DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A STOP AT ILLYRICUM

 

Chapter Fourteen: A Stop at Illyricum

 

Arriving in Octavinum at half past three, a very tired Jesus and Mary headed for the inn they had stayed at earlier, a clean but spartan establishment located on the outskirts of town.

Ringing a bell at the check in desk, a bleary eyed man appeared from behind a curtain.

“Yes?” he asked with a yawn, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m very sorry to wake you sir, we need a room,” said Jesus.

“I don’t doubt it at this hour,” spat the tired man.

“We want to stay for the day.”

“I remember, you were here about a year ago,” said the man, recognizing Jesus.

“That’s true.”

“Five denarii will cover it, go to room six, out the door to your left,” said the man, placing a key on the counter and holding out his hand for money.

“Have ten for your trouble friend,” said Jesus, dropping ten silver coins in his hand.

“The room’s only five.”

“We woke you from your slumber so have five extra.”

“Thank you very much sir,” said the man, smiling, “If you always pay me like this you can check in at five if you like next time!”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Jesus replied, heading to their room.

“You made him happy didn’t you?” asked Mary after entering, sitting down on the bed.

“It seems money can buy most anything,” said Jesus, joining her and lying on his back.

“We made it here in record time.”

“Yes, but I’m exhausted, and a bit hungry too,” a yawning Jesus answered, closing eyes and nodding off, his consort not realizing at first.

“We’re in town, finding someone to take tomorrow night shouldn’t be much – ”

A loud snore interrupted her reply.

“Hmm,” said Mary, rolling on her side.

Waking in the early evening, they checked out, Jesus heading to a bar, heavy bags of Roman currency on their persons.

“I thought you were famished,” said the Magdalene.

“Famished no, I am hungry, but I want wine first,” Jesus replied while they entered the dimly lit bar, or more appropriately, a hole in the wall, a dilapidated dump serving as a tavern.

Stepping up to the bar, an aging barmaid with missing teeth asked, “What’ll you have?”

“Whatever you have madam, Gallic wine, Egyptian beer or local grog, in that order please,” said Jesus, sitting his tightly closed moneybags at their feet.

“I guess it’s grog, anything for your wife?” the barmaid asked, looking to Mary.

“No thank you ma’am, I don’t care for grog.”

“Suit yourself,” said the barmaid, placing a pitcher of grog on the bar for Jesus, along with a large stoneware cup. “That’ll be five sestertii,” she added, hand out for money.

Jesus handed her a denarius, she returning with the change and placing twenty sestertii on the counter, moving on to other patrons.

“How do you like your grog?” asked a bored Mary, elbow on the bar, resting her head on an arm.

“It tastes like hell compared to Gallic wine, but it’ll have to do,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink of the inferior beverage and sitting the emptied cup down hard on the counter.

“How can you drink that shit?” asked a revolted Mary, frowning as Jesus poured another cup of the cloudy amber liquid from the pitcher.

“Easily, it’s cheap, available and gets one drunk after a time,” said a smiling Jesus, draining his latest cup.

“You?”

“Maybe not me unless it’s an amphora these days.”

“I swear, you drink like a rural centurion,” said Mary, watching Jesus taking the pitcher by the handle and drinking from it.

“You don’t say,” replied Jesus, waving over the barmaid.

“Another?” asked the barmaid, Jesus sitting the pitcher on the bar top.

“Yeah, forget the cup this time,” said Jesus, not even slightly inebriated.

“Coming up,” the barmaid replied, Jesus noting a pair of undesirables staring at them from the corner of his eye.

“Are we going to get dinner soon?” an impatient Mary asked after the pitcher arrived.

“It walked in a few minutes ago,” said Jesus, looking in their direction, grabbing the pitcher and drinking deeply from it.

“You want them to think you’re drunk,” Mary observed, glancing to a pair of burly Illyrian men.

“Exactly,” said Jesus, taking another drink from the pitcher.

Downing three pitchers in a little over an hour, Jesus stepped from the bar and grabbed his satchels. Not even slightly drunk, he left ten sestertii behind as a tip for the barmaid. “Let’s get out of here,” said Jesus, feigning inebriation. Heading for the seedy section of town, the thieves followed, wondering what was in their satchels.

“It’s money, a lot of it,” one ventured, shadowing Jesus and Mary.

“No, it’s clothes or jewelry,” replied the other.

“Look at the weight,” the first thief observed, noting the way the bags clung to Jesus’ sides.

Following them to a darkened alley, the thieves made their move.

“This is a holdup, give us your money,” demanded one, pulling a rusty gladius.

“Why don’t you go to hell,” Jesus retorted, turning on the pair.

“What?”

“You heard me you stupid bastard,” said Jesus, narrowing eyes in contempt.

“My mother was a married woman when I was born,” the unintimidated thief replied, not understanding how Jesus could be sober after consuming three pitchers of grog.

“I noticed you didn’t challenge me regarding your intelligence,” Jesus retorted.

“What?”

“Never mind, maybe your mother was married, to a jackal or pig,” said a smiling Jesus, Mary laughing loudly.

A drunk sleeping behind them woke to the noise, clumsily rising to his feet, staring at the unfolding fracas.

“How dare you, my mother was an Illyrian – ”

“Kill ‘em,” growled the other thief, in no mood for waiting for his ill-gotten money.

Holding the gladius above his head, the thief moved for Jesus, who sidestepped the hacking attack.

“You missed,” said Jesus, his assailant falling to his knees, scraping them badly on the rough cobblestones.

“I won’t next time,” the thief yelled, turning and attempting to rise.

“Yes you will,” Mary retorted, kicking him so hard in the face it broke his neck. He and gladius falling backward to the pavement, she went for the jugular.

“What are you going to do?” asked Jesus, smiling at the other thief with fangs showing, freezing him to his spot.

“No answer huh, die you bastard,” spat Jesus, sinking fangs in the neck, dropping the body to the cobblestones seconds later.

“Pissed you off didn’t he?” asked Mary, wiping her mouth, staring at the victim.

“Not really, these assholes – ”

“You’re vampires,” the drunk declared, staggering up.

“He saw us!”

