* * *
Jesus awoke before dusk, intent on finding reading materials for Cyril the teacher. With Callicles due to arrive at eight, as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon he took a horse and headed to the caravansary. Riding along, he hoped he would catch the trader before he headed to the farm, to see if he had scrolls available for purchase.
“Julius the younger!” Callicles exclaimed while Jesus tied up the horse, grabbing and shaking his hand firmly. “What brings you to my humble market sir, I only saw your father yesterday!”
“Greetings Callicles of Athens,” said Jesus, “Since you seem to carry everything, I was wondering if you had literature for sale.”
“You’re talking about scrolls?”
“Yes.”
“I have some, not much, most of what I have is poetry and philosophical trash penned by clowns who lived centuries ago, nobody wants to read that crap today.”
“Such as?”
“Who knows, I’ve never read them,” said Callicles, “They’re in my wagon, just over there.”
“Shall we?” asked Jesus, looking to the wagon.
“If you insist.”
They headed to wagon one, an oversized, ostentatious vehicle on gilded wheels. Callicles unlocked the door and moved down hinged steps, used for ease of entry. “Please come in Julius,” he said, motioning to Jesus.
Jesus entered, noting an oil lamp burning brightly in the oversized wagon, a bronze chimney above, fed with oil by a lead pipe connected to a tank mounted on the roof. The trader’s personal wagon, built in Rome, was complete with a down stuffed bed, running water fed to a sink from another tank on the roof, and a desk equipped with hinged slots for papyrus or parchment documents, serving as an office and file cabinet for the trader.
“Welcome to my mobile home,” said Callicles, moving a pile of papyrus from the top of a short, oblong wooden box. Lifting the box, he added, “This is what I have, ten denarii will cover it, and if that’s too much I’ll give you them for free, I’ve had them for over ten years!”
Jesus opened the box, perusing the parchment scrolls. Some were written in Greek, with which he was unfamiliar, but most were written in Latin, which he read and understood perfectly, many Latin translations from the Greek as he noted the authors.
He calls these works trash, the man is truly a barbarian, thought Jesus, noting priceless works in the box, selections penned by the storyteller Homer, the contemporary Roman poet Ovid, and the Greek philosopher Diogenes, also known as the cynic of Sinope. Looking further, he noted writings of Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, Marcus Seneca, father of the stoic, Lucius Seneca, along with copies of speeches by Marcus Tullius Cicero, Roman statesman. History texts were represented with works originally penned by Herodotus, Greek historian and contemporary of Pericles, who had lived over 400 years earlier. “I’ll take them,” he said, feigning disinterest as he closed the box, “You said ten denarii?”
“That’ll cover it,” Callicles replied, not knowing or even caring about the true value of the literature, “It’s almost time for me to head to your farm to buy your father’s meat, do you want to get drunk with us when we get there?”
“Of course,” Jesus answered, “Let me pay you for these scrolls and we’ll head there.”
“Sure,” replied Callicles, Jesus dropping ten denarii in his hand. Leaving the wagon and walking to his horse, Jesus tied the box to the saddle as the trader said, “My slaves have to hitch up a wagon first, I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Do you know where we live?”
“Gavinal gave me a map, he said you’re by the south pond, tract twenty one, near Marcus’ place.”
“That’s right,” Jesus replied, mounting an Arabian gelding.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” said Callicles, Jesus riding off with the literary treasures.
Cyril will certainly be pleased, thought Jesus as he rode to the farm. Arriving, he carried the box of scrolls into the kitchen. He was greeted by Joseph, who asked where he had been.
“I rode to Callicles’ market to buy literature for Cyril,” said Jesus, sitting the box on the table.
“Oh,” Joseph replied, “I take it the scrolls are in the box.”
“Yes.”
“What selections did he have?”
“History, philosophy and poetry. Perfect reading material for a man of Cyril’s tastes.”
“Excellent,” said Joseph, “I like how you’re treating the slaves, making them feel like they’re part of the team.”
“I feel if we treat them more like servants instead of slaves, they will come to like being owned by us.”
“I agree, we should also make it a point to reward them when it comes to exceptional work.”
“I already had that in mind father. Last night, I drank wine with Icarus and Ganymede, making them such an offer.”
“You drank wine with them – what was your offer?”
“That we’d let them get drunk once in a while, and that we’d allow them to head to the brothel occasionally, provided they performed well for you.”
