Dark Resurrection

  * * *

  Joseph woke early; feeling mostly recovered almost a week and a half after their ordeal with the thieves. The wound was still a little tender but had healed over, and soon even the tenderness would disappear, leaving only a scar. Stepping out to greet the new day at a little after seven, he saw Ganymede was tending the animals, with Icarus busy firing up his forge. Centurion Caius Felix had sent a junior officer to the Chrysippus farm the day before, requesting an order of a dozen hardened spearheads and two sets of iron horseshoes for the garrison. Working with wrought iron stock purchased from Callicles, Icarus had begun shaping a pair of spearheads with a hammer. Electra and Penelope were about, tending chores, presently working by the smokehouse.

  Overseer Brutus reported to Joseph a short time later and said, “We have a problem Julius the elder, over by the meat storage shed.”

  “What problem?”

  “Under the eve at the rear of the shed is a hornet’s nest, papyrus wasps,” Brutus answered, “Electra discovered it this morning.”

  “That is a problem,” said Joseph.

  “Yes, smoke doesn’t work on them as with bees and they’ll attack at the slightest disturbance.”

  “What do you recommend we do?”

  “That we wait till sundown, carefully detach and drop the nest into a bucket of olive oil or water.”

  “Which is better?”

  “Olive oil, you submerge the nest in it and it kills the wasps.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, afterward you burn the nest, for it’s said more wasps can come from the papyrus,” Brutus replied, no one at the time truly understanding how insects reproduced.

  “I’ve heard that too.”

  “After the wasps are killed you can use the oil for lamp fuel, or strain it and use it for cooking.”

  “Have Ganymede place a barrel of oil at the rear of the shed, my son’s good at dealing with things like wasps and other vermin. He’ll assist you this evening, if you don’t mind helping him.”

  “Not at all sir, I’ve dealt with bees and wasps many times,” said Brutus, parting from Joseph to check on the crops.

  Five fields were cleared and planted. Thankfully, Joseph had recently signed a contract with Gavinal, stating that the garrison would be supplied exclusively with meat, grain and vegetables from the Chrysippus farm. Trader Callicles had also mentioned interest in grain, assuring that any surplus would find a buyer. Even then, if the farm ever reached full capacity, Joseph realized disposing of any further surplus would become a problem. As it was, the arable land was perhaps ten percent planted, and with the small amount of slaves he had, planting more would be impossible. Spending most of the day walking about the farm and talking with the slaves, Joseph decided to discuss the idea of expansion, if any was needed, with Jesus after sundown. At dusk the vampiric Christ opened eyes and rose in their darkened room, walking to the kitchen and pouring a goblet of wine.

  “Good evening son,” said Joseph, walking in from the porch, having heard his stirrings.

  “Good evening father,” Jesus replied with a respectful nod, pouring a goblet for him while he sat down.

  “I need to talk to you a little later about the farm’s production, and Brutus told me this morning that there’s a hornet’s nest on the back eve of the cured meat shed. Can you handle that?” Joseph asked, taking a deep drink from his goblet.

  “Easily,” Jesus answered, rising from the table, “I’ll do it immediately.”

  “No son, Brutus wants to help you, he should be by shortly,” said Joseph, sitting down the goblet and motioning for him to return to his seat.

  “All right, but I have to fence with Ganymede later, and there is a matter of some importance I wish to tell you of.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “Not really, but I believe you’ll find it interesting.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Later,” said Jesus, a knock coming on the door.

  “That’s him.”

  “Greetings Brutus,” said Jesus while opening the door, “My father told me of the wasps, would you care for wine before we deal with them?”

  “Certainly,” Brutus answered, taking a filled goblet and downing it quickly. Later, he and the slave, carrying torches, walked to the shed, Jesus noting the nest and oil barrel beneath.

  “We’re going to drown them in oil?” asked Jesus, carefully standing a ladder next to the nest.

  “It’s the best way.”

  “Right,” said Jesus, ascending the ladder.

  “Be careful Julius.”

  “No problem, just have the barrel ready,” Jesus replied, carefully snapping the nest from the eve, holding it motionless while he descended. He plunged the nest in the oil and held it down with a stick. Both watched angry wasps pour from the nest, only to be engulfed in oil, drowning in the thick liquid.

  “I’ve never seen anyone do that without getting stung at least once!” exclaimed Brutus.

  “It was nothing, I just have steady hands,” Jesus replied, leaving the nest to soak in the oil for a time.

  “I’ve always been stung whenever I did it, thanks for the help.”

