DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER FIFTEEN: PAUL

 Chapter Fifteen: Paul

 

While Jesus and Mary slept through the late spring morning, 125 miles north in Illyricum, engineer A. Domitius Agrippus was watching a team of slaves pump the flooded lavatorium dry, having diverted the water flow to the north sluice at seven.

“I picked up breakfast for you immunes Domitius,” said the centurion, walking up and handing him a plate of chopped meat and vegetables between two slices of bread.

“Thanks Flavius,” a hungry Domitius answered, reaching in his money belt for change.

“Forget it,” said the centurion, waving away the money, “Petronius is covering our meals today, in hope we get the sewer cleared by this evening.”

“We should have it pumped out by noon, only the gods know what we’ll find afterward,” Domitius replied.

“What do you think it is?”

“Probably a collapse, the channel is totally blocked and is quite old. This section of sewer was installed over ninety years ago during Republican times.”

“Ninety years, that old?”

“Of course, they have operating sections in Rome three times that age, it’s not uncommon.”

“Really?” asked the centurion, not realizing there were functioning sewers four centuries old.

“Yes,” the engineer answered, pulling off unpalatable pickles from the sandwich and dropping them to the ground.

“I take it you didn’t have a slave crawl up from the other end?” asked Flavius, Domitius taking a large bite of the sandwich.

“There’s no point sir, we still have to pump out this section first. Once that’s accomplished, I’ll have a slave enter the latrine to find the blockage, it’s more efficient to proceed in that manner,” answered a mumbling Domitius, mouth full of food.

“That’s why you’re the engineer,” replied Flavius, walking off.

“I guess,” said a tired Domitius, taking another bite, having been up all night.

Finishing the sandwich, Domitius sat on a folding stool next to an easel tacked with sewer plans, wondering which section of the sewer was blocked.

“It has to be on this street, the latrine on the next block is dry,” he mused aloud.

At eleven, the engineer received an answer, an enlistee walking up, giving him a salute.

“What is it soldier?” the engineer asked, looking to the man.

“We found a pig carcass blocking the sewer, immunes Domitius.”

“What?”

“You heard me right sir, a dead pig, jammed headfirst in the outlet,” the enlistee reiterated, standing at attention.

“How did such a thing get in the sewer, I’ve pulled out bodies, logs, even stones dumped in by vandals, but never a pig!”

“I was wondering that myself sir, it’s huge,” said the enlistee, named Cornelius.

“Let me have a look at this,” said a curious Domitius, rising from the stool and heading into the lavatorium.

The granite base had been removed by strong Greek slaves and placed on an adjacent group of commodes during the night. Another slave was standing in the sewer, staring at the bloated carcass plugging the outlet.

“How the hell did that get in there?” asked Domitius, staring at the carcass.

“I don’t know sir, the inlet pipe is much too small and so are the commode openings. If you ask me it would take a dark miracle for this to happen – a giant pig appearing in the sewer, perhaps sent by malevolent spirits,” Cornelius suggested.

“Whatever, have one of the slaves get a tripod and block and tackle over here immediately, so we can haul the carcass out and get the sewer running again,” ordered Domitius, annoyed at the ridiculous situation.

Slaves wrapping ropes around the decomposing carcass, a sturdy oak tripod was moved into position above the open sewer. The bindings on the hog were attached to a block and tackle, just as a Greek doctor and Roman citizen strolled into the latrine, hand at his waist in preparation for relieving himself.

“Sorry friend, you can’t take a piss or shit in here right now,” a tired Flavius advised, hands out.

“Why?” asked none other than Jesus’ nemesis, Dr. Thucydides, still attempting to track vampires, especially the one called Jesus of Nazareth.

“A dead pig is jammed in the sewer pipe,” the centurion replied, the engineer yelling to the slaves, “Heave!”

“Yes master,” a slave answered on the ropes, another slave tossing up a useless crowbar to the engineer, the end of the tool covered in spoiled pig fat.

“A dead pig, how did it get down there?” the doctor asked.

“Who the hell knows, but it’s here and we have to haul it out,” an exhausted Domitius answered for the centurion, leaning on a three-foot crowbar.

“No matter, I’m staying at the hotel across the street anyway,” said Thucydides, readjusting his tunic.

“You’re staying at Petronius’ place, the Epicurus Hotel,” the centurion observed.

“Yes,” answered Thucydides.

“It won’t move!” grunted a straining slave, two others assisting him.

“Pull harder you lazy bastards!” an angered Domitius yelled, the bloated carcass plugging the outlet tightly.