“Don’t worry,” said Jesus, holding up a hand, intoning in his vampiric monotone, “Verily I say unto you drunk, go back to your intoxicated slumber and recall nothing you have seen on this night.”

The drunk stood there, weaving, staring at them.

“Don’t you hear me?” Jesus asked, looking to the witness.

“Yeah, and you’re still vampires,” said the drunk in slurred Latin, looking at Jesus in double vision.

“It’s not working,” a smirking Magdalene observed, her voice rising as she finished the sentence, looking up to exposed and rotting outer rafters of a hovel.

“No it isn’t,” replied an incredulous Jesus, staring at the drunk.

“Great, he can’t be entranced,” said Mary, hands in the air.

Jesus stood there, in yet another moral quandary.

What am I going to do? thought Jesus, This man is innocent!

“I’d do something soon, unless you want half the town to hunt us down with oak stakes,” the Magdalene advised, having literally read his mind.

Mary and I must survive, he thought, thinking of the family in Tibernum, a moral conundrum confronting Jesus, his next thoughts and conclusion going against everything he had ever believed in.

“Are you going to think about it all night or do something?”

His senses returning, the drunk turned to flee, Jesus grabbing him by his tunic. Closing eyes in mental pain, holding the struggling drunk, Jesus ordered, “Take him Mary.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Mary agreed, draining the man, the body hitting the pavement with a dull thud.

“Problem solved,” she announced, looking to the pale corpse.

“This is not a thing I like to do.”

“That’s obvious, but you didn’t do it, I did. I’ve told you before killing solves problems.”

“Perhaps, but if there’d only been another way – ”

“There wasn’t, so don’t worry about it,” said Mary, lifting a body for disposal while a sullen Jesus grabbed the remaining two, one the slaughtered drunk.

Heading to a lavatorium, they looted and dumped their victims in the sewer.

“Don’t feel bad Jesus, he was a worthless bastard, a common lush,” said Mary, the drunk’s body landing in the sewer with a loud splash.

“Probably,” Jesus admitted, watching the corpse float away with the thieves.

“Not probably, definitely,” Mary corrected as they left.

“I like to get drunk,” said Jesus, walking a darkened street.

“So do I, but are you drunk all the time like he was?” Mary asked, looking in disgust to another unconscious drunk in a gutter.

“Of course not, but what does that have to do with killing him?” asked Jesus, not following her reasoning.

“Look at it this way, he was a hopeless failure, drunk all the time. I think we did him a favor killing him off.”

“I never thought of it that way,” said Jesus, strolling to the outskirts of Octavinum.

“See what I mean?” asked the Magdalene with a smile, looking to him.

“I guess,” said a sighing Jesus, the pair heading toward Illyricum.

Arriving in Illyricum at eleven, they checked into the local Epicurus Luxury Hotel, greeting Petronius the numismatist. Paying him in advance for a week’s stay, they checked into the same room that Jesus had hidden their money and other valuables in over a year earlier.

“How long do you want to stay?” asked Mary, relaxing on the bed, enjoying the softness of the down stuffed mattress.

“Only for a few days to get our money, it’s mid-May and I want to be in Tibernum before September.”

“Why?”

“The Emperor’s censor from Antioch will arrive there on the ides of September,” Jesus explained, sliding their satchels under the bed, “I have to be there before then to give father his signet ring and citizenship documents.”

“How do you know that?” asked Mary, sitting up in the bed.

“I asked the scribe at the Tabularium, don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t pay attention to such things,” said the Magdalene, falling back into the bed.

“You should, what if I were destroyed before we return, who would care for our family?”

“I’d have to, and would of course, I’m sorry,” a contrite Mary replied, realizing her vampiric rabbi was right; the responsibility for Joseph, Mary, and his brother would fall to her in such a case.

“That is correct,” said Jesus, looking to the floor where their valuables were hidden.

“Are you going to dig it up?” asked Mary, rolling to her side and resting her head on an arm.

“It’ll wait, let’s get sleep shall we?” said a tired Jesus with a yawn.

“Sure, I’m beat too,” replied Mary, rolling over and making room for him.

Taking his beloved in his arms, they fell into blissful slumber in the opulent suite.

The complimentary meals arriving precisely at six, Jesus struggled to the door, half-asleep, unlocking and opening it.

“What do you want?” asked a groggy Jesus of a German slave, leaning against the jamb.

“I’m delivering your dinner sir.”

“Oh yes, Christ, I’m sorry,” replied Jesus politely, focusing on the slave.

“Tonight’s meal is a fine tenderloin of pork, liquamen sauce, vegetable medley and a loaf of fresh bread, along with a bottle of Gaius Scipio’s finest white, vintage 787 AUC,” the slave announced, removing two crystal goblets from silken pouches and placing them on a table.

“Thank you slave,” said Jesus while the Magdalene snored in the background, grabbing several denarii for a tip, handing them to the slave and motioning him toward the door.

“You’re paying me?” asked the slave, standing at the threshold and looking to the coins in his hand.

“Why not,” said Jesus with a wave of a hand, “Take them, save it up and buy your freedom or head to a brothel and purchase a fine woman for carnal pleasure.”

“Thank you sir!” the slave exclaimed, Jesus reaching for the door to close it.

“Yeah,” said Jesus tiredly, slamming the door in the slave’s face and falling into the bed, it nearly an hour to dusk. Slumbering for another few hours in their ostentatious abode, Jesus woke refreshed, looking to the cart with its fine wine and cold food.

“Wake up, there’s good wine for us to drink this evening,” said Jesus, shaking Mary awake.

“There is, what time is it?” asked the Magdalene with a start.

“It must be near nine, a slave dropped off the food at six,” said Jesus, rising from the bed and pouring goblets of wine.

“We woke late didn’t we?” asked Mary, taking a goblet and drinking deeply.

“We needed rest due to the last few nights, besides, there’s not much to do around here anyway.”

“We’ll have to fly from town for food won’t we?” asked Mary, recalling Illyricum was devoid of thieves, thanks to the prefect and his merciless centurions.

“That’s right,” said Jesus, downing his goblet and pouring another, offering her the bottle.

