”

“You did say you would write to them,” said the Magdalene, “While you pen your letter I’ll get a bath.”

“Without me?” Jesus asked, looking for a satchel containing his writing implements.

“We’ll have time for that later,” said Mary, “You really should write and let them know how we’re doing, it’s been a while.”

The Magdalene entered her bath, Jesus producing the satchel, taking out parchment, ink and stylus he had purchased three months earlier in Illyricum. Sitting down at a table with the bottle, Jesus dipped his stylus in the ink and began a short letter to his family and Cyril. Thinking a moment, he placed the current date on the document, and started writing in Latin, much of the text couched in euphemism only the family would understand.

The letter read:

 

                                                                                                           15 April 789 AUC

 

My dear parents and my friend Cyril,

Maria and I are in Rome enjoying the beautiful scenery; tonight we had a lovely evening at the Circus Maximus, afterward going out for a fine dinner on the Esquiline hill.

By the way father, you and good Brutus were right, we should have left in the spring, Illyricum province was snowed in for most of January and early February. We were stuck there for nearly a month and took a boat across the Mare Adriaticum to the Italian peninsula, figuring Pannonia and Cisalpine Gaul would be snowed in too.

The trip here was relatively uneventful, but we did meet a friend named Cuspius Porcius a few months ago who was very helpful to us; he had much information that Maria and I have found quite useful.

I will be taking care of our necessary business matters in a few days hence – our friend was also helpful in suggesting how to accomplish the transaction; please have no worries my father, it should prove easy.

As for our dear Cyril, I have acquired another scroll for you to read; it was a gift from our friend Cuspius; it won’t be much of a surprise to you really, but you should find it enjoyable.

May this letter find you all happy and well, Maria and I are going to tour Europe for a while. We should see you again in a year, or perhaps sixteen months at most – and please say hello to the other slaves for me.

Don’t worry my father and mother, I shall write you again, probably in the fall.

 

Your Julius

 

The letter finished, Jesus left the fine lambskin parchment on the table, intending to take it to a local army garrison the following evening for sealing and posting. Strolling to the bathroom, he found his consort languishing pleasantly in the warm water.

“Are you finished writing already?”

“Yes, shall I join you in your bath?”

“By all means,” said Mary, making room for him in the bronze tub. Disrobing, he climbed in, she asking, “What did you write to them?”

“Later,” said Jesus, enjoying the feel of the warm water and taking her in his arms.

Leaving the tub an hour later, the vampiric couple, cleansed and sated, dressed and walked out to their rented bedroom.

“So Jesus, what did you write to them?” Mary asked.

“Read my letter, it’s on the table,” said Jesus, climbing into bed, tired from the evening’s events.

Mary picked up the letter and quickly read it. “Quite good, it’s short and sweet.”

“I didn’t want to bore them, let’s get sleep shall we?” a yawning Jesus suggested, the time a little after four in the morning.

Joining her consort, they fell into peaceful slumber. Waking nearly an hour and a half before dusk, Jesus roused the Magdalene, she staring at him with a frown.

Sitting up and looking to a closed sash shutter, she exclaimed, “Why the hell did you wake me up, it’s still daylight!”

“Yes, but it’s nearing dusk, I was wondering if you’d like to take a daylight stroll later on.”

“Are you insane?” asked Mary, falling back on a pillow.

“Don’t you remember, Nacherine said we could move about when the sun is low on the horizon, I was figuring we could try it today.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry,” said a yawning Magdalene, rising tiredly from the bed and reaching for her hairbrush on the nightstand. “What time is it?” she asked, heading to a bronze mirror.

“Near five,” said Jesus, “The sun sets around six-thirty this time of year, so I figured we’d head to the garrison and post my letter at six or so and locate the Hall of Records.”

“Don’t you know where it is?” asked Mary, turning from the mirror.