“You’re a Greek, what are you doing around these parts?” asked the Italian centurion with a frown, disdaining all those hailing from the Aegean peninsula, while an angrier Domitius swore loudly at the slaves.

“For your information sir, I’m a Roman citizen and am tracking a vampire named Jesus of Nazareth. Some say he has come this way with a Judean woman called Mary,” a smirking Thucydides retorted, very familiar with the bigotry of Italian Romans toward Greeks.

“Pull out that pig you lazy bastards or I’ll have your asses crucified!” Domitius yelled, veins bulging, the straining slaves continuing to pull the ropes.

“You’re kidding,” said Flavius, frowning at the doctor.

“No soldier, I am a Roman citizen,” Thucydides reiterated, holding out his left, a golden signet ring on the third finger, he and the centurion ignoring the bellows of the engineer.

“That’s not what I mean, you’re hunting what?” asked Flavius.

“Vampires,” the doctor answered as the carcass broke loose, five exhausted slaves falling to the floor in a pile.

“Are you serious?” asked an unbelieving Flavius, looking at the doctor as if he were a lunatic.

“Don’t I have enough problems already, get that stupid Greek out of here!” exclaimed Domitius, having overheard the discourse, the engineer equal in rank to his commanding officer.

“I meant no offense fellow citizens, I’m hunting vamp – ”

“Vampires, you’re a jackass, there are no such things,” the engineer spat, wiping sweat from his face with one hand, crowbar still in the other.

“But – ”

“You heard him, my friend Domitius can be a mean bastard when he’s pissed,” said a smiling Flavius with a jerk of a thumb, looking to the engineer and winking.

“Go!” Domitius yelled, lunging at the doctor with the crowbar as obedient slaves regrouped and jerked the carcass to the end of the block and tackle. Unknown to all, bite marks were still evident on the throat thanks to Jesus Christ, undead Son of Man.

An intimidated Thucydides turned on his heel and made a quick exit, fearing that the maniacal engineer might beat him to death with the crowbar.

“What an asshole,” Flavius observed, pointing to the doorway.

“Yeah,” replied Domitius replied with a heavy sigh, the slaves dropping the hog to the floor of the lavatorium.

“By Jove, that stinks,” Flavius declared, turning up his nose at the partly decomposed hog.

“You didn’t think I was going to beat him to death with a crowbar did you?” asked Domitius, the odor not bothering him.

“I actually thought you might kill him, judging from the look on your face,” said Flavius.

“You’re right about that,” Domitius replied, dropping the crowbar, a metallic clamor echoing off the walls of the lavatorium.

The centurion and engineer inspecting the hog, it was determined by earmarks that the carcass belonged to equestrian citizen Petronius Caius, owner of the Epicurus Luxury Hotel.

“It was mine?” asked a tired Petronius, woke from his early afternoon slumber.

“Evidently,” the centurion answered, “Look friend, we’re not saying it’s your fault, we’re just wondering how a hog weighing nearly a quarter of a ton ended up in the sewer.”

“I have no answer for you,” said Petronius with a weary shrug, “I don’t handle the inventory at the stable, my son Petronius the younger does, using our slave Epictetus.”

“Really,” said Domitius, ears ringing from lack of sleep.

“My son told me piglets had been stolen from my barn recently, but never an entire hog,” Petronius replied.

“Somebody copped your pig,” Domitius spat, leaning on the counter.

“Find out who it was, I must get sleep, I have a hotel to run tonight,” Petronius retorted, narrowing eyes at the adversarial Domitius.

“He’s right, we’ll find nothing here, someone must have stolen the animal as a prank and has gotten away with it,” Flavius advised, looking to the engineer.

“Whatever,” said a sleepy and uncaring Domitius while Dr. Thucydides walked past on his way to lunch, recognizing and avoiding the soldiers – wondering if the engineer wasn’t packing an iron crowbar with his name on it.

Waking in the early evening, Jesus stared out the doorway at the approaching dusk, the Magdalene sleeping soundly. Hearing a crowing cock, he smirked, recalling his statement to Peter years earlier. Yawning and closing the door, Jesus noted much of the lower doorframe was rotten, pieces of decayed wood littering the stone floor, the room more of a shack than anything else.

“What a dump,” said Jesus, walking over and rousing his consort. “Mary wake up, it’s time to go,” she opening her eyes and yawning.

“You’re up early,” she said with another yawn, sitting up on the side of the bed.

“I want to head to Macedonia tonight, with an early start we can be there by midnight.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“None, I just don’t want to hang around here. Look at this place, it’s falling down around our heads.”

“I see what you mean,” replied Mary, looking at a moldy, rotten ceiling rafter above the bed.

