Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Forced to play the dubious role of vampire hunting detectives for several months by Emperor Tiberius, Decius Publius and his contubernia finally arrived in Anatolia, led by the obsessed Dr. Thucydides. After interviewing over 200 families in perhaps twenty towns in northern Judea, Lebanon and western Syria, they arrived in Antioch on a sunny spring midmorning. Walking about the town forum for several hours, most of the populace looked upon the interrogatives of the doctor as the babblings of a madman. Just after noon, centurion Decius spoke up, having grown thoroughly tired of the situation.

  “There’s not a soul here who knows anything either doctor,” said Decius while his contubernia ordered lunch at a carryout café.

  “Want anything to eat Decius?” his executive officer called from the counter.

  “Grab me whatever sounds good Marc,” Decius answered, turning from the physician and reaching for coins from his money belt.

  “I’ve got it commander,” said Marcus, waving away the coins.

  Nodding and turning to the doctor, Decius said, “After today we’re heading back Thucydides, we’ve no evidence this Jesus of yours was ever here, let alone anywhere else.”

  “He can’t have just vanished, he must have come this way,” said a frowning Thucydides, staring at the parchment depictions of Jesus and Mary.

  “Look, even if he did, there’s no proof, and we’re doing nothing here but wasting time,” Decius replied, Marcus handing him lunch and a cup of diluted wine. Walking to a table, Decius sat down to eat his meal, the doctor joining him.

  “You going to have anything to eat?” asked the centurion in a mumble, his mouth full.

  “Perhaps later,” said Thucydides, looking about the town.

  “He’s not here, especially during the day, if he was ever here at all,” mumbled Decius, grabbing the cup and washing his food down with a gulp of wine.

  “You’re right centurion, the trail has grown cold,” said Dr. Thucydides, admitting defeat.

  I wonder where Jesus and his girl are now, thought Decius, finishing his lunch while the defeated physician stared into space. Poor bastard, if he only knew, he thought, hiding a smile. An hour later, Decius and company headed south, marching to Judea, leaving Antioch and Anatolia behind.

  That evening, Jesus rose just before sundown and walked to the kitchen. Since the room faced east, none of the sun’s destructive rays presented any danger, so he sat down and poured a goblet of wine. Joseph had installed two windows in the common area of the house during the afternoon, while slaves Icarus and Ganymede moved in the new furniture. Satisfied with his accomplishments, he headed to the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you up early,” said a surprised Joseph.

  “Good evening father,” Jesus replied, “How was your day?”

  “It went very well, Brutus and the other slaves have started clearing brush and plowing the field by the river, it’s about twenty acres and should be good for a start. I also installed some of the windows and they look really nice.”

  “Why didn’t you have one of the slaves install them?”

  “Because if they broke one I’d probably kill them, those things cost 42 denarii a piece!”

  “Yeah,” said Jesus, “Aside from that, replacement windows aren’t exactly available at Drusus’ store.”

  “Would you believe the upper part of the frames are hinged and can be opened to let in fresh air?”

  “They have sliding ones in the temples and government buildings in Rome.”

  “What will they think of next?” said Joseph, pouring a libation and sitting down. “So, what’s on your agenda tonight, other than the usual?” he asked after draining the goblet.

  “Dealing with our slaves I suppose.”

  “What have you decided?”

  “I figure the simple approach will be the best. I’ll tell them Mary and I are late sleeping thinkers; philosophers of a sort. If you wish, you can reinforce that suggestion later by telling them I’m just a rich, lazy drunk who sleeps all day.”

  “You wouldn’t mind that?”

  “Why should I mind, they’re just slaves,” Jesus replied, breaking into a laugh, “Besides, none of us have to work anyway, with our money and servants.”

  “I like to work, I have most of my life, so I guess it’s too late for me to quit now.”

  “Of course father,” said Jesus, refilling their goblets.

