Friday, July 12, 2013


The place covered more than thirty thousand square feet. I'd never seen anything even remotely like it in Iberia. Rose marble floors. 'Greek' stuccoed walls. Minoan style murals. Furniture by Fratelli Aeilli (the best in Rome). Fine, Egyptian cotton draperies billowed out across the terrace. Specially rendered candles bathed each room in a pale pink ivory glow. But they were hidden in little recessed channels up near the crown molding, thus the illumination seemed to emanate from the very ether. Oh, and the best part was the cooling system. Cold, fresh water from deep underground springs ran through little pipes embedded under the floors. Imagine, the Romans banished sweat. And I was to be enslaved by these people. 

They dressed me as Hermes. I suppose the gold dust (more like a chalky paste) would have killed a mere mortal, but I seemed immune. Vampires are quite beyond most Earthly poisons. The Dalmation was some sort of sea creature. I don't know how they got the iridescent green color. And the Ethiopian sailor was an Egyptian king. 

We marched out after dinner. If I had a sesterce for every honeyed dormouse those bastards swallowed, I'd be one very wealthy life-eater, indeed. Well... wealthier than I am. Vampire slave bodyguards occupy an unusual position. We are not free to change allegiance. Once 'claimed' by a clan, we stay with that clan. And if the line peters out a special imperial office oversees our transfer to another family. Yet we are treated like 
valued relations and spoiled with costly gifts. Many have villas in their own right, usually hard by the digs of their benefactors, but sumptuous villas just the same. I originally expected rougher treatment, but I was wrong. The gossip of the slave pens and all that.

Now the bidding was done silently.... a gesture here... a nod there. The Dalmatian went first. Some wealthy matron wanted to see him 'in action,' so they dragged in an understandably reluctant kitchen drudge (mustn't waste the good stuff) and he downed her in twelve seconds. One bite... clean and neat. The matron was impressed and he was gone. They clapped when the kitchen drudge ignited into the cold, blue flame and disappeared. Romans love special effects like that.

The Ethiopian sailor went to a client king from somewhere in Anatolia, apparently very well off from a state monopoly of the wool trade. Gets it from the shores of The Black Sea. Very good stuff. Where the Golden Fleece came from.

And then it was my turn. Yet I watched it all unfold with cold dispatch. They made me feed too. I had three, one junior footman and two I don't know what they were.  Man, did they 'ooh' and 'aah' over me. I'm a very theatrical feeder, don't you know. Some say I could be on the stage.

But that is all I can share with you now, for I am bored. So farewell til next time. The dice tables of Herculaneum await...Well, a rebuild simulation of the original. Vesuvius took care of that. And I plan to 'take care' of a juicy, quay-side strumpet. 

Maybe two.....
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