“It’s somewhere near the Capitoline hill, just down from the forum if I recall correctly, but it has been a while,” said Jesus, dressing in an off white tunic and sandals.

Coming down the stairs from their second floor suite an hour later, the pair headed for the door – and daylight.

Overcome by fear, the Magdalene stopped in her tracks, staring at the closed door in morbid trepidation. She vividly recalled the day when she had stepped from the tomb as a vampire, her forearms burning as she cringed from the terrible sunlight, her sleeping consort oblivious of her near destruction that spring afternoon. “I’m afraid,” she whispered, her expression showing terror at the thought of the deadly sun.

“Don’t be, tell you what, I’ll walk out first and you follow me,” said an unconcerned Jesus, looking to Mary.

“Okay,” replied Mary, a weak smile crossing her face.

Approaching the door, Jesus found himself a little unnerved as well, for did not the scrolls say sunlight would destroy a vampire?  Undaunted, the vampiric Christ continued on, recalling Nacherine’s inculcations related to them on a dark night, the truthful utterances of a fellow vampire and teacher. Knowing that, a fearless Jesus dismissed the inaccurate musings of mortal men, coming to the door. Moving the latch, Jesus opened the door, standing in the threshold beholding a low sun on the horizon directly ahead, a yellowish orb he had not seen in a little over three short years. It was sunlight, but his friend Nacherine was right, a low sun seemed to produce no ill effects on vampires. Smiling at this fact and turning to Mary, he said, “Well come on woman, let’s mail my letter.”

Stepping into early evening daylight, they strolled the street among the mortals, heading to a local army garrison, also serving as a post office in those days. The streets were filled with people going about their business, a plebian appearing Jesus nodding to several passers by. Arriving at the garrison, they walked in, Jesus heading to an opening in a wall with a sign above it, boldly marked in Latin script with, “LETTER AND PACKAGE POSTING”.

“Good afternoon citizen, what can we do for you today?” an army enlistee serving as a postal clerk asked politely, hands folded.

“I need to seal and post this letter, sending it to Tibernum in Cappadocia,” said Jesus.

“That’s a long way from here,” the clerk observed, taking the neatly folded and tied letter, glancing at the name and town. Looking to a fee chart, he added, “Let’s see, Rome to Tibernum in Cappadocia province, via courier, that’ll be two denarii. Say citizen, it’s only one if you decide to use a merchant’s caravan.”

“A courier will be fine.”

“Okay, two will do that.”

“Very well, seal it please,” said Jesus, handing him money.

“Shall do,” answered the clerk, sitting the letter on the counter, taking hot wax in a ladle and pouring a sufficient amount over the knot, stamping it with a bronze Imperial seal while the wax hardened.

“Do you wish to stamp it with your signet?” asked the clerk.

“Yes,” answered Jesus, the man pouring another amount just to the right of the first seal, Jesus making a fist with his right and pressing his ring into the wax.

“You’re a lefty sir, so am I,” said the smiling clerk, holding up his right hand, signet ring on the third finger, taking the letter with his left and putting it in a strongbox.

“Indeed you are,” replied a nodding Jesus, returning a smile to the enlistee.

“The mail for Greece and Anatolia goes out once every two weeks, this letter should arrive there in a month or so, as pickup for this box is on Friday,” said the clerk, writing out a receipt and handing it to Jesus.

“Thank you,” said Jesus, another patron carrying a package walking up, he and Mary heading out to the approaching dusk.

“This is incredible, we’re moving about in daylight,” Mary whispered while heading down the Via Sacra toward the forum, beautiful polished marble architecture surrounding them.

“I suppose it’s just as well I’m not wearing a toga,” said a chuckling Jesus.

“What are you trying to say?” asked Mary, not following his meanderings.

“Don’t you remember, the night we were heading to Mansahir when we took the robber’s toga?” asked Jesus, the couple walking along arm in arm.

