Dark Resurrection by Frederick Preston - HTML preview

Chapter Nine: Parting for Rome

 

Callicles arrived in early September, nearly two weeks before Jesus expected him.

Spotting the caravan heading east one evening while flying overhead, Jesus and Mary returned from their depredations on local criminals. Assuming human form, they strolled to the porch from the shadows, where his father was drinking wine with Ganymede and Icarus.

“Good evening father,” said Jesus, walking up the stairs, the Magdalene nodding to Joseph and continuing into the house to visit Mary and Ruth.

“Good evening son, care for wine?”

“Certainly, and I have news, Callicles will be in town tomorrow.”

“Isn’t he a bit early?” asked Joseph, handing him a bottle.

“My thoughts exactly, but no matter, the granary’s half full, and since the fall harvest is coming in we should get rid of last year’s excess. Further, we have meat and hides to sell too,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink of wine.

“He comes to town to make money from us and we end up making money from him,” a smiling Joseph observed, handing his bottle to Icarus.

“Don’t worry,” said Jesus, raising his bottle, “He buys from many along the way, and the way we’re consuming his wine, I’m sure he’ll make at a thousand denarii from us on that alone.”

Joseph laughed and replied, “That’s the truth!”

Sitting down next to his father, Jesus said, “Perhaps Callicles would be interested in our other wares, for instance, the extra shoes and cloaks the women made during the summer.”

“They’re still making them,” said Ganymede.

“Really?”

“Electra surmised that you may wish to sell them and figured with nothing else to do at times, she and Penelope would put the extra leather to good use.”

“I want to reward them for that,” Jesus replied.

“Just being here seems to be reward enough for us,” declared a smiling Icarus, “Aside from planting and harvest time our duties are light, our quarters are spacious, warm and dry, we eat like kings, and you generally let us do whatever we want.”

“And all of you serve us well, thank you,” said Jesus.

“Our pleasure sir,” Icarus replied.

“How long do you think he’ll be in town son?” asked Joseph.

“A week or so, only in spring does he stay longer,” Jesus answered, looking to the rising moon.

“It’s getting late,” said a drunk Ganymede, leaning heavily on the porch rail, “I’ll have to be getting back.”

“So do I,” Icarus added, rising from his seat, “I have to run the forge all day tomorrow.”

“What are you making?” asked Jesus.

“A plow adapter for the horses you acquired a while back,” Icarus replied, heading down the stairs, “They’re so tall that the oxen adapter won’t work properly, it raises the blades too high.”

“That’s a good idea, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, Brutus suggested I do it.”

“Thank him for me,” Jesus called, the slaves heading unsteadily to the slave quarters. “So, how do you like this life dad?”

“It’s not bad,” said Joseph with a satisfied sigh.

“Not bad, you’re starting to sound like me.”

“No, you sound like me, after all, I’m your father.”

“I guess,” said Jesus, opening another bottle.

The caravan pulled into town in the late afternoon, Callicles strolling to Gavinal’s to get drunk while his slaves set up the caravansary. Not that he needed much help that day, he was already drunk when he arrived, and needed just that extra splash of fine Gallic wine to make him feel more like himself. Unsteadily heading to Gavinal’s compound, Callicles greeted the guard as he let him in, and proceeded to the prefect’s office.

“Friend Callicles!” Gavinal exclaimed, rising from his desk littered with paperwork and putting out his hand, the trader walking in through the open door.

“Greetings Gavinal,” replied Callicles, giving him a firm Roman handshake.

“You’re here early,” said Gavinal, reaching for wine.

“Stock was easy to obtain as the weather has been fine this summer. Would you believe the docks at Chrysopolis and Nicomedia are filled to overflowing?”

“Really,” replied Gavinal, pouring goblets, “I suppose prices on your items have fallen.”

“My yes, even finished goods are cheap this year, a bundle of terracotta roof tiles are only 15 denarii, a bag of lime whitewash is three, lime plaster is five, and glass windows of two types are 28 denarii a piece.”

“I’ll take six windows for my slave quarters, what do you have that’s new?”

“Lots of things, Gallic beer, tools made in Illyria, and little brown seeds for a type of root plant that taste hot on the tongue; I think they’re called radishes.”

