Apollonius (The Oldest Living Vampire Saga)

by Joseph Duncan

  “You choose because you know you have a choice,” his master responded. “You choose to follow the good in you because I took you in, I nurtured you, showed you the nobler path. Not all men know they have a choice. Some have never been shown kindness. Most are simply products of their society, their cruel behavior supported by the culture in which they are reared. Do you think you’d be so kind if I had never killed your master? Imagine your life if I had never come across the man. If I did not choose to feed on him and his appalling associates.”

  “I would be dead by now, surely,” Apollonius said softly, looking away. “I planned to assassinate Domitianus that night. Regardless of whether I’d failed or succeeded, Laevinus would have had me crucified.”

  “And your final act would have been a violent one.”

  “Justified.”

  “Justified, yes, but violent nonetheless.”

  “So what is your solution? Tell me your philosophy concerning these things.”

  “My philosophy is a simple one. When a dog goes mad, you kill it. You dispatch the cur as quickly and as mercifully as possible, but you rid the world of the beast. You do not torment it. You do not mutilate it and leave it squirming in agony, as I did to Junius Sissero. I have disgraced myself.”

  Apollonius went and sat beside his master. He took the magician’s white hand and held it in his own. “We are only human, Gon,” he said. “Even you.”

  His master smiled and nodded. “Yes. Even I.”

  Varus

  Apollonius’s transformation disrupted the routine of House Vulso, but not terribly so. The sudden changes to his appearance and sleeping habits were attributed to the malady from which his father also suffered. Their brief absence from the villa, when Gon took the boy to Vesuvius and gave him the living blood, was explained to be an urgent visit to a renowned physician in Stabiae. Gon had rushed Paulo there, he said, when the lad fell ill at a brothel. “It seems the boy has inherited my infirmities after all,” he said remorsefully to Herminia. By evening, his words had been conveyed to the rest of the staff.

  The servants were saddened by Apollonius’s “illness”, and doted on the boy to cheer him, especially Herminia, who had developed a mother’s affection for the young man. She constantly plied the lad with food. The cook equated health with a good appetite, and often cried, when she noted how little he was eating, “You are going to shrivel away to nothing, just like your father!”

  The magician trained Apollonius in the art of concealing his true nature from mortals. The most difficult trick for the boy to master was the ingestion of mortal food. The magician could consume quite a lot of it before his stomach revolted. It was, he said, simply a matter of controlling the muscles of the throat and sphincter, but Apollonius found it difficult and painful. Most of the time, he slipped his food to the dogs while miming the act of eating and drinking. Anything more than a few nibbles of mortal food caused him to vomit convulsively.

  His tutors and trainers rescheduled to come in the evenings. A couple of them complained of the inconvenience, but an increase in their wages soothed their ruffled feathers, and the one who could not be soothed was easy enough to replace with an instructor who did not mind working after sunset.

  Apollonius found his new life quite satisfying. He rose with his master at dusk, took a quick meal in the magician’s private sitting room, which he fed stealthily to the dogs, then studied and took his weapons training. After his master had concluded any business he might have for the day, they ranged out to hunt the evildoer.

  Their nightly feeding was an opportunity to hone his powers. He took great delight in his newfound strength and speed, and his master was an excellent teacher. The magician was very old, and very skilled in the application of their physical and mental gifts. He taught Apollonius how to move without being seen, how to cling to walls, how to kill without a sound, and, most importantly, how to heal the injuries of their victims after they were dead. It was done with a drop of the living blood, smeared or spat upon the wounds, the same way his maker had healed him the night he made him an immortal.

  “Our presence in Pompeii must never be suspected,” his master told him, explaining why they must heal their victim’s bite wounds. “Mortals have a tendency to hunt down and destroy our kind when they discover a blood drinker in their midst. Even if the blood drinker is an Eternal and can’t be so easily destroyed, he or she would be forced to move away and assume a new identity, which is always a great inconvenience.