Checking out and handing the clerk the key just before sundown, Jesus remarked, “No offense meant, but your rooms seem to need a lot of repair work.”

“Try telling me something I don’t know; this is my brother’s inn, not mine, and that’s why the rooms are so cheap,” the clerk answered, taking the key.

“Oh,” said Jesus, starting for the door.

“You’re the second customer we’ve had this month, I guess he just doesn’t give a shit anymore,” the clerk explained.

“Indeed,” said Jesus, disappearing through the threshold without another word.

Heading down the dark highway as fog, it wasn’t long before the vampiric couple spied their quarry, a pair of bandits just having killed their victim by running him through. Appearing on the road a few hundred yards from the thieves, Jesus paused, eavesdropping on their conversation.

“This bastard hardly had anything Abito, I guess he was right when he said he didn’t have any money,” one thief remarked with a vicious laugh.

“Who cares, grab his cloak and shoes,” said Abito.

“Right,” his partner replied, removing the victim’s shoes.

“These are some cold ones,” a frowning Mary whispered, hearing the exchange.

“Not half as cold as I can be,” said Jesus, narrowing eyes in contempt, heading toward the bandits with his consort.

“What are you doing here?” growled Abito’s partner Sorex, turning from the body and looking to Jesus while they walked up.

“We’re out for a stroll, why did you kill him?” asked Jesus, looking to the victim.

“What business is it of yours?” Sorex retorted, rising and pulling a gladius, eyeing their satchels and the pretty Magdalene.

“None, but let’s say I’m making it my business, and I’ve come to detest people like you,” said Jesus, his consort smiling at the highwaymen.

“Do something about it,” growled Abito, rising to his feet and pulling his gladius.

“I intend to,” Jesus declared, folding arms across his chest.

“Well, what are you going to do?” asked Sorex, pausing as he beheld the unintimidated Jesus.

“I haven’t decided yet, but it will be painful I assure you,” Jesus answered.

“Bullshit,” Abito spat, thinking it was a bluff, going for Jesus with his sword.

“No, not bullshit,” Jesus retorted with a sinister grin, looking down at the man, grabbing his sword arm with his left.

“Not the arm again,” said Mary, bored with Jesus’ brutal yet practical habit of fracturing sword arms.

“Why not?” asked Jesus, holding Abito’s arm, taking the gladius with his right.

“Never mind,” said Mary, watching Jesus wrench his assailant’s arm sideways, breaking it at the elbow.

Crying out in agony, Abito fell to the ground, clutching his arm while Sorex looked on in amazement.

“You broke my arm you evil bastard!” Abito exclaimed, face contorted in pain.

“Evil, look who’s talking,” said Jesus, holding the sword, looking to a frightened Sorex.

“He did tell you it was going to be painful,” said a smiling Magdalene, her consort hurling the useless gladius into a tree trunk, the speeding blade sinking in nearly a foot.

“What the hell are you?” asked Sorex, dropping his gladius in terror as Jesus walked up.

“Death,” the vampiric Christ answered, lifting him and going for the jugular, sucking his blood until he died, throwing the corpse to the pavement.

“That was a blunt answer,” said the Magdalene, grabbing Abito with one arm and dispatching him.

“I reckon there’s not much blood left in the one over there,” Jesus replied, belching loudly, pointing to the murdered traveler facedown on the road.

“Let’s see,” said Mary, going for the neck and finding a surprising amount of hemoglobin available for vampiric consumption. “Want some?” she asked with a bloody smile, pausing and looking to Jesus.

“Take it for yourself,” Jesus answered with a wave of a hand.

“If you say so,” said Mary, draining the remains of the traveler and rising to her feet.

Wiping her mouth with a cloth, she watched Jesus loot the corpses.

Dropping a few denarii in a tunic pocket, he looked up to her and advised, “You still have blood on your right cheek Mary dear.”

“I do?”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Jesus, walking over and taking her cloth, wiping away the offending spot.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jesus replied, the vampiric couple surrounded by three cooling bodies on the softly moonlit night.

“We’ve taken a lot of these bastards lately haven’t we?”

“I suppose we’ll never run out of them if that’s what you’re trying to say,” said Jesus, looking at the remains of the bandits.

Cleaning up the mess and depositing it in a ravine, they resumed the trip south, arriving in the Macedonian town of Phyrnica shortly before one, a gibbous moon on the horizon. Strolling into a bar on the torchlit main street, Jesus noted Phyrnica, regardless of the Greek name, was a typical large Roman town, never sleeping, brothels and taverns open 24 hours a day.