“Gallic beer?” Gavinal asked, having forgotten the remainder of Callicles’ peroration.

“You’ll have to try some friend, it’s delicious and nearly as strong as Gallic wine,” Callicles said with a wide grin.

“Excellent,” replied Gavinal, putting away his loathsome paperwork for another day. Both enjoyed libations, the trader downing two bottles in a little over an hour and a half. At dusk, Jesus walked through the door with his father.

“If it isn’t Julius Chrysippus and son,” said a slurring Callicles.

“Greetings Julius the younger, how’s your family?” asked Gavinal.

“They’re quite well, thank you,” said Jesus.

“How’s the baby?” asked Callicles, turning to them.

“Julian’s fine,” Joseph replied, “Almost nine months old, and already trying to walk and speak.”

“He’s a precocious tyke,” said Gavinal, reaching for another bottle, “So, what brings you two here this fine evening, and would you like wine?”

“We certainly would, thank you kind Gavinal. We heard Callicles had arrived, and came from the caravansary when his nephew told us he was here,” Jesus answered.

“I’m letting Demo run more of the show lately, it gives him experience in the craft of trading, and gives me more time to relax and get drunk with folks like you,” Callicles slurred, Gavinal handing Jesus and Joseph goblets.

“Indeed,” said Jesus, looking to the red-faced trader, “We came by to see if you were interested in more grain, along with meat and hides.”

“Sure,” Callicles replied, “Good meat’s always hard to come by. As for grain, I’ll take some but prices are much lower this year due to bumper crops coming in all over this part of the empire.”

“I know,” Joseph observed, “There’s so much coming in we don’t know what to do with it.”

“I bought as much as I could for the garrison,” said Gavinal, looking to Joseph.

“So that’s why you don’t buy my grain anymore,” Callicles retorted with a sly grin, belching after he finished the sentence. He shook his head in an attempt to sober up a bit.

“Not that yours is of any less quality, they’re much closer,” said Gavinal.

“Of course, I don’t care,” replied Callicles, pouring another goblet and downing it quickly. “You have hides?” he added, looking to Jesus.

“Many, the slaves have been preparing them after our hunts,” said Jesus.

“Tanned?”

“Yes, nearly a hundred are ready.”

“I’m definitely interested in those, I’ll come by in a few days to have a look at them. Incidentally, do you folks need anything?”

“Several things, items for the house, tools, wine, you know, the usual,” Joseph replied.

“Good, we’ll fix you up tomorrow, I’d best return to my market. Demo’s bright, but he needs me to show him the finer points,” said Callicles, rising unsteadily from his chair. “I’ll see you later.” He headed through the open door, weaving as he went.

“Callicles drinks too damn much even by my standards,” said Joseph.

“And I’ll bet it’ll kill him one day,” Gavinal replied.

“His nephew’s headed in the same direction,” Jesus observed.

“It’s said his father Callicles the elder was the same way,” said Gavinal, “He died around twenty years ago, about ten years after Tibernum was founded. At the time it was only a garrison and was a long time before I arrived here.”

“His father was a drunk?” asked Joseph.

“Yes, heavy drinking seems to run in their family.”

“Does he have children?” asked Jesus.

“Not that I know of, but he has a wife somewhere in Greece, I guess he’ll leave the business to his nephew when he dies.”

“At least she’s a wealthy woman,” said Joseph.

“I reckon,” replied Gavinal, leaning back in his chair and looking to the open door. Jesus and his father spent several hours drinking wine and conversing with the prefect, over such subjects as meat and grain production, property taxes, women, wine and the emperor’s health.

“It’s amazing he’s still alive, the courier said he had another stroke a month ago,” Gavinal remarked, quite drunk.

“What have his physicians said?” asked Jesus.

“That it’s due to his age.”

“Young Caligula’s first in line for the throne?”

“It’s said so, rumor has it that he’s a very bright young man, and a good and fair administrator.”

“What the empire needs,” said Joseph, “A capable man who can fill Tiberius’ shoes.”

“Let’s hope so,” Gavinal answered, lifting his glass, “To Rome!”

“To Rome,” said Jesus, raising his glass and toasting the Eternal City with Gavinal and his father.

