Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Joseph awoke a little past seven, his wife occupied nursing Julian. Clearly having another hangover, he called for the slave girl Ruth, making his head pound even more.

  “Yes Julius?” asked Ruth, coming from the kitchen.

  “Bring a bottle of wine,” Joseph ordered, sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes.

  “Would you like breakfast?” Ruth asked in a soft voice, realizing he had another hangover.

  “Just the bottle,” Joseph replied, nauseated at the thought of food. Focusing on his wife, he smiled weakly and said, “Good morning woman, how’s the baby?

  “He’s fine, how are you?”

  “I’ve been better, but it’s nothing a good belt of wine won’t cure.”

  “Here you are,” said Ruth, returning with an open bottle.

  “Thanks,” a yawning Joseph answered as she returned to the kitchen. Looking to his wife, he added, “I have to head to Callicles’ at around noon.” He sighed and took a long drink from the bottle.

  “To get drunk?”

  “Hell no, it’s much too early for that, he has items at the caravansary I want to buy.”

  “Oh yes, he’s the trader,” Mary replied, remembering who Callicles was.

  “That’s right, I have to get rid of this hangover before I head there,” said Joseph, rising from the bed and putting the bottle down on a chest of drawers. Pulling out a drawer and retrieving a fresh tunic, he asked her while putting it on, “I want to buy spare windows and tools, is there anything you want?”

  Mary smiled and answered, “I can’t think of a thing, we have everything thanks to you and Jesus.”

  “Of course, if I see anything you might like I’ll pick it up,” said Joseph, slipping on shoes and heading for the door with the bottle. “I should be back near dark; I’m heading out to check on the farm.”

  “Yes dear,” Mary replied as he shut the door.

  Walking to the sunlit porch, Joseph finished the bottle and headed for the forge. Icarus was busy hammer welding a sickle, Ganymede running the Vulcan bellows. “Hi guys, where’s Brutus?” he asked, walking up.

  “Probably at the stable,” Icarus replied, “Getting the wagon ready for you.”

  “Thanks,” said Joseph, continuing to the stable.

  Icarus was right, Brutus was in the stable, horses hitched to the wagon, he mounting the wagon when Joseph entered.

  “Good morning Brutus,” said Joseph.

  “Good morning to you Julius the elder, I didn’t expect you until eleven.”

  “Why, I usually rise early,” replied Joseph, his headache lessening a bit.

  “The trader’s in town, I assumed you got drunk with him last night,” said Brutus, sitting behind the reins.

  “Yes, but we got drunk at Gavinal’s,” Joseph replied, climbing up beside him, “We were there till after midnight.”

  “That’s why I didn’t expect you until eleven,” said a smiling Brutus. Pulling in front of the house, they stepped from the wagon. “I’m taking a horse from the stable to inspect the fields,” the slave remarked, tethering the horses near a water trough, “Do you want me to come with you to the trader?”

  “Yes, we’ll head there about noon.”

  “I have ideas about things we could purchase,” said Brutus.

  “Such as?”

  “We should buy another plow, a few more goats for cheese making, and perhaps some ducks.”

  “I thought about extra goats, but ducks too?” Joseph asked, not questioning the need for more tools.

  “Yes, for their eggs,” Brutus answered, “They have very good eggs.”

  “I love eggs.”

  “So do I, but remember Julius, most ducks are bred from wild stock, so you may have to break or cut their wings, I’d suggest cutting them as it does less damage.”

  “You have to cut their wings?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll leave you do that if you don’t mind,” said Joseph, not at all familiar with duck husbandry.

  “Sure, it’s actually trimming their feathers, but is called wing cutting.”

  “I see, we’ll look into some when we get there,” said Joseph, turning to the porch as Brutus walked to the stable. Finally in the mood for breakfast, he headed to the kitchen. “Is there anything to eat around here?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

  “I see you’re hungry now,” Ruth answered, placing a bowl of porridge in front of him, sweetened with dates and honey. “I figured you’d get hungry after you were up for a while so I took the liberty of making extra, your wife and child have already eaten.”