Mary had risen from the bed and donned her stola, then brushed her hair before a polished bronze mirror.

Returning to the bedside tray, a presentable Mary poured a cup of wine. Jesus, sitting his cup on a nightstand, rolled up one end of an Asian carpet and inspected the floor covering his makeshift vault.

“Are you going to dig it up?” asked Mary, relaxing on the bed, finishing her goblet and sitting it on the nightstand.

“Perhaps later, let’s find someone to eat.”

Flying from an open window as bats, they headed south, following the highway looking for suitable victims. Noticing an enclosed wagon stopped in the middle of the road a half-hour later, they alighted on the pavement and transformed about one hundred yards from it. Walking toward the wagon, Jesus noticed a trio of burly men, one placing a padlock on the rear door of the wagon, the other two climbing to the seat behind a pair of draft horses. The men looked out of place sitting aboard the expensive and well-maintained wagon, all filthy and unkempt.

“Those men are not the owners of that wagon,” Jesus whispered as they strolled up.

“How can you tell?”

“I just know, I’ve ran into their kind before on these highways,” said Jesus darkly, eyeing the armed man walking toward his compatriots in the front of the wagon. “Good evening to you,” Jesus greeted, looking to the swarthy trio, noting fresh blood spattered on the ground, evidently from the wounded or dead owner.

“A good evening to you sir,” the leader of the group called from his seat.

“What are you two doing out here?” asked the armed man gruffly, ogling the pretty Magdalene, “It must be twenty miles to the nearest town.” From the corner of his eye, Jesus observed the leader shake his head to the man at his side, who had drawn a gladius in precaution.

“My wife and I are out for a stroll to parts unknown,” Jesus replied, glancing at the men in the seat.

“You must live near here,” said the man standing on the road, looking to the leader of the group – they a band of ruthless highwaymen and slave kidnappers.

“Not at all,” replied Jesus, the wagon shaking violently from someone or something hurling itself against a wall.

“We have to get going, we’re merchants,” the leader remarked with a weak smile.

“What do you have to sell, wild boars?” asked the vampiric Christ, chuckling while the wagon shook, Mary looking to the ground.

“What business is it of yours?” the man on the road snarled, hand on a gladius.

“None really, excepting you three are liars and thieves,” said Jesus bluntly, Mary laughing at the reply, standing in front of the docile horses and patting them.

“Kill ‘em!” barked the leader to his lieutenant in the street, pointing to their would be victims, the unmounted man pulling a gladius as the wagon shook again.

“We should’ve killed those assholes in the rear,” the mounted lieutenant complained.

“How would we have slaves to sell, they don’t grow on trees,” replied the leader, watching his other man move toward Jesus.

“Come on, go for it,” Jesus taunted, arms folded over his chest, smiling at his victim.

Moving his gladius to an attack position, the ruthless slaver inexpertly attempted to hack at Jesus, who easily caught the man by the wrist with his left.

“Not very good with these are you?” asked Jesus, staring in the surprised man’s eyes, holding his wrist in a viselike grip.

“Let go and I’ll show you how good I am!” the man yelled, attempting to free his sword arm.

“Not likely,” Jesus retorted, breaking the man’s arm at the wrist and taking the gladius with his right, throwing him to the ground.

“Come down and fight if you have the guts,” said Jesus, switching the sword to his left, the other man moaning in agony on the pavement, clutching his broken wrist, a bone protruding from the flesh.

“Take him Gracchus,” ordered the leader, this man leaping to the road, steel gladius in hand.

“Yeah, take me Gracchus, if you can,” Jesus taunted with eyes narrowed, waving his gladius as a vicious Magdalene eyed the form on the pavement, attempting to crawl away.

“Not so fast,” said Mary, walking from the horses and dragging her struggling victim to the rear of the wagon by his hair. Bearing fangs, she sucked his blood until he died, throwing the emptied corpse to the side of the highway.

Their swords colliding on the moonlit road, Jesus exclaimed, right arm on his hip in a fencing stance, “You’re good, but not half as good as I am!”

“Help me fend off this crazy bastard Lucius!” called a frightened Gracchus as Jesus cut off his tunic belt, grazing his belly.

“Right,” Lucius answered, leaping from the wagon with his weapon, two expert swordsmen taking on the vampiric Christ while Mary watched, sitting at the curbside with hands folded.

“Do you need help?” asked Mary.

“Hell no, this is child’s play,” said Jesus while they continued to attack.

“Can’t you do better than that?” Jesus asked, ducking, Lucius’ gladius trimming his hair.

“He’s a maniac!” exclaimed Gracchus, hacking at Jesus with all his might.

“I’ll say!” exclaimed Lucius, Jesus slicing off his long beard as he lunged backward.

“What does it take to kill you?” Gracchus asked, looking to Jesus as their swords crossed.

“A lot more than you have,” Jesus retorted, pushing him backward and decapitating him in one stroke. The severed head fell to the pavement as Lucius beheld his friend’s demise, rolling to the concrete curb, the body hitting the road with a dull thud.

“Top that friend,” said Jesus with a vicious laugh, Mary descending on the remains of Gracchus and gulping spurting blood from the severed arteries.

“You’re vampires!” a terrified Lucius exclaimed, looking to Jesus as their swords clashed.

“No kidding,” Jesus retorted while they fought on.

“I’ll take your head off you bastard!” yelled Lucius, hacking at Jesus.

“Bastard, possibly, take my head off, probably not, but even if you do, how will you deal with my lovely woman over there?” asked Jesus, his consort at the curbside wiping her mouth, easily deflecting Lucius’ attack.

“You’re playing with me!” Lucius exclaimed, defeat in his eyes.

“What gave you that idea?” asked Jesus, giving him an out as he could have easily cut him in half due to his latest mistake.

“What you just did!” Lucius exclaimed, swords colliding.

“Really?” taunted Jesus, “Why don’t you use your skill with the gladius and defeat me?”

“I can’t, you’re better,” Lucius cried, Jesus breaking off a side of his opponent’s hand guard in a hacking blow, the fragment hitting the ground with a metallic clamor.

“Then fight me to the death like gladiators do in the arena!” Jesus exclaimed, Lucius’ hot breath in his face.

