Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  The pace was slow as the horses strained against the weight, Joseph remarking, “Lousy Arabians, fast as lightning in a race but not worth a damn when it comes to pulling power.”

  “We’re almost there,” a patient Jesus replied as they drove onto their property.

  “We should have hitched up those oxen, it’s a wonder the horses haven’t strangled from the load we’re carrying,” said Joseph, harnessing for horses in those days simply oxen harnesses, only smaller. When hauling heavy loads they would often cut a horse’s wind, especially on hills.

  Arriving at the house, they stepped from the wagon, his mother appearing in the doorway. “Look woman, oxen, slaves, everything!” Joseph exclaimed, while Jesus unhitched the tired horses.

  “Yes,” Mary replied, “You're running late, the dinner I made is cold.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Joseph, “But don’t you worry about that anymore, we have slaves to cook dinner for you!” Mary nodded and stepped into the house, the Magdalene following.

  “She didn’t seem particularly impressed,” Jesus observed, helping the slaves from the wagon.

  “She’s pregnant son, women act weird when they’re pregnant.”

  “Maria!” Jesus called to his consort, as the slaves were present.

  “Yes Julius?” asked the Magdalene, appearing in the doorway.

  “Would you deal with the slaves while father and I stable the animals?”

  “Sure,” she replied, ducking inside, returning with a lit table lamp and stepping from the porch.

  “Feed them meat and vegetables, and make certain they and the beasts have water,” said Jesus as she led her charges to the slave quarters.

  “Right,” she answered.

  He and his father leading the beasts to the stable, Jesus said, “Get their names tomorrow, I’ll speak to them in the evening so we can figure out what duties to assign them to.” Leaving the animals in the stable, they headed to the house and entered. Grabbing his cold dinner, Joseph wolfed it down, his wife sitting at the table.

  “We have to head to Gavinal’s,” he explained with a full mouth.

  “Why?” asked Mary.

  “To get drunk mother,” said Jesus.

  “Oh,” his mother replied, staring at the pair.

  Giving his wife a hug, they left, walking to the trail leading from the farm. “Since I have to unload the wagon and deal with the slaves tomorrow, I’d better not get too drunk should I?” Joseph asked.

  “Indeed,” Jesus agreed as they headed for town.

  The efficient Magdalene did everything Jesus requested, cruelly leaving the slaves chained in their quarters, but feeding them what all considered a banquet: winter vegetables from Vitellius’ market, a side of smoked boar, a bucket of fresh water, ladle, and several drinking cups. Heading to the stable, she fed and watered the horses and oxen, returning to the house to check on Jesus’ mother.

  Making certain she was settled in for the night, Mary Magdalene then went out and killed someone by sucking his blood until he died in her arms, and like any normal vampire, not caring if he was a robber, highwayman, priest or merchant. Though she had no proof, she figured the man was some sort of criminal, as he had skulked in the shadows some miles south of town. Not having Jesus around to prevent her from taking those he considered unsuitable made it much easier, and she took a free hand in obtaining supper. Robbing the victim, she found nine aurei and several hundred denarii in a satchel. Also inside was assorted jewelry and smaller monetary denominations – bronze sestertii, orichalcum dupondii, red copper asses, and bronze quadrans. Finding rolled parchment documents, she ignored those, tossing them in a thicket of blooming briars. Finished, she threw the corpse into the Euphrates, where it floated away in the current.

  Unknown to her, the man was no thief; he had been a Roman moneylender on his way to collect interest and principal payments from the many indebted people of Tibernum. In typically efficient Roman fashion, another collector would be sent later, so it didn’t matter. During the time she was taking her victim, Jesus and father were heading past the town pantheon and continuing to Gavinal’s residence. Arriving at the gate, the guard recognized Jesus and let them in, advising them to go to his office instead of the residence.

  “Why?” asked Jesus.

  “Because his wife will kill you if you wake their baby,” the guard answered, “Nothing personal, but Phoebe Claudia Domitia doesn't like drunks.”