  Joseph lifted a silver spoon beside the bowl. “Damn, this is good,” he said, wolfing down the porridge.

  “Thank you master Julius,” Ruth replied, walking to his bedroom, still unable to refer to her master as Julius.

  Joseph watched the girl enter the bedroom and close the door. Finishing his porridge, he remarked, “That old bastard Callicles was right about her, she’d make a fine piece of ass.” Rising from the table, he grabbed another bottle of wine and headed for the porch. It was still early, around nine-thirty, and with time to kill he sat down in a chair and opened it, enjoying the beautiful late summer morning. Sitting for about an hour, he had drained half when Brutus walked up, finished inspecting the fields.

  “Are you ready to go Julius?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Joseph answered, holding out the bottle, “Want a belt before we leave?”

  “Sure,” Brutus replied, taking the bottle and drinking deeply from it, passing it back to Joseph.

  “Finish it, if I have any more I’ll end up drunk and it’s too early for that.”

  Nodding, the slave emptied the bottle, walking over and untying the horses. Both climbed aboard the wagon and headed to the caravansary. Arriving at half past eleven, they walked up to Demosthenes, now sixteen years old and every inch a man, sporting a short beard.

  “Greetings Demosthenes, where’s Callicles?” asked Joseph.

  “Sleeping in his wagon, he got really loaded last night,” a smiling Demosthenes answered, looking to his uncle’s wagon.

  “He left Gavinal’s early.”

  “Yeah, but when he got here he drank Gallic beer till sunup with Kago and Aeschesles.”

  “Oh,” said Joseph, again thinking Callicles drank too much, he being one to talk, considering the way he consumed wine.

  “He’ll be along soon, he always rises before noon,” Demosthenes added, “So friend Julius, what can we do for you and yours today?”

  “Tools and windows, goats and ducks,” Brutus replied for his master.

  “We have all those things,” said Demosthenes, “With lower prices too, as suppliers in Nicomedia and Chrysopolis were all overstocked this year.”

  “Let’s have a look at the tools,” Joseph replied, the trio heading to the tool wagons.

  Passing Callicles’ wagon, they stopped as the door opened wide, a refreshed Callicles stepping from his ostentatious abode. “Friend Julius!” he exclaimed, walking to Joseph and grasping his hand firmly with both of his, while a subdued Demosthenes looked to his seemingly indestructible uncle.

  “Good morning Callicles,” said Joseph, his hand hurting from the crushing grip, “How are you today?”

  “Never been better,” Callicles answered, happily realizing the wonderful Gallic beer he had drunk all night long hadn’t given him a hangover and had every bit the kick of Gallic wine for less than half the price.

  “They’re looking for tools, windows, goats and ducks,” said Demosthenes.

  “Let’s get them taken care of Demo,” Callicles replied, motioning the group toward the tool wagons. “What sort of tools are you looking for this time?”

  “Brutus is overseer, ask him.”

  “Let�
�s see, we need another plow, Icarus needs a small square anvil for bending metal, and the women need awls and small hammers for leatherwork,” said Brutus.

  “Anything else?” asked Callicles, taking out keys as they arrived.

  “I could use some planes and perhaps a saw or two,” Joseph replied.

  “We have plenty a few wagons down, first have a look at this,” said the trader, opening the door of a wagon, several examples of triple-bladed plows coming into view.

  “How much?” asked Joseph, looking at the quality implements, complete with harnesses.

  “Thirty denarii, made in Etruria province of the finest wrought iron,” said Callicles.

  “Is that a good price?” Joseph asked of his slave.

  “Very good,” Brutus answered.

  “Sold,” said Joseph.

  Buying other tools for farming and carpentry work during the next hour while Demosthenes tended to another customer, Joseph also bought a small anvil and another set of tongs for the forge. Coming to the fine tool wagon, Callicles opened it, showing Joseph and Brutus a set of awls, leather punches and a pair of small hammers, made in Illyria, complete with an oiled wooden case.

  “Price?”