“I shall!” yelled Lucius defiantly, brave beyond belief, their weapons colliding in a bitter dance of death.

“You should let him go, he reminds me of Decius,” Mary observed.

“No way, this man has no honor, he’s nothing but a common thief!”

“You’re right, sorry,” Mary replied, Jesus slicing off Lucius’ left hand.

“Rotten bastard!” Lucius cried in pain and anger, blood pouring from the stump, slicing Jesus across the midriff, slashing his tunic in two, barely missing the stomach.

“You said that before,” said a merciless Jesus, glancing at his slashed tunic.

“I think someone needs to give your man a hand,” the Magdalene declared, watching Lucius bleed to death, his severed appendage a few feet from her.

“Figuratively or literally?” asked Jesus, looking to his consort.

“Literally, look at the blood pouring from that stump!” a laughing Mary exclaimed, rolling onto her back at the macabre hilarity, Jesus’ attacker crouching and deflecting the vampiric Christ’s latest killer blow.

“I imagine he’ll run out of blood pretty soon won’t he?” Jesus ventured, surprised his attacker was still kicking, blood spurting from the stump of his severed hand.

“If he doesn’t he’s a better man than you.”

“Never,” said Jesus, moving his sword to the right, barely slicing Lucius’ neck.

“I’ll kill you!” cried Lucius, attempting to bring his sword down on Jesus’ head.

“How, I’m already dead,” Jesus retorted, looking up to Lucius as their swords crossed.

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Lucius, bleeding to death.

“This is boring, stop playing around and finish him off,” Mary advised, staring at the mortally wounded Lucius.

“Boring?” asked Jesus, easily deflecting Lucius’ hacking attack.

“Yes, his blood’s running all over the ground and you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s true,” said Jesus, looking to his victim with fangs showing.

“You’re heartless monsters!” cried an anguished Lucius, fighting Jesus to the death.

“Monsters, what are you?” asked Jesus, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“I’m a man, you’re a bloodsucking vampire,” a delirious Lucius answered, attempting to fight on, faint from loss of blood.

“So, you in your evil have preyed on the innocent, I generally prey on only the guilty,” Jesus retorted, deflecting another clumsy blow from the dying Lucius.

“Get it over with,” said the Magdalene, feeling pity for Jesus’ victim.

“What?”

“You’re tormenting him, you of all people should know better than that,” Mary admonished sternly from her repose on the curb.

“I am?”

“Finish him off will you?”

“Try this vampire!” Lucius exclaimed, slashing at Jesus’ legs, the vampiric Christ leaping into the air.

“Not good enough,” said Jesus, disarming his victim and running him through the chest, Lucius’ weapon clattering to the concrete pavement.

“Ahh!” Lucius moaned, a sword protruding from his back by several inches.

“Die you piece of shit!” yelled Jesus, holding him aloft with the gladius as his heart was cleft in two.

“I sur – ” tried Lucius, collapsing in death as Jesus let the sword go, the body falling to the pavement, shaft of the gladius breaking off underneath it.

His anger fading quickly, a hungry Jesus moved to the body and went for the throat, sucking down the remainder of the warm and still living blood.

“That was velly good,” said a smiling Jesus, a hint of vampiric accent returning as he rose from the body, only a quart or so of hot blood having been left in the man.

“He was a hell of a fighter wasn’t he?” asked Mary, rising from the curbside.

“Dat he vas,” an impressed Jesus observed, looking to his slashed tunic.

“You’re sounding goofy again Jesus.”

“I am?” asked Jesus, embarrassed.

“Yeah.”

“When we get to the hotel, do you think you can sew – ” began Jesus in his usual voice, interrupted by noise coming from the wagon.

“What do you think that is?” asked Mary, staring at the wagon.

“Let’s get rid of the bodies, then we’ll find out,” said Jesus, checking his victim for loot, his consort doing the same with the others.

Dumping the bodies and severed head in a ravine, they returned to the wagon, Jesus staring at the padlock.

“I didn’t find any keys, did you?” asked Jesus, raising an eyebrow.

“I was only looking for money,” said Mary, holding out a handful of coins.

“Maybe we should look for keys too, next time.”

“Why, you can rip locks off easily.”

“It looks better to most folks if you unlock them,” said Jesus, twisting off the offending padlock and tossing it in a thicket.

“Whatever,” Mary replied, Jesus opening the door, revealing a Roman citizen, forearm slashed, with his wife and daughter, all bound and gagged.

“Don’t worry friend, we’re here to help,” said Jesus, releasing the man from his bindings.

“Are you vampires?” asked the man fearfully, having heard the conversation and ensuing swordplay while his wife and daughter looked on.

“That’s ridiculous, I’m an Etrurian swordsman, there are no such things as vampires,” said Jesus, looking to the three and entrancing them with a wave of a hand. “Verily I say,” he intoned, looking to the stupefied group, “None of you will recall this woman and I are vampires, always remembering us as helpful travelers who happened upon you on this dark and lonely night.”

“Very well put, I must say,” the Magdalene observed, smiling.

“Thank you woman,” Jesus replied, waving a hand, releasing the family from hypnosis.

“Thank you for saving us friend,” said the man, stepping from the wagon, while Mary unfettered the rest and helped them out, frowning as she noted Lucius’ severed hand in the street.

“What happened to the highwaymen?” asked his wife, rubbing her wrists, taking her young daughter under her arm.

“They ran off thanks to my husband defeating them,” said Mary, inconspicuously kicking the severed hand into a thicket.

“How can we repay you for saving us?” asked the man, glancing at pools of blood on the pavement and then to the unscathed Jesus in his slashed tunic. Looking about, he wondered if anyone, even evil highwaymen, could stand such a loss for long, deciding to keep this confusing observation to himself.

“There is no need,” said Jesus, holding a finger aloft, “It is the duty of every Roman to assist fellow citizens in need of help. I would expect nothing less from you were my wife and I in the same situation.”

“I would indeed, thank the gods you were here,” the man answered, noticing Jesus’ golden signet.

“Indeed, great Jupiter is our patron, the god of Rome,” Jesus lied, “Pay homage at his temple should you happen upon the Eternal City in your travels.”