  “We will have to do it eventually,” his master sighed. “It is a ritual all blood drinkers must observe. In ten years, maybe twenty, our mortal friends will begin to notice that we do not age. They will begin to suspect we are not albinos, and to wonder what we truly are.”

  “Why must we conceal our true nature at all?” Apollonius asked. “Why not just reveal ourselves to the mortal world?”

  “Mankind must never know that we exist,” his master answered. “No man wishes to die, and if they knew we keep the secret of eternal life, they would pursue us without rest. They would hunt us down and take the living blood from us. Not from us specifically, perhaps, but not all striga are as powerful as you and I. Imagine the masters of this world with all your gifts, Apollonius. Imagine men like Domitianus and Laevinus with your strength and long life-- and your appetite for blood.”

  Apollonius considered it, and shuddered.

  “It must never be revealed,” he said.

  As his maker had said they would, his appetite for food and sex passed away when he was made a blood drinker, replaced by his need for, and the physical gratification of, drinking mortal blood. Of the two, he decided he missed sex the most, which surprised him. He had never felt completely at ease with his sexual needs. The scars on his psyche, inflicted by Domitianus and his kith, were just too numerous, but he had grown quite fond of the prostitutes in the House of Psyche, and they of him and his coin.

  His master instructed him in that regard as well.

  “You may still copulate as a living man can do,” he said. “There is some small physical pleasure in the act for us, but it is dangerous for your mortal partners. You will be tempted to feed from them. Sorely tempted. And you must never allow yourself to climax within them. The fluid that issues from your organ now is a tiny portion of the living blood, not the pearlescent seed that strikes the spark of life. This dark seed can quicken in your partner, make them an immortal. It is rare, but it has happened. I have seen it for myself. Even worse, if your partner is with child, the unborn child can be transformed—which is certain death for the mother.”

  “What about other immortals?” Apollonius asked. “Can we safely couple with them?”

  “It is perfectly safe, of course. In fact, it can be quite… stimulating.”

  The way Gon grinned made the boy very curious. He wanted to know how many other immortals there were in the world, where they lived and to what customs and philosophies they might ascribe. He wanted to meet them.

  His master assured him they were a very rare race, but he knew of a small clan that lived in the city of Baiae-- right here on the Bay of Naples! Like most predators, his master said, the striga tended to be territorial creatures. They often staked claim to a city and drove out or destroyed all of their competitors. The striga of Baiae were on friendly terms with the magician, however. He would invite them to Pompeii, if Apollonius would like to meet them. At the boy’s insistence, he dispatched an invitation that evening, the first day of Augustus.

  It was during this time, as they waited for the striga of Baiae to reply to the magician’s missive, that Cornelius Varus purchased the abandoned villa next to theirs.

  It was a bit of a surprise to the Vulso household. The adjacent estate had sat empty for almost two decades. It had been heavily damaged seventeen years previous, during the famed earth tremor that nearly shook the city apart. The family who owned it had fled to Rome, never to return, as many of the citizens of Pompeii had done following the devastating earthquake.
His master had always considered buying the villa and knocking down the wall that separated the two properties, expanding Villa Eyya onto its grounds, but he had never gotten around to it. Now the opportunity was gone.

  They learned of the acquisition from Herminia, who had (as usual) heard it from a fellow cook at the market. She passed it on to the master of the house while delivering their supper in Gon’s private sitting room. Normally she let one of the other servants deliver the master’s food, but she wanted to share the news. When Herminia brought them their dinner, they knew their meal would be seasoned with some gossip.

  “That is interesting,” the magician said, chewing on a morsel of blackened fish. “I didn’t believe anyone would ever buy that property!”

  Apollonius pretended to pet one of the dogs, passing a piece of asparagus to the animal surreptitiously. They’d eat anything-- vegetables, fruit… their own feces.

  When Apollonius’s master asked if she knew anything about the man, the cook nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes! His name is Cornelius Varus. He’s a Roman. A senator. He was born here in Pompeii, though. I heard he’s come back to retire.”

  “A senator,” Apollonius said, eyes narrowing.