Raising eyebrows while thinking of his Hebrew upbringing, Joseph replied, breaking into a smile, “You know son, I wouldn’t have approved of such a thing in the past, but what the hell, I suppose it won’t hurt, giving them some of the pleasures of life.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Changing the subject, Joseph said, “I’m glad you're here, Callicles will arrive shortly and I’m going to need you for pricing the meat.”
“Of course, I believe we should receive six denarii a side, or twelve denarii per animal.”
“Okay, I figure we’ll sell him 40 cured sides, leaving 10 to sell to Gavinal and another 10 for ourselves.”
“No, we have perhaps ten more curing that will be finished soon. I think we should sell him 50 sides.”
”You do?”
“Indeed, Callicles won’t be back till fall, and at the rate we’re going we’ll have three times that when he returns, regardless if Gavinal buys from us.”
“I see, that’s a good idea.”
“The settling price should be around 300 denarii,” said Jesus, figuring the amount in his head, “Therefore, we’ll start out asking 550.”
“Why?”
“Because if I know Callicles, he’ll jew us down to 300 denarii, even if he’s drunk.”
“That covers a fair portion of what we spent with him,” a smiling Joseph observed.
“Exactly.”
“So you’re a meat vendor today,” said the Magdalene, walking into the kitchen and taking a bottle of wine from a cupboard.
“Dad needs my help and Callicles wants to get drunk when he gets here, so I figured I’d hang around a while.”
“Yeah, probably for the wine, that figures,” replied Mary, heading to his mother’s room to converse with her and Ruth.
Callicles arrived at eight thirty, accompanied by two slaves and nephew Demosthenes, Jesus and Joseph walking out to greet them. “Quite a spread you have here,” he observed in the moonlight, he and his group stepping from a wagon.
“It’s only a thousand acres,” said Joseph, shaking his hand, “Not as big as our place in Gaul, but I suppose we’ll have to make do.”
Callicles laughed at the remark, asking, “Say friends, would you like to get drunk?”
“Wouldn’t you rather look at the meat first?” asked Jesus.
“Hell no, I saw what your father had earlier, if the meat here is of the same quality, I’d be wasting time looking at it, instead of using it wisely by getting drunk with you.”
“Since you put it that way,” said an amused Jesus, looking to his father, “Come in friend Callicles, welcome to our home.”
“Stay here and look after the slaves Demo,” Callicles advised. Demosthenes nodded as the trader joined Jesus and Jos
eph. Stepping to the porch, he said, “Interesting, your house is made mostly of wood.”
“Yes, my son and I are also carpenters and there are a lot of trees in this part of Cappadocia,” Joseph replied, walking to the kitchen.
“True, but that’s not what I mean Julius the elder. I have lime whitewash aboard my caravan you could use to paint it with,” said Callicles, sitting down at the table, looking about to see if anything else was needed that he could sell them.
“Really?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, lime whitewash protects wood from rot and if applied properly can make a wooden domicile look as if it were made of marble,” Callicles answered, embellishing a bit.
“I’ve heard of it,” said Joseph.
“What’s the price?” asked Jesus.
“It’s cheap, thirty denarii would buy enough to paint this house four times over.”
“They also paint concrete with it in Rome,” said Jesus, having seen the Eternal City in his mid-twenties.
“That’s right,” Callicles replied.
“Let’s have a drink shall we?” asked Jesus, producing a fresh bottle and three goblets, filling them for his father and guest.
Callicles, having been sober for a short time due to his earlier hangover, grabbed and drained his goblet, looking to Jesus for a refill. Jesus refilled his goblet, topping off he and his father’s, emptying the bottle.
“That’s one down,” Callicles declared, again draining his goblet.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Jesus replied, opening another bottle.
Holding up his goblet for another libation, Callicles said, hawking his wares, “I forgot to tell you, there’s another item I picked up you may be interested in, perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s called soap, imported from Gaul.”
“Yes I have,” Jesus replied, refilling the trader’s goblet, “It’s used for washing clothes, leather and sometimes even people, I believe.”
“That’s right, a lot more effective than using olive oil and scraping the skin with a strigil, I tried it during this trip and after that, I’ll never go back.”
“How much do you want for the soap?” asked Joseph.
“It’s sold in yellow bricks a cubit long, a hand deep and a hand wide,” said Callicles, using his hands to describe the size. “Cheap too, only three denarii for a brick, you cut them into smaller pieces for use.”
“Would you like to try some son?”