“That I shall,” the man declared, offering his hand, Jesus giving him a firm handshake.

“Your name friend?” asked the man, looking up to the taller Jesus in gratitude.

“Julius Chrysippus, originally from Etruria, holding land with my wife Maria and family in Cappadocia.”

“Marcus Aeolis Capuas at your service, this is my wife Helen of Corinth, and my daughter Helena,” replied Marcus, presenting his family.

“You’re Greco-Roman like we are,” Jesus lied, releasing his grip.

“Indeed, with a name like Chrysippus I could tell,” said a smiling Marcus, “Please friend, is there something I can do for you, do you need a ride or perhaps money?”

“No, we’re quite wealthy and are on our way to Cappadocia.”

“We’re heading to Illyricum, my father in law north of there has taken ill,” said Marcus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, may he recover his health,” said Jesus, Mary motioning for them to leave.

“We have prayed for Minerva to intercede,” added Marcus, looking to his wife.

“Minerva is quite powerful, a slave of ours named Electra prayed to her for my mother and young brother after his birth and they survived their ordeal,” said Jesus.

“I see you have to leave,” Marcus observed, glancing at Mary.

“We were heading to a friend’s villa a few miles from here when we happened upon you,” replied a lying Jesus.

“Very well, may Jupiter and Minerva protect you in your travels,” said Marcus, climbing aboard the wagon with his wife and daughter.

“The god Janus is also helpful,” said Jesus, showing Marcus the amulet around his neck, woven with he and the Magdalene’s hair.

“Janus was my father’s personal god,” said Marcus, taking the reins.

“Indeed, take care friend,” Jesus replied, Marcus motioning the horses forward and driving off.

“I guess you did your good deed for the evening,” Mary observed while they stood on the deserted highway, Marcus’ wagon receding in the distance.

“I suppose.”

“Why do you bother?” she asked, looking to the broken hand guard at the curbside.

“It’s the right thing to do,” said Jesus, assuming chiropteric form with consort following, flying back to the hotel.

Arriving through the open window, they transformed in the dimly lit room, Jesus pouring a glass of wine and sitting down in a padded chair.

“I knew you were good with a sword, but I never realized how good,” said an impressed Mary, relaxing on the bed as Jesus took a deep drink from his goblet.

“You watched me fence with Ganymede,” Jesus replied, looking to her in confusion.

“He’s a gifted amateur swordsman, the clowns on the road were seasoned professionals.”

“So?”

“I just didn’t realize it,” said Mary, “From what I saw tonight I’d bet you could take on a dozen gladiators and make mincemeat of them.”

“A dozen no, six, probably,” Jesus replied confidently, studying his nails.

“Modest too,” a smiling Magdalene retorted, her shrugging consort walking to the table and filling his goblet with the last of the wine.

“Do you think you could mend this tunic at your leisure?” asked Jesus, staring at an eight-inch slash across the midriff of his garb.

“You’d better change, I’ll take care of it later,” said Mary.

“Since its early would you like to go out for a bit?” asked Jesus, disrobing to his underwear, reaching for a fresh tunic from a satchel.

“Let me get rid of this garbage first,” said Mary, rising from the bed, referring to their cold and inedible food, dumping it in the latrine.

They went out for a night on the town near midnight, hitting various packed bars, finally able to enjoy the scenery of Illyricum, as when they had been there last snowstorms had prevented much sightseeing. Sitting on a marble bench in the deserted town forum at four, a relaxing Jesus looked up to a starry night sky, thoroughly satisfied with the evening.

“How long do you plan to stay here?” asked Mary, breaking the silence.

“Why do you ask?” Jesus replied, turning to her, crickets chirping in the background.

“I was just wondering, you have to dig up the loot buried in our room, and we still have well over a thousand miles to go before we’re home,” the Magdalene observed, thinking ahead.

“I’d say eighteen hundred or so,” Jesus replied, leaning back on the bench.

“I thought you wanted to get home,” said a confused Mary.

“We will, first we have to purchase another pair of satchels and some mortar,” said Jesus, looking to the east at false dawn.

“Oh yeah, for the gold and such.”

“Right, tell you what, we’ll get up early tomorrow evening and buy the supplies. Don’t worry, I didn’t travel all the way to Rome to establish citizenship for us just to see my folks sold into slavery or killed due to us not being in Tibernum by September.”

“It’s almost June, something could delay us,” said the Magdalene, concerned for the family.

“Highly unlikely but possible,” a nodding Jesus agreed.

“Then we’ll take off tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, in the next few days, then we’ll journey to Greece,” said Jesus, rising from the bench and taking her hand, heading to their room.

Rising nearly an hour before sundown the following day, they headed out to the evening daylight, greeting Petronius at his desk. “We’ll be checking out by the end of the week,” said Jesus over a glass of wine, leaning on the counter.

“So soon?” asked Petronius, enjoying the company of an interesting guest like Jesus.

“I must be in Cappadocia before this year’s harvest comes in, my father needs me for handling sales.”

“Did you get the contracts signed in Rome?” asked Petronius, recalling their conversation of nearly a year and a half earlier.

“I did indeed, sending them to my father via courier last summer,” Jesus lied.

“Business, it’s such a pain in the ass,” said Petronius, reaching for the bottle.

“I’d like to get to the jewelers before he closes Julius,” said Mary, Petronius offering another drink to Jesus.

“Yes woman, we’ll take off now,” answered Jesus, holding out hands to Petronius as the Magdalene started for the door.

“Women, can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Petronius chuckled.

“That’s the truth,” a smiling Jesus replied, passing through the threshold and heading into the late daylight with his consort.

“Thanks woman, that worked well,” said Jesus, never adept when it came to parting.

“Do you want to head to the hardware store or to the tanner first?”

“To the tanner for the satchels,” said Jesus, “Verily I say, we would look silly carrying a bag of mortar into his shop.”

“Truer words have not been said,” Mary agreed, the couple rounding a corner leading to the business district.

Returning with the supplies well after sundown, Mary entered the room and opened a window, Jesus passing her a sack of mortar, making his way to the room and locking the door. The complementary meal had been delivered during their absence, a concerned Jesus instinctively checking under the bed for their valuables.