  The magician looked sideways at him, eyebrow arched.

  The next day, Apollonius was roused by the sounds of construction. Sawing. Hammering. Cursing. He rolled over in bed, looking groggily to the window. Sunlight pierced the seams of the shutters, stinging his eyes. Too early to rise. He laid back and slipped into a dreamless slumber, waking by instinct when the sun had passed from the sky.

  Curious, he rose, dressed quickly, and walked out to the street. Light still lingered in the sky, thin clouds ruddy and glowing. It was enough to sting his eyes, but not enough to make them bleed. There was still a lot of activity in the avenue, people passing to and fro, customers going in and out his adopted father’s shops. To his right, in front of the neighboring property, a number of men were unloading a wagon. He could tell by their dress that most of them were slaves. They were carrying construction supplies into the unoccupied building. Boards and tiles and buckets of lime and sand. The lime and sand would be mixed with water to make stucco.

  He went inside to tell the magician what he had seen, but his master already knew. His sleep had been similarly disturbed that afternoon, only the boy’s master had arisen and went out to meet the new owner, who had been overseeing the renovations at the time.

  “He is a pleasant enough fellow for a politician,” the magician said. “Well-mannered and friendly.”

  “But a senator,” Apollonius said.

  “Every man should be judged on his own merits,” his master said, to which the boy had no rebuttal. “You do not throw out the whole bushel because of a few bad apples.”

  He was right, of course. He was nearly always right.

  Later that night, after everyone had retired, Apollonius slipped outside to the great courtyard. He made sure none of the servants were watching, then leapt to the roof.

  He crept up the sloped red tiles and peered into the neighboring property. The peristyle of the adjacent villa was almost perfectly aligned with their own, although it was not quite as large. It was also wildly overgrown. Nearly all the plants had shriveled and died from the terrible heat wave the city had been experiencing. The fountains were crumbling. The pool was dried and cracked. A single slave boy swept leaves from the steps leading into the villa. Apollonius supposed the lad had been left behind to clean up after the construction workers, and to guard his master’s belongings.

  As if sensing Apollonius’s gaze, the slave glanced quickly up. Too quickly for Apollonius to duck out of sight.

  Apollonius smiled and waved.

  The slave boy waved back.

  The movement of the slave boy’s arm disturbed the air, brought faint perfume to his nose. Apollonius inhaled it, trying to identify the fragrance. Though his senses were greatly amplified, he was not yet able to identify all that he could smell. It was a woman’s perfume, he knew, lovely subtle fragrance, and the smell of the flesh that had worn it lovelier still.

  So Cornelius was married, or had a daughter.

  Apollonius turned and dropped back down into his master’s courtyard, disturbing one of the peacocks, which fluttered indignantly away.

  The workers returned the following day, and for a week following that, disturbing his rest. Every night, Apollonius climbed to the roof and peered down into the neighbor’s property, impressed by the speed at which the repairs were progressing. He would have liked to hop down and explore the building further, but there were artisans working even at night now, painting, repairing the frescos in the walls and floors of the building. Varus must be a very rich man, the boy thought. The cost of so many laborers had to be outrageous!

  The end of the week brought a visit from the man himself. Apollonius rose at dusk to find the magician and the senator having a drink in the large atrium. Gon introduced him.

  “Ah, I see you’re up! Senator, this is my son, Paulo. Paulo, this is Senator Varus.”

  The retired senator waved a hand at the magician’s formality. “Please, just call me Cornelius. Ave, young Paulo. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Apollonius bowed, his stomach knotting with hatred. He saw that his adopted father was watching him closely, so he put a pleasant expression on his face and said, as civilly as possible, “Servus, Cornelius Varus. It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

  Cornelius smiled amiably, a handsome, heavyset fellow with gray hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes. “I was just apologizing to your father about the noise my workers are making. He told me that you are albinos, that you sleep during much of the day due to a sensitivity to sunlight. The racket must be driving you insane.”

  “In truth, it is only slightly louder than the ordinary traffic of Pompeii,” Apollonius said. “It is a busy street. There is always a good deal of noise.”

