DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER SIXTEEN: EPES

Here is Chapter Sixteen. I will be here intermittently as I have very pressing personal issues that I must deal with. The situation is not related to my person; I would be more specific but there are some very mentally ill people on Disqus, which reflects the growing insanity of this dying nation. I am fairly certain that many here are already aware of that and of the individuals so inclined. 

For those that are reading, I hope you are enjoying the story. Please feel free to comment, thanks. 

Chapter Sixteen: Epes

 

Arriving in the eastern European town of Byzantium on the midnight of July 2, 37 CE, they checked into a suburban hotel, paying a tired clerk 12 denarii for their room, an upper class suite overlooking the Bosphorus strait and the nearby city of Anatolian Chrysopolis. Having dismissed the deluded apostle Paul and his ridiculous utterances from his mind, a determined Jesus resumed his current mission – heading to Tibernum with necessary citizenship papers for his father and brother Julian.

“Why are we stopping here, we could have crossed to Chrysopolis tonight,” Mary remarked as Jesus locked the door, dropping the key on a nightstand.

“Must you question me on everything?” asked an exasperated and tired Jesus, frowning at her while dumping their laden satchels on the floor with a thud, having added yet another bag of Roman currency to their luggage in eastern Thrace.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but why are we stopping here?” Mary pressed, folding arms across her ample chest.

“I’m tired, and I think it would be best to cross the strait tomorrow evening after we find someone to eat,” said Jesus, sighing.

“Are you all right?” asked a concerned Mary, looking to him as he flopped onto the bed.

“Yes, but lugging around all that money is wearing me out even as a vampire,” said Jesus, now having to carry nearly 600 pounds of Roman currency as they traveled the dark highways, Mary carrying their clothing and another 400 pounds or so of silver, jewelry and gold, along with his scrolls.

“The load we’re hauling is getting a bit heavy isn’t it?” asked the Magdalene, pursing lips in a contrived grin.

“You’re the one always saying I have a talent for understatements,” Jesus retorted, holding out arms for a needed embrace.

Mary came to him, Jesus effortlessly grabbing her light body and rolling her onto the bed.

“Sometimes woman – ” began Jesus, Mary interrupting by kissing him passionately, releasing him moments later.

“Okay, sometimes what?” she asked, smiling as Jesus held her.

“I forgot,” said Jesus, returning her kiss.

Physically enjoying each other’s company for the next few hours, the vampiric couple fell into a deep and restful sleep in each other’s arms, their hoard of money on the floor next to the bed, amounting to nearly 8,000 aurei. Jesus opened eyes just after sundown, lying on his back, staring up at the flawless plaster ceiling of their rented room. The Magdalene was beside him, snoring away, Jesus rising from the bed and slipping on a fresh tunic, opening a sash and looking eastward to the torch lit city of Chrysopolis.

“Huh?” asked a startled and frightened Mary, having a nightmare, reaching for her consort and waking with a start.

“I’m over here enjoying the view,” said Jesus quietly in the dark room, staring from the window toward their Anatolian home.

“Oh,” Mary replied with a relieved sigh, “I was dreaming.”

“About what?”

“The same thing, those goddamn Pharisees were going to burn you up with torches,” said Mary, breathing heavily and coughing afterward.

“Are you all right my woman?” asked Jesus, coming to her side.

“It’s so stupid!” Mary exclaimed, angered at having another nightmare.

“What is?”

“My dream.”

“Perhaps not, verily I say, I’ve found dreams help in coping with reality at times.”

“They can?”

“About a month before I was crucified, I dreamt of a night like this, with you standing at my side,” said Jesus, Mary sitting nude on the side of the bed reaching for a nightgown.

“You did?”

“Yes, it was a pleasant dream of a cool summer evening, looking across the Bosphorus strait,” Jesus answered, a slight breeze blowing in through the window.

“Do you think dreams can come true?” asked Mary, joining him at the window.

“That one did,” said a smiling Jesus, arm around her waist.

Checking out an hour later, they plied the dark alleyways, searching for suitable victims, finding a quartet of thieves lurking in an abandoned building in the slums. As they walked past, two came from a doorway, another two walking up behind them.

“There is no escape Romans, two of my men are behind you,” a swarthy man announced confidently, holding a rusty gladius, the others holding sharp daggers.

“You don’t say?” asked an unconcerned Jesus, five satchels of Roman gold and silver over his shoulders.

“Give us your money,” a thief ordered from behind.

“Why don’t you kiss our asses?” Mary retorted, turning and freezing two assailants to their spots.

“I’d kiss your ass before I cut your throat girl, you’re damn good looking,” said the leader, unaware two of his henchmen were little more than human statues.

“Really,” retorted a disgusted Magdalene.

“Would you kiss my ass too?” a smiling Jesus asked, batting eyes and looking to the leader.

“No, I’m not queer!” the leader exclaimed, Mary bursting into laughter.

“Perhaps not, but you’re definitely dead,” Jesus retorted, entrancing the remaining pair with a cold, penetrating stare from his blue-gray eyes, abruptly ending the conversation in the dark alley.

“You’re lying, they’re not dead yet,” Mary admonished, looking to him while he dropped his bags of lucre.

“They may as well be,” said Jesus with a toothy grin, grabbing one by his tunic and sinking fangs in the throat, sucking him dry and dropping the emptied body to the ground. “See, one is dead,” he added, pointing to the corpse, the head leaning against a curbstone.

“That he is,” Mary agreed, her consort holding up hands, looking to the end of the alley as an innocent man passed by the entrance.

Looking about and seeing no others, Jesus motioned all was clear.

A vicious Mary, not wanting to be outdone, put down her satchels and dispatched two, Jesus draining the remaining man, belching loudly as the corpse hit the cobblestones with a muffled thud.

“I needed that,” said Mary, wiping her mouth with a cloth.

“Let’s dump them,” Jesus replied, checking the bodies for loot.

Finding nothing of value, they retrieved their valuables and hurled the cadavers down a bathhouse latrine, another skull shattering as it hit a protruding stone ledge in the sewer.

“Did you aim for that ledge?” asked Jesus, the body, mostly bereft of a head, splashing loudly in the sewer.

“Not this time,” the Magdalene answered, staring into the latrine.

“Good shot anyway,” said Jesus, the mangled body disappearing as it entered the outlet pipe.

Leaving the bathhouse, they headed for the Bosphorus strait, intending to cross a few miles north of the city.

“Do you think we’ll make it across with this weight?” asked Mary while they stood on a rocky promontory overlooking the strait, a brisk easterly wind blowing behind them.

“As bats no, as fog definitely,” said a determined Jesus, looking across to Chrysopolis, not wanting to leave even one dupondii of his appropriated lucre behind.

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s take off,” Jesus answered, smiling as he looked to her, the couple vanishing from the cliff moments later.

Enjoying the ethereal feel of traveling as fog, they easily crossed the Bosphorus, returning to human form on a wharf just outside Chrysopolis.

“That was easy,” said Jesus, looking to deserted warehouses.

“What do we do now?” asked Mary.