  “We’re not drunk yet, and if she doesn’t like drunks, why’d she marry Gavinal?” asked a smiling Jesus, his father frowning.

  “For one thing, he’s wealthy, for another, probably because he knocked her up with their first child a few years back, his daughter Gavinalla Marcia,” the guard replied with a grin.

  Jesus nodded to the guard, he and Joseph proceeding to Gavinal’s office, a small annex located off the mansion atrium. Knocking, Callicles opened the door and let them in, greeted by the prefect and the trader as they entered.

  “Good evening,” Callicles slurred, looking to Jesus and smiling while he took a gulp of wine from a goblet. In the lamp lit room, Callicles’ barroom tan was all the more evident, his forehead and face bright red from years of drinking wine in excess.

  “Welcome Julius the elder and younger,” said Gavinal, sitting at his desk drinking directly from a bottle, almost too drunk to rise from his chair.

  “Greetings my friends,” Jesus answered, “It looks like you’re happy this evening.”

  “It all depends,” said Gavinal.

  “On what?” Joseph asked.

  “On if you’re drunk,” said Gavinal, tossing a bottle of wine to Jesus. Catching the bottle underhanded, Jesus broke the clay seal, dug out the wax stopper, and chugalugged from the bottle, handing the remaining half to his father, who quickly drank the rest. “Can you catch another?” asked the prefect, Joseph sitting the empty bottle on his desk.

  “Easily,” Jesus answered, clapping his hands and holding them high.

  Gavinal threw a bottle to Jesus, who caught the bottle overhand with his left. Breaking the seals, he chugalugged from the bottle, handing the remaining half to his father.

  “Sinistere,” Gavinal observed.

  “Yeah, he’s a southpaw, so is Demosthenes,” said an unsteady Callicles, putting down the glass and leaning heavily on the desk.

  “Gaius Julius was left-handed; so was Marcus Tullius Cicero and Senator Cato,” a superstitious Gavinal replied, not recalling Jesus had signed the contract and deed using his left, “The Delphic Oracle has said those who are sinistere are favored by the gods.”

  “Really,” said Jesus, “I imagine after some of the things I’ve been through, the gods must be showing me favor lately.” Callicles collapsed unconscious, Jesus looking to his drunken form on the marble floor.

  “Looks like we got here a little late,” said Joseph.

  “Not really,” Gavinal replied, “Callicles has been drinking for two straight days, it’s about time he had rest.” Rising unsteadily, he walked over to move the trader to a leather couch.

  Jesus, assisting him, hauled Callicles to the couch while Joseph finished their latest bottle.

  “Callicles shouldn’t drink so much,” said Jesus, Gavinal handing him another bottle.

  “Aren’t you one to talk,” Joseph retorted.

  “So, do you like the farm I sold you?” Gavinal asked, as Callicles, an arm lying on the marble floor, snored in the background.

  “Very much, and with seven slaves we should have it working this year,” said Jesus, taking another drink.

  “Yes, Callicles told me that you’re curing meat over there, the men at the garrison could use some, perhaps you could sell them a few sides.”

  “We’ve taken and hung many. Marcus Tullius wrote that split sides, if salted and smoked constantly, cure in only tw
o months or so,” said Jesus, again taking a seat.

  “True,” Gavinal agreed, seating himself at the desk, “How much would you want?”

  “I’ll give you and they a few sides to be neighborly,” Jesus answered, relaxing in a padded chair, “All I ask is that you give me your opinions of the quality, and next time I’ll sell you some.”

  “You’re very kind, what meats have you in your larder?”

  “Auroch, venison, and pork; the smokehouse is almost full, we could actually use the space.”

  “How did you acquire so much?” Gavinal asked, looking to Jesus unsteadily, “Do you trap them?”

  “No, we hunt them for sport with spears or knives, the land’s full of game,” Jesus lied, “My father and I are good with blades, he taught me to throw as a child in Volsinii.”