“Sure, I’ve even used it when traveling, at that price we should get at least ten bricks, and probably some whitewash too.”
Needing a refill, Callicles raised his goblet, and for the next few hours the group sat in the kitchen, talking of everything and getting drunk on strong wine. “They say Tiberius had another stroke at Capri about a month ago,” Callicles related as the conversation continued.
“Really?” asked Jesus, having seen the Emperor one day when in Rome, “When he dies, who’s in line for the throne?”
“Some kid named Caligula. I heard that from the procurator in Antioch.”
“Little boots?” asked Jesus, referring to the nickname Caligula.
“It’s said that’s what they call him,” said Callicles, “His real name’s Gaius Caesar.”
“I like Caligula better,” replied Jesus, taking a gulp of wine.
Needing to use the latrine, Joseph rose from his chair as his wife walked into the kitchen.
“Who is this friends?” Callicles asked, nodding to Mary.
“My wife Maria,” answered Joseph, introducing her, “Maria, this is our friend Callicles of Athens, a Greek trader.”
“Good evening,” said Mary.
“Good evening to you ma’am,” Callicles replied with a slow nod.
“Is there anything you need mother?” asked Jesus.
“No, I came out to see what was going on and get a bottle of wine for your wife, Ruth and I.”
Joseph handed her a bottle and three goblets. Accompanying her to their bedroom, he quickly returned and walked out to the latrine.
“So, you’re using her as a house slave,” Callicles observed, thinking of the attractive Jewess.
“She’s taking care of my mother during her pregnancy.”
“Yes, I forgot, your mother’s going to have a baby,” said Callicles, starting to slur his Latin, “That’s very rare for a woman her age.”
“Shall we have a look at the meat?” asked Jesus, wanting to sell the sides before Callicles drank himself into unconsciousness.
“Sure, let’s go,” answered Callicles, rising unsteadily from his chair as Joseph returned.
“We’re headed to the smokehouse dad,” said Jesus, Callicles staggering along behind him.
“Right,” Joseph replied, grabbing a table lamp, “I’ll follow you.”
Walking outside, a reeling Callicles exclaimed, leaning heavily against the chimney, “I have to piss!”
“So do I,” said Jesus, both pausing and relieving themselves next to the chimney. “Truly the pause that refreshes,” he added, adjusting his tunic.
“I’ll say,” Callicles replied, still relieving himself.
Nature’s call satisfied, they headed to the smokehouse. Joseph had walked on carrying his lamp, using it to light a pair of torches placed at the entrance.
Opening the door, Jesus said, “Have a look at this!”
“By the gods!” the trader exclaimed, looking to the hung carcasses, smoke rolling from the structure. “How much do you want to sell?” he added, blinking his eyes, his sobriety returning temporarily, as it always did when he had to conduct business.
“We have 50 cured sides available,” said Joseph while Callicles stared at the smoked meats.
“Price,” Callicles replied, leaning against the smokehouse.
“I figure 600 denarii is a good price,” said Jesus, raising the asking price a little more.
“No,” replied Callicles, shaking his head, “That’s too damned high Julius – will you cut me slack my friend?”
“How about five?”
“Three and a half.”
“Four fifty.”
“Four, no higher,” said Callicles, staring Jesus in the eyes.
“Done,” Jesus declared, offering his hand to the trader.
Callicles shook his hand heartily in the warm evening, remarking, “My friend Julius, your hand is cold tonight isn’t it?”
“I get that way, especially when it’s warm outside,” said Jesus, shaken that he had been able to detect his lower body temperature.
“Cold hand, warm heart,” a smiling Callicles replied, yelling to his nephew, “Demo, get the slaves over here to pick up this meat!”
“Yes uncle,” the lad answered, taking the reins and moving the wagon to the smokehouse.
“We agreed on four hundred?” asked Callicles, reaching in a tunic pocket.
“Yes,” said Jesus.
“Okay, let’s see, 400 denarii is, dividing by 25, sixteen aurei, right?”
“Yes.”
Counting out 16 aurei, he placed the coins in Jesus’ hand.
“The meat is sold,” said Callicles, his temporary sobriety fading.
“I thank you sir,” Joseph replied.
“Don’t mention it. Your son drives a hard bargain, but I’ll double my money on this in Syria and northern Judea.”
“Sell the pork before you get to Judea, those Hebrews can't stand the stuff,” said Jesus.