“It’s here, I checked when I walked in,” said Mary, sitting on the bed.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, grabbing an open bottle and filling a pair of goblets while Jesus pried dowel pins from the floor with his fingernails. Sliding oiled planks from the floor, Jesus stared at his mortar work, reaching for a convenient handhold he had left at the outer wall.

“Here goes nothing,” said Jesus, ripping the four hundred pound block from the floor, exposing the makeshift vault containing 2,500 aurei in various valuables.

His consort softly applauded his Herculean feat from her repose on the bed, Jesus giving her a contrived bow. “You’re an unabashed ham,” said Mary, looking to her consort.

“I am?”

“Absolutely, if you weren’t you wouldn’t have done so well as a preacher.”

“You thought I was a ham then?” asked Jesus, frowning.

“Yes, but a very lovable one,” said Mary, Jesus sliding the stone aside from the exposed hole.

“It’s all here,” Jesus observed, staring into his vault.

“I never thought it wouldn’t be,” Mary replied, rising and handing him a filled goblet.

Draining the goblet and grabbing empty satchels from the nightstand, Jesus said, “I guess I’ll load them up.”

“Need help?”

“I’ll manage,” said Jesus, leaning into the vault, grabbing fistfuls of coins and jewelry, stuffing it into a satchel.

“I love it, we have so much money that it’s hard for us to carry it around!” a laughing Mary exclaimed, flopping on the bed.

“That and then some.”

Filling two satchels with glittering aurei, denarii, jewelry and lesser coinages, Jesus emptied his vault, dropping the block in place near midnight.

“Want to go out and kill somebody?” Mary asked, hungry for blood.

“You had two last night!” Jesus exclaimed, seating the limestone block with a grunt.

“I haven’t had anyone tonight have I?” said Mary, Jesus looking to her and smiling.

“We’ll have to fly out of town,” Jesus replied, looking at the sack of mortar and planks.

“Why not take pigs at the stable?”

“You – take pigs willingly?”

“Why not, you have to finish the floor tonight, maybe pigs would be best to save time.”

“You are indeed a good woman,” said Jesus, opening a window and looking to the hotel stable.

Flying to the stable and silently dispatching a pair of huge domestic swine, they emerged from the barn, dead hogs on their shoulders, each carcass weighing in excess of 400 pounds. Looking about for people, Jesus motioned his consort forward, the couple heading across the street to a lavatorium in the darkness.

“It’s a damn good thing there aren’t any centurions around here,” said Mary, dropping her carcass over a commode, it going nowhere quickly. “Uh oh,” she added, looking to Jesus.

“They don’t fit!” Jesus exclaimed, staring at a huge hog carcass jammed headfirst in the commode. Disgusted, he flung the other hog from his shoulder.

“It’s wider once you get past the opening, perhaps you should jump on it once or twice,” Mary suggested, staring at the bloodless swine, curly tail nearly two feet from the latrine opening, the lid and seat upright against the wall.

“I guess I can try that,” said Jesus, climbing up and kicking the carcass.

“It went down a few inches,” Mary observed, looking at the battered pig.

“But it didn’t go down all the way!” exclaimed Jesus under his breath.

“Hit it again.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jesus retorted, looking to the ceiling.

Grabbing overhead rafters to steady himself, Jesus kicked the carcass hard, breaking its pelvic bone in two. His feet sinking deep into the cooling flesh, the mangled carcass slid past the opening and descended to the sewer with a loud splash.

“That’s one down,” said Mary, looking to the other carcass and exclaiming, “Christ, yours is even bigger than mine was!”

“This was a bad idea, domestic pigs are much bigger than wild swine. How the hell are we going to get this one down the latrine?” asked Jesus, staring at the hog.

“What if you pull up the cover?” Mary suggested, looking to the door.

“Don’t worry, everybody’s asleep in this area of town,” said Jesus. Undaunted, he leaned down and lifted the heavy cover.

“Quick woman, throw it down the john!” a straining Jesus exclaimed, having lifted well over a ton of hewn granite, his consort grabbing the remains of the hog and heaving it in the sewer. A sheet of filthy water splashed into the latrine as the carcass landed, barely missing them.

Jesus eased the slab in place, remarking with satisfaction, “That takes care of that, let’s – ”

“No it doesn’t, we have another problem,” said Mary, staring into the commode.

“What?”

“I hate to tell you, but yours is jammed in the sewer pipe!” the Magdalene exclaimed, watching the carcass tightly plugging the running sewer headfirst, filthy water rising above the dead animal.

“Oh brother,” Jesus spat as he looked in the toilet, arching eyebrows in amazement. The porker had completely stopped up the pipe as efficiently as one closing a valve.

“What do we do?” asked Mary, watching the water rise.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before the whole goddamned street is flooded,” a defeated Jesus answered, shaking his head and motioning her from the lavatorium.

Flying to the hotel, they transformed in the dimly lit lair, a frowning Jesus staring out the window shortly after one, observing sewer water pouring into the street from the lavatorium entrance.

“Have a look at this,” said Jesus, waving her over.

“Good lord!” the Magdalene exclaimed under her breath, staring at a small river of water coursing past their hotel and heading down the street.

“I’d best get this floor finished,” said Jesus, looking at their less than perfect suite.

“Yeah,” Mary replied, heading to their lavatorium to draw water for the mortar, thankfully noting the commode was dry, downstream from the torrent flowing outside.

Repairing the floor, Jesus rolled the carpet into place in the immaculate room at a little past four, he and consort hearing voices outside, calling to one another about flooded basements and the street being filled with sewage. Exhausted from his ordeal, after tossing the remaining mortar down their dry latrine, Jesus washed up in the lavatorium basin, looking at bags under his eyes in the polished bronze mirror. Walking from the bathroom, he stared out the window, noting a centurion with a terse look on his face inspecting the flooding street with two other officers. Averting his eyes, Jesus closed the shutter and sash to the unfolding disaster.

“Let’s get sleep,” said Jesus, climbing into bed beside his consort.

“Sure,” an unconcerned Magdalene replied, having taken to the bed earlier.