Leaving Gavinal’s near midnight, they headed to the farm, arriving an hour later. Explaining along the way that he and Mary were thinking about leaving before winter set in, Joseph replied, “I’d leave in the spring, you of all people know how cold it gets in Rome during the winter.”

“Yes, but cold weather doesn’t seem to bother Mary or I now.”

“Suit yourself,” said Joseph, stepping to the porch, the Magdalene relaxing in a chair.

“You don’t mind father?” 

Joseph turned and answered, “Look son, I can’t stop you from leaving, I never could when you were alive. It’s your nature to be a wanderer, vampire or not, and you evidently need this – to tour the world in search of truth, adventure, and now blood. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine with Ganymede and Brutus. I know how to handle the farm, so you may leave whenever you wish.”

“Thank you father.”

“For what?”

“For understanding.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget to take care of the problem in Rome,” Joseph retorted, slamming the door to the house and heading for bed.

“Yes father,” Jesus answered to the closed door.

“Hello Jesus,” said the Magdalene from her repose in the chair.

“Good evening Mary.”

“You took off before I woke up, where did you go?”

“To Gavinal’s, Callicles was there.”

“Does he want to buy the stuff?”

“Yes, but the price of grain is low, so we’ll have to make it up on the meat and hides.”

“Did you offer him the shoes and cloaks?”

“I forgot, Callicles was pretty drunk anyway,” said Jesus, taking a seat beside her.

“I suppose you got drunk too,” Mary replied.

“Not really, dad did, it takes a lot of wine to get me going nowadays.”

“True, have you eaten my love?”

“You’ve a lot of questions tonight don’t you?” asked a smiling Jesus, looking to Mary and breaking into a laugh.

“I was just wondering,” Mary replied, feeling a little hurt by the remark.

“No I haven’t eaten, let’s enjoy the night together,” said Jesus, rising from his seat and taking her hand in his.

“I imagine we’ll be staying close to home tonight,” Mary observed, walking from the farm.

“Not necessarily woman, let’s head to the west road.”

They transformed and flew in the direction of the highway to Nicomedia. Finding suitable fare proved easy that evening, the garbage of humanity appearing only a short time later in the center of the highway, only to be mercilessly slaughtered for their efforts by predators Jesus Christ and his beautiful consort Mary the Magdalene.

“These bastards barely had an aureus between them,” Jesus spat, finished looting the corpses lying on the stone paved highway.

“They had plenty of blood,” said Mary, making certain her lips were wiped clean with a cloth.

“They did at that,” Jesus replied, heaving the remains into a stand of cedar trees. One bounced off a tree trunk, tearing a leg off, hungry jackals almost immediately devouring the bodies. Dropping coins in a tunic pocket, they transformed and flew back, making their way to their room and falling into slumber.

* * *

Joseph awoke a little past seven, his wife occupied nursing Julian. Clearly having another hangover, he called for the slave girl Ruth, making his head pound even more.

“Yes Julius?” asked Ruth, coming from the kitchen.

“Bring a bottle of wine,” Joseph ordered, sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes.

“Would you like breakfast?” Ruth asked in a soft voice, realizing he had another hangover.

“Just the bottle,” Joseph replied, nauseated at the thought of food. Focusing on his wife, he smiled weakly and said, “Good morning woman, how’s the baby?

“He’s fine, how are you?”

“I’ve been better, but it’s nothing a good belt of wine won’t cure.”

“Here you are,” said Ruth, returning with an open bottle.

“Thanks,” a yawning Joseph answered as she returned to the kitchen. Looking to his wife, he added, “I have to head to Callicles’ at around noon.” He sighed and took a long drink from the bottle.

“To get drunk?”

“Hell no, it’s much too early for that, he has items at the caravansary I want to buy.”

“Oh yes, he’s the trader,” Mary replied, remembering who Callicles was.

“That’s right, I have to get rid of this hangover before I head there,” said Joseph, rising from the bed and putting the bottle down on a chest of drawers. Pulling out a drawer and retrieving a fresh tunic, he asked her while putting it on, “I want to buy spare windows and tools, is there anything you want?”

Mary smiled and answered, “I can’t think of a thing, we have everything thanks to you and Jesus.”

“Of course, if I see anything you might like I’ll pick it up,” said Joseph, slipping on shoes and heading for the door with the bottle. “I should be back near dark; I’m heading out to check on the farm.”