“Food is food, whatever the animal, they're a weird bunch aren’t they?” Callicles asked as his slaves loaded smoked meat in the wagon, Joseph counting each side leaving the smokehouse.
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Jesus replied, recalling his dealings with his kinsmen.
“My son doesn’t get along with Jews very well, he had a
run-in with them some time back,” said Joseph, Jesus laughing loudly.
“Neither do I, they seem a greedy lot, but I just look at them as challenging customers,” Callicles replied.
“I’ve noticed that too,” said Jesus, thinking of filthy rich rabbis like Joseph Caiaphas, along with his former disciple and friend, the traitorous Judas Iscariot.
“So, what’d they do to you?” Callicles asked, leaning against the wagon and farting loudly.
“I had trouble from their religious leaders,” said Jesus, Joseph looking to the night sky and smiling at the gross understatement.
“From selling them pork?” asked Callicles with a sly grin, believing Jesus and his father had been smoking and selling meat for a long time.
“No, but it may as well have been as bad,” Jesus answered, the conversation continuing for about another hour.
“It’s getting late, I have to head back, we’re closing up and heading to Mansahir tomorrow night,” said a sobering Callicles, “Do you want the lime and soap before we leave?”
“Sure,” Jesus replied, looking to his father, who nodded.
“Come by tomorrow morning, I’ll fix you up before we go,” said Callicles, climbing on the wagon and taking the reins. “Fetch me a bottle of wine Demo,” he added, sitting beside his nephew.
“I thought you’d had enough,” Jesus replied as Demosthenes handed his uncle a bottle.
Pulling the cork with his teeth and spitting it to the ground, Callicles took a deep gulp and answered, “Hell no, one can never have enough wine!” He motioned the horses forward, the wagon driving off and heading to town.
“You got four hundred denarii, more than we even wanted!” Joseph exclaimed, walking into the house, Callicles driving off in the distance.
“Here’s the money,” said Jesus, handing it to his father.
“I thought it was your money,” Joseph replied, looking to the coins in his hand.
“I have plenty,” Jesus answered, sitting down at the table and folding hands.
“Why did you sell him the meat for 400 instead of 300?” asked Joseph, slipping the coins in a pocket.
“One must be shrewd when it comes to vending, he’ll triple his money on that meat, so I figured I’d get our fair share from him.”
“He will?”
“Easily, don’t take his word for it on what he’ll sell it for. Callicles is a businessman, and didn’t become a wealthy trader and Roman citizen by being foolish or charitable in his dealings with people. Further, regarding our position this evening, when it comes to selling one starts out high and goes low, not the other way around.”
“He’s a Roman citizen?” asked Joseph, having understood the last part of Jesus’ sentence.
“Didn’t you see the signet ring on his left hand?”
“No, you wear yours on your right.”
“That’s because I’m left handed,” said Jesus, annoyed that his father’s powers of observation were not as acute as his had become.
“Oh yes,” answered Joseph, heading to his bedroom, “I’m sorry son, I’ve had it for tonight.”
“Good night father,” Jesus replied as his father closed the door.
Almost immediately, the Magdalene walked to the kitchen from his parent’s bedroom, remarking, “It’s about time, I’m famished!”
“You haven’t died yet have you?” asked Jesus, leaning back on two legs in his chair.
“Yes I have, thanks to you.”
“You know what I mean,” said Jesus, moving the chair to the floor and rising from his seat.
“What do you want to do?” Mary asked, still thinking of supper.
“It’s very late, I suppose we should take something around here,” Jesus answered, heading for the door.
“I guess it’s deer or boar tonight,” said Mary, starting after him.
“What can you do?” Jesus replied, the couple heading into the woods on their quest for an evening meal.
Finding a pair of porcine creatures sleeping near the property of Marcus Pertinax, they sucked them dry, with Jesus, not wanting to waste the leftover meat, gutting them afterward.
“We’re low on meat,” said Jesus, preparing the animals for transport.
“Yeah, Joseph told me you sold that drunk fifty sides for 400 denarii. I can’t believe it, you got a good price and I’m damn proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Jesus replied, hoisting the carcasses over a shoulder and starting toward the smokehouse.
“You’ve done a lot of good things for your folks, and your father told me you’re treating the slaves as if they’re your own family,” said Mary while they headed through the woods.
“I always try to treat those I encounter as I would wish to be treated by them, that is of course with the exception of criminals, or those who would wish do us harm.”
“I understand that, and believe me, I think it’s an admirable thing to do,” the Magdalene replied, her words trailing off.