“Oh yes, you told me it was a capital offense to wear one if you’re not a citizen,” she answered as they strolled into the forum. Passing tall honorary columns on their left, just before the glistening marble Temple of Jupiter, Mary marveled at these beautiful constructions. These nothing new to the Jesus, he ignored them, the Magdalene pointing out the attractions.

“I’ve seen them before,” said Jesus, intent on finding the Tabularium, the archive where all Roman records were stored.

Passing through an arch on the Via Sacra shortly after dusk, Jesus remarked, “It has to be around here somewhere.”

“The Hall of Records?”

“Yes,” said Jesus, rounding a corner and beholding a gigantic multistory concrete and marble building, the words “TABVLARIVM ROMANVS SPQR” carved in two-foot letters on the solid marble of the lintel above the porch. A pair of imposing, giant sized granite eagles clutching fasces, symbol of Roman Imperial power, were perched on each side of the lintel, standing guard over the building.

“The Hall of Records, what do you know?” Mary observed, reading the script, “So, what do we do now, have a scribe for dinner and forge some forms?”

“No woman, I’ll use hypnosis on them like Nacherine did, but not tonight, I simply wanted to locate the place. We’ll be here for months, so why don’t we head to the Esquiline and find supper?” asked Jesus, feeling hungry from his consort’s suggestion.

“You’re not going to hit the racetrack tonight?” the Magdalene asked with a sly grin.

“Of course not, at least not for a while. We should try to keep a low profile in this city, and baldie would probably throw us out if we showed up this evening,” said Jesus, taking her hand in his.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” said the Magdalene, the couple heading to the slums of Rome.

Finding sustenance was proving ridiculously easy, the moonlit Esquiline slums filled with hoodlums and criminals, they encountering two thieves only minutes after entering this section of the city. Disposing of the assailants in the usual fashion after checking for valuables, they strolled the slums for an hour or so, coming across another pair of criminals in a side alley, demanding money. Both sated for the evening, Jesus looked to them and declared, “You’re tired, so go to sleep,” the two falling to the ground in slumber. “Let’s get out of here before we run into more of them,” added a scornful Jesus.

“Why didn’t you kill them?” the Magdalene asked quietly, the pair making their way past a brothel packed with patrons.

“I’m saving them for later, we’ll be back, I’m sure they will be too.”

“Good idea,” said a smiling Mary as they headed back toward the forum.

Taking in the sights of Rome for a few more hours, Jesus strolled to a tavern, walking through the open door, passing through a crowd of boisterous customers on way to the bar.

“What would you like to drink on this fine evening?” a personable bartender asked as they took seats at a little after ten.

“Gallic wine will do for us,” said Jesus, the Magdalene nodding.

“Coming up,” the bartender answered.

Returning with the drinks, the bartender said, “That’ll be five sestertii sir.”

Dropping a denarius on the counter, Jesus nodded to the man, taking a deep drink of wine as the bartender left to make change, returning and placing it on the marble bar top.

“This wine is really diluted,” a frowning Mary observed, sitting her glass on the counter.

“Yes, and damn expensive too, but please don’t say anything about it, that’s the way they drink wine here,” Jesus explained.

“You’re joking.”

“No I’m not,” said Jesus, taking another drink.

“Why they would do something as silly as that?” asked Mary, taking anther drink of the diluted beverage.

“Drunkenness is frowned upon on the Italian peninsula, for what reason I’ll never know,” said Jesus.

“It is?”

“Uh huh,” said Jesus, finishing his drink and waving over the bartender.

“Another?”

“Please.”

“One for the lady too?”

“Yes,” answered Jesus as the bartender turned.

“I guess we won’t be hanging around here long,” Mary observed.

“Why do you say that?” asked Jesus, looking to her.

“I’m figuring there probably isn’t enough wine in this town to keep you happy,” she answered, the bartender returning with the drinks, taking his fee from the change.