“Yes dear,” Mary replied as he shut the door.

Walking to the sunlit porch, Joseph finished the bottle and headed for the forge. Icarus was busy hammer welding a sickle, Ganymede running the Vulcan bellows. “Hi guys, where’s Brutus?” he asked, walking up.

“Probably at the stable,” Icarus replied, “Getting the wagon ready for you.”

“Thanks,” said Joseph, continuing to the stable.

Icarus was right, Brutus was in the stable, horses hitched to the wagon, he mounting the wagon when Joseph entered.

“Good morning Brutus,” said Joseph.

“Good morning to you Julius the elder, I didn’t expect you until eleven.”

“Why, I usually rise early,” replied Joseph, his headache lessening a bit.

“The trader’s in town, I assumed you got drunk with him last night,” said Brutus, sitting behind the reins.

“Yes, but we got drunk at Gavinal’s,” Joseph replied, climbing up beside him, “We were there till after midnight.”

“That’s why I didn’t expect you until eleven,” said a smiling Brutus. Pulling in front of the house, they stepped from the wagon. “I’m taking a horse from the stable to inspect the fields,” the slave remarked, tethering the horses near a water trough, “Do you want me to come with you to the trader?”

“Yes, we’ll head there about noon.”

“I have ideas about things we could purchase,” said Brutus.

“Such as?”

“We should buy another plow, a few more goats for cheese making, and perhaps some ducks.”

“I thought about extra goats, but ducks too?” Joseph asked, not questioning the need for more tools.

“Yes, for their eggs,” Brutus answered, “They have very good eggs.”

“I love eggs.”

“So do I, but remember Julius, most ducks are bred from wild stock, so you may have to break or cut their wings, I’d suggest cutting them as it does less damage.”

“You have to cut their wings?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll leave you do that if you don’t mind,” said Joseph, not at all familiar with duck husbandry.

“Sure, it’s actually trimming their feathers, but is called wing cutting.”

“I see, we’ll look into some when we get there,” said Joseph, turning to the porch as Brutus walked to the stable. Finally in the mood for breakfast, he headed to the kitchen. “Is there anything to eat around here?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

“I see you’re hungry now,” Ruth answered, placing a bowl of porridge in front of him, sweetened with dates and honey. “I figured you’d get hungry after you were up for a while so I took the liberty of making extra, your wife and child have already eaten.”

Joseph lifted a silver spoon beside the bowl. “Damn, this is good,” he said, wolfing down the porridge.

“Thank you master Julius,” Ruth replied, walking to his bedroom, still unable to refer to her master as Julius.

Joseph watched the girl enter the bedroom and close the door. Finishing his porridge, he remarked, “That old bastard Callicles was right about her, she’d make a fine piece of ass.” Rising from the table, he grabbed another bottle of wine and headed for the porch. It was still early, around nine-thirty, and with time to kill he sat down in a chair and opened it, enjoying the beautiful late summer morning. Sitting for about an hour, he had drained half when Brutus walked up, finished inspecting the fields.

“Are you ready to go Julius?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Joseph answered, holding out the bottle, “Want a belt before we leave?”

“Sure,” Brutus replied, taking the bottle and drinking deeply from it, passing it back to Joseph.

“Finish it, if I have any more I’ll end up drunk and it’s too early for that.”

Nodding, the slave emptied the bottle, walking over and untying the horses. Both climbed aboard the wagon and headed to the caravansary. Arriving at half past eleven, they walked up to Demosthenes, now sixteen years old and every inch a man, sporting a short beard.

“Greetings Demosthenes, where’s Callicles?” asked Joseph.

“Sleeping in his wagon, he got really loaded last night,” a smiling Demosthenes answered, looking to his uncle’s wagon.

“He left Gavinal’s early.”

“Yeah, but when he got here he drank Gallic beer till sunup with Kago and Aeschesles.”

“Oh,” said Joseph, again thinking Callicles drank too much, he being one to talk, considering the way he consumed wine.

“He’ll be along soon, he always rises before noon,” Demosthenes added, “So friend Julius, what can we do for you and yours today?”

“Tools and windows, goats and ducks,” Brutus replied for his master.