  “Let’s burn it,” said Jesus, pulling the nest from the barrel and tossing it to the ground, Brutus lighting it with a torch. Wiping his oily hands on a rag, Jesus ordered, “Please have the women strain the oil tomorrow and have Ganymede return the barrel to the cellar.”

  “Right,” said Brutus as Jesus walked to the house with his torch, placing it in the fixture on the porch post. Ganymede had arrived, sitting in the kitchen drinking wine with his father and the Magdalene.

  “Did you deal with the hornets?” Joseph asked from his repose next to the hearth.

  “Yes, and I was thinking, we should set up an apiary, perhaps at the edge of the south woods.”

  “What’s that?” asked Joseph, unfamiliar with the terminology.

  “The husbandry of bees.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve heard of that, one keeps them in a hive for honey, correct?”

  “Exactly, I’ll ask Brutus if he’s familiar with beekeeping,” said Jesus, rubbing his stubbled chin.

  “He seems familiar with everything else, I’d imagine he knows about that too,” replied Joseph, grabbing a bottle, refilling he and Ganymede’s goblets.

  “Don’t drink too much wine Ganymede, or we won’t be able to fight tonight,” said Jesus.

  “Come on son, he’s only having a glass of wine.”

  Finishing his goblet, Ganymede walked from the house carrying his sword, followed by Jesus carrying his. Heading to the porch, Joseph and the Magdalene were joined by slaves Icarus and Brutus, who had come by to enjoy the mock battle.

  “Defend yourself,” said Jesus, coming for him this time while Ganymede raised his sword. Disarming him in seconds, Ganymede looked to Jesus and frowned.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get this,” he scoffed, pulling his sword from the earth.

  “Sure you will, raise your sword and come for me.”

  Ganymede did as told, concentrating. He made a very effective attack on Jesus, who easily defended himself, noting that practice was quickly improving the slave’s skills. Showing the slave some of his personal tricks, they practiced for nearly an hour, an exhausted Ganymede finally asking Jesus to relent.

  “Certainly Ganymede, your skills are already improving,” Jesus replied, while Joseph, Mary, Icarus and Brutus applauded both men. Walking to the kitchen, Jesus joined the others in a goblet of wine, the slaves retiring to their quarters near ten o’clock.

  Joseph was growing tired but still wanted to talk regarding the farm, Mary remarking, “It’s time to eat Jesus.”

  “Can I converse with my father first?”

  “Of course,” Mary replied, relaxing in a chair, “It’s not that I’m starving.”
r />   “That’ll be the day,” said Joseph while Jesus sat down.

  “So father, what do you need to discuss?”

  “It’s not that important, it’s just that we have such a huge piece of land and it’s a shame we can’t plant more of it. I was thinking about expanding the fields earlier today as a passing thought, but we already have so much with the five fields planted it’s ridiculous. We can barely sell what we have now.”

  “Exactly,” said Jesus, “Actually, the farm is producing much more than you may think, even from the fallow fields and woodlands, remember the meat Mary and I take.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Yes, and with the contract you signed with Gavinal we’ll have to employ the slaves to take meat while Mary and I are on vacation.”

  “I’ve already spoke to Brutus about that.”

  “He’s a hunter?”

  “Yes, so is Ganymede.”

  “Then we won’t have to worry about running low,” Jesus observed.

  Gavinal also spoke about hunting on his property.”

  “Yes, he had mentioned that some time before. You know, it’s too bad we don’t live on the Italian peninsula.”

  “Why?” asked Joseph, not following his son’s meanderings.

  “There the government pays farmers for not growing food, kind of funny really.”

  “They do?”

  “Yeah, go figure,” said Jesus, not understanding the concept of economic subsidies.

  “So, what did you want to speak to me about?” asked Joseph.

  “Well father, this may be kind of hard to explain.”

  “Oh brother,” said Mary, knowing exactly what Jesus needed to tell his father about – Cyril the teacher.

  “Just come out with it son, I’m used to all this.”

  “Velly, I mean very well father,” Jesus stammered while Mary giggled, “Cyril knows that Mary and I are vampires.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Joseph, “I thought hypnosis fooled them all.”

  “So did I, but Cyril’s a very rare type of person, he cannot be entranced.”

  “Really,” said Joseph, “That means those like him are immune to the powers of vampires.”

  “Exactly, but don’t worry, he’s no threat to us.”

  “So son, how did you deduce that?”

  “I asked him the same damn thing,” said Mary.

  “Cyril’s a good man and has revealed nothing to anyone save me,” Jesus replied, “He’s known of our natures since we bought him and only told me yesterday.”

  “Why did he do that, he should have kept his mouth shut,” Joseph retorted.

  “He is honest.”