  “My son can hit anything within fifty cubits,” said a boasting Joseph.

  “Perhaps you could hunt on my property too,” Gavinal suggested, opening another bottle.

  “Certainly,” Jesus replied, “I like to hunt at night when there’s more chance of surprise.”

  The conversation continued for several hours, the prefect consuming another bottle of undiluted wine between latrine breaks. “We and our wives will have to get together one evening for dinner,” said a badly slurring Gavinal, walking from his personal lavatorium, Jesus finishing a fourth bottle.

  “Perhaps later,” replied a drunken Joseph, “My wife is pregnant and has had sickness lately.”

  “Oh yes, Callicles told me, that’s incredible,” said Gavinal slowly, drifting in and out of lucidity from consuming so much wine. “I have to turn in,” he added, looking in double vision at Jesus and his father, Callicles snoring on the couch, an arm on the marble floor.

  “We'll let ourselves out,” said Jesus.

  “Thanks,” the weary prefect replied, Jesus and father heading for the door. “Don’t forget Julius, you and yours are always welcome here,” he added, walking unsteadily to the atrium.

  “And you are always welcome at our farm friend Gavinal,” said Jesus. Leaving the compound, Jesus nodded to the guard as he opened the gate. A few minutes later they walked past Callicles’ darkened caravansary, heading south of town.

  “Gavinal sure was piped, along with that Callicles fellow,” said Joseph, arriving at the farm at four.

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “You’re drunk too.”

  “Yeah, what can you do?”

  Entering the house, Jesus noticed Mary Magdalene sitting at the kitchen table, annoyed at him being late. “Where have you been?” she asked, thinking he would have returned about midnight.

  “You know, we were drinking wine at Gavinal’s,” said Jesus, sitting down.

  “Why did I ask, have you had anyone to eat?”

  “I’ve gone without before.”

  “It seems wine can replace blood,” Joseph observed.

  “For a time,” said Jesus, “As I’ve said, vampires do not live by blood alone.”

  “That’s obvious,” a chuckling Joseph replied, heading for his bedroom.

  “Have you eaten?” Jesus asked, opening a wine bottle and pouring a goblet.

  “I took someone south of here while you were gone.”

  “Was he a robber?”

  “Who knows, he was there, so I killed him,” said Mary, looking him in the eyes.

  “What if – ”

  “I don’t care Jesus, you do. I look at them as lunch, and if you’re not around to stop me I’ll take just about anyone.”

  “You will not harm our family or friends,” said Jesus, a stern look on his face.

  “Are you stupid, I was talking about strangers,” Mary retorted, pouring herself a goblet.

  “So, how are the slaves?” Jesus asked, knowing it was pointless to lecture her regarding suitable victims.

  “I left them in their quarters, fed them vegetables and a side of smoked boar, and gave them a pail of water and cups.”

  “Very good, did you see the young Jewess?”

  “Yeah, she’s beautiful, what did you buy her for?” Mary asked, thinking she was a waste of money.

  “I took pity on her, she’s a fourteen year old virgin and that amoral trader wanted to sell her to me as a whore.”

  “So what, she’d make a good whore with her looks,” an equally amoral Mary observed, at least regarding whoredom and vampirism, taking a deep drink of wine.

  “Prostitution is not a proper occupation for a Hebrew woman, nor any other woman for that matter,” said Jesus, finishing his goblet.

  “I suppose being a slave is?” asked Mary, her moral outlook regarding slavery coming to the surface.

  “That’s not my intention, I intend to employ her to tend to my mother’s needs and will give freedom to her later.”

  “I thought I was supposed to care for her,” said Mary, folding hands on the table.

  “You still can, she will help you.”

  “Okay, but you have too much heart,” the Magdalene replied, realizing she would never understand her Jesus, the kind, just vampire. The sun rising, they moved to their dark room next to his parents’ bedroom and settled into sleep.