“We have all those things,” said Demosthenes, “With lower prices too, as suppliers in Nicomedia and Chrysopolis were all overstocked this year.”

“Let’s have a look at the tools,” Joseph replied, the trio heading to the tool wagons.

Passing Callicles’ wagon, they stopped as the door opened wide, a refreshed Callicles stepping from his ostentatious abode. “Friend Julius!” he exclaimed, walking to Joseph and grasping his hand firmly with both of his, while a subdued Demosthenes looked to his seemingly indestructible uncle.

“Good morning Callicles,” said Joseph, his hand hurting from the crushing grip, “How are you today?”

“Never been better,” Callicles answered, happily realizing the wonderful Gallic beer he had drunk all night long hadn’t given him a hangover and had every bit the kick of Gallic wine for less than half the price.

“They’re looking for tools, windows, goats and ducks,” said Demosthenes.

“Let’s get them taken care of Demo,” Callicles replied, motioning the group toward the tool wagons. “What sort of tools are you looking for this time?”

“Brutus is overseer, ask him.”

“Let’s see, we need another plow, Icarus needs a small square anvil for bending metal, and the women need awls and small hammers for leatherwork,” said Brutus.

“Anything else?” asked Callicles, taking out keys as they arrived.

“I could use some planes and perhaps a saw or two,” Joseph replied.

“We have plenty a few wagons down, first have a look at this,” said the trader, opening the door of a wagon, several examples of triple-bladed plows coming into view.

“How much?” asked Joseph, looking at the quality implements, complete with harnesses.

“Thirty denarii, made in Etruria province of the finest wrought iron,” said Callicles.

“Is that a good price?” Joseph asked of his slave.

“Very good,” Brutus answered.

“Sold,” said Joseph.

Buying other tools for farming and carpentry work during the next hour while Demosthenes tended to another customer, Joseph also bought a small anvil and another set of tongs for the forge. Coming to the fine tool wagon, Callicles opened it, showing Joseph and Brutus a set of awls, leather punches and a pair of small hammers, made in Illyria, complete with an oiled wooden case.

“Price?”

“Steep, seventy denarii, they’re imported from Illyria,” said Callicles.

“What do you think Brutus?”

“They’re made in Illyria, known across the empire for top quality tools,” Brutus answered, “The price is reasonable.”

“We’ll take them.”

“Excellent,” said Callicles, his mind again reminding him of alcohol, “I’ll have my slaves haul the items to your wagon. Would you like lunch and a drink?”

“Certainly, would you have some for Brutus?”

“Of course, we’ll all enjoy good food and drink.”

Heading to his personal wagon, Callicles ordered a slave to fetch food from a nearby grill mounted on a wagon. The aroma of cooking food issuing from the grill indeed smelled good, Joseph finding himself very hungry. Bringing a loaf of fresh bread from a small oven adjacent to the grill, the slave also brought a large polished copper platter filled with roasted vegetables, lean pork, a side of kid, and Callicles’ personal favorite, horsemeat tenderloin, sitting the food on a low table with dishes and cups.

“I’m starved,” said the trader, sitting on a stool and pulling off a chunk of well-done horsemeat, Joseph tearing loose a piece of pork and putting it on a plate, together with helpings of bread, carrots and onions.

“What are you going to have Brutus?” Joseph asked, seating himself on a stool.

“Horsemeat, and roast kid.”

“Help yourself slave,” Callicles mumbled, his mouth full, “The horsemeat’s from an old nag of mine that died yesterday.”

Joseph almost choked at the remark, one, finding horsemeat revolting, and two, the thought of an animal having died and scavenged for food was not appealing to his appetite. Not bothering Brutus in the least, the slave grabbed a chunk of horseflesh and another of kid, along with vegetables, sitting down on the ground.

Seeing the look on Joseph’s face, Callicles remarked, “I forgot, you Roman folks aren’t too keen on horsemeat, or any kind of meat for that matter, are you?”

“We’re Etrurians,” Joseph lied, “We eat meat, but not that of horses.”

“So that’s why you don’t have any in your smokehouse.”

“Not really, my son hasn’t come across horses during his hunts.”

Callicles nodded, his mouth full, asking in a mumble, “Would you like beer?”

“You have beer?”

