* * *
Summer 34 CE arrived a few weeks later. The slaves had planted three fields of grain, with Joseph, rising at dawn, assisting every day, as every able hand was needed. Planting another field with vegetables, herbs and opium poppies, the sap of the latter used at the time for pain relief, they accomplished the task, working from dawn to dusk. While the men did the heavy work, Electra and Penelope cared for animals, wove cloth, mended clothes, tanned leather and tended other chores. Brutus, acting as overseer, reported to Joseph that although the planting was somewhat late in the season, a relatively bountiful harvest should arrive by late September or early October.
Jesus, true to his word, assisted Icarus and Ganymede with building the forge hearth, completing it over several evenings, the slaves watching him set the stone masonry. Mary continued in her pregnancy, tended to by Ruth and the Magdalene, along with Electra and Penelope, she treated almost as a queen by her slaves.
Joseph delivered the smoked meat to Gavinal, earning 60 denarii, and finished installing the windows. Brutus and Cyril, once the planting was completed, whitewashed the house, the latrine, the slave quarters, the smokehouse buildings, and Icarus’ forge, over several days. Cyril received his literature gifts, grateful for the works of poetry and philosophy. During early evenings, Jesus visited him, discussing the sciences and arts, the two becoming fast friends.
As summer wore on, life on the farm settled into mundane routine. The slaves continued working at tasks assigned to them, with Jesus’ pregnant mother usually sick in the mornings, though as time progressed the severity was lessening. Joseph and Jesus got drunk occasionally, sometimes in the kitchen playing latrunculi on the weekdays, sometimes with Gavinal on the weekends, or at other times at the forge talking and drinking with three of their male slaves.
In late July, Joseph provided funds and gave Icarus, Ganymede and Brutus permission to head to Antigone’s brothel, where they enjoyed themselves for several hours on a hot afternoon, finishing their lascivious revelry relaxing in the town bathhouse.
Cyril flatly stated that he wanted nothing to do with prostitutes, Joseph raising eyebrows, surprised at the reply from the stoic slave. Nor did the teacher ever drink wine, as he was a cerebral man, shunning many pleasures of the flesh. Proving he was still human, he and Electra had been close for many years, and when the need for physical contact arose, she had always been there for him.
Jesus and Mary continued in their predatory ways, killing people and animals by sucking their blood, filling the ravines or the smokehouse, depending on the victim, with the by-products of their depredations. They also continued to fill their pockets with loot taken from human victims. Having amassed another hundred aurei, in mid August they decided to take a vacation. Informing his parents that they were leaving for a few weeks, they flew south.
After several hours flight, they appeared in the vicinity of the decadent, blighted town of Mansahir, where Jesus had helped traders Euripides and Thales. They had considered Antioch before the trip as there were always plenty of victims, but the criminals there never seemed to have money, while those in Mansahir were almost always loaded.
In an unusual turn of events, the vampiric Christ was openly confrontational with his victims, he and Mary walking into taverns and gambling halls in the middle of the night, looking for criminals to feed on. More often than not, he found them, and after some fun, they gave them the fate they deserved. Cunning, Jesus rented a room in a different hotel, making certain they weren’t recognized, each evening heading out, looking for trouble along the dark and lonely roads. Easily finding suitable victims, by the tenth night they had slaughtered over twenty people and fattened their pockets with several hundred denarii.
Walking from their room shortly after sundown on a cool evening, Mary asked, “So, who’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Who knows, maybe thieves, rapists, or even simple troublemakers. We seem to have run out of highwaymen for the time being, and from what you’ve said they’re all the same to you anyway.”
“I was just wondering,” said Mary as they strolled into a tavern.
“What’ll you have citizen?” asked the Roman bartender, Jesus stepping up to the bar.
“Gallic wine, undiluted please.”
“Sorry, all we have is Egyptian beer or Anatolian grog.”
“Make it grog,” said Jesus, settling for the inferior drink.
“Anything for the lady?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Mary replied, having no taste for grog, looking about and sizing up other customers, noting two men, one very muscular, sitting in a corner at the far end of the tavern.
“Coming up,” answered the bartender, quickly returning with the drinks. “That’ll be four dupondii.”
“Have a denarius,” said Jesus, tossing a coin to the bar top, one of the men watching intently from the corner.
“I’ll have to make change.”
“Keep it and bring a couple more drinks when we need them.”
“Thank you sir!” the bartender exclaimed, leaving to tend to another patron.
“Look at that rich Roman and the good looking bitch he has with him,” a burly Anatolian thief named Darius growled, looking in the direction of Jesus.
