* * *
Over the next nights Jesus prepared for their journey to Europe, making sure the farm was in order, his parents safe, and the slaves happy and content in their surroundings. In addition, he made certain their hoard of loot was safely hidden from possible explorers, deep in their cave. Moving their treasure five hundred feet further back in the cavern, almost 6,000 aurei was stashed in neat piles down a shaft twenty feet deep, along with smaller piles of gems and jewelry.
“How much do you want to take with us?” Mary asked, standing in pitch darkness, Jesus dropping a handful of aurei into a leather pouch.
“I figure we’ll carry a couple hundred aurei, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case we don’t find anyone to rob along the way.”
“That’ll be the day, I’ll bet by the time we reach Rome we’ll have another thousand thanks to the jackasses lurking the roads,” Mary declared as Jesus leapt up the shaft, she following.
“Probably,” said Jesus after landing.
“So, what will we do with the money we steal along the way?”
“Maybe we’ll buy a vineyard in Etruria or Gaul, just for the hell of it,” Jesus replied as they headed to the mouth of the cave.
“I suppose,” said Mary, not realizing it was a game to Jesus, an immortal man who didn’t care about money at all and never did even when alive, his only real use for money being to help those in need.
Electra, hearing the news of their trip, dropped by with an amulet acquired in her travels, presenting it to Jesus and Mary. “I want you to have this Master Julius,” she said, looking to him. Bearing an image of two-faced Janus, god of beginnings and endings, Electra added, “This god is said to protect one during journeys and will assure your safe return.”
“Thank you Electra,” Jesus replied, taking the charm by its chain.
“To assure protection for both, please weave yours and your wife’s hair into the chain, then place it around your neck and never remove it,” Electra advised as a careless Jesus put it in a tunic pocket.
“I shall do so before we leave,” said Jesus.
Each slave made a point to drop by, all relating they would miss their friend and son of the master of the farm, Julius Chrysippus the younger.
“Why do you have to leave now Julius?” asked Brutus over a beer, “It’s getting near winter.”
“We’ll spend time in southern Greece till spring and head to our holdings in Gaul then,” lied Jesus.
“Delos, probably,” said Brutus.
“There and Lesbos.”
“The isle of Sappho.”
“Exactly,” Jesus answered, having perused the lyricism of Sappho during his travels, albeit in Latin. Spending their last evening in the kitchen talking with his parents and Cyril, Jesus handed his father a detailed parchment map revealing where their loot was stashed in the cave. Pitcher of beer on the table, Jesus and Mary conversed with them into the wee hours of the morning. Pouring a beer, he remarked near midnight, “I was thinking dad, during our absence perhaps Cyril should move into our bedroom.”
“I remember you saying that,” replied Joseph.
“Since he knows of our true natures I feel he’s more like family than anything else.”
“I agree,” said Joseph, looking to his wife, “What do you think?”
“It’s fine with me.”
“Good,” said Joseph, looking to the slave, “You’re welcome to their room Cyril, if you like, until they return.”
“What of the other slaves?” Cyril asked, sitting down his cup of herbal tea.
“What about them?” asked Jesus.
“They may feel slighted at my moving in with you,” the teacher answered, looking to Joseph.
“Nonsense,” said Joseph, “We’ll tell them you’re teaching me history, science and philosophy, and that I wish for you to reside here while you do.”
“My former master said the same thing,” Cyril replied.
“Then it’s settled,” said Jesus.
“Say, would you care to play a game of latrunculi with me to pass the time Julius?” Cyril asked, Joseph laughing out loud.
“No thanks,” Jesus replied, “I’ve only beaten you twice in fifteen games and will have to work on my strategy during our absence.”
“You and a friend of his named John are the only people who were ever able to beat him,” said Joseph with a touch of pride.
“He told me that the night we first played the game.”
“Then you beat him,” said Joseph, yawning.
“After three hours, and only by two or so moves. Julius is a very formidable player, once he learns to take more time planning crucial moves, I doubt I will be able to take him again.”
Jesus smiled at the declaration. “Have no fear good Cyril, while I’m traveling I shall further hone my skills at latrunculi and play you again when I return.”
“If I am still alive,” Cyril replied.
“Why shouldn’t you be?” asked Jesus.
“I am nearly seventy-one years old, and for a mortal of any age just a few years can be a very long time, but for a vampire, a year or even a dozen is but a moment.”
“You’re right,” said Jesus, looking to the elderly teacher, thinking what a waste it would be for him to die and reflecting how wise Cyril was, his knowing that the past few years had indeed passed very quickly for them, it seemingly only months to he and Mary.
His parents retiring near two, Cyril and the couple were left in the kitchen, passing the hours discussing politics, philosophy and finally, vampirism.