“What’ll you have citizen?” came the usual query from a Roman bartender as Jesus walked up, placing their satchels at his feet.

“Gallic wine will do, undiluted please,” said Jesus, taking a seat at the counter.

“Coming up,” the bartender replied, returning with the drinks, ignoring a dilution water faucet just behind the bar.

“That’ll be 10 sestertii.”

“A very reasonable price, have a denarii,” said Jesus, placing a coin in his hand.

“I’ll return with the change in a minute,” the bartender replied, Jesus nodding as the man walked to another patron wildly waving a coin.

“Good wine,” said the Magdalene, taking a sip from her glass.

“Undiluted and from the vineyards of good Gaius Scipio, what more could one ask for?” asked Jesus, sitting his glass on the counter.

“Getting it for free would be nice.”

Down from them in the crowded tavern, a lone thief had noticed the vampiric couple and their satchels. Crawling along the base of the bar, he was attempting to steal one of the bags. Jesus, having noticed the foolish attempt on their valuables, let the man come closer until he could deal with him quietly.

“Don’t make it obvious, but get a load of the fool crawling to us on the floor,” whispered Jesus.

“I see him, what are you going to do?”

“Something different,” said Jesus as the criminal approached, no one else in the tavern noticing him.

“Like what, it’s not like you can kill him in here,” Mary whispered, cautioning him.

“Watch this woman.” Jesus winked to her and looked down from his stool as the man was sliding one of the satchels to himself. “That’s brazen of you,” he said, staring the thief in the eyes, entrancing him instantly. “Stand up foolish man,” he ordered over the din of the tavern.

Rising as ordered, the hypnotized thief stood like a statue.

“Verily I say unto to you, leave this bar immediately, find a high cliff and jump off it,” Jesus intoned into the man’s ear, smiling and raising eyebrows at the murderous suggestion. Turning from the vampiric Christ, the man, not uttering a word, left the tavern, intent on finding a high cliff to hurl himself from.

“What did you say to him?” asked Mary, watching the thief leave the bar.

“I told him to find a high cliff and jump off.”

“Do you think he’ll do it?”

“Who cares, probably,” a confident Jesus declared, waving over the bartender.

“Two more?”

“Yes please,” said Jesus.

The entranced thief exited the town, walking along the dark highway toward a marble quarry ten miles north of Phyrnica, ignoring several low cliffs along the way. After having several drinks, the vampiric couple found an inn near three, checking in just as the thief leapt from a three hundred foot promontory on the western end of the quarry. Bouncing down the cliff face, the body landed hard on a block of white marble about forty yards from an occupied structure.

“What the hell was that?” asked a startled slave overseer, a free plebian employed by the quarry, pulled from slumber by the noise. Rising, he stared out a window into the darkness, heading for the door in the dimly lit room to investigate.

“Be careful master, it could be a wild animal,” a slave named Orestes cautioned, also roused by the noise.

“Since you’re up, come along with me,” the overseer answered, belting on a sharp gladius and grabbing a hardened spear.

“Right,” the slave replied, leaving his cot.

Opening the door and lighting a torch, the overseer handed a spear to the trusted slave, both men walking toward the cliff.

In moments they came upon what had disturbed their slumber, a fine white marble slab plastered with gore, a severed leg lying at their feet.

“Some fool must have walked off the cliff!” the overseer exclaimed, the pair staring at the blood-covered body, shattered head folded underneath the battered remains of the chest, part of the spine protruding from the back.

“What a mess,” said the hardened slave, having seen many a gory accident in years of work at the quarry, he and the overseer no strangers to mangled human bodies.

“We’ll let the boss deal with this problem,” the yawning overseer remarked, both turning from the battered corpse, heading to their quarters and sleep.

“What do you think happened to the thief?” asked Mary, Jesus locking the door to their room, a luxurious suite complete with plush Asian carpets, polished wood floors, large bed and very large bathroom, hot and cold running water included, for only 18 denarii.

“I imagine he’s no longer with us,” said an uncaring Jesus, “Look at this fine room, it looks like the Epicurus chain may have competition, at least in Phyrnica.”

“And thankfully no food for me to throw away, since you won’t.”

“They have no wine either,” said Jesus, not caring, only playing with her.

“You’re kidding, you probably drank half an amphora tonight, you need more?”

“Not now, but it is nice to have wine to drink after we wake,” Jesus replied, tightening his lips and stifling a grin, attempting to feign displeasure.

“After all this time you can’t fool me, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were a common drunk!” Mary exclaimed, breaking into laughter.

“Compared to many, I am a  – ” started Jesus.