“She’s wearing a stola, that woman is his wife,” a much smaller man named Paris observed.
“So what, they’re both as good as dead,” said Darius, not realizing how accurate his statement was.
“He’ll be easy pickings,” Paris agreed, ogling the Magdalene, more interested in her than any money they might have. With those words the thieves made their fateful decision – that before the night was out they would rob and murder the placid man sitting on the barstool, afterward raping his woman to death, waiting to strike after they left the tavern.
“It’s the clowns in the corner isn’t it?” Mary whispered, finishing her second beer, Jesus nursing a fourth cup of grog.
“Exactly. Tell you what, we’ll let them follow us out of town.”
“When?”
“May I finish my drink woman?” asked Jesus, annoyed at her impetuousness.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jesus replied, downing the grog. Leaving another denarius as a tip, they left the tavern, pretending not to notice that the Anatolian trash had left their table and were shadowing them.
“What do we do now?” Mary asked for the benefit of their pursuers.
“I imagine we should rent a room since I have all this money with me.”
“You’re laying it on too thick,” said Mary, concerned he might spook their prey.
“I am?”
“Let them come to us, they will.”
“I thought you were hungry.”
“I am, but even stupid thieves can see a trap like that.”
Walking further, just outside town they observed the thieves skirt past, running through low brush, seeing them by body heat.
“They’re going to try something soon,” said Jesus.
“No shit,” replied the Magdalene.
Appearing in front of them, the thieves blocked their path. “What are you doing out here?” asked Darius, ogling the Magdalene.
“Enjoying the night,” Jesus answered, eyeing the pair for weapons.
“You shouldn’t be walking around here with folks like us around,” said a smiling Paris.
“Yes I should, I’m a Roman citizen and can walk anywhere I want.”
“You’re also stupid if think you can do something like that,” said Darius, chuckling.
“Where are your daggers boys?” asked Mary.
“I don’t need weapons, I use my bare hands,” the muscular Darius growled, clenching his fists, “I’ll break your man in two and tear you a new asshole Roman bitch!”
“I’m not Roman, I’m Hebrew, half Benjaminite and half
Jew.”
“Pussy’s pussy,” said Paris, confused by Mary’s Roman appearance and unconcerned demeanor.
In disgust, Jesus pushed her aside and threw off his toga, looking down at Darius, remarking, “I’m sorry Mary, I’m tired of this. Come on thief, try me.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Darius, looking up to a man striking him as a taller and thinner than usual Roman, easy pickings for a man like himself. At 5’11” and 190 pounds, he was considered a tall and muscular man in those days.
“Go ahead, you and your friend, I’ll take you fair and square, no tricks,” Jesus declared, clad in a tunic, holding up his fists.
Darius, never intimidated by anyone, saw his words as a bluff challenge. He laughed heartily and replied, “Prepare to die!” He threw a fist at Jesus with all his might, punching him hard in the face, the vampiric Christ’s face flying to the right from the blow. Following through with a hard left, he struck him again, and then hit him with a hard right uppercut, an unfazed Jesus smiling at him afterward.
“That’s your best?” Jesus asked.
Darius stood dumbfounded, not understanding how his mighty hammer blows that had killed others hadn’t bothered this tall Roman at all.
“You fight like a woman does,” said Jesus.
“Kiss my ass!” Darius yelled, lunging for him, Jesus sidestepping the foolish thief. Falling to the ground, Darius rose, brushing dust from his clothes and glaring at him. His partner Paris, smelling defeat, turned and attempted to flee.
“Not so fast,” said the Magdalene, grabbing the small man by his tunic.
“Let me go,” pleaded Paris, looking her in the eyes.
“No, I want you to watch my husband flatten your friend,” Mary retorted, shaking her head.
“Hit me again, see if you can hurt me,” said Jesus, holding out his chin for another punch.
“I’ll kill you!” Darius screamed, hitting Jesus in the face with all his strength, breaking several bones in his hand as he connected, the Christ not moving this time, his face like a slab of granite.
“Not likely,” said Jesus, looking to his crippled assailant.
“What the hell are you?” asked a confused and frightened Darius, clutching his broken hand.
“I’m a vampire.”
Darius, terrified, continued to stare at him, his shattered hand starting to throb. Using his left, Jesus struck back, punching him so hard that his fist went through the man’s head as if it were butter, sending flesh, bone and brains flying everywhere. “Take that you son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, the nearly headless body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Shaking gore from his hand, he spat in disgust, “This is ridiculous, I have to remember that I’m stronger than these idiots.”