“Find a bar and then a room so we can rest,” Jesus answered, heading toward the city, feeling tired from the crossing, not that they couldn’t have easily continued on to Nicomedia, but as time was not of the essence, stopping in Chrysopolis for the night was preferable.

“That figures,” a smiling Mary replied.

Their hunt for a tavern was interrupted by a festival being celebrated in downtown Chrysopolis and most other large cities of the empire, a joyous acknowledgement to the major gods of Rome, particularly Jupiter and Mars.

Wine, beer and grog was flowing freely, drunken men, women and even children mulling about the torch lit town forum, the couple making their way through the crowd with difficulty, their heavy bags of currency accidentally knocking some revelers to the ground.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re walking you asshole!” a man yelled from the stone pavement.

“Drop dead you clumsy bastard,” Jesus retorted, the man falling over and dying on the spot. “Shit, I didn’t mean that!” spat Jesus, turning from the body as he and Mary moved on into the crowd.

“Evidently you did, I’d watch what you say when you’re angered from now on,” Mary advised.

“I didn’t intend to do that!” Jesus exclaimed, no one realizing the man was dead, drunks tripping over the cadaver and continuing on in their revelry, figuring he was unconscious.

“I don’t care, but I’m sure he did,” Mary replied, laughing as Jesus frowned, another death of an innocent on his conscience.

Continuing on, Jesus noted even the city prefect was on his mansion porch getting drunk with his aides from an amphora while his sober guards kept a watchful eye on the citizenry.

“Good evening citizen!” called the inebriated prefect as they walked by.

“Good evening to you sir,” Jesus answered, forcing a smile to the assemblage.

“What’s going on here?” asked the Magdalene.

“Each weekend during July, a festival honoring the gods and Emperor Julius Caesar is held across most major cities in the empire,” said Jesus, forgetting the dead man and smiling to the locals, making their way through a crowd of inebriated celebrants.

“I thought Caligula was running the empire.”

“Julius Caesar was the very first emperor, ruling perhaps eighty years ago, and is revered by the Senate and populace as a god,” Jesus explained.

“Sort of like you are by some folks,” retorted Mary.

“Please, don’t remind me of it,” said Jesus, entering a packed bar.

No seats available, they headed to a take-out counter, Jesus loudly ordering two double magnums of Gallic wine.

“We’re out of Scipio’s, will Octavius Fabius Germanicus of Cisalpine Gaul do for you?” the owner yelled, cupping hands to his mouth.

“Who?” asked Jesus, not hearing the name over the noise.

“Citizen Octavius Fabius Germanicus, he vends a very tasty white from the mountains of – ”

“I’ll take it!” Jesus yelled, understanding the man, having drunk the Germanicus brand before with his disciples on several occasions.

“This is a damn good wine,” Apostle John said to Jesus, passing an earthenware cup to disciple Judas, as a drunken Bartholomew, strong wine clouding his thoughts, was picking his nose.

“Get your finger out of your nose!” Peter exclaimed as Judas passed a cup of wine to him.

“Good Peter is right friend Bartholomew,” Jesus advised after taking long pull from the common magnum, several empties on the ground next to them, “For isn’t it written: Those who dig at their noses or seats in the presence of others shall not inherit the Kingdom of God?”

“I’m sorry master,” said an embarrassed Bartholomew, wiping a soiled finger on his robe as publican Matthew frowned in disgust.

“Where is that written?” a slurring John asked, looking to Jesus.

“I don’t recall, but it must be written somewhere, I’m sure of that,” Jesus answered, taking a seat among the disciples.

“If it isn’t it should be,” added an exasperated Matthew, looking to Bartholomew.

“Let’s drink more wine shall we?” asked a drunken Jesus with a loud belch, handing the magnum to Mark, he pouring more wine for the followers into a pair of earthenware cups.

“Indeed,” disciple Luke answered, all having found the imported Cisalpine Gallic wine quite palatable.

“Verily I say, drunkenness with one’s good friends can get rid of life’s miseries, at least for a while,” announced Jesus, finger in the air, while they sat on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the late summer of 32, Common Era.

“That’s the truth,” a slurring Judas Iscariot agreed, this wine having been brought to Judea by a Greek vendor named Callicles of Athens.

“Fifteen denarii!” yelled the owner, breaking Jesus from his reverie, pointing to the heavy double magnums.

“Have an aurei, forget the change,” Jesus yelled back, handing the coin to the man and grabbing the sealed earthenware magnums from the counter.

The couple turning from the bar, Jesus, magnums in hand, moved past the crowd of drunken revelers, an unknown homosexual grabbing at him from behind while another depraved, drunken male stared at Mary, announcing, “ I’d love to screw you!”

“I don’t doubt it, but she’s my wife,” a smiling Jesus retorted, ignoring the shy fag behind him.

“Sorry friend,” the cringing man apologized, moving back and tripping over his feet as they moved past him.

“Don’t mention it,” yelled Jesus, the man landing on his ass and cracking his head hard against the side of a table, nearly knocking him unconscious.

“Lecherous bastard,” Mary remarked as they headed to the open doorway.

“He does have very good taste,” said a smiling Jesus, the Magdalene shrugging as her accoster lay on the floor, rubbed his head and looked to his hand in search of blood.

“I’ve got to learn to keep my mouth shut when I’m drunk!” the man spat, his head smarting as he clumsily rose to his feet.

The streets clogged with revelers as late as midnight, they made their way to a hotel, having to pay nearly an aurei for a quite clean but spartan room, thanks to most hotels in Chrysopolis being filled to occupancy.

“What a dump,” Mary observed, entering the rented room, setting her load of lucre on a table.

“Why do you say that, it’s clean, dry, and there are no others available.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just become used to suites more suited to our taste and station.”

“Suites? Verily I say, I believe you’re becoming a bit decadent my Mary,” said Jesus, chuckling.

“Decadent, compared to the folks in this town I’m a vestal virgin,” a laughing Magdalene retorted.

“I won’t fault you there,” said Jesus, sitting the double magnums on the nightstand and dropping his satchels to the floor.

Mary flopping onto their bed, Jesus asked, grabbing a bottle, “Would you care for wine?”

“Sure,” replied Mary, “It’s Fabius something or other’s brand, right?”

“Octavius Fabius Germanicus,” said Jesus, “I first tried his wine in Judea by the Sea of Galilee.”

“Is it good?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t have bought it if it wasn’t,” replied Jesus, cracking the clay seal against the plastered stone wall and digging out the wax stopper with a fingernail.

“You chipped the wall,” Mary observed, looking at cracked plaster littering the wood floor.

“They asked enough for this room, I think they deserve it,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink and passing the gigantic bottle to her.

“Whatever,” Mary replied, taking a long pull from the magnum, wiping her mouth on an arm and passing the bottle back.

The magnums curing their need for alcohol, they fell into slumber in each other’s arms at a little after four, the streets outside still filled with revelers, finally dissipating near dawn. Awakening at dusk, they checked out, the town seemingly deserted on the hot Monday evening.

