Apollonius (The Oldest Living Vampire Saga)

by Joseph Duncan

  She sees me as a boy, not as a man, he thought, and regretted jumping off the roof. He had been showing off… as a boy would do.

  “Cirio!” Julia hissed, and stamped her foot a little.

  The slave blinked at Apollonius, staring a moment longer, and then raced to the terrace. He vanished into the villa.

  “So…” Apollonius said. “Uh, how do you like Pompeii so far?”

  “So it’s to be small talk?” Julia asked, raising her eyebrows. “After sneaking into my home in the middle of the night? Risking my father’s wrath? Putting my reputation in jeopardy?”

  “Um, I… I can…” Apollonius stammered, gesturing toward the roof.

  “No, stay,” Julia relented. She looped her arm in his and led him to one of the benches. She sat and pulled him down beside her. “In truth, I hate Pompeii. I detest it, even more than I had expected to. It is dirty and hot and corrupt. The people are crude and always on the make. I have no friends, and my father will not allow me out of the house without a full escort. The entire city stinks of fish sauce, and the earth trembles constantly-- perhaps with the weight of its vices! The walls seem stitched together with campaign slogans and vile graffiti. It’s all so ugly and provincial. So, no, I do not like Pompeii. I wish we had stayed in Rome. The only thing that has made it bearable is meeting you.”

  “Really?” he grinned.

  “Well, you and your father.”

  His shoulders fell. “Oh.”

  Cirio raced outside, a diaphanous blue scarf trailing behind him. He gave her the shawl, which she draped around her shoulders, then dashed back into the villa. He returned a moment later with a tray. On it, a silver pitcher and two goblets. He set the tray on the ground beside them and filled their cups. The cups, Apollonius saw, bore a scene of King Lycurgus entangled in grape vines. On the pitcher, Dionysus gestured angrily.

  “According to legend,” Apollonius said, “King Lycurgus, insensible with wine, tried to rape his own mother. When he discovered what he had done, he attempted to cut down all the grapevines in his kingdom, believing the wine to be bad. Dionysus drove him mad as punishment, causing him to kill his wife and his son, and then threw him to the panthers on Mount Rhodope.”

  “Such a bloodthirsty tale,” Julia said. “Men are violent creatures, of course, but you’d expect the gods to be a little more refined.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  Julia sipped and gestured for him to drink as well. Apollonius brought the goblet to his lips and mimed drinking.

  “Good wine,” he sighed, smacking his lips together.

  “A little too sweet, but it will suffice. Thank you, Cirio. You may go to your chambers. We’re done working in the garden tonight.”

  The slave frowned, looking from his mistress to her nocturnal caller with slitted eyes.

  “Go on,” Julia said. “And don’t you dare rouse my father! Or any of the other servants!”

  The boy visibly gulped, and then very reluctantly withdrew from the peristyle. He glanced back once, pleadingly, as he passed between the columns of the terrace, and then faded into the darkness.

  “So… back to our conversation,” Julia said, turning to Apollonius. “More small talk?”

  “What would you have me speak of instead?” Apollonius asked.

  “I was hoping you had come to declare your undying love for me,” Julia smiled. “That is normally what women expect when a handsome young man comes crawling over the walls to see her in the middle of the night.”

  “And if I did, how would you respond?”

  Julia laughed. “I don’t know! Hike up this dirty tunica and run to my bedroom, perhaps!” She realized how saucy that sounded, which was not her intention, and laughed even louder, her cheeks turning red. “Wait! That didn’t come out right!”

  “Too late!” Apollonius cried, laughing with her. “The cat is out of the bag!”

  “I meant so that I could change out of these filthy clothes!”

  “I think you said exactly what you meant.”

  “Perhaps. And if my father caught us, he’d have you crucified at Herculaneum Gate.”

  “I suspect he would not be too wrathful. He and my father joke-- very unconvincingly, I might add-- of marrying us off together.”

