Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  As the summer wore on toward the fall of 35 CE, they continued their kitchen discussions, moving from vampirism to other legends, along with talking of science and philosophy. The family found that the teacher was not only brilliant, but a genius. It was revealed that he fluently spoke and wrote ten languages, knew a great deal about botany and zoology, was a historian, philosopher and rhetorician, and was well versed in the disciplines of astronomy and mathematics.

  Cyril had also learned another valuable lesson which most of his contemporaries had never been able to master: when and how to speak in order to capture the imagination of his listener, so not to be considered dull or boring. He explained to Jesus and consort one evening that his former master, Marcus Trajanus, after having him educate his children, had kept him around until his death a decade later, mainly as a conversational companion and personal tutor. This arrangement had also allowed him to pursue his quest for further knowledge, adding the Anatolian language, botany and zoology to his vast resume during that time.

  “We shall do that too,” Jesus declared, “Father, I think we should provide Cyril with whatever he needs to pursue his learning, this will also help Julian later on.”

  “Why not?” his father said from the porch through an open window.

  “I would still like to work in the fields to keep fit,” said Cyril.

  “Good idea, I’m going to need him to, especially in the next weeks,” said Joseph before Jesus could make a reply.

  Ruth walking in a short time later to make finely ground porridge for the eight-month old Julian, Cyril remarked quietly in Egyptian, “Watch that girl, she is a pretty one, but also nosy.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” replied Jesus.

  “A cock tease, look how she swings those hips like a common whore,” said Mary in the language of the pharaohs. She had quickly learned Egyptian so that she also could speak plainly to the teacher or Jesus when in company of others.

  “That she does,” Cyril agreed, not particularly caring for Ruth, nor she for him.

  Most times they slipped into Egyptian only in the presence of Ruth when she was tending the child’s needs or preparing dinner for his parents. Other times, in the presence of other slaves, they simply changed the subject matter they were discussing with Cyril until the unwanted listener left the vicinity.

  The fencing lessons continued for Ganymede, the muscular slave learning Jesus’ exotic swordplay within three months. Becoming a formidable opponent even for Jesus, he was now more than a match for any highwayman or cutthroat.

  “Ganymede’s doing well. He’d be incredible in the arena wouldn’t he?” Jesus asked of his father after the slave left.

  “Yes, we’re going to need someone like him after you’re gone,” Joseph replied, facing the inevitable as they entered the kitchen.

  “We won’t be leaving that soon,” said Jesus, sitting down and pouring wine.

  “You’ll be gone by the summer of next year,” Joseph declared, sitting down, “I’ll stake my life on it.”

  “Sooner than that actually, in the fall, but we shall return,” Jesus replied, handing his father a goblet, almost constantly feeling the urge to move on.

  “When, five or ten years?” I’ll probably be dead by the time you come back!”

  “No, we should be gone a year or two at most, out of deference to you and mother.”

  “I’m sorry son, we can’t keep you here forever, it’s just with you around everything seems so much safer.”

  “You’ll have no problems, I’ve instructed Ganymede to teach the other slaves to be proficient with swords and other weapons, like you did with me when I was young.”

  “That makes me rest easier,” said Joseph, emptying his goblet.

  “As for other things, the town accepts us as Romans, income and taxes are no problem thanks to the contracts we signed with Gavinal, and with Callicles buying any surplus, all should run smoothly while we’re gone.”

  “Will you write?”

  “Of course. We’ll be in Greece much of the winter, moving on to Rome toward the spring; my letters from there will have no problem reaching you here; they’re delivered monthly to the garrison.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Besides, there is something very important I must do in Rome to ensure our personal safety in the future,” said Jesus.

  “Such as?”

  “The census will be taken within another three years, father,” answered Jesus, taking a drink of wine.

  “Yes, and we have no proof of our – ”

  “Exactly,” said Jesus, shaking his head, signifying the negative, Ruth walking into the kitchen. “Good evening Ruth.”

  “Good evening to you Julius the younger,” she replied, fetching dates, cheese, and bottle of wine for Jesus’ mother.

  After she left the room, Jesus remarked, “I wish you could speak Egyptian dad.”

  “Why?”

  “Cyril said she’s nosy, that’s why I cut you short,” said Jesus, “If you could speak Egyptian we could talk plainly around her.”

  “I see, perhaps Cyril can teach me,” said Joseph, getting back to the original subject and asking almost in a whisper, “How are you going to fix it for us?”

  “With a scribe, a notary and a censor,” Jesus replied.

  “How’s that?”

  “Entrancement, when I arrive in Rome, I’ll have our assumed names placed on the rolls at the Tabularium, so when the procurator’s censor arrives here our family will be on the list.”

  “Sounds risky,” said a frowning Joseph, shaken by the revelation, pouring another goblet of wine.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Jesus replied, narrowing eyes, “Even if I have to kill someone to do it.”

  “You’d kill an innocent?”

  “To protect you, mother and Julian of course I would,” Jesus said with firm resolve, his darker side coming to the surface. Joseph nodded in understanding, recalling a time when he had made such a choice, his actions resulting in the unfortunate crucifixion of a publican.