  After sunset, Mary walked from their room, joining Jesus and Joseph at the table. Sitting down, she immediately asked Jesus what he intended to do regarding the slaves.

  “Well, I imagine I’ll tell them – ” Jesus began, his father interrupting him.

  “Get this, he’s going to tell them he’s a rich, lazy drunk who sleeps all day!”

  “No, you’re going to tell them that father,” Jesus replied, “I’m going to tell them I’m a philosopher who sleeps late, only rising in the evening.”

  “Both statements are true,” said Mary, rising and strolling to the porch for some evening air.

  “Well dad, do you want to watch me do my thing with the slaves?” Jesus asked, rising from the table.

  “You won’t entrance me will you?”

  “It doesn't work that way, only those I wish to entrance are affected.”

  “I guess,” said Joseph, stepping to the porch after his son.

  “Coming Mary?” asked Jesus, his consort relaxing in a chair.

  “I’ll stay here,” she replied, having seen Jesus use his hypnotic power many times before.

  “Are they in for the evening?” asked Jesus while they headed to the slave quarters.

  “I’m not certain, but they should be,” said Joseph.

  Opening the door, Jesus saw that his charges had returned for the evening, the women preparing a meal for the group. “Good evening,” he announced in his Draculaesque monotone, the slaves turning and beholding the vampiric Christ. Waving his left, he mesmerized the group, his father watching. One of the women was motionless, holding a ladle above the stewpot, and a male was frozen in place, rising from a stool. “Verily I say unto you,” he intoned, “I, Jesus of Nazareth, known to you and those in town as Julius the younger, am a philosopher and thinker. I rarely rise before dusk, and never walk upon the earth by day. You will accept this as a normal occurrence, and will never question each other or my family otherwise regarding me or my consort, Mary the Magdalene, known to you as Maria the Hittite. Do you all understand?”

  Each nodded in a zombielike fashion, slackjawed before Jesus. Satisfied with their response, he waved his hand and released them from the entranced state.

  “Good evening master,” said Brutus as another male slave finished rising from the stool.

  Joseph raised eyebrows, amazed at the simplicity of the hypnotic feat.

  “Well – how did your work go today?” Jesus stammered, at a rare loss for words.

  “We’re plowing the field by the river; the women are tending the smokehouse and the animals,” Brutus answered, apparently as spokesman for the group.

  “Very good,” said Jesus, “Your name?”

  “Brutus of Rome,” replied the slave, bowing.

  “Thank you Brutus, is there anything any of you will need to make you more comfortable with us?”

  “Such as, master Julius?” asked Brutus.

  “Food, clothing, shelter?”

  “These quarters are quite adequate master,” Brutus answered, “Each of us has our own room and privacy. As you can see, we have our clothes and the food is very good. I was wondering if I could dig a latrine for us, and perhaps plant a small garden.”

  “Certainly,” said Jesus, “Anything else?”

  “Would you have anything to read master?” the elderly slave asked, looking to Jesus intently.

  “Your name is?”

  “Cyril of
Athens.”

  “You must be the teacher,” Jesus replied, “Not much at present, but if you will give my father a list of what you like, we will provide you with scrolls.”

  “Thank you master,” said Cyril.

  “Don’t mention it, do you women need anything?”

  “Do you have a loom master?” asked a female slave named Penelope.

  “And perhaps some more cooking pots master?” asked Electra, a midwife in her fifties.

  “Yes, and please, don’t call me master every time you speak to me,” said Jesus, “It’s degrading.”

  “Of whom?” Cyril asked.

  “Of yourselves,” said Jesus.

  “That goes for me too,” added Joseph.

  “Very well,” said Brutus, “What should we call you?”

  “Julius will do,” said Jesus, “Unless of course we have visitors, at that time perhaps master Julius would be appropriate.”

  A slave named Icarus raised a hand as if he were a student in a schoolroom.

  “Yes?” Jesus asked, “Your name?”