“Sure there is, they have undiluted magnums and amphorae for sale at Antony’s bar near Augustus’ Forum,” said Jesus, “Don’t worry, Rome’s a wonderful city, you’ll love it here.”

“I will?” she asked, holding her glass of wine up to the lamplight, vividly recalling the terrible carnage she had witnessed at the Circus Maximus, severed limbs flying about and hacked to death bodies littering the bloody arena. What a waste of good food, she mused, thinking of the vanquished combatant’s lifeblood. Looking to a wall mounted menu board, Mary observed that they didn’t have beer for sale.

“People in Rome don’t care for beer, they consider it a barbarian’s drink,” said Jesus.

“Arrogant bastards,” the Magdalene scoffed, not at all impressed with the city of Rome or its million inhabitants.

“Look at it this way, it’s their loss,” said Jesus, looking to Mary and smiling.

“How about if we pick up real wine at Antony’s place and head to our room, I don’t feel like drinking any more watery wine,” Mary suggested, finishing her glass.

“My thoughts exactly,” Jesus agreed, downing his, the two leaving the tavern, a substantial tip left on the bar top.

Stopping by Antony’s and picking up ‘real wine’ of the Scipio brand, they returned to their room, Mary flopping on the bed while Jesus broke the clay seal on the magnum and dug out the stopper, taking a deep drink from the bottle.

“Would you like a slug of this stuff?” Jesus asked, offering her a libation.

“Give me the bottle since they don’t have goblets in this dump,” Mary answered bitterly, taking the bottle from Jesus and drinking deeply from it.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jesus, looking to his consort.

“I hate Rome,” said a frowning Magdalene, sitting the magnum down hard on the nightstand and propping herself up on several pillows.

“Why?” asked Jesus with a hurt expression.

“Why?” asked Mary, “These people call those like us barbarians while the vicious bastards slaughter people by the wagonload for entertainment. Further, they drink lousy wine that tastes like shit and they have the unmitigated gall to call themselves civilized!”

“They are civilized,” said Jesus, defending the Romans and their mighty empire.

“Civilized in what way? If you ask me they’re nothing but hedonistic animals!” an angered Mary exclaimed.

“They do like to enjoy themselves, that’s a fact,” said Jesus, sitting down in a chair beside the bed.

“Enjoy themselves?  I thought our people were bad, but these bloodthirsty clowns make us look like pikers!”

“You have a point, but that’s the way the world is today,” replied Jesus, agreeing with her in principle.

The room became silent, Jesus reaching for the bottle and taking a deep drink from it.

“And you wanted to change the world once,” Mary spat from her repose on the bed, looking to Jesus.

“Yes, and if you recall my good woman, I got myself killed for trying to do so, you and my father telling me all the while I was wasting my time before I did,” Jesus retorted, staring at her, magnum of Gallic wine in hand.

“I’m sorry, I guess these people are a little hard for me to take, considering I haven’t been in Rome before,” said a frowning Magdalene.

“Hard to take, why?” asked Jesus, resting his head on an arm.

“They’re so goddamn full of themselves; arrogant and callous hedonists.”

“So they may be, but look at it this way, at least they’re not hypocrites like the folks in Judea,” said a smiling Jesus, taking another drink from the bottle.

The Magdalene smiled at the bitter irony, bursting into laughter. “No, they’re definitely not that,” she observed, Jesus joining her in laughter, passing her the nearly empty magnum.

Several nights passed, Jesus and Mary preying on the garbage of humanity lurking in the narrow streets and alleyways of the Esquiline slums, emptying them of blood in seconds, appropriating their ill-gotten money and hurling the bodies down public latrine shafts.

On a Tuesday evening, Jesus decided it was time to visit the Tabularium for needed record forging. Scribes, slaves and free men usually working at the Hall of Records until nine or later, he figured they would appear shortly after closing time, commandeer a scribe or two and have he or they create the necessary documentation for the Chrysippus clan of Cappadocia province.