“Shut up!” a voice yelled from below.

“You interrupted me, go to hell!” an angered Jesus retorted.

“It’s really late, we’d better keep quiet or they’ll throw us out,” Mary advised, looking to the floor, the time well after three.

“You’re right, what would I do without you woman?”

“Who knows in a situation like this – it’s early for us, let’s get a bath,” said Mary, looking to the opulent bathroom.

“Sure,” Jesus replied, the vampiric couple heading for the bathroom, Mary disrobing and drawing water while Jesus beheld at his image in the polished bronze mirror.

You are a vampire, thought Jesus, staring at his undead countenance in the mirror, his reflection along with the nude backside of his consort and running water issuing from a polished brass faucet staring back at him. God, his ministry and his childhood debates with the Pharisees in the dim past crossing his mind, he ruminated on these paradoxical subjects until Mary interrupted him.

“You need a shave, it’s been two weeks,” the Magdalene quietly observed, stepping into the tub, half filled with water.

“Huh?” asked Jesus, broken from his reverie.

“I said you need a shave, come get a bath first.”

“Okay,” he answered, turning from the mirror, disrobing and joining her in the warm water.

“What’s the matter, you seemed preoccupied,” said Mary, Jesus sighing and relaxing in the clear water.

“Nothing, I was thinking for a moment.”

“Want to have fun?” a playful Mary asked, splashing him with water, not wanting to ask what he had been thinking about, she knowing the answer.

“What kind of fun?” asked Jesus, arms dangling over the rim of the gigantic bronze tub.

“You know what kind,” said Mary, moving to him, he taking her in his arms and kissing her passionately.

Leaving the opulent lavatorium an hour later, a physically sated Jesus and Mary took to the bed, falling into blissful slumber near five.

 

* * *

 

Heading to Athens over the next week on foot, slaughtering and robbing road pirates along the way, they checked into the local Epicurus Luxury Hotel on an early June evening. Rising in the late afternoon, Jesus, relaxing in a covered chair, told his lovely consort he wanted to visit the Parthenon that evening.

“Why bother, the priests up there will try to extract more money from you,” said Mary from her repose in the bed, arms folded behind her head.

“Who cares, they’re just con men making a living, besides, we have more money than we know what to do with,” Jesus replied, pointing to five satchels of lucre beneath the bed.

“That’s true,” said Mary, rising from the bed and dressing in a light green stola and open toed shoes, accessorized with a purse and delicate pearl necklace.

Stepping from the hotel nearly forty minutes before sundown, Jesus, pushing the limit, headed with Mary toward the Acropolis and the magnificent Parthenon.

“This sunlight is too damn bright,” Mary complained, squinting her eyes, the pair strolling along the shadowed alleyways of Athens, citizens passing by.

“Don’t worry, by the time we reach the Acropolis the sun will have reached the horizon,” an unconcerned Jesus answered, vendors hawking wares along the way.

“Whatever,” Mary retorted, low sunlight bothering her much more than it ever bothered Jesus, especially her eyes, illustrating degrees of sensitivity to destructive forces among the undead.

Arriving at the Parthenon a little before sunset, they walked to the open marble temple, surprised to see a bearded Hebrew man standing in the lamp lit atrium in front of goddess Athena Parthenos, preaching to a crowd. “I have good news for you in Athens, this friends, is my god!” exclaimed the man in very good Greek, pointing to an empty pedestal, ‘To an unknown god’ carved on a small altar beneath.

“You worship an unknown god, why?” asked a Thessalonian merchant named Damocles, looking to the man as if he were crazy.

“Not unknown to me, I worship great Yahweh, also called Elohim, and his risen Son Jesus Christ!” a man calling himself Paul exclaimed, formally known as Pharisee Saul of Tarsus.

“Why do we need them, we have Athena,” retorted Damocles, pointing with his thumb to the gilded 38 foot statue.

“She’s only a graven image, those who worship such shall not enter the kingdom of heaven, standing in Paradise at the side of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” Paul admonished the crowd, pointing to Athena.

“Where is your god?” asked a friend of the merchant, looking to Paul.

“The Lord Jesus is everywhere in spirit,” Paul answered.

“Where is this Jesus? I don’t see him, how do we know he even exists?” the man scoffed, some in the crowd laughing at the blunt remark.

“He is looking down on all of us from heaven above,” Paul explained with a broad smile, throwing hands up to the sky.

“I’ll stick with Athena, I can see her,” Damocles declared, walking off from the temple with several others.

“What?” asked Mary, listening to their discourse, her jaw dropping, floored by the utterances of the traveling preacher.