  Cornelius nodded. “Still, I apologize. It shouldn’t continue much longer. The repairs have gone much quicker than I had hoped. In fact, my daughter and I plan to take up residence in the next day or so, just as soon as we can get the water running. We begin moving in our furniture tomorrow, I think.”

  “Daughter?” Apollonius asked.

  “Yes. Her name is Julia. Sweet girl, but a bit headstrong. In fact, she’s about your age, Paulo.” The senator turned to Gon, grinning mischievously. “Perhaps we should play matchmaker! I’m desperate to find her a good husband. The girl is frustratingly obstinate! How rich did you say you were?”

  The magician laughed.

  Apollonius shifted awkwardly on his feet, looking from one man to the other.

  Cornelius noted the lad’s discomfort and said, “Oh, don’t be alarmed, young Paulo. I was only having a bit of fun with you and your father. I won’t try to shackle you to my daughter. To be honest, I am grateful to have her with me. I’m afraid I’d go mad of loneliness if she should get married and move very far away. She is all I have left in the world. Although, now that I think of it, perhaps some grandchildren would keep me occupied in my dotage.”

  He stroked his flabby chin thoughtfully.

  Gon confessed later that night, after they had fed, that he had enjoyed the Roman’s visit immensely. They were crouched on a rooftop down near the marina gate, the smell of the sea, and the fish sauce factory nearby, hanging pungently in the air. “He was a quick, dry wit. I found him to be quite entertaining. I urge you not to harm the man.”

  “Harm the man?” Apollonius said. “Why would I harm the man?”

  “I’m well acquainted with your prejudice toward aristocrats,” the magician said. “Especially Roman aristocrats.”

  “Do you believe me so foolish?” Apollonius snapped. “My real father once told me, ‘Never shit where you eat, Apollonius.’ Of course, he was never very good at taking his own advice. Still, it would be the height of folly to feed upon our next door neighbor, don’t you think?”

  The magician seemed hurt by the bo
y’s reference to his “real” father, and Apollonius regretted his choice of words, but he was hurt as well—by the man’s lack of faith in his intelligence.

  “I am sorry, Apollonius,” the magician said, looking away across the bay, where a lone sailing vessel bisected the glittering reflection of the moon. “I did not mean to insult you.”

  “I am sorry, too,” Apollonius said. “Only, tell me why you like this senator so much. I’ve yet to come across one that wouldn’t fuck you one way or another—literally or metaphorically.”

  “He is a fair-minded and jovial fellow,” his master replied. “Not at all like most of the patricians I have come across here in the empire. He campaigned to reform many of the slave laws during his time as a senator in Rome. Did I tell you that? He is the grandson of a libertini.”

  “And yet he has no qualms about owning slaves himself,” Apollonius remarked.

  The magician shrugged. “That is the culture here, like it or not. He did seem quite fascinated that I’ve freed all of my servants. He said he might be inclined to do the same if he wasn’t afraid they’d desert him.”

  Apollonius snorted derisively. “That should tell you something.”

  He spat upon his victim’s ragged neck, watched as the living blood knit the jagged edges of the wound back together, then pushed the bloodless cadaver over the edge of the roof.

  It landed with a soft thud in the alley below, and the two blood drinkers made their way back home.

  “Perhaps you are right,” the magician said, skipping across the tiled roofs. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  “I invited him to supper tomorrow evening. I’d like you to join us.” He grinned back at Apollonius then, his eyes twinkling in the dark. “He’s bringing his daughter!”

  Apollonius groaned.

  Julia

  Tragedy seemed to stalk Cornelius Varus. Wife dead. Two sons killed during an uprising in Judea. All he had left was his youngest child Julia. Despite himself, Apollonius couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for the Roman. Even worse, he found himself warming to the man. He was, as the magician had said, a jovial and fair-minded fellow. Witty. Intelligent. Honest. Why he had decided upon a political career, and how he had managed to get himself elected to public office, Apollonius could not imagine.