  “Steep, seventy denarii, they’re imported from Illyria,” said Callicles.

  “What do you think Brutus?”

  “They’re made in Illyria, known across the empire for top quality tools,” Brutus answered, “The price is reasonable.”

  “We’ll take them.”

  “Excellent,” said Callicles, his mind again reminding him of alcohol, “I’ll have my slaves haul the items to your wagon. Would you like lunch and a drink?”

  “Certainly, would you have some for Brutus?”

  “Of course, we’ll all enjoy good food and drink.”

  Heading to his personal wagon, Callicles ordered a slave to fetch food from a nearby grill mounted on a wagon. The aroma of cooking food issuing from the grill indeed smelled good, Joseph finding himself very hungry. Bringing a loaf of fresh bread from a small oven adjacent to the grill, the slave also brought a large polished copper platter filled with roasted vegetables, lean pork, a side of kid, and Callicles’ personal favorite, horsemeat tenderloin, sitting the food on a low table with dishes and cups.

  “I’m starved,” said the trader, sitting on a stool and pulling off a chunk of well-done horsemeat, Joseph tearing loose a piece of pork and putting it on a plate, together with helpings of bread, carrots and onions.

  “What are you going to have Brutus?” Joseph asked, seating himself on a stool.

  “Horsemeat, and roast kid.”

  “Help yourself slave,” Callicles mumbled, his mouth full, “The horsemeat’s from an old nag of mine that died yesterday.”

  Joseph almost choked at the remark, one, finding horsemeat revolting, and two, the thought of an animal having died and scavenged for food was not appealing to his appetite. Not bothering Brutus in the least, the slave grabbed a chunk of horseflesh and another of kid, along with vegetables, sitting down on the ground.

  Seeing the look on Joseph’s face, Callicles remarked, “I forgot, you Roman folks aren’t too keen on horsemeat, or any kind of meat for that matter, are you?”

  “We’re Etrurians,” Joseph lied, “We eat meat, but not that of horses.”

  “So that’s why you don’t have any in your smokehouse.”

  “Not really, my son hasn’t come across horses during his hunts.”

  Callicles nodded, his mouth full, asking in a mumble, “Would you like beer?”

  “You have beer?”

  “Gallic beer,” said Callicles, motioning to a slave.

  “Yes master?” the slave asked, walking over.

  “Bring the amphora of beer we were drinking last night if there’s any left in it, otherwise bring a fresh one.” The slave quickly returned with a large earthenware container filled one-quarter with beer.

  “I haven’t drunk beer in years,” remarked a wistful Joseph, recalling a time many decades earlier when he had visited Egypt with his father Jacob and eldest brother Simon.

  “You’ve never drunk beer like this,” said Callicles. He smiled and continued, “It’s not Egyptian, it’s a fine Gallic beer imported in wax-lined amphorae or barrels from the far north, near an island called Britannia; it tastes sort of like grog but isn’t as heavy. It doesn’t give you a hangover either, and at twelve denarii an amphora is definitely worth the price.”

  “What the hell, I’ll try some,” Joseph replied while the slave opened the amphora.

  “You should try some horsemeat too,” Brutus spoke up, like Callicles, his Thracian forebears having eaten horsemeat by the wagonload.

  “Dip it in the amphora,” said Callicles, handing Joseph a wooden cup and tossing another to Brutus.

  “Do you want me to have beer master?” Brutus asked, knowing it was against Roman law for slaves to consume alcoholic beverages, even though he and his fellow slaves often got drunk at the farm.

  “Why shouldn’t you?” the trader asked, “I let my slaves drink, even wine when we run out of Egyptian beer.”

  “But in Rome – ”

  “Rome’s a thousand miles from here, enjoy yourself slave,” said Callicles, pulling a cup of beer from the amphora.

  Dipping cups in the amphora, Joseph and Brutus drank deeply of the brew, enjoying the pleasant taste. “Truly the nectar of the gods,” Callicles declared, downing the beer in an instant.

  “What gods are they?” asked Joseph.