Heading up the steps to the gigantic building at a little past nine, Jesus noticed an armed guard in front of the twenty-foot tall bronze clad doors of the main entrance, standing under a porch supported by opulent Corinthian style columns.

“I’m very sorry citizen, the Tabularium is closed for the evening,” said the guard.

“No it isn’t, open the door please,” Jesus ordered, waving his hand and entrancing the guard.

“Yes,” said the guard, eyes glazed over, taking out keys, unlocking and opening the doors for them.

“By the way friend, we’re not here, so lock the doors after we enter and forget about this,” ordered Jesus, heading through the threshold.

“Yes,” the guard answered, closing and locking the doors behind them, resuming his duty, oblivious he had allowed two vampires to enter the closed Tabularium.

“You do that really well,” a smiling Mary observed after the doors closed.

“Yes,” said Jesus, looking about the deserted building.

“Why didn’t we fly in through a window?” she asked, standing in a gigantic, dimly lit atrium, her words echoing off the concrete walls.

“This way is more fun,” said Jesus, the pair heading to a lamp lit doorway.

A lone scribe was seated therein, absorbed transcribing a pile of tax documents, abacus at his side.

“Good evening,” said Jesus in his vampiric monotone, he and Mary walking through the doorway, this very utterance entrancing the scribe.

“What do we do now?” asked Mary, observing the motionless scribe sitting at his desk, head turned to Jesus.

“First I want to find out if anyone else is in the building, then I want to find out who he is,” Jesus replied, walking behind a counter and up to the scribe’s desk.

“That’s a good place to start.”

“You will speak to me, but will not remember our being here afterward,” Jesus intoned, the man blinking and focusing on him.

“What – what can I do for you?”

“Is there anyone else here at this time of night?”

“No, only I am here.”

“Who are you?”

“Domitus Flavius,” the scribe answered, a gray haired but very healthy Roman man in his late fifties.

“Your position is?”

“I’m the Emperor’s head scribe, appointed to my post by Emperor Augustus thirty-five years ago.”

“You’re not a slave?”

“Certainly not, I’m an equestrian citizen,” said a frowning Domitus, Jesus noting a gold signet ring on the third finger of his left hand.

“Excellent,” said Jesus as the Magdalene smiled, “Let’s get to work, please retrieve any files you have on the Chrysippus clan will you friend Domitus?”

“Of course,” replied the entranced scribe, taking a table lamp and heading up a flight of granite stairs into a huge darkened room, containing shelf after shelf of Roman records boxed in alphabetical order, Jesus and Mary following.

“Let’s see, Chrysippus, filed under C, here it is,” said Domitus, standing on a sliding ladder, pulling down a strongbox with a convenient handle from nearly ten feet above. Passing it down to Jesus, he descended the ladder, awaiting further instructions.

“Let’s go downstairs and open it,” ordered Jesus.

“I’ll have to get the key for the box from my office,” said Domitus as they descended the stairs.

“Hop to it man,” said Jesus, he and Mary heading to his desk with the box while the scribe headed to his office.

“You’re not going to follow him?”

“He’ll be back.”

Per the Son of Man’s words, Domitus returned and unlocked the wood and iron strongbox, packed with legal parchment records of present-day Roman citizenry.

“Look up the A. Julius Chrysippus family of Etruria please,” ordered Jesus.

“Yes,” answered the scribe, leafing through documents, finally arriving at the ‘I’ section, this letter used in Latin in place of ’J’. “Let’s see, there’s an R. Janus Chrysippus of Pannonia, an F. Janusus Chrysippus of Thrace, a T. Jesus Chrysippus of Syria, a – ”

“A Jesus Chrysippus of Syria, you’re kidding!” a chuckling Jesus exclaimed, Mary bursting into laughter.

“Quiet, the guard outside may hear you,” ordered Jesus sharply, Mary stifling laughter as best she could, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Please continue scribe Domitus,” said Jesus after regaining his composure, the Magdalene continuing to giggle almost uncontrollably, clutching a piece of stola between her teeth.