“You took his head off!” Mary exclaimed.
“Yes, and I see you’ve learned to entrance them quickly.”
“It just took time to learn how to do it, that’s all.”
“I understand,” Jesus replied, looking to the statuesque Paris. “So, what should we do with him?”
“The other one’s blood is running all over the ground,” said Mary, looking to the headless body, the blood sinking into the sand.
“Feed on him.”
Mary flew to the remains of Darius, gulping blood from the jugular as it was pumped from the torn arteries by the dying heart. Sated, she sat heavily on the ground, laying her head on the chest of the body.
“Mary,” called Jesus, no response forthcoming.
“Mary!”
“Yes?” asked the Magdalene, turning her face to him.
“It can’t be that good, I should know!”
“It is,” she answered, feeling dizzy.
“Never mind that,” said Jesus, “I think we should torture this little bastard like we did with Judas.”
“Forget that, kill him and get it over with.”
“He seems deserving of it, they wanted to rape you.”
“Who cares,” said Mary, relaxing and snuggling up to the cooling corpse.
“Goddamnit snap out of it woman!”
“What?” Mary asked, shook from her rapture.
“What do you want to do with this asshole?” Jesus asked, the terrified Paris standing helpless, unable to move.
“Kill him,” said Mary, remembering the last blissful moments, “Don’t waste time torturing him, it’ll give you a bad attitude like it did in Jerusalem.”
“But – ”
“No buts, finish him off,” said a sighing Mary, clumsily rising to her feet.
Knowing she was right, Jesus lifted the little man with one arm. “How do you like this you little bastard?” he asked, the entranced man unable to utter a word. Jesus plunged fangs into the neck, sucking the blood until Paris died, the lifeless body collapsing in a heap. Looking at his left hand, he wiped the remainder of Darius’ gore on the tunic of the little thief. He looted both, not finding much, but enough that it was worthwhile. Mary following him, he dumped the bodies a few hundred yards from the roadside. Pausing, he asked her, “What was the matter with you back there, you acted as if you were enthralled or something.”
“Sometimes taking them does that to me,” she answered, not realizing Darius had been high on hashish that he had eaten, his blood intoxicating.
“It’s never been that way for me.”
“Perhaps each of us react differently,” said Mary, looking to the bodies.
“Maybe.”
“You can be really violent can't you?” she asked, observing the mutilated corpse.
“That muscle bound bastard pissed me off, thinking he was so much,” said Jesus, folding arms across his chest.
“I’ll say,” Mary replied as they headed to the road to pick up his toga.
Having difficulty arranging it, Jesus asked, “Will you please help me with this thing?”
“You should use a pin or clasp to hold it on instead of these folds,” she answered while assisting him, still high on Darius’ blood.
“No Roman uses pins to hold on a toga,” said Jesus, getting the cumbersome garb in proper arrangement.
“I use pins on my stolas.”
“That’s because it’s customary for a woman to do so,” said Jesus, the couple starting back to town.
“If you ask me, togas are a pain in the ass. Why do you bother to wear one?”
“I don’t most times, you’re the one who suggested that I start wearing them,” Jesus replied as they headed through the gates of Mansahir.
“You could pin it from the inside, that way no one could see.”
“Good idea,” said Jesus, looking to her with approval. Returning to their room, he remarked, “We’ve been gone a good while, we should return to the farm to check on mother and dad.”
“Yes love, but before we take off I’d like to pick up a few things for the slave women first thing tomorrow evening, if you wouldn’t mind me doing so.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, perhaps some things you’ve said have rubbed off on me.”
“Really?”
“You’re still a good teacher, many things you say do make sense, especially after one thinks about it a while,” Mary answered, the hashish-laden hemoglobin clouding her thoughts.
“Meaning?”
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
“Oh yes, it’s much more pleasant when you treat people well, if they deserve it, instead of treating them like shit under your feet.”
“Well put, so I figure what you did for the male slaves, I would do for the women.”
“I understand,” said Jesus, surprised at her sudden altruism toward mortals, particularly lowly slaves. “It’s really because you don’t approve of slavery isn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” a yawning Mary replied, moving to the bed, ?
??I’d just like to pick up some items for Ruth, Penelope and Electra.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe fancy cloth like silk, and perhaps jewelry and cosmetics for them to use in their leisure time,” said Mary, her eyelids heavy.
“Sure,” replied Jesus, “I have no problem with that.”
A snore was the reply, he joining her in the bed.