  Wiping her cheeks, Julia said, “Yes. I’ve heard them. My father is very lonely. I think he believes grandchildren would fill the void in his life left by my mother and brothers. He devoted his life to the Senate, never had time for his family, much less hobbies-- or even a mistress -- and now he finds himself quite at a loss at what to do with himself. He’s even talked of running for public office here. I’m trying to discourage such thoughts.”

  “Why did he retire?” Apollonius asked. “He does not look so old.”

  “My mother, I suppose. She was Rome to my father, and Rome was her. When she fell, and Rome did not fall with her, he found he could not bear to stay there anymore. He wanted to return here, to Pompeii, where he enjoyed a very happy childhood. He had a large, wealthy family. Lots of friends. They are all gone now, moved to bigger and better things, or claimed by Pluto, but I fear he views this city through the lens of his boyhood memories, not as it stands, a city of hucksters and corrupt politicians. The people here are so greedy and unkind. He paid three times what this villa is worth, and the cost of the repairs--! But he does not see these things. He sees himself a happy boy, racing through her avenues, having one grand adventure after another. I would be amused if I were not so miserable here.”

  “So let’s get married! I’ll move you back to Rome and then we’ll—!”

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t do that to my father!”

  “Then have some adventures of your own! Here, in Pompeii!”

  She leaned toward him, and the smell of her breath was intoxicating, her eyes just inches away from his, their noses nearly touching. “What kind of adventures?” she purred.

  “Anything,” he whispered fiercely. “Anything you desire!”

  “Right now all I desire is you!”

  Her seized her then, grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to him. She cried out a little at his strength, but his lips smothered her cry, then stole her breath away. She melted into him as he kissed her, his lips and tongue moving over her mouth, her cheek, her throat. She shivered all over as his teeth scraped across the sensitive flesh of her neck. If she noted the coldness of his touch, she gave no sign of it. Perhaps she thought him cold because he was nervous.

  Desire pulsed through his veins like molten steel, and his heart, long stilled by his master’s curse, stirred unexpectedly to life. It thumped a couple times within his breast. He felt it against the cold iron bars of his ribs, pounding like a fist.

  “I must have you,” he hissed. “Please, Julia, let me make love to you!”

  “No, not here! Not like this!” she said, pushing him away.

  “Yes!”

  “Paulo, please!” she cried. “I cannot say no to you again! I haven’t the strength!”

  He released her and she fell away from him, her breasts heaving. Her hair had come loose and hung in her face.

  “Come to me tomorrow night,” she said, rising shakily from the bench. “Come, and we’ll talk and kiss some more, but if you love me, take me as your wife, in our marriage bed, not like this, not like some harlot in the dirt.”

  He rose with her. “I would never—!”

  “Come to me,” she pled, and then she raced away.

  For a moment he stood rooted to the spot, frustrated, desperate to follow her, and then he turned away. Her small brush fire was still crackling, orange and red sparks swirling into the sky. Apollonius found a bucket and put it out, then trudged away toward the portico. He did not dare to leap from the courtyard. Julia might be watching from some dark alcove. He left as a mortal man would leave, and shut the door firmly behind him.

  He stepped out into the street. The moon was a shriveled rind, glowing feebly. A drunk was staggering home on the other side of
the avenue, mumbling to himself. A few buildings down, two thieves peeked at the man from an alley. Eyes narrowing, Apollonius started toward them.

  “Let them go,” his master said softly behind him, and Apollonius jumped.

  “Father!”

  “You have already fed tonight. Save those two for later.”

  “But that drunk--! What if they rob him? What if they kill him?”

  “We’ll see him safely home. Come.”

  The magician traversed the street, stepping lightly on the crossing blocks. He slapped the fellow on the back. “My old friend! It’s been too long! Let me walk you home tonight!”

  Apollonius trailed after the two. The drunk’s speech was unintelligible, but the magician conversed with him as if he understood every word. The thieves followed for another block or two, then lost their nerve and vanished into the shadows. Apollonius had caught their scent, though. He memorized the smell, and promised them a visit.