“Gallic beer,” said Callicles, motioning to a slave.

“Yes master?” the slave asked, walking over.

“Bring the amphora of beer we were drinking last night if there’s any left in it, otherwise bring a fresh one.” The slave quickly returned with a large earthenware container filled one-quarter with beer.

“I haven’t drunk beer in years,” remarked a wistful Joseph, recalling a time many decades earlier when he had visited Egypt with his father Jacob and eldest brother Simon.

“You’ve never drunk beer like this,” said Callicles. He smiled and continued, “It’s not Egyptian, it’s a fine Gallic beer imported in wax-lined amphorae or barrels from the far north, near an island called Britannia; it tastes sort of like grog but isn’t as heavy. It doesn’t give you a hangover either, and at twelve denarii an amphora is definitely worth the price.”

“What the hell, I’ll try some,” Joseph replied while the slave opened the amphora.

“You should try some horsemeat too,” Brutus spoke up, like Callicles, his Thracian forebears having eaten horsemeat by the wagonload.

“Dip it in the amphora,” said Callicles, handing Joseph a wooden cup and tossing another to Brutus.

“Do you want me to have beer master?” Brutus asked, knowing it was against Roman law for slaves to consume alcoholic beverages, even though he and his fellow slaves often got drunk at the farm.

“Why shouldn’t you?” the trader asked, “I let my slaves drink, even wine when we run out of Egyptian beer.”

“But in Rome – ”

“Rome’s a thousand miles from here, enjoy yourself slave,” said Callicles, pulling a cup of beer from the amphora.

Dipping cups in the amphora, Joseph and Brutus drank deeply of the brew, enjoying the pleasant taste. “Truly the nectar of the gods,” Callicles declared, downing the beer in an instant.

“What gods are they?” asked Joseph.

“Any gods who drink beer I guess,” Callicles mumbled, his mouth again full of tasty horsemeat.

“That’s the truth,” said a chuckling Joseph, taking another gulp. Their lunch lasting into late afternoon, the climax came with an inebriated Joseph trying a bite of horsemeat tenderloin near two and finding it delicious.

“Shall we return to our shopping?” a drunk but responsible Brutus asked, Demosthenes walking by with other patrons, smiling to the group.

“Why bother, I’ll be here for a week,” said a slurring Callicles, staggering over and dipping his cup into a new amphora of beer.

“Well – ”

“Well what?” Callicles asked, “Isn’t getting drunk more fun than being a slave?”

“I’d think so,” said Joseph, breaking into laughter. Brutus looked to them, not knowing what to say.

“That’s the trouble with slaves, they’ve no sense of humor,” Callicles scoffed, leaning to one side of his stool and farting loudly.

“I’ll say,” Joseph replied, looking to Brutus, “Look here man, loosen up and enjoy yourself, why should we do today what we can put off till tomorrow?”

“If you say so master,” Brutus answered, taking another drink of beer.

“I insist,” said Joseph.

At dusk, while they continued in their unbridled drinking, Jesus walked up to the torch lit caravansary with Mary Magdalene. Callicles collapsed to the ground unconscious, attempting to remark to Joseph with a severe slur, “You know, Julius my friend, I think we should – ” Slaves quickly arrived to tend to the trader, carrying him to a cot near his personal wagon.

“Hello son,” Joseph slurred, looking to Jesus. Brutus smiled and nodded, unable to say anything from drinking too much beer.

“Hello dad,” said Jesus, hiding his dismay.

“Would you care for beer?”

“Perhaps later, first we have to make our purchases.”

“Callicles has passed out.”

“No matter, Demosthenes is available, what have you bought so far?”

“Tools, we still need to buy goats and ducks,” Joseph answered.

“Okay,” said Jesus, turning from his father.

“What’s the hurry, Callicles will be here for another week, sit down and have beer with me.”

“We must first – ”

“Bullshit, try some of this beer, it’s really good.”

“Shall we?” asked Jesus, looking to Mary in deference to his father.

“What the hell, you’ve never been one to pass up a drink anyway,” said Mary.

Sitting down with his father, Joseph took a wooden cup and drew a libation from the amphora. Handing it to Jesus, he said, “This is Gallic beer son, delicious indeed, a man could grow fond of this stuff ver