  “Any gods who drink beer I guess,” Callicles mumbled, his mouth again full of tasty horsemeat.

  “That’s the truth,” said a chuckling Joseph, taking another gulp. Their lunch lasting into late afternoon, the climax came with an inebriated Joseph trying a bite of horsemeat tenderloin near two and finding it delicious.

  “Shall we return to our shopping?” a drunk but responsible Brutus asked, Demosthenes walking by with other patrons, smiling to the group.

  “Why bother, I’ll be here for a week,” said a slurring Callicles, staggering over and dipping his cup into a new amphora of beer.

  “Well – ”

  “Well what?” Callicles asked, “Isn’t getting drunk more fun than being a slave?”

  “I’d think so,” said Joseph, breaking into laughter. Brutus looked to them, not knowing what to say.

  “That’s the trouble with slaves, they’ve no sense of humor,” Callicles scoffed, leaning to one side of his stool and farting loudly.

  “I’ll say,” Joseph replied, looking to Brutus, “Look here man, loosen up and enjoy yourself, why should we do today what we can put off till tomorrow?”

  “If you say so master,” Brutus answered, taking another drink of beer.

  “I insist,” said Joseph.

  At dusk, while they continued in their unbridled drinking, Jesus walked up to the torch lit caravansary with Mary Magdalene. Callicles collapsed to the ground unconscious, attempting to remark to Joseph with a severe slur, “You know, Julius my friend, I think we should – ” Slaves quickly arrived to tend to the trader, carrying him to a cot near his personal wagon.

  “Hello son,” Joseph slurred, looking to Jesus. Brutus smiled and nodded, unable to say anything from drinking too much beer.

  “Hello dad,” said Jesus, hiding his dismay.

  “Would you care for beer?”

  “Perhaps later, first we have to make our purchases.”

  “Callicles has passed out.”

  “No matter, Demosthenes is available, what have you bought so far?”

  “Tools, we still need to buy goats and ducks,” Joseph answered.

  “Okay,” said Jesus, turning from his father.

  “What’s the hurry, Callicles will be here for another week, sit down and have beer with me.”

 
“We must first – ”

  “Bullshit, try some of this beer, it’s really good.”

  “Shall we?” asked Jesus, looking to Mary in deference to his father.

  “What the hell, you’ve never been one to pass up a drink anyway,” said Mary.

  Sitting down with his father, Joseph took a wooden cup and drew a libation from the amphora. Handing it to Jesus, he said, “This is Gallic beer son, delicious indeed, a man could grow fond of this stuff very quickly.”

  Taking a sip, Jesus tasted the fermented nectar, raising an eyebrow at the pleasant flavor. He smiled and downed the brew, handing the cup back. “More,” he said, looking to his father with expectation.

  “It’s good isn’t it?” asked a smiling Joseph.

  “Incredible, we’ll have to buy some if we can.”

  “We should buy it all if there’s any left when we’re done,” Joseph replied, filling Jesus’ cup and another for himself.

  “Would you like to try some woman?” Jesus asked.

  “Sure,” the Magdalene replied, sitting down while Joseph grabbed a cup for his undead daughter-in-law, filled it and handed it to her.

  “It is good,” she said after taking a sip.

  “Smooth as silk with a kick like a mule,” Joseph replied as Brutus fell over in a heap, passed out. Mary looked to the unconscious figure and frowned. “So much for him, he’s not a seasoned drinker anyway,” he added, ignoring Brutus and taking another gulp of beer.

  The Magdalene walked over and rolled Brutus on his back, as he had lain snoring in the dust.

  “Why’d you do that?” Joseph asked.

  “I don’t like breathing dust, do you?”

  Jesus smiled, noting that some of his admonitions regarding humanity had been taken to heart by his consort.

  “Come to think of it no,” said Joseph, looking to the unconscious Brutus as Demosthenes walked up.

  “I suppose none of you are in any condition to conduct business,” the lad ventured.

  “On the contrary, I’d like to buy goats and ducks from you,” said Jesus.