  “Icarus, I’m a blacksmith, would you like me to set up a forge?”

  “By all means, what will you need to build it?”

  “A stone hearth and an anvil, bellows, hammer and tongs,” said Icarus.

  “Okay, my father will take you to town to pick up the things you’ll need.”

  “I’ll have to get out the wagon again,” Joseph observed.

  “I can build sheds for the forge and the latrine,” said a slave named Ganymede in a deep booming voice.

  “Very well, please talk to my father during the day about what you’ll require, he is the patriarch of this farm, and any of you may feel free to talk with me in the evenings,” Jesus replied.

  “You sound like an educated man Julius,” said Cyril, eyeing Jesus, “Would you care to discuss the sciences and philosophy some evening?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Um, Julius,” Penelope spoke up, “What do you do with the skins of the animals you hunt?”

  “I’ve been leaving them in the woods, would you like me to save them to make leather?”

  “Yes please, I worked in my former master’s tannery with Electra.”

  “Okay, I’ll leave the skins outside the smokehouse, and I suppose we’ll have to save bark from oak logs,” Jesus replied, recalling that trader Callicles had also asked about leather.

  “We’ll have to save urine too,” said Electra, “A large pot in each latrine should suffice.”

  “Yes,” answered Jesus, familiar the more disgusting aspects of tanning leather. Spending about an hour more with them, he said, “Please forgive us, we must go, and may you all have a good night.” Father and son then left the slave quarters, heading for the house.

  “That was incredible, it was as if you turned them into statues!” Joseph exclaimed.

  “I know not how I do it, but it does come in handy.”

  “I’ll say, and the way you treated them was very kind and noble.”

  “Slave be kind to your master, master be kind to your slave,” said Jesus, stepping to the porch.

  “What did you think of that Joseph?” asked Mary, relaxing in a chair on the cool evening.

  “It was incredible,” Joseph replied, entering the house and closing the door, leaving her and Jesus on the porch.

  “So, what are you going to do about Ruth?” asked Mary.

  “She’s next, after dinner.”

  They headed into the night, staying near home, taking a pair of deer. The Magdalene carried a cloth for wiping her mouth, blotting excess blood from her face after dropping the emptied doe to the ground.

  “You’re sloppy with your food woman,” Jesus observed while gutting the animals.

  “I’ve never been able to keep the blood from my lips like you do.”

  “It’s easy,” said Jesus, demonstrating with one of the carcasses, “First you slash the great artery with your fangs, then press your mouth into the wound and suck them dry.”

  “I do that, it doesn't seem to work for me.”

  “Must be a matter of technique,” Jesus replied, lifting the carcasses over his shoulders. Holding them by their heads with their backs arched, he made certain they wouldn’t drip blood on his off-white Roman tunic.

  “I imagine some of us are better than others when it comes to that,” said Mary as they came to the smokehouse.

  “Probably,” replied Jesus, dropping the animals, “After all, no one is perfect, and at least you don’t have to watch how you speak to people all the time.”

  “Very true,” Mary agreed, Jesus skinning and beheading the carcasses.

  Finishing the task, he sat the skins and meat on a bench while Mary unlatched and opened the smokehouse door. Salting the flesh first, Jesus suspended the meat on wrought iron hooks hanging from the ceiling while Mary stirred coals in the fire pit with a poker. “We need oak logs,” said Jesus, looking to the smoldering embers, “Have the slaves split wood?”

  “There’s a stack of hardwood sitting just outside,” the Magdalene answered.

  “I’d best strip the bark from those logs before we burn them,” said Jesus, reaching for a hatchet near the door.

  “Why?”

  “One of the slaves has offered to make leather from the skins, and oak bark is used for tanning leather.”

  “Oh.”