“Good night my woman,” said Jesus, listening to voices yelling outside.

“Good night, have a good sleep my love,” a yawning Mary answered, the couple falling into blissful slumber in each other’s arms.

At six in the evening, their complimentary dinner and wine arrived, Jesus tipping the German slave five denarii and asking him at the door, “Pray tell slave, what is the commotion outside?” Knowing the answer, Jesus somberly awaited the reply, his consort in bed with a linen sheet around her, enjoying a cup of wine.

“The sewer across the street seems to be clogged up,” the slave answered.

“What’s being done about it?”

“You’ll have to ask the master, with all the work I’ve been doing I haven’t had time to ask anyone.”

“Thank you slave,” said Jesus, closing the door.

Opening the shutter to the evening light, Jesus observed several men and soldiers sitting idle just outside and upstream from the lavatorium, one evidently important man in an equestrian toga conversing with a middle-aged centurion. Sewer water was coursing down the street in torrents, Jesus eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Look, I don’t know what to do Hadrius, the resident engineer and his party are thirty miles north of here, using two contubernia of my men for repairing a damaged aqueduct,” the centurion said to a young aide of the town prefect.

“Have you sent word?” asked the aide.

“I know my duty, they should be back tomorrow night,” the centurion spat, looking to the flowing water.

“What can be done in the meantime?” asked Hadrius, not understanding the centurion’s terse replies.

“Nothing, didn’t you hear me, I’m a soldier, not an engineer, and even if I was your idiotic scribe Laertes Illyricus doesn’t even know where the plans for this section of the sewer are!”

“What will I tell prefect Drusus?”

“Tell Drusus we’re handling it as best we can, and will have the sewer repaired as soon as possible, my engineer’s out of town, wasn’t that clear to you?”

“What will the engineer do when he gets here?” asked Hadrius, looking helplessly to the centurion.

“How in the hell do I know, he’s the engineer, ask him when he arrives!” the centurion bellowed, growing angry at the questions of the aide.

“Very well, thank you centurion,” answered the frowning aide, walking off.

“Tell Drusus to drop by the garrison this evening, I’ll fill him in,” the centurion called.

“Shall do,” answered Hadrius.

“Simple asshole,” the centurion spat.

“Hadrius Sophocles isn’t too swift is he?” a junior officer observed.

“A greenhorn bureaucrat,” said the centurion, “I’d bet anyone Hadrius couldn’t pour piss from a boot with the directions written on the heel!”

Laughter erupted from the group, Mary calling to her consort from her repose in the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing important,” said Jesus, closing up the shutter and joining her.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning the engineer’s out of town and no one else knows what to do,” an amused Jesus answered, grabbing the bottle.

“So no one is aware a hog has jammed up the sewer,” Mary surmised, finishing her goblet.

“Exactly,” said Jesus, chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Mary asked, leaning back on a pillow.

“If this were happening in Judea they’d really have a problem on their hands.”

“Why?”

“If you recall, pigs aren’t kosher, and anything coming in contact with swine, including water, isn’t kosher either,” Jesus explained, recalling his intensive studies of the book of Leviticus.

“So what, Romans don’t care about that, neither do you or I for that matter,” said Mary, not following.

“No, but Hebrews in Judea do, and they’d have a riot if this were happening in Jerusalem. You know what I mean, pig water running through the streets with defiled Pharisees wandering about the city rending their clothes.”

The ludicrous scenario dawning on her, she laughed, the vampiric Christ joining her.

“You don’t like them much anymore do you?” asked Mary, regaining her composure.

“Like them? Let’s see, they accused me of blasphemy and had Roman soldiers beat me practically senseless with whips and clubs as that bastard Caiaphas smiled. After that, they coerced Pilate into murdering me by crucifixion. No, I don’t think I like people like that at all,” a smiling Jesus retorted, amused over the thought of such an occurrence happening in Judea.

“I don’t blame you,” said Mary, agreeing with his bitter sarcasm.

“I can see it all now,” said Jesus, “Caiaphas blundering about in rags, tormenting procurator Marcellus about cleaning the streets of pig water!”

“That’s ridiculous, pigs are nothing but food, their blood is quite satisfactory for us and the leftover meat is good for your folks and other Romans.”

“Yes,” said Jesus, glancing out the window while another citizen accosted the centurion, noting with satisfaction she had referred to his parents as Romans.

“I never really understood that,” said the Magdalene, “All the Galilean Samaritans kept swine for food in Magdala and it never hurt them.”

“Neither did I,” Jesus replied, pouring wine and leaning back in a chair.

“Really?” asked Mary, taking the bottle and filling a goblet.

“Many times in my travels I consumed pork as food in Rome and India, not to mention stranger food I ate while visiting Cathay. Verily I say, even during my ministry I doubted much of the crap written in the Pentateuch,” a frowning Jesus explained, swirling wine in his goblet.

“The what?” asked Mary, unfamiliar with the term.

“The Pentateuch,” Jesus clarified, speaking their native Aramaic.

Mary sat, jaw agape, looking to Jesus with a blank stare.

Jesus looked to her, a hand out is if in supplication. Shaking his head, he added, “The Pentateuch woman – the first five books of Moses!”

“Oh yeah those, I’m sorry.”

“Weren’t you taught of the books of Moses?” Jesus asked, indignation in his voice.

“I was out selling my ass when I was fifteen, I didn’t have much time to pursue my studies considering I had to eat,” the Magdalene retorted, resting her head on an arm.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” said Jesus, looking to the floor of their suite.

“Don’t worry about it, I sure don’t,” a shrugging Mary replied.

Jesus sat quietly, embarrassed. Though his family had been far from rich, regardless of his father’s bitter remarks they had lived well in the town of Nazareth with his six brothers and sisters.

“How about if I get dressed and we’ll find someone to eat,” said Mary, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” answered a steepleing Jesus, index fingers touching his nose, hearing the voices outside.

Strolling from the room, Jesus stopped by the desk to converse with Petronius.

“Aren’t you up early,” Petronius observed, offering the vampiric Christ a glass of wine.

“What’s going on out there?” asked Jesus, taking the glass, low sunlight coming through the window and hitting him on the back with no ill effects.