  Some other night...!

  The drunk lived in a surprisingly large and richly appointed villa, not far from their own home. Gon and the boy saw him inside, where he passed out in the peristyle. His porter, a short stout Gaul, thanked them for escorting the man home, then kneeled to lift his master and put the man to bed. They let themselves out and continued with their stroll.

  “You cannot have her,” the magician said.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I love her.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Can you not give her the blood? Make her one of us?”

  “Of course I can. But do you really want that for her? What does she want? She is devoted to her father. She wants nothing but to marry and produce a great brood of grandchildren for him to play with.”

  “We can tell her what we are. Offer the blood to her.”

  “And what if we do? What if she is horrified by the proposal? By you? Most mortals have an instinctive hatred for our kind. They hate us as they hate the wolf and the snake and the spider. We are predators, and they are our prey. You are a wolf in love with a lamb.”

  “Take this curse away, then! I did not know what I was asking for!”

  “You know that I cannot. I have already told you. It cannot be undone.”

  Apollonius turned from his maker, started rapidly away.

  “Paulo!”

  “Leave me be,” the boy answered bleakly. “I want to be alone. I’ll be home before daybreak.”

  The magician stood and watched the boy recede down the street.

  Apollonius walked south, toward the bay, until he reached a crossroad, and then he looked all around and leapt to the rooftops.

  He ran lightly across the roofs of Pompeii, headed toward the marina. The wind was blowing from the sea, but it did little to temper the humid atmosphere that had enshrouded the city. The air was hot and moist and clinging. It smelled of dead fish and the effluvia of the mortals who toiled within its walls. He had to mind his step, for many of the citizens of Pompeii had fled the heat of the homes to sleep outside upon their roofs. Twice he came upon a sleeping family and had to leap over them, hoping his passage did not disturb them.

  He came down from the rooftops as he neared the southern wall, turned right at the ruins of the Temple of Fortuna Augusta and then left at the Temple of Apollo. There, at the end of the Via Marina, right next to the Marina Gate, stood the Temple of Venus.

  The Temple of Venus had been destroyed twice in years previous, both times by earthquakes, and was in the process of being restored again. The great marble and basalt construction was swathed in scaffolding, its yard littered with slabs of stone that had yet to be fitted. Guards had been posted to protect the building supplies from thieves, but Apollonius eluded them easily enough. He barely even paused to think on it. Just slipped through the dark behind them, staying low, moving a bit quicker than the mortal eye can follow.

  He moved soundless up the broad front steps, a shadow among shadows in the colonnaded entrance.

  Why did he come here? He didn’t believe in gods. Hadn’t since he was a child. He had prayed to the gods more times than he could count. He had prayed for his family to be returned to him, to be delivered from his oppressors. From Laevinus. From Domitianus. From the perverse Soranus. Prayed as they beat him. Prayed as they raped him. He had prayed for their deaths. Even prayed for his death. No god had deigned to intervene then, and he was certain the gods would not intervene tonight, but he couldn’t help the childish thought, Maybe, this time… Maybe, for love…

  In front of the statue of Venus, he got down on his knees.

  Please, beautiful Venus, merciful Venus, goddess of love… I have given up my humanity… I have sacrificed my life for fear of dying… but if you lift this curse from me, if you make me a mortal man again, I will be a living testament to your grace, in your honor, I promise… I promise…

  He was not sure how long he kneeled there, praying to the goddess. He implored her for a miracle, head down, hands clasped together, and for one shining moment, he imagined he felt mortal warmth spreading through his body. He imagined his heart had sprung to life and was galloping in his chest. But it was only his imagination. A moment of desperate zeal. He was as cold and still and empty as he had been when he entered the temple.

  He rose, regarded the statue with contempt.

  “You are not real,” he spat. “None of you are real! Strike me down if you are real! Remove me from your temple if you have any power at all! I dare you! I command you!”