“Where is everyone?” asked Mary, strolling the mostly empty streets on the hunt for victims.

“Probably sleeping it off in preparation for next weekend’s celebration.”

“They sure know how to give a party in Chrysopolis don’t they?”

“This is nothing, you should see the one they have in Rome,” said Jesus, continuing along, a few hungover citizens passing them as they rounded a corner bathhouse.

“Really?”

“Maybe we’ll check it out next time.”

Taking a pair of thieves later, they transformed to fog, heading to Nicomedia.

Floating over the road as a nearly imperceptible mist, Jesus and Mary, conversing by thought alone, continued above the roadway for the next few hours, unaware that beneath them a natural disaster was occurring, centered in Nicomedia.

“Okay, what do we do when we reach Nicomedia?” asked Mary, the city twenty miles off as they headed down the coast road on the Sea of Marmara.

“Find a bar, grab wine, rent a room, get drunk and hit the sack,” Jesus answered by rote, smiling in expectation.

“Sounds like a plan,” said an amused Mary as they continued along, figuring they would be in resplendent slumber as guests of a fine inn at dawn.

Returning to human form just outside Nicomedia near ten, Jesus paused to rest, leaning against a crooked milestone, staring at it for a moment. “Let’s take a break,” Jesus advised, dropping satchels to the ground, tired from carrying 600 pounds of loot on his shoulders for almost 75 miles.

“Sure,” answered Mary, seating herself on a curb and placing bags of clothing, gold and scrolls at her side, looking about and noticing the section of road was in dire need of repair, concrete curbs broken and the pavement quite rough.

“They’d better get soldiers here to fix up the road,” Mary observed, staring at a fractured section of highway, arched crazily to the left with a drop of nearly six feet along the side, almost cleaving the thoroughfare in two further on.

“Something’s very wrong here,” a frowning Jesus remarked, noting the dilapidated road.

“Like what?” asked Mary, Jesus walking to the damaged area of the highway, staring off to the distance, then looking back from whence they had came, observing similar devastation heading back toward Chrysopolis.

“A quake has happened,” said Jesus, familiar with the phenomenon.

“A what?”

“An earthquake, it must have happened while we were in transit.”

“Oh,” said the Magdalene, staring at fractured curbstones, “What does that mean?”

“Judging from the damage, it means Nicomedia has more than likely been destroyed,” Jesus answered.

“What does that mean for us?”

“Nothing really, except there are no hotels left where we can stay for the day.”

“We’ll have to find a cave.”

“No, not here, not at this time,” Jesus cautioned, “Another quake could happen in only minutes and they usually do, caves in this area are not safe.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was in a quake years ago in India and the ground shook for days after,” Jesus explained, having felt terrifying aftershocks in his journey through northern Kush.

“Look out friend Jesus, good Son of Vishnu, save yourself!” a brave warrior called to the Christ from behind as the quake struck, pushing him forward with his body.

“What?” Jesus yelled, sliding on ice toward a shallow ravine, watching several Kushan warriors crushed to death as boulders filled a frigid mountain pass.

The boulders barely missing him, the traveling Christ struggled from the ravine and searched for his Hindu friends for much of that afternoon, a cold, bitter wind blowing, aftershocks shaking the ground beneath him.

“Arjuna!” a 27-year-old Jesus yelled at the top of his lungs, calling for his Brahman friend and fencing partner.

The howling of the frozen wind was his only answer as the sun dipped beneath the peaks, leaving the desolate pass in pastel shadows.

Finding no one alive, Jesus continued alone down the mountain at dusk, slightly frostbitten, wearing a Roman tunic, trousers, warm cloak, tall boots and Kushan longsword at his side.

“What will we do?” asked Mary, looking to Jesus, breaking him from his reverie.

Jesus let out a long exhale, staring at the road.

“Well?”

“We’ll have to head into the city to see if I’m right. If I am, we’ve another hundred miles to fly tonight.”

“What!”

“You heard me.”

“How?” asked a frightened Mary.

“If the city’s leveled we’ll have to,” Jesus declared, the time near ten thirty, gathering his satchels from the ground.

“Let’s get a move on,” answered his consort, grabbing her bags, the couple transforming to fog and resuming the trek to Nicomedia.

Arriving at the forum, Jesus discovered to his dismay he had been right. For all practical purposes, Nicomedia no longer existed, nothing but a gigantic heap of rubble in place of a city of nearly 100,000 people, many dead or dying. Fallen temples and other buildings reached to the horizon, the vampiric Christ standing next to a toppled Doric column, a citizen crushed beneath it, dazed survivors mulling about.

“Jesus Christ, look at this place!” Mary exclaimed, staring at the devastation, looking to the crushed body, the blood having soaked into the sand and rubble.

“We’d best move on and quickly, there’s nothing we can do here, nor is there anyone we can help,” said Jesus, fires consuming what was left of various wards.

At that moment the city prefect stumbled up in a torn Equestrian toga, bruised and bloodied by the disaster, a surviving aide at his side.

“I beg you, help us in saving our city,” pleaded the tearful prefect, Mary feeling a twinge of pity for the battered politician.

“How, there’s no city left to save,” said Jesus while the prefect and aide blundered on, the vampiric Christ staring at the incredible destruction.

“There was a city here, but not any more,” the prefect cried, “My mansion collapsed, my wife, infant son and other children were sleeping – ”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do to help you,” said Jesus, the prefect and aide disappearing behind a pile of rubble that had once been the town Pantheon.

“Poor bastard,” the Magdalene remarked with a bitter frown, thinking of the prefect’s family.

“Shit happens woman,” an overwhelmed Jesus observed, not having time to care about anyone other than he and his consort, both transforming to fog and heading east toward Galatia.

Arriving in a city named Aneyrum near four, the vampiric couple almost 100 miles from Nicomedia, an exhausted Jesus walked about the sleeping burgh, surveying their surroundings.

“What are you looking for?” asked an equally tired Magdalene, walking the deserted main street.

“Signs of damage, and a hotel,” said Jesus.

“Oh, sorry,” replied Mary.

Finding Aneyrum unscathed, they located an inn, knocking on the door of the office.

No response forthcoming, Jesus again knocked, louder.

Hearing muffled noises, the door opened a few minutes later, an elderly Roman man holding a lamp walking out to the sidewalk, rubbing his eyes.

“What do you want from me at this hour?” the man barked, focusing on Jesus.

“I’m sorry to wake you, we’re looking for a room,” said Jesus.

“The gods must hate me,” spat the man, walking into the office, “Come in, a room for you and the broad will cost seven denarii.”

“Please have ten for your trouble, where’s the room?” asked Jesus politely, sitting ten denarii on the counter.

“Up the stairs, room two,” the man retorted, pointing to the stairs and grabbing the coins, placing a key on the counter.

“We want to check out in the evening,” added Jesus.

“Fine, I don’t care,” the man answered, stumbling to his room and slamming the door, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“We have a room,” said Jesus, he and consort easily seeing their surroundings.

“Yes,” the Magdalene replied, ascending the stairs, Jesus unlocking the door, allowing her to pass.