“The sewer’s clogged up again. It’s happened before, probably a body in the outflow pipe.”

“Really?” asked a startled Jesus, almost choking on the wine, Mary growing even paler at the candid reply.

“Sometimes thieves dump victims in the sewer, first they’ll have to divert the flow and pump out the latrine to clear the blockage,” Petronius explained.

“I thought there weren’t any thieves in this town,” said Jesus, leaning on the counter.

“Not many, but the ones who do reside here are very efficient,” Petronius replied.

“They dump bodies in the lavatorium?” asked Mary.

“It’s not unheard of, they pulled one poor bastard out of a storm drain a few blocks down about a year ago,” Petronius answered, pouring another glass of wine.

“Incredible, thanks for the wine friend,” said Jesus, finishing off his glass.

They walked out into the early evening, the sun on the horizon, Mary squinting eyes uncomfortably at the brilliance.

“We have to get out of here tonight before they clear the sewer,” Jesus advised quietly, strolling past the centurion and his officers, they having placed wooden blockades along the street and sidewalk, with a narrow avenue leading to the entrance of the hotel.

“Good evening citizen,” the centurion greeted, noticing Jesus and Mary.

“A good evening to you centurion,” said Jesus, “Petronius told me the lavatorium sewer is clogged up.”

“Yes, but my engineer and his men will have it cleared in a few days at most.”

“Indeed,” said Jesus, nodding to him and the lesser officers as they walked on.

“I know we have to move on, but why do we have to leave tonight?” asked the Magdalene after moving out of hearing distance of the centurion and his officers.

“After they drain it they’re going to find a bloated, dead pig jammed in the bowels of the lavatorium with the bite marks of a vampire on its neck.”

“Won’t it rot?” asked Mary, hoping the marks would be erased by decay.

“Not with cold sewer water preserving it, do you want to hang around for the aftermath?”

“No,” a frowning Mary answered, thinking of the worst – angry Romans carrying oak stakes, terrible fire, and the brilliant midday sun.

“Exactly,” said Jesus, looking to the setting sun.

Moving from Illyricum as fog after sunset, they found suitable victims lurking five miles from the city, dispatching, looting, and dumping a pair of thieves minutes after encountering them.

“This is perfect, we’ll check out tonight, bidding good Petronius a fond farewell,” said Jesus, slipping a paltry few denarii in a tunic pocket.

“Where will we go?”

“To another town, or a cave; somewhere where the fine city of Illyricum isn’t,” answered Jesus while they stood on the highway, looking to a milestone marked CXVII, script and an arrow below pointing northward to a city named Valginum, located in the mountains of Cisalpine Gaul.

Returning to the hotel shortly after eight, Jesus and consort headed past the floodwaters running from the latrine and greeted Petronius, informing him they were checking out.

“You still have two days rent paid Julius,” said a greedy Petronius, not wishing to give refunds, even to a friend such as Jesus Christ.

“What’s a few aurei between friends, keep it for next time, we have to head to Byzantium and Chrysopolis, a friend named Callicles is going to take us home from there in early July,” Jesus lied.

“Okay,” Petronius replied, feeling he would never see Jesus again, not knowing why.

“We’re going to get our bags and head out,” said Jesus, the vampiric couple walking to their room. “That takes care of that, let’s get the hell out of here,” Jesus remarked after closing the door. Grabbing their satchels of gold and other valuables, Jesus handed two of the lighter bags to Mary, one containing their change of clothing.

“Right,” said the Magdalene, slinging the bags over a shoulder.

Walking out, Jesus waved to Petronius while heading through the doorway, he occupied with a patrician family checking in. “I have to tell you sir, the latrines aren’t working properly due to the sewer being clogged, but the centurion outside has assured me – ”

The rest of the peroration was lost as they headed past the flooding lavatorium, an engineer wearing trousers and a short tunic present, perusing a set of plans tacked to an easel by torchlight.

“No problem, we’ll divert it to the north sluice six blocks up and get slaves down here with pumps – ” the engineer was remarking to an aide, the rest of this conversation lost while they continued up the street unnoticed.

Heading southeast in the direction of Greece, they walked along the darkened highway, a crescent moon overhead.

“What do you think they’ll do when they find the pig?” asked Mary.

“Who knows, maybe they won’t even notice the bite marks,” an unconcerned Jesus answered, leaving Illyricum and its problems behind.

“It will strike them as rather strange won’t it, a hog carcass stuck in the sewer.”

“Yeah, but all they’ll have on their hands is a smelly, bloated, dead pig, and no answers as to the reason for it being there.”

“That’s true,” said a smiling Mary, both transforming to fog and heading toward the province of Dalmatia.

Coming upon a sleepy town 120 miles south of Illyricum a little before two, they assumed human form and strolled into the small burgh, searching for a room to rent.

Finding one, Jesus paid the yawning clerk three denarii. Heading to their latest abode, Jesus carried a small oil lamp to illuminate it, not needing it of course, using it only to keep up appearances.

“Why didn’t we keep going, I’m not tired yet,” said Mary as Jesus locked the door.

“I am, and I’ve come to prefer inns and hotels instead of caves, especially after the bear we ran into a while back,” said Jesus, sliding their satchels beneath the low bed.

“So have I,” the Magdalene agreed, sitting down on a crude stool, recalling their ordeal with the bear.

“Indeed,” a yawning Jesus replied, lying down to relax, folding arms behind his head.

“What’s to do tomorrow night?”

“We have plenty of time, it’s not even June yet, so I figure we’ll drop by Athens for a while, at the rate we’re going we can be there in only a few days.”

“Why, we can’t even kill anyone in that town,” Mary retorted, looking to him with a frown.

“I’ve always loved visiting the Parthenon, it’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“What are you, getting religious on me?”

“Hell no, I think dad and Cyril are right regarding that crap, I just like the building.”

“I’m only making sure, it’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at your history.”

“I’ll have to give you that,” Jesus admitted, recalling his crucifixion while staring at the ceiling.

Spending the next hours in conversation and physical contact, vampires Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene bid one another a good night in their rented room, falling into slumber in each other’s arms.