“What are you getting at?”
“It seems you’re doing the same things you did during your ministry, in a disguised fashion.”
“Yes, that’s quite true.”
“Why, in the end people treated you like shit, they hated and killed you – you don’t owe them anything!”
Jesus paused, dropping the gutted carcasses to the ground. “Please sit down woman,” he said, standing about 200 yards from the smokehouse.
“Here?”
“This place is as good as any,” Jesus answered, sitting on the ground and folding hands in his lap. She did as told, he continuing, “I remember you telling me over a year ago that I hadn’t changed, even as a vampire, and I submit you were correct in that observation.”
“Okay,” Mary replied, not knowing where the conversation was going.
“It’s obviously not my nature to be an individual who simply takes advantage of any opportunity coming my way, regarding those we take.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Mary retorted, staring at the treetops.
“Well, to those I encounter in our travels, if they show me no ill will, I allow them to continue in their lives.”
“I know that too,” said a frowning Magdalene, feeling that he was lecturing her.
“However, it is not my place to tell you how to conduct your life, though I do prefer you abide by my criterion regarding people.”
“I know that, you didn’t want me to kill centurion Decius, or your parents, or the pair of Greeks while on our way to Mansahir.”
“Precisely, I feel just because a group of fanatics had me killed in Judea, doesn't mean that I should behave in the fashion that they did. Such would make me a hypocrite, countering all I profess to believe in.”
“Aside from hypocrisy, you mean turning the other cheek don’t you?” she asked, thinking of a man Jesus had spoken to in the distant past, outside Capernaum.
“Not exactly, I may have been wrong regarding that. I now feel if one should strike you, strike him back fast, and hard! However, as a vampire, I believe when people are innocent we should allow them to pass unmolested.”
“Innocent when it comes to those who are not threatening others, or only to us?” asked Mary, listening intently to her former teacher, the undead rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth.
“Both.”
“I understand, though at times I may not agree with you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning like I told you some months ago, I look at people differently now. I see them as food, without any moral considerations whatsoever.”
“Oh,” said a shocked Jesus, feeling he hadn’t succeeded informing her of his convictions regarding the taking of mortals. “So, you think there’s nothing wrong with killing anyone you encounter?”
“That’s right, but I will and must defer to you as my maste
r when we are together, regarding people you say I cannot take.”
“Very well,” said Jesus, wondering why she didn’t seem to get the point of the conversation, that only those deserving such a fate should be taken by a vampire. Hoisting the carcasses to his shoulders, they headed to the smokehouse. He split the remains by ripping out the spines, leaving the meat to be dehaired and hung by the slaves in the morning.
Fixated in one of his contemplative moods, they retired to their dark bedroom. Mary settled into sleep while Jesus sat in a chair, recalling the events of his life over the past few years. Am I wrong? he thought, considering her words. Remembering his travels through India, he determined to explore that possibility, using a method of meditation he had learned on the subcontinent. Moving to the floor, he assumed the yoga position, and focused on his inner self for the first time in several years. Hands in his lap, the tip of his left index finger touching the tip of his thumb, he slipped into a higher state of being, an altered state of consciousness.
“Jesus my son! Why have you forsaken me?” called out the jealous desert god Yahweh.
“Who are you, why do you call me your son? I died in the name of Yahweh for the sake of the good – who forsook who!”
“I am the one true God of your fathers.”
“Sure you are.”
“You doubt me?”
“Yes I do.”
“You are my greatest creation, even greater than Gilgamesh.”
“You abandoned me on the cross,” Jesus retorted.
“Surely not,” said Yahweh.
“Yes you did!” declared the Leviathan of the deep, the ultimate first cause, the progenitor of the god Yahweh or Elohim, his brother Baal laughing heartily at the folly of his jealous sibling.
Yahweh fell silent. A burst of light came across Jesus’ tormented mind, his vampiric self cringing from the brilliance.
“Who are you?” asked Jesus of the shining Leviathan.
“I am that I am – the alpha and the omega.”
“You speak in twisted riddles like Yahweh,” said Jesus, turning from the brilliance.
“Fear not child of my child, the light of wisdom cannot harm you,” the Leviathan intoned, “Behold, you have yet much work to do on this earth, and in the fullness of time a wise teacher will be sent unto you, revealing many secrets. Walk justly upon the path before you, and guard Mary the Magdalene well, for she is to you as the moon is to the sun!”
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