“Not bad,” Mary observed as Jesus locked the door, looking about the dimly lamp lit room, an overhead oil fixture fed by a pipe providing illumination.

“Beats a cave,” said Jesus, sitting his satchels next to the bed.

“That’s the truth,” Mary agreed, sitting her satchels beside his, yawning and flopping on the bed.

“Are you tired?” asked Jesus.

“Yes, this world is a damned dangerous place.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Jesus, sitting down on a stool.

“Well, Rome burned down last spring, killing who knows how many, and now Nicomedia is a pile of crushed marble, concrete and bodies, this occurring in the span of perhaps twelve short months – ”

“What are you getting at?” asked a steepleing Jesus, hands at his right cheek.

“I think I understand why your father’s an atheist,” said Mary, looking to the ceiling.

“Indeed, I don’t blame him,” Jesus replied, “If there is a God somewhere, it’s either a vicious sadist or cares not at all about us.”

“From what I’ve seen lately I’m opting for the former,” the Magdalene spat, thinking of the terrible devastation in Nicomedia – the tearful prefect with his destroyed family and infant son, crushed to death under tons of rubble.

“You think so?”

“Think so, you’re the classic example, a good man who preached of the love of God, and you died in agony on a cross, God, wherever he is, giving not one shit about you at all.”

“Well, aside from that, perhaps there’s a greater good we cannot perceive on this Earth, coming out of this,” Jesus countered hopefully, not really believing the statement himself.

“A greater good, where is the greater good?

“Maybe – ” started Jesus.

“Maybe my ass, what good comes from death, any death, dying in agony on a cross as a heartless crowd laughs, being seared to cinders in the capitol of the empire, or crushed into gory paste by heavy stones!” Mary retorted, staring at her consort.

“I honestly don’t know,” said Jesus, looking to the floor.

“God is bullshit, nothing but lies like your father says it is!” Mary exclaimed, the contorted, tearful look on the prefect’s face again crossing her mind.

“That’s probably true, but there’s nothing we can do about it,” said Jesus quietly, surprised his consort was so distraught over the misfortune of others, mortals she had always claimed to not care about.

“A little baby was crushed to death in a goddamn earthquake tonight!”

“So were a lot of other people, young and old,” Jesus observed, “Hell, life seems to be that way, capricious, with no discernable meaning other than – ”

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what?” asked an exasperated Jesus.

“That your father’s right, and there is no God at all, anywhere,” Mary answered.

“If you must know, I came to agree with him on that a long time before you did, shortly before we left,” said Jesus, vainly wishing a bottle of wine were available to drink, making such philosophical discussions easier to bear.

“Really?”

“Really, I admit my father is probably right regarding that, I’ve thought so in my heart for the past few years.”

“Good for you,” Mary spat, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the prefect’s baby son.

“We made it here in record time,” said Jesus, forcibly changing the subject, joining her in the bed.

“We did?”

“Yes, we’re maybe four hundred miles from home, that fog method works great,” Jesus answered tiredly, arranging his pillow and folding arms behind his head.

“At that rate we could be in Tibernum within a week,” a still upset Mary observed, the prefect’s son on her mind, crushed to death in his cradle under tons of broken marble.

“We could, but you don’t feel like doing this for the next six nights do you?”

“Hell no, I feel half dead from this trip, traveling almost two hundred miles in one night.”

“Half dead – we’re all dead,” said Jesus, smiling and attempting to lighten the mood.

“You know what I mean,” a smirking Mary retorted, rolling on her side and looking to him.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Jesus, moving an arm around her.

“Nothing, you just love to state the obvious,” said Mary, leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Really?”

“Yes, and good day Jesus,” an exhausted Mary answered, closing her eyes, feeling her personal pain, a deep sympathy for an infant who had died, as only a woman could.

“Good day my good woman,” said Jesus, pulling her closer and falling into slumber.

Awakening at dusk, Jesus decided they would stay in Aneyrum for the next few days to rest, heading to the office and paying the day clerk the rent.

“At least you’re paying me at a normal hour instead of at four in the morning,” said the clerk, taking seven denarii from Jesus, sitting it on the counter.

“The old man told you?”

“Yes, he’s the owner,” the clerk answered, “He’s eighty-three years old, you could have killed him arriving at such an hour.”

“I was unaware of that, I apologize friend.”

“Apologies are bullshit uttered by clowns to cover up for ignorance or stupidity,” the clerk retorted bitterly, not liking Jesus at all.

“Pardon me, I’m a Roman citizen, I meant no offense by checking in so late, we were traveling from Nicomedia.”

“So am I, and I don’t give a damn who you are, the old man you’re referring to is my grandfather.”

“I didn’t know that, I’m sorry,” said Jesus, still attempting to make amends.

“Sure you are you gangly clown,” the clerk spat, Jesus flushing with anger at the remark.

“Since you won’t accept my apology, hand me back my money, I’m checking out,” announced Jesus, in no mood for an argument.

“Make me,” retorted the clerk, grabbing the money from the counter.

“Don’t screw with me or I’ll give you more trouble than you know what to do with,” threatened Jesus, staring the insolent man in the eyes, hypnotizing him.

“Here is your money,” the entranced clerk replied, returning the funds.

“Thank you, verily I say, sit on your stool, fall asleep and do not awaken until your grandfather yells at you for being a lazy, shiftless, worthless son of a bitch,” Jesus intoned in his vampiric monotone, turning on his heel and heading up the stairs.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Jesus, slamming the door as he entered the room.

“What?” asked the Magdalene, having woke minutes earlier.

“Get up, we’re leaving immediately.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The clerk’s an asshole, I’m not putting up with someone like that.”

“Maybe he’s pissed that we checked in so late,” Mary ventured, slipping on a fresh stola and checking her face in a mirror.

“It’s not him, it’s his grandson, he insulted me,” said Jesus, grabbing his satchels.

“Whatever, let’s go,” the Magdalene replied, grabbing her bags, the vampiric couple heading down the stairs moments later.

“Goodbye asshole, see you in hell if there is one,” Jesus announced to the sleeping figure, his face on the counter, snoring away.

“What was his problem?” asked Mary while they headed down the main street.

“He didn’t accept my apology for checking in so late, so we’ll find another room.”

“Okay,” said Mary, rounding a corner and coming upon an Anatolian version of the Epicurus Luxury Hotel.

Walking into to the paneled and carpeted office, Jesus headed to the check in desk.

“Welcome to the Epicurus Luxury Hotel of Aneyrum,” a smiling clerk announced, a young slave usher standing at his side in a flawless tunic.

“Thank you, what’s your price for a deluxe suite?” asked Jesus.

“Eighteen denarii, complete with complementary breakfast and fine wine in the morning,” the clerk answered.

“We want to stay for the day.”

“No problem, a fine dinner and wine will be brought to you at six.”

“We’ll take it,” Jesus replied, handing an aureus to the clerk.

“Let me make change,” said the clerk, pulling out a drawer.

“Forget it, keep it as a tip.”