“Knock it off woman, it isn’t that funny,” Jesus admonished, frowning at her.

“Yes it is,” said Mary, looking to Jesus and quivering with laughter while the stoic scribe continued in his alphabetized peroration.

“There is a B. Jovianus Chrysippus of Sicily, an H. Justinian Chrysippus of Byzantium and a C. Juvenal Chrysippus of Rome. I’m sorry sir, there’s no A. Julius Chrysippus of anywhere in the records here,” said Domitus, having leafed through the documents for several minutes.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me, oh well, there will be now,” Jesus observed, handing Domitus a fresh sheet of parchment, Mary shaking her head and continuing to giggle.

“I understand,” said the hypnotized scribe, taking a stylus in hand, looking to Jesus for instructions.

“The patriarch’s full name is Augustus Julius Chrysippus, a plebian man married to a woman named Maria Levia of Illyricum province,” said Jesus. “He was born in Volsinii, Etruria province, Rome, on August 14, 731 AUC, son of J. Lucius Chrysippus and his wife Julia of Volsinii, both deceased.”

“Yes,” Domitus answered, the scribe accurately recording the false information.

“His eldest son is Bacchus Julius Chrysippus, a plebian man married to a woman named Maria Hittica of Galatia province. He was born in Volsinii, Etruria province, Rome, on March 30, 753 AUC.”

“Of course,” replied the entranced scribe, adding this contrived information to the forged document, Mary at last regaining her composure.

“Having resided in Gaul for many years as wine merchants, the Chrysippus family of Etruria has migrated to Anatolia, Cappadocia province, residing in the town of Tibernum on their farm, holding seven good slaves, six Greeks and one Jew,” continued Jesus.

“Yes,” said the scribe, continuing in his writing.

“A baby boy was recently born to A. Julius Chrysippus and wife Maria, this child named Julian Marius Chrysippus. He was born in Tibernum, Cappadocia province, Anatolia, Rome, on December 20, 786 AUC,” Jesus declared, the scribe noting this as well.

Looking to the Magdalene, Jesus asked, “Can you think of anything else?”

“No Jesus, I can’t,” said Mary, hands in the air.

“The names of your slaves are required in the registry for tax purposes,” a helpful Domitus advised, speaking in a hypnotized monotone.

“Very well, we’ll add them too, what the hell,” said Jesus, “Record this too friend, their names are Brutus, Cyril, Electra, Ganymede, Icarus, Penelope, and Ruth.”

“Is there anything else you want to add to the document?” asked Domitus after recording these facts, looking to vampire Jesus for further instructions.

“Note that all monetary obligations and taxes have been paid by the family in Tibernum and are up to date,” said Jesus.

“So noted,” replied Domitus, the scribe also a sworn notary, placing his legal seal on the document.

“Say my friend, will you make me three copies please?” asked Jesus.

“Of course,” said the entranced Domitus, quickly creating three more forged, notarized documents, handing them to Jesus, placing the original forgery in alphabetical order in the strongbox and locking it.

“Take the box back to the record room,” ordered Jesus, tucking the newly forged citizenship parchments in a tunic pocket.

“Yes sir,” said Domitus, Jesus looking to his consort and smiling.

“That was easy,” Mary observed as the scribe climbed the stairs, strongbox and lamp in hand, obeying Jesus’ latest orders.

“Yes it was, wasn’t it?” replied Jesus, waiting for the scribe to return for further orders.

The scribe quickly returned, Jesus remarking while reaching in a tunic pocket, “I thank you good Domitus, have ten aurei for your trouble. You will not recall us ever being here or of us giving you fine gold, and you will place this money in your savings without a second thought.” Jesus handing him the coins, the hypnotized Domitus nodded at the suggestion, dropping the gold currency in a tunic pocket.

