Dark Resurrection

  * * *

  Passing through small towns over the next weeks, Jesus and family finally arrived at their destination, a verdant valley in northeastern Cappadocia, situated on the Upper Euphrates River. On an early evening just after dusk, Joseph drove the travelers into the outskirts of a Roman outpost town named Tibernum, for Jesus to check out the local surroundings and find if real estate was available. Intent on settling in the area, Jesus had donned his appropriated Roman toga, having been cleaned along the way at a watering hole used by generations of caravans, along with his stolen signet ring and leather shoes. His entourage had also acquired clothing, mannerisms and aliases more appropriate for those wishing to pass for Roman citizenry.

  Thinking ahead, Jesus had made a point during this time to teach his parents Classical Latin, so they too could converse in the common language of the Roman Empire. His father was already familiar with spoken aspects of the tongue, having forced himself to learn the reading and writing of Latin during their trek. Intent on fitting in with the populace, it was only a matter of time before Joseph would abandon Aramaic and Hebrew completely. His mother picked up the language quickly, a determined Joseph now speaking to his son only in Latin, asking the fluent Jesus to correct any defects in his pronunciation. After several months of total immersion, his father not only understood Latin well, but was speaking it idiomatically.

  Joseph pulled into town and parked the wagon in front of an inn on the main street. Jesus stepped from the rear and rented suitable lodging for the group, while the Magdalene saw that his parents were settled in for the evening. Later, Jesus headed to the garrison to inquire of the centurion if land was available in the area.

  Easily gaining admittance to the garrison by his plebian appearance, he walked to the centurion’s torch lit quarters, noting the eagle-topped Roman Standard at the entrance, ‘SPQR’ boldly emblazoned on it. Shaking off the chill gripping him at the sight of the standard, Jesus forced himself to continue into an atrium serving as an office for the commanding officer. Firmly shaking the centurion’s hand, Jesus introduced himself to him and his aide-de-camp.

  “Greetings, my name is Julius Chrysippus, a traveler migrating from Etruria. My family and I are looking for land to purchase for use as a farm, could you tell me if any is available locally?”

  “Yes indeed, my name’s Caius Felix, welcome to Tibernum,” the centurion answered, pleased to see more citizenry moving to the remote Cappadocian outpost. “You must have heard of this area while living in Rome, it’s being opened up by the government as a colony for people of the empire.”

  “I heard that land was available on the Upper Euphrates, this area looks good as any to me.”

  “It’s become quite popular among our wealthier citizenry, many people from the Italian and Greek peninsulas are migrating here,” the centurion observed with pride, the formerly lonely garrison of Tibernum having become a sort of boomtown during the past decade.

  “Really,” said Jesus, thinking wherever there were people and money, there were also plenty of criminals – bandits, thieves and their more organized brethren, highwaymen.

  “So, you’re a farmer?” Caius asked.

  “Not presently, my family made our fortune importing wine from Gaul, and my father has decided to try his hand at farming.”

  “The land here is very good, but you’ll need a strong team of slaves to prepare and work it, tall trees are everywhere,” said the centurion.

  “I suppose we’ll need to purchase a few,” Jesus replied, “So sir, whom do I see for such, and with regard to land?”

  “Our prefect Gavinal Septimus is in charge of real estate sales, you can see him this evening if you like. Slaves are not so easy to come by, but a Greek trader named Callicles passes through here with his caravan once every six months or so, usually in spring and fall.”

  “He deals in slaves?”

  “On occasion, Callicles of Athens and his procurators ply much of Cappadocia and surrounding provinces in search of commodities. He’s known to deal in practically everything.”

  “When’s he due in town?”

  “He should arrive within three months, but always stops by Gavinal’s first to get drunk with him.”

  “I’m rather fond of wine too,” said Jesus, Caius nodding in agreement.

  Jesus received directions to the prefect’s home, bid his farewells, and headed to a nearby two story marble mansion. A guard was posted at the entrance, which informed his superior of the presence of ‘Citizen Julius Chrysippus of Etruria’. The guard returned a few minutes later, let Jesus into the compound and led him to the prefect’s office.

  “So Julius, you’re looking for land?” a tired Gavinal remarked at the door, shaking his hand and raising an eyebrow at the smartly attired, toga-clad Jesus. Outside Rome and other major cities of the empire, the Republican toga was quickly becoming anachronistic, excepting for holidays and official functions.

  “Yes sir, the centurion said I could talk to you this evening, am I too late?” asked Jesus.

  “No, it’s just been a long day citizen,” said a yawning Gavinal as he headed to a gigantic oak desk, “Paperwork for the procurator in Antioch, payrolls and the like, please sit down.”

  Jesus sat down, Gavinal remarking as he took a chair at the desk, “So, you’re from Etruria, that’s interesting, you have a Greek cognomen.”