“Okay, go to room two, third door to your right,” answered the clerk, pointing to a hall while producing a key, “Slave Epes, you will carry their bags to the suite.”

“Never mind, we’ll carry them,” said Jesus, knowing that any slave, regardless of strength, was incapable of carrying nearly 1000 pounds of Roman currency and fine jewelry.

“All right, Epes will accompany you to your suite,” the clerk replied, placing the key in the slave’s hand.

“Please follow me guests,” said Epes, leading them to their room, unlocking the door and making sure the suite was of top quality. “It is our desire to make certain our guests are satisfied with their rooms,” said the slave, handing Jesus the key.

“It’s perfect as usual,” Jesus observed. Looking about the opulent suite, he noted polished, wood covered stone floors, plush Asian carpets and a gigantic, soft, down stuffed bed and pillows, covered with fine Egyptian cotton sheets and wool blanket, several chairs, a nightstand, and desk also provided.

“You’ve stayed with us before?”

“Not here, but we’ve stayed in others of your chain in the empire,” said Jesus.

“Did you find them satisfactory?”

“Always,” a smiling Jesus answered, reaching in a tunic pocket for a tip of ten denarii.

“I’m a slave, there’s no need to tip me, and I will return with your meal tomorrow evening at six,” Epes declined, holding out hands.

“Take these, there will be more tomorrow,” Jesus insisted.

“What should I do with it?”

“How old are you?” asked Jesus, the slave looking more like a boy than a man.

“Twenty two sir, why do you ask?”

“Never mind, save it and purchase your freedom later, or go to a whorehouse and buy a fine woman,” said Jesus.

“Thank you sir!” exclaimed the slave, nodding and closing the door.

“You have a way with slaves,” said Mary, smiling at her consort.

“You could say that,” Jesus replied, returning the smile.

Heading out and finding someone to eat later, they strolled the city for the remainder of the evening, returning to the suite near dawn.

“What do we do now?” asked Mary, relaxing on the bed.

“Get sleep,” said Jesus, dropping coins on the nightstand, taken from their latest victims.

“That’s not what I mean, how long do you want to stay here?”

“A week or so, the kalends of September are still nearly two months off and we don’t need to arrive in Tibernum until the ides anyway.”

“Kalends, what’s that?” asked Mary, knowing what the ides meant.

“The first day of the month, September 1.”

“One might have said so in the first place,” said Mary, folding hands behind her head, Jesus joining her in bed.

Good slave Epes arrived precisely at six with a fine meal and two bottles of wine on a wheeled oak cart, along with a crystal pitcher of water for diluting wine. Jesus and Mary had rose at five thirty in anticipation of his arrival, the vampiric Christ opening the door for the dutiful slave.

“Good evening Epes, you look well,” Jesus greeted.

“A good evening to you sir, I have a hot dinner for you and your wife,” Epes answered with a bow, “The main course is a generous portion of delicately baked, chopped pork tenderloin with liquamen sauce and olives, along with a fine vegetable medley, followed by a spicy – ”

“What the hell is a vegetable medley anyway?” asked Mary from her repose in a chair, legs crossed, dressed in an embroidered tan silk stola, Jesus looking to her darkly.

“It varies ma’am, let’s see,” answered an unperturbed Epes, lifting the lid of a polished bronze pot supported on three legs, Jesus staring into the pot, the aroma indeed smelling good, but the food as inedible to vampires as sand is to mortals.

“You will indeed enjoy this guests,” declared Epes, “This dish is composed of tender artichoke hearts, baby pearl onions, mustard greens and early carrots, bathed in olive oil and sprinkled with sharp goat cheese, melted on top.”

“It looks delicious,” Jesus remarked, turning to his consort.

“I’m sure it is,” Mary replied, the slave finished with his peroration regarding the food.

“The wine this evening is a fine white from the vineyards of Octavius Fabius Germanicus, imported from Cisalpine Gaul,” said Epes, pointing to a bottle with his thumb.

“I take it you don’t have any Gaius Scipio Magnentius available?”

“I’m very sorry sir, the vendor only had twenty amphorae and 15 bottled cases available last spring and we are out. We usually buy fifty of each, but he stated it was due to a drought in Gaul, shall I take it away?”

“Heavens no,” said Jesus, never one to pass up wine, “Octavius Fabius makes a damn good wine, it will go well with our meal.”

“It is considered inferior, I’m very sorry.”

“Inferior, in a pig’s ass, wine is wine,” Mary spat, shifting to one side of her chair.

“Maria!” exclaimed Jesus, embarrassed at her words.

“I like it just as well as Gaius Scipio’s crap,” said the Magdalene, Jesus cringing at the coarse remarks coming from an apparent Roman matron.

“Everyone else says it’s inferior,” said Epes.

“Everyone else is a pack of sanctimonious frauds who wouldn’t know a good wine if they fell over it in broad daylight,” Mary retorted, “People say that to appear sophisticated to their dipshit friends, most hating the taste of wine anyway.”

“That’s what they say,” Epes replied in silent agreement, having seen many a patron take a deep drink of fine Gallic wine, contort their face and pronounce it delicious, apparently contradicting the statement from their expression alone.

“And who are they, such statements are a matter of opinion and opinions are like assholes, everybody has one,” a smiling Jesus observed, opening the bottle and taking a drink directly from it.

“That, guest, is very true,” replied a nodding Epes, holding back a grin.

“Would you like a slug of this friend?” asked Jesus, offering him the bottle.

“It’s against Roman law for slaves to drink wine,” Epes answered.

“Oh yes, I forgot,” replied Jesus, handing the bottle to Mary.

“Pardon me, but I have to check the lavatorium,” said Epes.

“For what?”

“You may need new towels.”

“Never mind that, we’re fine, you work too damn hard,” said Jesus, reaching in a tunic pocket for money.

“There is no need to tip me again sir.”

“I know that, and that’s exactly why I am tipping you,” said Jesus, handing the slave another ten denarii.

Spending nearly a week in the city, vampires Jesus and Mary slaughtered over twenty common thieves, rogues, thugs and other troublemakers, sucking their blood, robbing the remains, and dumping the bodies in the efficient sewerage system of Aneyrum.

“I reckon we’d best take off tomorrow night,” said Jesus in a deserted bathhouse, punctuated by a loud belch.

“We haven’t run out of them yet,” Mary replied, twirling an item of jewelry in her hand, suspended by a delicate copper chain.

“No, but we’re running out of time, why are you bothering with that piece, it’s only made of cuprum.”

“I like the way it looks,” she replied, staring at a little dolphin suspended at the end of the chain, having been originally stolen from a domicile in Nicomedia by a burglar, he lying crushed in the remains of a jailhouse.

“Whatever,” said Jesus, not caring at all, the pair making their way to the hotel.

The next evening, Jesus headed to the lobby; informing the clerk they would be checking out.

“Thank you for staying at our hotel citizen and please be certain to tell your friends about us,” said the clerk, “Will you need slave Epes to help you with your things?”

“No, but I would like him to accompany me to our room, as I have a present for him,” Jesus answered.