“Go back to your desk friend and resume the work you were doing earlier,” ordered Jesus.

The scribe walked to his desk and sat down, staring into space.

“He isn’t working Jesus,” said a frowning Mary, looking to the motionless Domitus.

“Once we leave the trance will wear off, don’t worry about it,” Jesus replied with a wave of a hand, walking to the deserted atrium, heading for the exit.

Hearing a light knock, the guard turned, unlocked and opened the bronze clad doors, beholding vampire Jesus.

“Good evening,” Jesus greeted in his Draculaesque monotone, instantly entrancing the guard.

“A good evening to you,” said the zombie like guard.

“Yes indeed, now you just remember we were never here and have an aurei for doing that,” Jesus replied, tucking a gold coin in his money belt.

“Yes,” said the guard stoically, locking the doors and resuming his watch, Jesus and Mary walking off into the night.

Back in the record hall, Domitus came out of the trace, shaking his head and looking to a water clock.

“I’m working too damn hard these days,” he observed, rubbing his forehead and drawing a blank regarding the past few hours, noting it was well past eleven. Tired and finished with work for the evening, a yawning Domitus moved a pile of revenue documents aside, yawning while he looked at another document recording his day’s work, checking to see if it matched the current document. Satisfied as to both, he reset the abacus to null and blew out the table lamp. He headed for the atrium, dimly lit by a gigantic oil lamp suspended overhead.

Knocking on the door, the guard opened it and said, “You certainly are working late tonight Domitus Flavius.”

“I still have another pile of tax statements to finish for acting Imperator Tertius,” said Domitus.

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”

“It’s going to have to, I couldn’t get them done tonight for some reason,” a yawning Domitus answered, heading for the stairs, “A goodnight to you friend Caius.”

“A good night to you Domitus Flavius, get some sleep,” called the guard, the scribe waving back.

“See, they don’t remember a thing,” Jesus observed while they stood watching under the triumphal arch at the end of the Via Sacra, Mary nodding.

Their family obligation completed, they headed for the slums of the Esquiline, finding sustenance in the form of thieves, making their way to their rented suite after purchasing three undiluted magnums of Gaul’s finest at Antony’s tavern.

“That’s a lot of wine you’re buying tonight, having a party somewhere?” asked a smiling Antony, owner of the establishment.

“We’re celebrating Rome and Emperor Tiberius,” said Jesus.

“Not a bad thing to celebrate,” replied Antony, handing Jesus a receipt for the purchase.

Returning to their room, a satisfied Jesus perused the forged parchment documents, written in indelible ink. Sitting them on a table, he declared with a broad smile, “Well, we’re Roman citizens now, what do you think of that Mary?”

“You are yes, women aren’t allowed to be citizens,” said the Magdalene, not particularly concerned about this dubious fact, considering she was a vampire and like Jesus, immune to any silly Roman laws.

“Neither are they anywhere else, as far as I know.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I imagine it’s because men don’t want them to be citizens,” said Jesus, opening two magnums of wine, still unknown to both that their tolerances of alcoholic beverages was slowly but inexorably increasing due to vampiric nature.

“That’s obvious,” a laughing Mary answered, taking the second bottle from her consort after he had downed a gulp of nectar from the first, the third on the nightstand.

Contenting themselves for the evening by getting drunk, Mary asked Jesus why he had given the scribe and guard money.

“It seemed the right thing to do woman,” an inebriated Jesus explained, “We have so much money that it’s ridiculous, and it’s always good to help people who do you favors.”

“They didn’t do us any favors, they were hypnotized,” said the Magdalene.

“I’m sure they could use some anyway,” a slurring Jesus observed, shrugging and taking another drink while his delightful feeling consort smiled at the remark, her generous Jesus giving money to people by the wagonload.

Collapsing in bed at a little after five, a drunken Jesus and equally plastered consort fell into blissful sleep just before sunrise.