  “I’m sorry sir, my uncle and your – ”

  “Yes, it’s a habit both acquired some time ago,” Jesus replied, rising from his seat.

  “You’re looking for animals?” asked Demosthenes, looking up to Jesus.

  “Yes, goats and ducks.”

  “We have eleven goats for sale and practically an entire flock of ducks.”

  “Good, two goats should suffice, and perhaps six ducks,” said Jesus as they headed to the animal cages.

  “You should buy at least a dozen if you don’t have ducks presently.”

  “Why?” asked Jesus.

  “Because a lot of them die for whatever reason, with a dozen it’s assured that you’ll be able to create a breeding stock for eggs. They're cheap too; ten sestertii per bird.”

  “At that price I’ll take a dozen.”

  Arriving at the animal cages, near other cages stocked with slaves, Jesus observed the little torch lit zoo, containing horses, ducks, mules, goats, and pigs.

  “Quite a selection you have,” said Jesus.

  “We purchase them from vendors along the way; do we have other animals that may interest you?”

  “No, we only need goats and ducks for now.”

  “How about slaves?” Demosthenes suggested, pointing to a wagon filled with Negroes from Nubia, other wagons containing chained Greeks, Germans, Jews, and one loaded with exotic Chinamen, imported from Cathay via the Silk Road.

  “No thanks. We’re fine on slaves presently, just two goats, one male, one female, and a dozen ducks, six of each sex. How much do you want for your goats anyway?”

  “12 denarii each,” Demosthenes answered, turning from the slave wagons, “Let’s see, two goats will be 24 denarii, and twelve ducks at ten sestertii each would be uh – “

  “120 sestertii, for a total of 28 denarii, five sestertii.”

  “You’re good with math sir, shall I have a slave bring the animals to your wagon?”

  “Yes, I’ll pay you when they deliver them,” Jesus replied.

  “It’s a deal,” said a smiling Demosthenes, putting out his hand in imitation of his uncle. Firmly shaking the lad’s hand, they headed to Callicles’ wagon, where Joseph was still getting drunk drinking beer. He had already arrived at drunkenness, but was determined to proceed further down the road of pleasant inebriation. Brutus was lying on the ground passed out, with Callicles blissfully snoring away on a cot.

  “I purchased more animals father,” said Jesus as he walked up.

  “What kind?”

  “Two goats and a dozen ducks for 28 denarii.”

  “Good price, did you ask about the beer?” Joseph asked, handing Jesus another cup.

  “No,” said Jesus, taking the cup and turning to the lad, “Say son, how much beer do you have available?”

  “Perhaps fifty amphorae, how much do you want to buy?”

  “All of it,” said Joseph.

  “What’s the price?” asked Jesus.

  “Eighteen denarii per amphora,” Demosthenes answered, figuring the price would be declined.

  “Your uncle said twelve earlier,” said Joseph, trying to focus on the lad.

  “Twelve’s what it cost him, we have to make a profit,” Demosthenes replied, looking to his unconscious uncle, wishing that he would rise up and explain that if they sold items for the same price that they bought them for, they wouldn’t be in business very long.

  “I see,” said Jesus, finishing his cup, “Make it fourteen denarii per amphora and we’ll buy it all.”

  “Seventeen and a half.”

  “No, fourteen and a half.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Fifteen, no higher, take or leave it,” Jesus replied, while his father looked to him with trepidation, thinking they may lose the wonderful Gallic beer.

  Demosthenes sighed, looking to his unconscious uncle.

  “He’s out cold,” said Jesus, “Really son, you’d better learn to vend like a professional, you’re going to own all this one day.”

  “But my uncle – ”

  “I think it’s best if you learn how to handle such things on your own.”

  The teenager pursed his lips tightly, looked again to his unconscious uncle, and replied, “Okay, it’s a deal.” He put out a hand to Jesus.

  “Good,” said Jesus, shaking his hand, “Have your slaves tally the amount available, my father and I will be here tomorrow evening to pick it up.”