“Certainly,” answered the clerk, nodding to Epes.

“Follow me friend,” said Jesus, the slave heading up the stairs behind him.

Entering the room, Jesus offered a seat to Epes as Mary was placing their emptied plates on the tray, the worthless food coursing down the sewers of Aneyrum.

“Are you ready woman?” Jesus asked.

“Just about,” said Mary, checking her face in a mirror.

“What do you want with me here sir?” asked the seated slave.

“I need to ask you a question before we leave, what have you done with the money I gave you?”

“I saved it in a bag in my quarters to buy my freedom in the future,” Epes answered.

“How much do have?”

“Seventy four denarii, including that I have been saving for the past six years,” replied Epes.

“I have given you seventy in the past week, you could only save four denarii aside from that?”

“No one has ever tipped me other than a man who gave me four denarii two years ago,” said Epes, knowing it would be many years before he could purchase his freedom, a price of 500 denarii, not accounting for the rampant inflation occurring under Caligula, a depraved 26 year old man quickly proving himself to be worse than Tiberius Caesar could have ever been.

“Are you serious?” asked Jesus.

“Yes sir.”

“All right, please come with us,” ordered Jesus, lifting his heavy satchels from the floor.

Heading down the stairs with the slave and Mary, Jesus walked to the desk, motioning the clerk over.

“Is something wrong sir?” asked the clerk.

“Not at all, I was simply wondering if this good slave at my side is for sale,” said Jesus, looking to Epes.

“Of course not, we’re not slave vendors.”

“You are now, I’ll give you 1,000 denarii for him,” declared Jesus.

“A thousand?”

“Yes, will you vend him to me?”

“I’m sorry I cannot, I’m not even a Roman citizen,” replied the clerk.

“Fetch me the owner of this hotel quickly, I wish to purchase this man,” ordered Jesus.

“It’ll take a few minutes,” answered the stunned clerk, looking to Jesus.

“I have all the time in the world,” Jesus replied as Mary smiled.

The owner arriving, Jesus reiterated his offer.

“You’ll give me a thousand denarii, for him?” asked the owner, a citizen named Varus Commodus Anatolicus.

“Yes,” answered Jesus, looking to his fellow Roman.

“Cash?”

“Cash,” Jesus replied.

“What the hell, at that price, sold to the tall man standing before me,” answered a smiling Varus, not believing his ears, looking up to Jesus.

“Excellent, let me produce the currency,” said Jesus, reaching in a satchel for money.

Jesus placed forty aurei on the counter, then requesting the title of Epes the slave.

“Hold on, I have it in my office,” answered Varus, disappearing for a few minutes and returning with a tan parchment document stating a Roman man named Varus Commodus Anatolicus owned a Greek slave named Epes of Lesbos.

“Okay, get a notary for this,” said Jesus, very familiar with Roman law, knowing no slave transaction was valid without the stamp of a notary.

“Don’t you trust me?” asked Varus.

“Not at all, no offense meant, but I don’t even know you,” Jesus replied.

“I’m the legal owner of Epes,” an insulted Varus retorted.

“So prove it to me with a notary.”

Leaving the desk, Varus returned with a sworn notary, Jesus perusing his credentials on a piece of parchment, signed by the procurator in Antioch and stamped with the signet of Emperor Gaius Caligula.

“These are in good order, please show me your signet,” Jesus requested.

“Pretty brazen for a plebian,” said Varus, Epes and the Magdalene standing quietly while Jesus conducted business.

“Not at all Varus, it’s common procedure in Galatia,” the notary corrected, “Besides, neither of us wear the purple either, born of commoners in Anatolia.”

“Whatever,” spat an embarrassed Varus, forever wishing he had at least been born an equestrian, both men plebians like Jesus.

“Transaction is completed for the slave Epes, here is your title,” the notary announced affably, handing over the document and offering Jesus his hand.

“I thank you,” said Jesus, grasping the notary’s forearm tightly, releasing a few seconds later.

“He’s a good slave, I’ve never had to beat him even once,” Varus remarked, looking to the slave, offering his hand to Jesus.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Jesus, shaking Varus’ hand.

Leaving the hotel with their newly acquired slave, Mary asked, pointing a thumb at Epes, “So Julius, what do we do with him?”

“Never mind, wait till we leave the city.”

“But he’s – ”

“Shut up woman, I know what I’m doing,” said Jesus, a silent Epes following.

Moving beyond the city gates, they trudged several miles east, Jesus stopping at a milestone, a full moon low on the horizon.

Holding up a hand to his consort, Jesus turned to the slave.

“Slave Epes, do you know why I purchased you?”

“Not at all sir, but I will serve you well,” Epes answered.

“I’m certain of that, you’re a good man, but as I have no real need of a slave, I have bought your freedom for you on this night,” Jesus declared, Mary raising an eyebrow at the announcement.

“My freedom?”

“Exactly, here’s your title, I hereby free you,” a smiling Jesus replied, handing the legal document to Epes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you were the best damned usher I ever encountered,” a smiling Jesus answered.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Epes, standing on the deserted highway in his usher tunic.

“A simple thank you will do.”

“Yes, I do thank you, very much,” said a stunned Epes, staring at his parchment title.

“Would you like to come with us or would you prefer to return to the town?” asked Jesus, hoping the answer would be the latter.

“Aneyrum’s the only home I’ve ever known,” answered Epes, looking back to the town, “I’ve been there since I was a child, and there’s a slave girl named Marcia who I’d like – ”

“I see, a slave girl,” said a relieved Jesus, “She’s a friend of yours?”

“Sort of, I mean I’d like her to be, she works for a cloth merchant named Eutropus. I figure if I work hard enough I’d be able to buy her freedom in a few years, then we could – ”

“Indeed,” said a nodding Jesus, placing his satchels on the ground and opening one, “You will need funds friend Epes, to buy your Marcia and a dwelling, how about a few hundred aurei?”

“Aurei?” a shocked Epes squeaked, not believing his ears.

“Well, maybe denarii, they are easier to spend, will ten thousand do?” asked Jesus, dumping a pile of silver coins onto one of his consort’s clean cotton cloths, usually used for wiping her mouth of blood.

Epes stood thunderstruck, staring at Jesus, Mary looking to her consort impassively.

“That’s a lot of money,” Epes stammered, Jesus knotting the cloth around the currency.

“Don’t worry Epes, we have more money than we know what to do with and then some,” explained a smiling Mary, looking to the slave while Jesus handed him a heavy makeshift bag of ten thousand odd coins.

“Are you sure?” asked Epes.

“They all seem to ask that question don’t they?” asked Mary.

“It seems so,” said Jesus, turning to the former slave and replying, “I’m quite sure friend Epes, consider this your lucky day.”

“Lucky – yes, and I again thank you,” a grateful Epes answered, clutching the bag tightly on the dark and empty highway.

“We’ll have to be moving on,” said Jesus, reaching down for his satchels, “But before we do, I imagine we should walk you back to the hotel unless you have somewhere else to go.”

“No I don’t sir, I think it best we arrive together, as they may think I robbed you and escaped.”