“Oh brother,” Jesus spat, shaking his head in disgust.

“Hell Jesus, I never thought it would go this far,” said Mary quietly, looking to Paul continuing his exhortations to the rest of the crowd.

“Neither did I.”

“Regardless of anything else that happened, I’d say you were successful in your preaching,” a grinning Magdalene whispered.

“Don’t remind me,” Jesus groaned, staring at evangelist Paul from the rear of the crowd.

They spent the next hours listening to the exhortations of the true believer Paul, now standing in the doorway of the temple, preaching his good news to anyone who would hear him.

“Paul sounds a lot like you did,” the Magdalene observed.

“The poor bastard, all he’s going to do is get himself killed for his trouble, none of these simpletons even begin to understand what he’s trying to say.”

“I do,” said Mary, “He’s talking of a spiritual existence apart from this life.”

“So do I, if you recall I came up with the idea of preaching to people about it,” Jesus snapped, occupied listening to Paul speaking to the crowd.

“Well pardon me,” a smirking Magdalene retorted.

The vampiric couple watched as the crowd dispersed near nine, priests heading into the Parthenon for the evening offering to the golden goddess. An exhausted Paul walked to the north portico, wiping sweat from his face with a cotton cloth. Interested in conversing with the Hebrew preacher, Jesus motioned Mary to follow him.

“Why?” asked Mary.

“I want to talk to him about his philosophy.”

“Whatever,” a sighing Mary replied, following him to the portico, not understanding why Jesus would want to converse with yet another deluded Hebrew.

“Good evening Roman friends,” Paul greeted with a tired smile, speaking perfect Latin, looking to Jesus and Mary as the temple door closed.

“Good evening to you fellow citizen,” said Jesus, noting Paul’s signet ring.

“Please tell me, what did you think of my sermon?” asked Paul, wanting an honest opinion from the tall man he had noticed at the rear of the crowd at dusk.

“What do I think of what you said in the temple,” said Jesus in unconscious imitation of his father, pausing for a moment and rubbing his chin.

“Yes please, what do you think?” pressed the evangelist.

“I think – I actually think that although what you say has merit, I believe you’re wasting your time trying to convince others of the validity of it,” Jesus declared as diplomatically as possible.

“Come again?” asked Paul.

“People have their own beliefs, trying to change them can cause resentment and anger toward you,” Jesus answered somberly.

“Yes, it’s happened to me before,” said Paul, looking to Jesus.

“Look friend, you’re obviously an intelligent man, what I mean to say is that most people, unfortunately, are much too stupid to even begin to understand the abstract concepts you are attempting to put forth. Verily I say, all it may do is cause trouble for you in the end,” Jesus observed, recalling his own crucifixion.

“You think so, please explain this to me,” Paul implored, sitting down on a marble bench in the evening moonlight, two priests walking past them.

“Preaching the unselfish ideas of kindness to one’s fellow man, charity to the deserving, the concept of an afterlife – and especially the idea of monotheism to these arrogant and superstitious people is probably a waste of your time,” said Jesus, leaning against a Corinthian column, watching the bronze clad doors of the Parthenon close again.

“It would seem so,” Paul replied, “Thank you for having the honesty to tell me that.”

“You’re welcome,” said Jesus, observing a horse drawn cart loaded with split firewood pass the temple.

“I must say, you’re one of the few people around here who seems to get any of my main points,” a frowning Paul observed.

“We’re not residents of Athens, my wife and I are traveling from Rome,” Jesus explained, keeping their ultimate destination to himself.

“I’m sorry, but since you seem familiar with the doctrine, tell me friend, are you a follower of Jesus of Nazareth?”

“Uh, no, not exactly, but I’ve heard of him,” said Jesus, stammering for a moment upon hearing his given name, “It’s just for the higher man, your arguments make sense, but to the average man, they make no sense.”

“Why, do you have a theory?” asked Paul, offering Jesus and consort a seat beside him.

“Not a theory, I have a fact. As I said, most people are simply obtuse,” said Jesus, sitting down, Mary seating herself beside him, all becoming silent for a few moments.

“You think so?” asked Paul, a lone cricket starting to chirp in the shadows.

“Drawing from life’s experiences I know so,” Jesus declared, “Verily I say, most people I’ve encountered are little more than fools, and there is absolutely nothing you or I can do about it.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right,” Paul observed, arching eyebrows in disappointment and looking to the ground.

“I don’t mean to appear arrogant, but I am right,” said Jesus confidently, resting an arm on the back of the bench behind his consort on the warm evening, the chiseled and handsome face of Paul illuminated by a nearby torch.