“It would be interesting if you could find a copy of Thucydides’ legend scroll in your travels, to compare it with the writings of Herodotus,” said Cyril, straining tealeaves from his cup and adding a spoonful of honey.
“I’ll look for it,” Jesus replied, pouring another beer, “Along with anything I may think of interest to you.”
“Thank you, when you return may we both know more about vampirism,” said a yawning Cyril, noticing from a far window that the sky was beginning to lighten.
“Indeed,” Jesus answered.
“Dawn is approaching,” Cyril observed, “I must head back once I finish this tea.”
“We have to turn in too, we need rest for the journey tomorrow night.”
“At what time are you leaving?”
“Just after sunset, I figure it would be best that way, no long good-byes and such.”
“True,” said Cyril, regret in his voice, taking a deep drink of tea.
“Is something wrong?” asked Mary, looking to him and placing her hand on his.
“Nothing really Maria, I have grown rather fond of you both,” Cyril answered, lips pressing tightly while looking at her hand.
“Parting is as bitter as gall, may our next meeting be as sweet as honey,” said Jesus, rising from the table as Cyril finished his tea and rose.
“If we should meet again.”
“We shall, I assure you,” Jesus replied. Walking to the door, the vampiric couple stopped at the threshold, noting from the lightening sky that dawn was arriving.
“Take care Cyril,” said a tearful Mary, giving the old man an embrace.
“And you take care dear Mary,” Cyril replied, returning the embrace, calling the Magdalene by her true name. Looking to Jesus, the teacher put out his hand, giving Jesus a firm Roman handshake. “I shall miss you friend Jesus of Nazareth.”
“And I you, friend Cyril of Athens,” said Jesus. The door closed, Cyril walking to the slave quarters, Jesus and consort moving to their darkened room and falling into slumber.
Awakening shortly before sunset, Jesus roused Mary, dressed, headed to the kitchen and poured a glass of fine Gallic wine.
Joseph walked to the kitchen and asked, “You’re taking off ton
ight?”
“Yes, I figured we’d say goodbye to you and mother, leaving via the west road,” Jesus replied, downing the wine.
“We’re going to miss you son.”
“I shall miss you and mother, but we must be moving on.”
“Of course,” said Joseph, “Be sure to say goodbye to your mother and Julian; I have to see Brutus about the hunting schedule.”
“Yes father,” replied Jesus, leaning back in his chair. Joseph headed through the doorway, closing the door, just as the Magdalene appeared from their room. “Hello woman, father said that we should say goodbye to mother and my brother before we leave.”
“Didn’t he want to say goodbye to me?” Mary asked, feeling hurt by Joseph’s absence.
“He doesn’t want us to leave, this is his way of dealing with the situation,” said Jesus, looking to the door, dropping his chair to the floor and rising.
“I see,” Mary replied, walking to Joseph and Mary’s bedroom with her consort. Julian, a very precocious child, blue-gray eyed like his father and Jesus, looked to his brother and said, ‘me’, in Latin, his mother smiling at her firstborn.
“I love you my little brother,” said Jesus, holding the baby and hugging him, handing him to his mother.
“Ma-ra,” said Julian, looking to his undead aunt, pointing a stubby finger at her, clumsily attempting to stand up on the bed for a hug from her. The Magdalene hugged the child and returned him to his mother, placing him at her breast. She smiled tearfully, thankful to whatever gods who were that she had her beloved Jesus, a good and wonderful man she had loved for so many years, also thankful that she, so denied of love in the past, had the love of his family and baby brother.
Bidding farewell to his mother and brother, they set out on their journey to Europe. The vampiric Christ was carrying a light leather satchel of appropriate clothing and money for the trip, both looking back in the direction of the farm occasionally while leaving Tibernum. For the traveler Jesus, it was just a brief parting from his latest residence, but for Mary Magdalene, Tibernum and the Chrysippus farm was the only true home she had ever known.
Near eight, Cyril knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Joseph called, sitting alone at the kitchen table drinking beer.
“Greetings Julius the Elder,” said Cyril, taking a seat.
“Good evening to you,” Joseph replied, “Are you moving in tonight?”
“No, not yet, there are items I must collect from the slave quarters; I just dropped by to visit.”
“My son and his wife have already left.”
“I surmised that, and figured since they were gone you could use the company.”
Joseph smiled and said, “Yes, I probably could, the place already seems empty without him.”
“He is a remarkable man.”
“That he is; I wonder if he’ll ever return,” said Joseph, looking to the door as if expecting Jesus to walk through any moment.
“He will,” Cyril answered, also looking to the door.
The End
Dark Resurrection Page 64