  “Oh well, you seem to know what you’re doing regarding these things, so I’m not going to say anything further,” said Joseph, holding up hands.

  “Thank you, I wish for Cyril to visit us later to discuss it among ourselves, for he will eventually be teaching Julian.”

  “Not a bad idea, if he’s trustworthy,” replied Joseph.

  “He is, and he also has a scroll of Herodotus’ legends.”

  “He does?” asked Joseph, brightening for a moment.

  “It was in the literature that I purchased from Callicles.”

  “That should be interesting reading for you two,” said Joseph, his tiredness returning with a vengeance.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve read it, it holds no surprises for me.”

  “You would like to read it again wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably, and I was just thinking, how the hell did Cyril fool you and Mary, aren’t you supposed to be able to sense those things?”

  “That’s a good question,” said Jesus, his consort looking to him with a frown.

  His father retiring, they walked into the evening, staying close to home, satisfying their hunger with a pair of deer. A determined Jesus rose the next evening just after sundown, walking to the slave quarters while accompanied by Mary, looking to converse and obtain badly needed answers from Cyril.

  “Greetings Julius,” said Cyril, looking up from another of his ever-present scrolls.

  “Hello Cyril, my wife and I would like to talk with you this evening.”

  “Down by the river I suppose,” Cyril replied with a polite smile, rising from his seat, his back not bothering him on this evening.

  “Yes,” said Jesus.

  Walking from the slave quarters, Cyril observed, “It is going to be a beautiful night, look at the full moon rising.”

  “Indeed it is, perfect for hunting,” spat the Magdalene.

  “Please be civil to the man,” said Jesus as they approached the riverbank.

  “So what are you going to do Mary, suck my blood and throw me in the river?” asked Cyril, stopping and turning to her.

  “Jesus Christ, he even knows our real names!”

  “I told you that, what’s the problem?”

  “He is,” answered Mary, pointing to the Greek teacher with her thumb.

  “I assure you, I am not any kind of problem, madam,” said Cyril.

  “Famous last words,” Mary retorted, staring at him, fangs baring in her mouth.

  “Enough!” exclaimed Jesus, “We’re here to talk with this man, not argue with him.”

  “Why bother?”

  “Because I said so woman,” said Jesus, invoking his power as her master.

  “Shall we sit by the river?” Cyril asked, hoping sounds of moving water would ease the tension.

  “Why not,” replied the Magdalene, relenting as they seated themselves on a fallen log at the sandy riverbank.

  All were silent for a while, Cyril finally remarking, “So Julius, I imagine you told Maria of our conversation.”

  “My father too.”

  “I can imagine what Maria said, what did your father have to say?”

  “That he would defer to me regarding this situation.”

  “Good, what did Mistress Maria say?”

  “You don’t want to know,” said the Magdalene.

  “She said we should kill you,” Jesus replied.

  “I figured that,” said Cyril, looking to the night sky.

  “You think you have all the answers don’t you old man?” Mary asked.

  “No, I believe I can reason with you, to prove I am not a threat to anyone.”

  “He’s telling the truth woman, he’s known about us for over a year and has said nothing.”

  A defeated Magdalene sighed. “So Cyril, you know we are vampires and say that you will not betray us, may I ask you why?”

  “I have no reason to madam, why should I think of throwing away a pleasing existence on this farm that I enjoy?”

  “Because you are a slave.”

  “Some are slaves, others are masters, that is the way of the world.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why should it?”

  “It would bother me.”

  “Perhaps it would, but you are judging me by your own criterion.”

  “I see,” said the Magdalene, floored by his candid responses, “And it doesn’t bother you that we are vampires?

  “Not at all, I honestly do not care what you are, both of you have been truly kind to me and the others, much more than any slave owner I have encountered. I believe that I should return the favor, and genuinely like both of you.”

  “Oh,” said Mary, stopped cold, not expecting such a detailed set of answers.

  “Further, my job is to assist you and your family running this farm, and to educate Julian when he grows older.”

  “I suppose there are a few things you can teach us too,” said Mary.

  “Only that which I have learned from the scrolls of Herodotus and Thucydides.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, Jesus told me about that.”

  “Perhaps you should tell us of the scroll,” said Jesus.

  “It would be better if we had it with us, since we do not, I will give you an oral synopsis of what it contains, later we can peruse it together if you like,” Cyril replied.

  “Lead on old man,” said Mary.

  “Very well, legend has it that your kind are from a very old clan, from thousands upon thousands of years ago, moving about only at night, hailing from northwest of Macedonia.”

  “Where’s that?” the Magdalene asked.

  “North of Greece, a place called Dacia in Europe,” said Jesus.

