* * *
Euripides and partner made their way to their room, Thales observing that Jesus, the man they knew as ‘James the Samaritan’, was one of the most remarkable individuals he had ever met. In later years, the pair of Greek opium traders, thanks to Jesus’ sound investment, would become incredibly wealthy men, moving to opulent villas outside Rome, and crown their success by marrying beautiful Roman women who bore them many children.
One of the traders, Thales of Lydia, would become an acquaintance of an impostor disciple blundering about Rome in Claudius’ time, during the mid-forties of the Common Era, a lying charlatan calling himself Peter. This man, like many others who claimed to have known Jesus Christ, was a liar, as Jesus had murdered his disciple Simon Peter shortly after his triumphant vampiric resurrection. Thales would relate to this man the incredible story of being saved from certain death by a compassionate individual named James, who had came upon him and his partner Euripides, just outside the small town of Mansahir in Anatolian Cappadocia many years before. Indeed, this story would survive in an abridged form across the centuries to be retold in Christian churches as the wonderful tale of ‘The Good Samaritan’, said to have been a parable told by none other than Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, in the New Testament.
An hour later, the group bid their farewells and pulled out of Mansahir, heading northeast toward a town called Heraclea, leaving traders Euripides and Thales behind. Another bright moon was rising, as Jesus, at the reins, the Magdalene at his side, proceeded at a leisurely pace on the desolate road. Joseph and Mary were sitting in the back with the sliding door open, conversing with them. The horses slowed as the elevation was increasing, passing steep foothills on the well-engineered Roman highway, low shrubs and brush giving way to dense woodlands. All were talking of the events of the past few days, of Euripides and his friend Thales, of the bitter, sarcastic midwife who had tended their wounds, and of Mary having to eat pork that Joseph had brought her for breakfast.
“There’s nothing wrong with eating swine as a mortal if the meat is cooked well mother,” said Jesus, recalling the delicious flavor of pork. In his past travels he had met, eaten fine meals and conversed with many people who had either been fine cooks of porcine flesh, or even healers from religious groups who used swine meat in sacrificial rituals.
“It really is?” his mother asked, still unsure.
“Of course, it’s good for us too. A little over a month ago Mary and I sucked the blood of wild boars for nourishment.”
“You did?” she asked, slowly growing used to her son’s vampiric ways.
“Blood is blood mother, even from a pig, father’s right regarding these things. The Torah is nothing but worthless scrolls of lies, along with all that other crap the rabbis told you when you were a kid. Verily I say mother, never believe anything unless you can prove it to yourself first. Otherwise, dismiss it as a lie, told either by a simpleton or a charlatan who truly knows better.”
“Really?” his mother asked, frowning at the coarse remarks, surprised that her formerly devout son was now so coldly cynical about religion.
“Take my word for it mom, practically everyone is out for themselves, and always have some kind of angle. Remember, I found out the hard way, via the cross,” Jesus answered, the Magdalene nodding in agreement.
His mother grew silent, reflecting on the terrible thought of her firstborn son’s crucifixion.
Dark Resurrection Page 24