“Well, aside from that, you say you’ve heard of Jesus, may I inquire as to where and from whom?” asked Paul, looking to possibly gain at least one convert in the pagan city of Athens.

“We were traveling through northern Judea some years back and came upon a centurion and soldiers on the Damascus road who were supposedly tracking him.”

“Why were they doing that?” asked Paul, folding hands.

The centurion stated Jesus of Nazareth had been crucified and may have become a vampire,” Jesus replied, absolutely straight faced.

“A vampire, I heard that story too and it is an evil lie, the Lord Jesus Christ rose from the dead on the third day and is now at the right hand of God,” said the evangelist resolutely, a stern look on his face.

“Of course,” replied Jesus, noticing a bird’s nest at the top of a column near the roof.

“You don’t believe that?” asked Paul, detecting Jesus’ thinly disguised condescension.

“Look, no offense meant, I agree if God exists there is only one, but I’m not even sure there is a god, let alone anything else for that matter. Even the situation we are in could be nothing more than a dream, so let’s leave it at that,” said Jesus, holding up hands.

“I see what you mean, what of your young wife?”

“What of her?” asked Jesus, looking to the pretty Magdalene.

“What does she believe?”

“I’m not sure, ask her,” said Jesus.

“And you madam?”

“Let’s say I’m with him,” a bored Mary answered, pointing to Jesus with her thumb in typical Roman fashion.

“I see, you’re a Protagorean sophist,” Paul ventured, deciding against trying to convert Jesus, knowing it would be a waste of time – not realizing he had learned a valuable lesson from the former traveling rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, seated beside him on the polished marble bench.

“Not quite, I’m more of a cynic like Diogenes was,” said Jesus, looking to the west as the evening fire was lit, the oiled logs catching quickly, a careless priest patting out the bottom of his charred robe.

“Clumsy fellow isn’t he?” asked Mary, pointing to the priest.

“Yeah, the fool almost burned himself to death and for what?” Jesus replied, if only for the benefit of the evangelist.

“I guess I’ll have to be moving on,” said a defeated Paul, rising from the bench, kicking the dust from his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” asked Jesus.

“Yes, I have to sleep, for I rise with the sun.”

“How unfortunate for you, where are you staying friend?” asked Jesus, leaning his head back against the wall of the Parthenon.

“I don’t know, I suppose I’ll find someplace to sleep,” Paul answered, having spent the last of his money for food earlier that day.

“There are many fine hotels in Athens,” said Jesus.

“If one can afford them,” replied Paul, stretching from his sit.

“Haven’t you any money?”

“No, but I’ll manage, the Lord will provide for me,” the evangelist answered, turning from the vampiric couple.

“Hold on, you need a place to stay and haven’t any money, let me give you some,” Jesus offered, standing up and reaching in a tunic pocket.

“You’re not a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, why would you give me money?” asked Paul, turning and looking up to the much taller Jesus.

“Because you’re in need, don’t you recall what you were preaching only a few hours ago?” asked a smiling Jesus.

“Yes, but – ”

“No buts, have a few aurei, it certainly beats handing any to the greedy fools in there,” Jesus declared, pointing to the bronze clad doors of the Parthenon, giving Paul seven aureus coins.

“Are you serious?” asked Paul, looking to the coins in his hand, well over a year’s wages for the average Roman citizen.

“Sure, I have plenty of them, find a nice room for the evening and relax,” said Jesus, Mary smiling at the evangelist.

“You are a very remarkable man, I thank you,” Paul stated breathlessly, pocketing the coins in a tunic underneath his light robe.

“You’re quite welcome,” Jesus replied, a few gold coins meaning nothing to him.

“Your name friend?” asked Paul, looking up to Jesus, offering his hand.

“Julius Chrysippus of Etruria province,” Jesus lied, giving the evangelist a firm Roman handshake.

“Saul – I mean Paul of Tarsus is mine,” Paul replied, not knowing he was shaking the hand of Jesus Christ.

“You’re a Jew, right?” asked Jesus, not yet having the discerning talent of his friend Nacherine of Koech.

“No sir, I’m a full-blooded Hebrew priest from the tribe of Benjamin,” the evangelist answered proudly.

“I’m sorry, this is my good wife of six years, the Galatian Hittite Maria Hittica,” said Jesus, formally introducing the Jewish-Benjaminite Magdalene by her assumed name.

“I’m pleased to meet you madam,” Paul replied with a dignified bow.

The stately Magdalene closed her eyes for a moment, nodding to Paul.

“Why would you think me a Jew?” asked Paul, insulted that a fellow Roman citizen could not identify his ethnicity.