  He waited a moment, then laughed.

  “We are our own gods,” he said, nodding to himself. “We are alone in this world, and our fate is what we make of it.”

  He spat at the base of the statue and strode from the Temple of Venus.

  Litterarum

  “Germanis!”

  The magician woke as his steward knocked on the door of his private chambers. Though there were no windows in his bedroom, he knew immediately that it was still day. He could sense the light and heat of the midday sun pressing down on the roof like a physical weight. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Old Fulvius would not disturb him if it were not an urgent matter.

  He slipped into a tunic and went to the door. Unlocked it. Yanked it open. The light in the corridor stabbed into his eyes and he grimaced. “Yes?” he said, shading his sensitive eyes with his hand.

  The old man stood hunched in the corridor, his crenelated face quivering with anxiety. “Cornelius Varus is demanding to see you. He is quite upset!”

  “Cornelius?” the magician frowned. “What is he angry about?” The old man flapped his lips, eyes bulging, and the magician waved his hand to calm the elderly servant. “Tell him I’ll be right there. Offer him some refreshment while I get dressed. Where is he waiting?”

  “He’s in the peristyle, pacing like a caged animal. Please, hurry! I have never seen the senator so angry.” The ancient steward shuffled toward the courtyard.

  The magician closed the door. In the soothing dark, he found his toga and sandals and dressed quickly. Pushing his hair behind his shoulders, he braced himself for the pain and went outside to greet his neighbor.

  He detoured through the kitchen on his way to the courtyard to get a napkin. The noonday sun would make his eyes tear—the unnatural black tears of a striga. There’d be no explaining that! Herminia stared at him with bright curiosity, but he ignored the nosy cook. Let her stew in her own juices, the magician thought. The gossip would make its way to the kitchen soon enough.

  “Cornelius,” he hailed the man as he stepped out into the courtyard. He put a welcoming smile on his face despite the thumping agony in his head. The sun was a furnace in the heavens, his eyes two hot coals.

  “Where is your son?” the retired senator demanded. The statesman was furious, face red and gleaming with sweat, veins bulging in his neck and temples. Fulvius stood beside the man, trying to pour wine into a swaying cup without spilling.

  “Paulo?” the magician s
aid, smile faltering. “In his bed, I presume. You know our eyes are sensitive to the sun. It’s quite painful for us to move about in the daytime.” As if to prove his words, the magician daubed his eyes with his napkin. Already they were red-rimmed and swollen. He folded the napkin around black smears of immortal blood.

  Concern tamped down his guest’s smoldering anger. The senator gestured toward the portico, looking contrite. “Apologies. Let us talk inside, where you will not be so uncomfortable.”

  “Thank you,” the magician said.

  As he escorted the senator into the shade of the terrace, trailed by Fulvius and his jittering wine jar, Gon said, “Now, will you tell me what’s gotten you so upset, Cornelius? If I have done something to offend you…””

  “Then you do not know?”

  “Know what?”

  The senator sighed. “I must apologize again, I see. My years in the Senate have made me paranoid. I imagine conspiracy where there is only ignorance.” They sat and the senator took a piece of papyrus from the pocket of his tunic. “Here, read this.”

  Gon unfolded the sheet of paper. “Oh, for Jupiter’s sake!” he exclaimed.

  The papyrus read:

  Father,

  I hope that you feel I have been a devoted daughter, and know that I have never sought to hurt you or bring shame to our family. I pray then that you will indulge me in this, a singular act of romantic folly. I have run away to marry Paulo. I love him, as he loves me, with a passion I feared I would never experience in this lifetime. My heart calls, and I have given it chase, hopefully, helplessly. Be not afraid. We will return soon, as husband and wife, and, I hope, to your understanding and forgiveness.

  Yours always,

  Julia

  Gon folded the papyrus and handed it back to the senator. “I… don’t know what to say. He was here just last night, when I retired to my bed. I had no idea they were planning such a thing.”