“My thoughts exactly, and please don’t call me sir Epes, Julius will do,” said Jesus, the trio heading back to town.

“That was a short trip,” the clerk observed as they strolled through the door about an hour later.

“It was indeed,” said Jesus, “Would good Varus Anatolicus be available presently?”

“He’s in his office, have you changed you mind or something?”

“No, but I need to speak to you and he for a moment.”

“Hang on,” answered the clerk, rising from his stool and returning with Varus moments later.

“No refunds on slaves,” stated Varus flatly, walking to the counter, “This is a hotel, not a slave auction.”

“I wasn’t looking for a refund, I returned to announce that good Epes is no longer a slave, as I have freed him, and have given him ten thousand denarii as a gift,” said Jesus.

“Why are you telling us?” asked Varus, staring at Jesus.

“To prevent anyone from accusing him of robbing us or saying he’s a runaway.”

“That makes sense,” said Varus, “I imagine you’ll need the notary again?”

“It would be proper, if you don’t mind doing so.”

“Not at all, you made me a thousand denarii tonight, wait here,” answered Varus, walking off and returning with the notary a few minutes later.

“Another transaction?” asked the notary.

“Sort of, I wish to free my slave Epes, and give him ten thousand denarii as a gift.”

“You just bought him for a thousand not three hours ago,” said the incredulous notary, looking to Jesus as if he were a madman.

“That I did,” Jesus replied, Mary looking to the polished oak ceiling coffers of the lobby.

“Why are you freeing him?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“None, but it is unusual, wouldn’t you think?” asked the notary.

“Maybe it is, but I’ve freed him anyway,” Jesus answered, looking to Epes.

“It’s your money,” replied the notary, “Will you hand me the title please?”

Epes quickly produced the document, placing it on the counter in front of the notary.

“I wish for all here to know Epes of Lesbos is a free man,” Jesus announced to the group.

“So noted,” said the notary, looking to Jesus and asking, “Please put your signature on this line, or do you wish to use your signet ring?”

“My signet will do for this,” Jesus answered, using his legal signet for the very first time, taking an inked sponge from the notary and stamping the initials ‘BIC’ on the parchment document.

“The slave known as Epes of Lesbos is now legally free, with no encumbrances as to his station as a common subject of the empire,” the notary announced, looking to Varus and adding, “You friend Varus are sworn witness for the transfer, signature or signet ring?”

“Signet,” a yawning Varus replied, inking his ring and stamping the document.

“Freeman Epes, you’re a witness as well, can you write or place your mark?”

“Even though I was once a slave, I can write,” an insulted Epes answered, taking a quill stylus in his left hand.

“He’s a southpaw like you,” the Magdalene observed.

“Yes he is,” said Jesus, looking to Epes as he signed the document.

“The fee for this transaction is ten sestertii,” said the notary.

“Have a denarius for your trouble,” replied Jesus, flipping a silver coin into the man’s palm.

“Thank you,” said the notary, staring at the coin.

“Please note I have given Epes of Lesbos ten thousand denarii as a gift,” said Jesus.

“So noted,” the notary answered, scribbling an addendum on the title and handing it to Epes the freeman, offering Jesus his hand.

“Thank you for assisting me in freeing my good slave Epes,” said Jesus, shaking the notary’s hand.

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” the smiling notary replied, releasing as he finished the sentence and leaving.

“Congratulations Epes, you’re a free man,” said Jesus, Varus walking to his office, leaving the clerk at the counter.

“Thank you friend Julius, I imagine I should return to my quarters to gather my belongings,” replied Epes.

“I think you should rent one of the suites, perhaps for a month or so.”

“That would use up some of my capital for buying Marcia and a domicile,” said Epes, very aware of the value of money.

“Not if I pay for the bill,” Jesus replied, smiling at his former slave.

“But you’ve already – ”

“So what, it’s only money,” said Jesus, looking to the clerk and asking, “How much for a month’s rent for a deluxe suite?”

“Maybe five hundred,” the clerk answered.

“Are you kidding, make it four for my friend Epes,” Jesus countered.

“Let me see,” answered the clerk, sliding beads on an abacus.

“Make it fast, you have a wealthy guest checking in,” said Jesus, looking to an embarrassed Epes.

“Four hundred denarii will do,” the clerk replied after a few moments.

“Good,” replied Jesus, dropping sixteen aurei on the counter, most of the coins stamped with the figures of Augustus or Tiberius, a few stamped with the likeness of the emperor of the past few months – the insane monster, Gaius Caligula.

“Gold, it figures,” the clerk observed, resting his head on an arm, looking to the filthy rich Jesus.

“Aurei are legal Roman currency,” said Jesus, looking to the clerk.

“Yeah, room two, up the stairs, third door to your right,” the clerk announced by rote, looking to Epes and handing him the key.

“No shit Diomedes, I’ve worked here for six years,” Epes retorted to his former boss, the trio heading to the room.

“Welcome to your room,” said Jesus as Epes opened the door to the opulent suite.

“I don’t know what to say,” a stunned Epes replied, looking to Jesus.

“You said that before,” Jesus answered, “Don’t worry about it, just enjoy your new life and leave it at that.”

“I guess,” said Epes, sitting down in a chair.

“He looks good sitting there doesn’t he?” asked Jesus, looking to the Magdalene.

“A damn lot better than him being a slave.”

“Do you like this Epes?” asked Jesus.

“I certainly do, I thank you Julius,” Epes answered, rising and offering his hand to Jesus. “I didn’t get your full name,” he added as Jesus shook his hand.

“My name is Bacchus Julius Chrysippus of Tibernum,” Jesus answered as Epes released.

“Tibernum, that’s in Cappadocia province isn’t it?”

“Yes, on the upper Euphrates.”

“I won’t forget it,” said freeman Epes of Lesbos, looking to the vampiric couple.

“Goodbye our friend Epes,” said Jesus, he and Mary passing through the threshold, closing the door behind them.

“Goodbye Julius,” Epes replied to the closed door, looking about the opulent suite.

Heading down the stairs, the vampiric Christ waved to the clerk, he and Mary disappearing through the doorway.

“Let’s take off,” said Jesus after entering a darkened alleyway just down from the hotel, transforming to fog. Heading east, they followed the highway for parts unknown.

Epes enjoyed his stay as a guest of the Epicurus Luxury Hotel of Aneyrum, the intelligent and thrifty former slave buying the freedom of his beloved Marcia the next day for 350 denarii. A domicile was the next item required, he and Marcia shopping the following week for a suitable place, Epes purchasing a small, disused villa outside town for a pittance at a foreclosure auction.

Having traveled almost sixty miles from Aneyrum, shortly after two they assumed human form on the dark highway, looking for a bite to eat.

“It’s very late, we aren’t going to find anything around here but animals,” said Mary, looking about the desolate chaparral, dotted with rocky promontories and ravines.

“Probably, and it’s still around thirty miles to the next town,” a tired Jesus replied as they walked along.