  “My great grandfather Cephalos Chrysippus was a wine merchant from Athens, and married a Roman woman from Etruria. The surname has been passed down from then to my family,” Jesus swiftly lied.

  “Small world isn’t it friend, Etruria’s my homeland too,” said Gavinal with a tired smile.

  “What part?” asked Jesus in a cunning defensive move.

  “Northern, by the lakes,” the fair complected, blue-eyed blond Gavinal answered, “I haven’t seen my home since I was assigned here by Tiberius eight years ago, so, what part of Etruria are you from?”

  “Volsinii,” Jesus lied, “About a day’s journey north of Rome.”

  “In southern Etruria, I could tell by your accent,” said Gavinal, not knowing Volsinii, mistaking it for the more southerly town of Vesuvii, much to Jesus’ relief. “Anyway, what sort of land are you looking for Julius, lots, homesteads, acreage?” he asked, reaching in a desk drawer for a list of available real estate.

  “Acreage, my father and I want to start a farm.”

  “You came to the right place, the centurion’s surveyors have staked off several tracts a few miles south of here, right on the Upper Euphrates, quite suitable for farming. With the way this area’s filling up, you’ll make a lot of money here.”

  “Excellent,” said Jesus, “One should never work without the idea of making a profit.”

  Gavinal acknowledged the statement with a nod while perusing land platte and official price list parchments. Jesus sat quietly, noting the opulence of the prefect’s office, furnished with glass windows, a recent invention of Roman craftsmen, and walls paneled in oiled Lebanese cedar. Fine Asian carpets lay on the polished marble floor, a large oil lamp was suspended from the ceiling, and a darkened winter fireplace was on the north wall, complete with logs sitting in an iron grate.

  “Due to the popularity of this area, prices have risen to high levels, there’s a note on this parchment reflecting that. Do you have a moneylender who will back you on a note?” Gavinal asked, staring at the price list.

  “Money’s no problem for me at all friend, what’s the price?”

  “Well, the largest tract is priced at 2,562,500 sestertii, payable to the procurator in Antioch,” Gavinal answered, reaching for an abacus to calculate the figure to a more manageable amount in silver denarii or gold aurei.

  “That would be uh, 25,625 denarii,” said Jesus, figuring the math mentally, “In gold it’s 1,025 aurei, I think.”

  “It is,” an impressed Gavinal replied, arriving
at the same amounts on the abacus moments later, “Don’t worry Julius, with tracts the size of these we’re open to reasonable offers.”

  “The area of the tract?” asked Jesus, not caring about the price in the least.

  “Hold on, the area’s listed here somewhere,” said Gavinal, leafing through the documents. Pausing, the prefect looked over a papyrus document. “The area is one thousand acres, eighty-four of them riverfront,” he finally answered, looking up from the paper, “Enough land for twenty farms. According to the addendum, most is arable, excepting for cliffs on the north end. A quarter is cleared and you can split it up for tenant farmers if you like. Property taxes are low too, roughly one percent of accessed value, in your case, they would amount to a little over 10 aurei a year.”

  “When are taxes due?”

  “In fall, just after harvest on the ides of October, if you buy the tract, you’ll only owe about eight months for this year.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Jesus, rising from his seat, “More than likely we’ll take it tomorrow evening, first I want to consult with my parents and my uh, wife.”

  “Don’t you want to have a look at it first?” asked Gavinal, covering his ass while pressing gently, so no one could say that he had misled Jesus. After all, caveat emptor might work in most places in the empire, but never when a town prefect was accused of malfeasance or dereliction of duty.

  “Yes I would, come to think of it,” Jesus answered as the prefect’s words dawned on him, he never having bought land before.

  “Good, I’ll draw you a map,” said Gavinal, taking out a fresh sheet of papyrus. Tracing the path for Jesus to follow, he added, “Head down the main street, continue about four miles south, turn left at the pond and look for a sign marked “Tract XXI.”

  “Thank you kind Gavinal,” Jesus replied, taking the rolled up map, “I’ll look at the land tomorrow, you should rest assured I shall buy it.”

  “That’s fine, if you decide to take the property, what form of payment will you be making?” Gavinal asked, placing a neat checkmark on the document next to Jesus’ choice.

  “Cash, in Roman gold and silver.”

  “Okay, Julius,” Gavinal remarked slowly, impressed by the forthright candor of the wealthy Jesus, “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Correct, in the evening after dusk, would you like a deposit on the land?” Jesus asked, reaching in a tunic pocket for money.

  “That’s not necessary till I draw up the contract,” said Gavinal, holding up hands, “When you return we’ll take care of it then.”