  Cyril nodded. “Before the first Peloponnesian war began, it is said the Spartans were the first to attempt to destroy the vampires, with oak stakes driven through their hearts while they slept during the day.”

  “Why?” asked Jesus.

  Cyril paused and replied, “Because, unlike you dear Julius, most vampires are not so choosy, and will take almost any victim crossing their path.”

  “I told you,” said the Magdalene, Jesus staring off at the Euphrates.

  “Anyway,” continued Cyril, “The vampires took refuge in Athens under a truce with the ruling council under Pericles the statesman. Finding themselves safe from their enemies, Pericles and the vampires convinced the population to attack the city of Sparta over the protests of Socrates and others. In doing so, the Athenians were nearly destroyed in the Spartan counterattack, until the vampires helped save Athens from total destruction.”

  “They helped save them?” Jesus asked.

  “Yes, under Pericles, who died in a plague that ensued after the beginning of the second war. During the first war he helped the vampires to attack their enemies under cover of night, and they destroyed the Spartan army just south of Athens, leading to the thirty year peace.”

  “What happened afterward?” asked an intrigued Magdalene, despite herself.

  “Before Pericles died he sent the vampires from Athens, where they went marauding across the Aegean peninsula, always on the move, heading north toward their homeland of Dacia.”

  “Is that all?” asked Jesus.

  “No, Athens was ultimately defeated at the end of the second war by the Peloponnesian league about 435 years ago, but the city has survived unto the present.”

  “No Cyril, I mean is that all the scroll says about vampires?”

  “Heavens no Julius, the legend scroll of Herodotus is over nine cubits long, much is in there about vampires that I haven’t told you of.”

  “What happened to Athens after the war?” Mary asked.

  “After the first war, on the Acropolis the Athenians finished erecting the Parthenon, dedicated to goddess Athena Parthenos, or Minerva of the Romans.”

  “I’ve seen it, what does that have to do with the war?” asked Jesus.

  “If you will let me finish, on the north portico of the temple is a detailed frieze on the upper wall depicting Athens being saved, with the vampires attacking the Spartan army.”

  “I’ve never seen that,” said Jesus, wondering what the depiction looked like.

  “Why did they even bother to defend the Athenians?” asked the Magdalene, finding the story difficult to believe.

  “Because, evidently, there were vampires then who behaved like Julius does today,” Cyril observed, “Further, legend has it that any man who lives in Athens shall never be attacked by a vampire, in their remembrance of the Athenians.”

  “Are those vampires still around?” asked Mary.

  “One would think so as they are basically immortal creatures,” replied Cyril, “But vampires, according to Herodotus, are a rare breed, yet very powerful. It is said that only a group of fifty or so defeated the combined armies of the Athenian’s enemies.”

  “That means we may never meet another of our kind,” said Jesus.

  “Given enough time Julius, perhaps a hundred years, you probably will. It is also said you can instinctively recognize each other when you cross paths.”

  “Interesting,” said Jesus.

  “What about oak?” asked Mary.

  “It is said in Herodotus and Thucydides’ scrolls that vampires can be destroyed with an oak stake to the heart,” Cyril replied, “That is all there is in the treatises regarding oak.”

  “Then the scroll is incomplete, we’ve found that even being in close contact with anything made of oak can cause us harm,” said Mary, opening up to the teacher.

  “Indeed, please continue,” Cyril replied, looking to Mary, fascinated by the discussion.

  “Well, for example, Jesus stripped bark from oak logs for the tannery a while back and his hands inched terribly for days.”

  “Did they?” asked Cyril, raising eyebrows.

  “And unlike me, he can’t wear leather shoes tanned with oak bark without them making his feet red and itchy after only a few nights of wear.”

  “Is that so?” asked Cyril, ruminating on the subject.

  “Yes,” Mary answered, “I’m sure you saw his swollen hand after he punched through an oak beam a few weeks ago.”

  ”Yes I did. From what I have seen and heard from you, I believe that something invisible contained within oak can cause vampires harm. I find that very interesting, further, it also appears that there are degrees of sensitivity among your kind.”

  “We deduced that too,” Jesus replied, “Also, proving oak, and evidently only oak is harmful to us, I was stabbed in the heart in Jerusalem with a dagger and it didn’t bother me at all.”

  “Judas Iscariot, at the whorehouse,” said Mary.

  “I imagine that happened after you had become a vampire,” Cyril ventured.

  “Yes, I don’t think I’d be sitting here if it had happened when I was alive.”

  “You have a talent for understatements Julius the younger,” said a chuckling Cyril.

  “I’ve said that many times,” the Magdalene remarked, breaking into a relaxed smile.