“I guess getting rid of those denarii didn’t do much about the weight,” Mary ventured, resigned to taking pigs, jackals, or whatever happened to have blood in its veins.

“No, maybe I should have given him a hundred thousand denarii, or even one of the satchels,” said Jesus, Mary laughing at the remark.

Coming to a wooded area of brush covered low cliffs, Jesus paused, looking about.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mary, neither noticing the body heat of a band of men lurking behind a pile of boulders.

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t smell right – ”

The next thing Jesus saw was the pavement of the highway, a robber having leapt at him from a ledge, driving a knife in his back, the assailant breaking an ankle as he landed, clutching the fracture in agony.

“Why the hell don’t you watch where your leaping you idiot,” Jesus spat, knowing the clumsy highwayman for what he was, the blade in his back not bothering him at all.

Another barely missed the Magdalene, rolling to break his fall and rising to his feet while six others converged on the vampiric couple.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s dying,” the leader declared as Jesus struggled to his feet, knife deep in his back, satchels still on his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Jesus, one satchel having split at the bottom, spilling Roman currency over the road, Jesus dumping the others from his shoulders with a shrug.

“Watch out, there’s eight of them,” Mary called, a highwayman holding a sharp Damascus knife to her throat.

“Shut up you bitch!” the thief exclaimed.

“Eight, this should be fun,” Jesus replied, reaching around, pulling the knife from his back and tossing the blade to the ground in disgust, the group staring at him, awestruck.

“Who are you calling a bitch you stupid bastard?” asked Mary, looking up at her assailant.

“Go to hell woman,” the bandit sneered, slitting her throat and throwing her to the ground.

“Sorry, that only works on the living,” Mary retorted, rolling over and smiling with fangs bared, one side of her throat cut.

“By the gods, they’re vampires!” the leader exclaimed.

“Very perceptive,” said Jesus, freezing the men to their spots.

“What are we going to do with all these clowns?” asked Mary, staring at their assailants.

“I don’t know, I wish friend Nacherine was here, I’m sure he could use blood.”

“He’s not, what are we going to do with them?”

“Take our fill and kill the rest,” said Jesus, folding arms across his chest.

“Who’s first?” asked Mary, the gaping wound on her throat already starting to heal.

“Mister broken leg,” Jesus answered, lifting his attacker from the ground, sinking fangs in his throat and sucking the blood until he died, dropping the remains to the pavement.

“That’s one down, I guess mister cutthroat’s next,” said the Magdalene, ripping the throat of her victim, gulping the living hemoglobin.

“Why not?” Jesus replied, grabbing another as his consort tossed the emptied cutthroat aside.

Dropping another pair of victims to the pavement, they looked upon the remaining thieves, the terrified leader staring in frozen repose, holding a gladius.

“What are we going to do with the rest?”

“I can do three easily, maybe four, how about you?” asked Jesus, belching loudly.

“Three’s tops for me, even then I’ll have to puke some up.”

“Where’s a vomitorium when you need one?” asked a laughing Jesus, sinking fangs into a third victim, saving the leader for last.

“It’s feast and famine,” Mary spat, belching and vomiting blood on the tunic of her victim. “I can’t take any more!” she exclaimed, dropping the drained body, the front of her stola covered in blood, her head reeling as she sat down clumsily on a curbstone.

“I’m full too, but I hate to waste good food.”

“There’s too many, break their necks and dump them,” Mary advised, looking to the remaining pair.

“You’re right,” a bloated Jesus agreed, snapping the neck of a lieutenant and dropping him to the ground, saving the leader for last.

“Didn’t expect this did you?” asked Jesus, the terrified man unable to reply. “No answer huh, who cares,” he added, breaking his neck with one hand. The body dropping to the pavement, he let out another belch and kicked the gladius into a thicket.

“How can you do three?” asked a sickened Mary, vomiting blood on the pavement.

“I’m bigger; I guess I can suck more blood.”

“Please don’t mention blood till tomorrow night,” Mary replied, looking to her soiled stola, knowing she would have to wash it out before the stain set.

“You’d best puke some more, I’ll deal with the bodies,” said Jesus, noting the nauseated look on her face.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Mary answered, heading into the dense chaparral and purging herself of excess blood while Jesus robbed and dumped the remains in the recesses of a cave. Returning minutes later, Mary noticed a frowning Jesus staring at a pile of gold coins on the pavement.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mary.

“One of the satchels split,” an exasperated Jesus replied, “When that stupid bastard leapt on my back I hit the ground, spilling this gold.”

“No problem, I have needle and thread,” Mary announced, reaching in her purse.

“You do?”

“Of course, most women carry them for mending dresses and such,” answered Mary, inspecting the damaged seam.

“But you have to wash out your stola,” Jesus observed, looking to his bloodied Magdalene while she walked to the curbside with the satchel, sitting down.

“It’ll wait, this is more important,” said Mary, deftly threading a large needle with heavy cord on the moonlit highway.

“You are indeed a good woman,” said Jesus while she repaired the damaged satchel.

“I know,” a smiling Mary replied, Jesus sitting with hands folded, watching his vampiric seamstress mend the article.

“All done,” Mary announced minutes later, handing Jesus the satchel, stitched up tightly.

“What would I do without you?” asked Jesus.

“Have a hard time carrying around gold I would think,” Mary replied, replacing her sewing kit in her purse as Jesus refilled the satchel, not missing even one coin.

“Let’s take off and find a room,” a refreshed Jesus said at two thirty, the couple vanishing from the highway, heading east toward Tibernum.

Finding a swiftly running creek, they stopped so Mary could launder her soiled stola.

Disrobing and washing herself first, she cleaned her dress in the flowing water, a sitting Jesus idly watching a few feet behind her, admiring her curves and listening to the pleasant sound of rushing water, the chirping of crickets an accompaniment.

“Blood can be damn tough to get out,” a naked Mary declared, crouching down while scrubbing the garment, the dress finally becoming clean.

“Do you want me to grab another dress from your bag?” asked Jesus, rising.

“Sure, thanks,” Mary answered, standing up and wringing out her laundry, a full moon overhead.

“Don’t mention it,” Jesus replied, producing a light blue silk stola for her to wear.

“I’ll have to hang this thing up to dry when we find a room,” Mary observed, folding the cleansed garment and sitting it on her clothing satchel, slipping on the fresh stola.

“Get a load of the weirdo across the creek, staring at you and playing with himself,” a disgusted Jesus remarked, leaning against a tree while Mary pulled hair from her face, having noticed the man minutes before, standing about a hundred feet away.

“I saw him earlier, he’s getting a cheap thrill,” said an uncaring Mary, grabbing her luggage and walking to the highway, a laden Jesus following with his.

“This world has some sick people in it doesn’t it?” asked Jesus before they transformed, looking back to the creek.

“What can you do?” Mary answered in imitation of her consort, both fading from sight and heading east.

Arriving in the ancient Galatian town of Nostostrum at three thirty, Jesus and consort located a room at a local fleabag inn, paying the tired clerk five denarii for their latest landing spot, falling into slumber in each other’s arms on a rickety bed.