  “Very well,” Jesus replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” He again shook the prefect’s hand, let himself out and headed to the inn. Knocking on the door to his parent’s room, he was let in by his consort, she enjoying the evening conversing with his folks. “I’ve located a thousand acre farm for only 1,025 aurei!” he exclaimed as he entered.

  His mother looked up, her jaw agape at the amount of money Jesus was so casually referring to.

  “Only 1,025 aurei,” said Joseph, “I don’t think I’ve made 1,025 denarii in my entire life, let alone 1,025 aurei.”

  “I have, though I haven’t counted it recently. I figure we’ve amassed at least two thousand aurei in various valuables, not to mention all the silver we’ve been lugging around.”

  Joseph smiled and replied, “I never thought I’d hit the jackpot, it’s as if this is a dream.”

  “It’s no dream dad, it’s reality; though you may have doubted it in the past, I’ve always wanted to make you and mother proud of me.”

  “It’s a miracle these things have happened,” his mother declared in very passable Latin.

  “I don’t believe in miracles anymore mother, I simply put it in my mind to make them.”

  “I told you he’s a genius,” said Mary, looking to her Jesus.

  Planning his next move, Jesus said, “Tomorrow evening I wish all of you to accompany me to prefect Gavinal’s residence. He’s the real estate manager for the area and will be selling us the property. Incidentally, I told him we’re wealthy wine merchants migrating from Gaul via our homeland of Etruria, hailing from the town of Volsinii.”

  “Telling more lies?” asked Joseph.

  “Why not,” said Jesus, “None of them know we’re lying, and as far as anyone knows, we’re Romans.”

  “Yeah, screw the bastards,” Joseph agreed as Jesus raised an eyebrow, a dark thought crossing his mind regarding Roman citizenship and its attendant responsibilities. I’ll have to take care of that problem when I return to Rome in a few years, entrancement should work, he thought.

  His parents settled in for the evening while Jesus and Mary ‘went out for dinner’ so to speak, assuming chiropteric form in the shadows. Hunting was good that night, Jesus correct in his observation that wherever people and money were, opportunistic thieves followed. Predictably, about ten miles south of town lurked a pair of bandits, dispatched in the usual way by the vampiric couple.

  Looting and dumping the victims in a wooded ravine, Jesus asked, “Would you like to have a look at the property, it’s only a few miles up the road.”

  “Sure,” Mary answered, “I think it’s a great idea to buy a farm for your folks, they’re nice people.”

  “It’s also for us Mary. We could use a base of operation instead of wandering about all the time. Further, with the amount of loot we’re gathering from our victims we’ll need a permanent place to keep it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” the Magdalene replied, “It’s a good idea, we’ll have a place to return should we run into trouble, along with easily available money.”

  It was in fact a very good idea, for the purchase of this property was only the beginning of Jesus’ underground empire, which would last for millennia, he and his relatives controlling this small plot of land in northeastern Turkey even unto the 21st century. They walked along the dark road for a time, coming across a crude sign nailed to a tree, marked with Roman numerals ‘XXI’. A path had been cleared next to the sign, Jesus and consort walking onto the property. Scouting about, they headed to the north end, marked by 100-foot high cliffs, Jesus noting the solid sandstone promontory contained several useful caves, perfect for containing loot.

  “This is the northernmost part of the tract,” said Jesus, folding arms across his chest, “What do you think woman?”

  “It’s huge; I like it, and we may as well buy it.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Let’s head to the inn and I’ll tell my folks we’re going to take it.”

  “Okay,” said Mary, staring at him in awe, Jesus looking to the sky at the North Star.

  They knocked on his parent’s door, his father letting them in.

  “We looked at the parcel father,” said Jesus.

  “And?” asked Joseph, pressing for information.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Mary.

  “I want to buy the land tomorrow evening if you both agree.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Joseph replied, “I’m tired of traveling anyway.”

  His mother raised hands and shrugged, allowing Joseph to speak for her.

  “Well, I guess that’s settled,” said the Magdalene.

  “Have you uh, eaten son?” asked Joseph.

  “Yes father, thank you for asking. We found a pair of bandits lurking outside town.”

  His father nodded. “Would you care to stay over for wine and latrunculi?”

  “Certainly,” said Jesus, his father getting out the board and a bottle.

  Sitting at the table, Jesus beat his father six times in a row, Joseph glowering at the game board. Becoming content with simply getting drunk, a resigned Joseph put away the board and its pieces, the pair conversing about life’s vicissitudes and drinking strong wine all night long, while Mary and his mother talked and watched a replay of the night
in Antioch.

  Toward sunup, a drunken Jesus staggered to his room with the Magdalene and collapsed into bed, snoring loudly as he hit the sheets.

  “He’ll never change,” said a smiling Magdalene, joining him in bed.