  “Are you kidding, we’ll have to use our wagons. Fifty amphorae of beer takes up a lot of space.”

  “True, we also have meat and skins for your uncle, perhaps you can purchase them tomorrow after you drop off the beer.”

  “I just hope uncle Callicles doesn’t kill me first,” said Demosthenes, looking to the trader snoring away on the cot.

  “Why would he do that?” asked Joseph, putting down his cup, fearful that his wife would react with displeasure if he came home drunk for a second night in a row.

  “For selling you the beer too damn cheap,” Demosthenes replied, getting a cup for himself.

  “So, why do we need all that beer?” asked the Magdalene, interrupting the conversation.

  “For enjoyment?” asked Jesus.

  “Don’t we have plenty of wine in the cellar?”

  “Yes we do, but we don’t have plenty of beer.”

  “Really,” said Mary.

  A slave arrived, informing Demosthenes that the goods were delivered to Joseph’s wagon, twelve caged ducks and a pair of goats. Jesus handed the lad 29 denarii, five sestertii, with one denarius as a tip, he and Mary enjoying a few more brews with him during the next hour. Later, they bid farewell, gathered up his father and Brutus and headed home in the wagon. r />
  Approaching the entrance to the farm, a loud snapping sound came from the rear of the overloaded wagon, the right rear wheel jamming against the side of the wagon, dragging and cutting a rut in the dirt road as the horses attempted to pull it along.

  “Whoa animals,” Jesus shouted, pulling on the horse’s reins.

  “What the hell was that?” Joseph asked while Brutus leaned against him, snoring away.

  “Let me check,” said Jesus, handing Mary the reins. Stepping from the wagon and walking to the rear, he shooed a goat aside following on a tether. “We broke a suspension shackle father,” he observed, looking under the wagon.

  “Will you please hold this drunken slave?” an exasperated Joseph asked the Magdalene.

  “Sure,” she answered, Joseph moving Brutus next to her, stepping down to join his son.

  “What can we do?” asked Joseph, looking at the wheel jammed against the side of the wagon.

  “Put something between the axle and the floorboards, in place of the leather strap,” said Jesus, “That’ll get us home, you’ll have to tell Icarus to make another shackle for it tomorrow.”

  “What should we use?”

  “A log, let me look in the woods,” Jesus answered, heading into a stand of trees. Returning minutes later, he dropped a small log beside the wagon and looked underneath to check if the clearance was right.

  “How the hell are we going to get the log in place son?”

  “I’ll lift the wagon, you place it between the axle and floor,” said Jesus, moving to the rear.

  “You can lift this?” Joseph asked, looking to the heavily laden wagon.

  “Easily, any time you're ready dad.”

  Joseph nodded and picked up the log as Jesus raised half a ton of dead weight with one arm. He moved the log between the axle and floor, remarking, “Okay son, let her down easy.” Jesus relaxed his grip, setting the wagon down gently, the wheel free.

  “Let’s get this rig to the house,” said Jesus, the pair climbing into the seat and resuming the journey home. Pulling up to the house, they disembarked, Jesus helping a conscious but very drunk Brutus to the slave quarters while Joseph headed inside to greet his wife, accompanied by the Magdalene.

  “Good evening Julius,” said a yawning Ganymede, opening the door to the lamp lit room. Cyril looked up from a scroll and nodded as he noticed Jesus.

  “Good evening to all of you,” Jesus replied, sitting Brutus in a chair, “Where’s Icarus?”

  “He turned in early,” said Cyril, “He worked the forge almost all day.”

  “Will you please tell him when he wakes that we broke a shackle on the wagon and need it repaired as soon as possible?”

  “Shall do,” replied Cyril, “Will you and Maria be dropping by for conversation?”

  “Certainly, perhaps tomorrow evening,” Jesus answered, starting for the door, then correcting himself, “I’m sorry, Callicles is coming by tomorrow evening, so it’ll have to be the next evening.”

  “Very well, have a good night,” said Cyril, looking back to his scroll. Jesus, politely nodding, left the slaves, closing the door behind him.