  Jesus stripped the logs, sitting the bark in a bucket next to the skins. Stoking up the fire, he pulled a rope hanging overhead, almost closing the vent in the roof, assuring the logs would only smolder, and opened two flue vents at the bottom of the structure to allow ventilation. Gray smoke began to course lazily out of the roof opening once Jesus closed the door. The packed smokehouse operating 24 hours a day, carpenter Ganymede had already started construction of an adjacent structure to be used for containing the cured meats.

  “Dad’s going to have to sell some of the meat,” said Jesus, stepping to the porch, “I also have to send some to Gavinal and the garrison.”

  “We should offer some to Callicles too,” Mary replied, heading into the kitchen.

  “Good idea.”

  Frowning, Jesus noticed his hands were itching. He looked to them, scratching especially at his palms. Walking to a bronze kitchen basin, he washed them, relieving most of the discomfort. Strange, I wonder what made my hands itch like that, Jesus thought, drawing a blank. Sitting down and opening a bottle of wine, he poured goblets, his father walking in.

  “Would you like wine father?” asked Jesus.

  “Sure,” Joseph answered, nodding to the Magdalene, “You weren’t gone very long.”

  “We took a pair of deer by the river,” said Jesus, handing him a goblet, “They’re gutted, skinned, salted and hanging in the smokehouse. I left the skins outside the door for Penelope to tend to for tanning, and I see Ganymede has started building a shed for the cured meat.”

  “I told him with the amount we’re acquiring it might be best to build another structure.”

  “Excellent,” Jesus replied after draining his goblet, “I want to send some to Gavinal and the garrison tomorrow, along with a few sides for trader Callicles. Perhaps we can arrange to sell them our excess on a regular basis before we’re up to our ears in meat.”

  “You can always leave the animals to rot in the woods like you used to.”

  “It’s such a waste to do that, besides, we have seven slaves to feed along with you and mother. Now to the matter at hand, would you please bring Ruth in here father?”

  “Right,” Joseph answered, rising from the table and heading to the bedroom.

  “What are you going to tell her?” asked Mary, pouring another goblet.

  “The same thing I told the others.”

  His father returning with the slave moments later, Jesus said,
“Hello Ruth, how are you this evening?” He waved a hand and she became motionless.

  “Is she out of it?”

  “What do you think dad, wave your hand in front of her.”

  Joseph not only waved his hands in front of her face; he even snapped his fingers. It was as if she had turned to stone, never once moving or even blinking.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Yes,” said an amazed Joseph, staring at the statuesque Ruth.

  “Verily I say unto you Ruth,” Jesus intoned, “This woman Mary, and I Jesus, known to you as Maria and Julius, are creatures of the night, and we do not walk upon the earth by day. You will not perceive this fact, and will only see us as thinkers, philosophers of a sort, passing much of our time in contemplation and study. This will always appear normal to you, and you will never question our family or any others regarding us, do you understand?”

  Ruth nodded slowly, the vampiric Christ waving a hand, snapping her from the trance.

  “Quite well, master Julius,” Ruth answered, blinking her eyes.

  “Good,” said Jesus, “By the way, you may call me Julius, my father is master of this farm.”

  “You needn’t call me master either,” Joseph added, “Julius will do just fine.”

  “Slaves always call their owners master,” Ruth replied.

  “Not here child,” said Jesus, “When we have visitors, it may be appropriate for you to use that title, but at other times our given names will suffice.”

  “Yes, uh, Julius.”

  “Very good, return and tend to my mother please,” Jesus ordered. Ruth bowed and returned to his parent’s room.

  “That was easy,” said Joseph.

  “They should present no further problem for us father. With them, the farm should be fully producing within a year.”

  “That’s certain, Brutus seems to know everything about farming and has already advised me to find seed to plant the fields.”

  “Excellent, Callicles has seed available, why don’t you head there tomorrow and pick some up. Please have the slaves load the wagon with meat for he and Gavinal too so we can get rid of some of it.”

  “Okay,” said Joseph, pouring another goblet.