“I’m sorry, most folks from Judea are Jews,” the Levite Jesus replied, holding out hands, darkly recalling the many times he too had been called a Jew.

“Be that as it may, I’m a Benjaminite from the tribe of Benjamin, not a Jew from the tribe of Judah,” Paul declared, nodding to them and turning on his heel.

“Odd,” Mary remarked as Paul walked off, looking after the evangelist, the couple never to see him again.

“What is?” asked Jesus, looking to her.

“That you Judean men seem to be so preoccupied with your tribal ethnicity. Who cares, all Hebrews are descendants of Abraham and his son Israel.”

“The tribe of Benjamin is different from the tribe of Judah, as is the tribe of Levi.”

“In what way?”

“We’re simply different that’s all,” said Jesus.

The apostle Paul leaving the Acropolis, Jesus and Mary sat on the marble bench, relaxing on the warm evening.

“Paul was a pretty strange guy wasn’t he?” asked Mary.

“Yes, but harmless too.”

“Harmless, are you crazy? Christ, that maniac’s walking around telling everyone he meets that you’re God!”

“It won’t catch on,” replied a confident Jesus, amused at the bitter irony.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, did you see the look in his eyes, he’s a true believer,” the Magdalene retorted, looking to her consort.

“You’re kidding.”

“No I’m not, that clown actually thinks you’re God!” Mary exclaimed under her breath; another priest walking past them into the temple.

“If that’s true, we may have trouble ahead,” Jesus observed, her words dawning on him, thinking of the future.

“No shit,” Mary retorted, looking toward the Propylaea.

“What do you think we should do?”

“Find Paul, and kill him to prevent him from spreading his good news, whatever that is.”

“That would be wrong, friend Paul is a just man and has done us no harm.”

“Perhaps not personally, but what he’s saying to people could cause trouble for us in the future, we should do something about it before it’s too late,” the Magdalene advised, thinking of the family in Cappadocia.

“You’re overreacting, he doesn’t even know who we are,” said Jesus.

“I am?”

“Hopefully,” Jesus answered halfheartedly, wondering about Paul as well.

“Whatever,” said Mary, dropping the subject, both growing silent for a few minutes, watching priests throw more logs onto the fire.

“He did say he was Hebrew didn’t he?” asked Mary, having only half listened to the conversation, observing one side of the bonfire collapsing on top of a hapless priest. His shrieks calling other priests over, two gawked as the doomed man writhed in the inferno. Not having suitable tools to extricate him, they simply watched him burn to death.

“Yes, a man hailing from the tribe of Benjamin like you do,” Jesus answered, watching the unfolding disaster, knowing in his heart that he could do nothing to save the dying man.

“But I’m half Jewish,” Mary replied, proud of her heritage, watching more logs tumble from the bonfire as the priest struggled in the searing flames, screaming in agony.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jesus, staring at the bonfire, “Another thing woman, his name, the name Saul of Tarsus sounds familiar to me. I wonder if he was a preacher in Judea when I was there, like I and Lucius Christ.”

“Don’t know,” a shrugging Mary replied, feeling defeated by Jesus’ unconcerned responses regarding Paul, the annoying screams of the priest finally stopping thanks to his demise.

“Let’s take off,” said Jesus, rising from his seat, hungry for blood, both assuming chiropteric form in the shadows of the Parthenon.

“You know Solon, he’s the second one we’ve lost this year,” a senior priest related to another as Jesus and Mary flew from Athens in search of prey.

Spending the next week in Athens, Jesus tried in vain to find evangelist Paul of Tarsus, wanting to ask him as to the origins of his beliefs, he and the Magdalene lurking around the forum and Acropolis for several evenings in search of him.

“Why bother talking to him, we should kill him when we find him,” Mary admonished as they left a tavern.

“I want to know when he started preaching to the masses, and how he came to think I was God,” a slurring Jesus replied, having drunk heavily that night, the situation troubling him inside.

“Who cares, he’s a crazy man!” Mary exclaimed while they headed to the Epicurus Hotel.

“I don’t think so,” said Jesus, head reeling as they walked the main street of Athens, the concrete sidewalks lined with trimmed olive trees.

Unknown to them, Paul had taken Jesus’ sound advice, leaving pagan Athens for the southern Greek town of Corinth days earlier. Finding and converting many people of this town in only a few weeks, the evangelist smiled with satisfaction at his laborious accomplishment, having at last created the first European church. Paul’s devoted Corinthian followers calling themselves Christians, they joined him in spreading the word of Jesus Christ’s triumphant resurrection from the grave as the Son of God across the Roman Empire.