short-story

False Light

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The Pantheon was quiet this time of year. The sun stayed high in the sky, the moon hung low in the east, and the wind brought rain down from the mountains. The harvest times and cold weather brought feast days and funerals, which meant more offerings and gifts for her and her undead patrons.

Named for the darkest time of night, Madrugada was vampire who fancied herself an entrepreneuse. In a frenzy of creative energy, driven by the lights and flowers of autumn, she had converted this crypt into a quaint watering hole for other residents of the graveyard and called it False Light.

This is how vampires, zombies, ghouls, and other undead refer to any type of illumination that isn’t sunlight. The northern lights in the sky are a type of false light.

Madrugada knew a place where it was always night. Or so she told her patrons, who often asked, and then didn’t believe what she told them. She had lived there for centuries, which was only a fraction of her existence.

Safe as candles, Madrugada always said. Wouldn’t even hurt a bat.

The crypt became known as an undead refuge as much as a successful business, and compelled her to stay on the mountainside. As the air cooled and the darkness rose, she sat up in her coffin and peeked carefully out of the western window.

There was still an orange light touching parts the mountainside. She guessed the sun was still hovering like a dark orange circle over the ocean but sinking fast. 

Madrugada leaned back into her coffin and bided her time by examining the most recent version of the drink menu. She was proud of her latest revisions. The total was now a perfect nine, and read as follows;

Holy Water. It burns, but in that good way and not like the real stuff. A bit of ground habanero, a shot of human vitals, and sharp apple soda. 

Hot Vampire. Not usually thought of as the warmest of bodies, the Host maintains they are the most appealing of the undead races. She is willing to die again on that hill with this drink, which combines a shot of Birmingham whiskey with whole Pequín peppers, lemonade, and jellied tonsils. 

Tiramigiu. Why pick them up when you really want to lay them down? Coffee, brain pudding, fresh cartilage, and the blood type of your choice.

The Bloody Nun. Based on a true story. Clamato juice, beer, a shot of type A, and a stick of red licorice.

The Torchbearer. Cream, maple syrup, type O negative, and tequila, layered and lit on fire. Mind your nose, if you still have one.

Winter Harvest. In memory of our fallen hero Grendel. A shot of Akvavit with sheep or goat’s blood, garnished with human bone marrow, drained and freshly smashed every day.  

Queen’s Poison. In honor of one of our most famous visitors. Sparkling water, lime, absinthe, plasma, and of course a blood-curdling scream. Not likely to turn you into an old hag, unfortunately. 

Screaming Eyes. How can the eyes scream? Every vampire who likes the eyes knows the answer to this riddle. Mull it over with tomato juice, a splash of lemon, vodka, a pinch of salt, oversized tapioca pearls, hemoglobin, and a generous garnish of pickled eyeballs.

The Unconsecrated. A drink from the Host’s own ancient homeland, inspired by the Vrykolakas of Greek folklore. Honey syrup, lemonade, ouzo, and fresh cerebrospinal fluid.

            The pub food usually consisted of the usual fare anyone would expect in a haven intended for the undead. Roasted beetles, crunchy dried ears, fried fiddleheads. Tonight, however, was special, so she was serving illuminated cakes using the same ancient recipe her mother had taught her.

The lamps were lit, the glasses were gleaming, and the sun fell into the ocean. It opened a dark red path from the horizon into the shadowy hills that sheltered the Pantheon. Her first customers would be here soon, fat and happy after eating some drunk tourists caught in an errant wave.

Another night in paradise.

The Refugee Crisis

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The Illiad told the story of Troy’s destruction. The Odyssey brought the Greeks home. The Aenid followed the Trojan survivors west.

But what happened then?

A Two Scene Play

About 1000 BC, in what is now central Italy, formerly the Etruscan Federation. Every year, the leaders of the 12 biggest and most prominent cities meet to discuss reginal issues. Most of the time these meetings are discreet, civilized, and orderly. Today, however, the council is facing a crisis that will shake the foundations of their comfortable little empire.

Cast of characters;

  • The cities of the Federation: Arezzo, Kisra, Clevsi, Orvieto, Perugia, Cortona, Populonia, Vieo, Tarquinia, Vatalu, Volterra, and Volci
  • Aeneus, The Last Prince of Troy

Setting: The interior of a lavish but practical council room, featuring a long table with 12 chairs. One of the chairs is empty. The other eleven council members are talking about the latest news and wondering where the missing member – Vieo – could be. There’s a general murmur of chatter in the room as the scene begins.

Scene 1

ORVIETO: So, where is he? The sooner we get started the sooner we can leave. I have grapes that need pressing.

PERUGIA: You can fuss over your grapes later. Vieo is the closest to the coast, and he sent a messenger about the boats coming into sight. I sent a note back that he was to get a reasonable estimate of how many there are.

VOLTERRA: We could almost see them from the mountaintop. Word from the north says 30 boats, but…

The council door swings open, and Vieo stumbles in, obviously agitated and rushed.

CORTONA: Ho, our coastal friend arrives! What news from….

VIEO: (interrupts, obviously upset) They lied to us! I knew it, those bloody Carthaginians! They said what, 20 boats, maybe? There are more than 60 boats parked next to the swamp below my city!

The other cities make frightened or angry gestures while the chatter in the room intensifies. Only the two central figures, Perugia and Tarquina, remain calm, speaking quietly together. The chatter goes on while Vieo takes his seat. The other figures next to him at the table offer him comfort and a cup of wine.

ORVIETO: Drink up friend, it’s my latest vintage. Calm yourself, poor fellow!

VIEO: (hand trembling, puts the cup on the table) There were some big ships, enough for an army…and they say the prince himself is with them!

VOLTERRA: Dear gods, no wonder Dido sent them off! If Carthage can’t handle them…

AREZZO: The Trojan army, at our doorstep!

KISRA: We’ll be crushed!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA have been sitting quietly, observing the scene. When panic sets in, TARQUINIA calmly rises. Her voice echoes throughout the council chamber. 

TARQUINIA: That’s enough! Vieo, sip your wine, and you two (nods at his seatmates), pipe down! As if we don’t have our own fearsome army? Future generations can rave about checkerboard patterns and sweet white wine, but is that’s what built the Federation?

KISRA: But…the Trojans….

PERUGIA: (interrupts her) …have been crushed by the Greeks. You mean those Trojans? Whatever they have in our harbor is no more than a ragtag group of pathetic survivors.

TARQUINIA: Those that fled, and have been running west, wide eyed and scared, like a lost herd of deer ever since.

VOLTERRA: The prince, though! What if he sends a delegation? An official letter or…

PERUGIA: (produces a rolled parchment) Like this?[1]

The scroll has a red ribbon and a golden seal that bears the crest of Troy. A collective gasp fills the room. The chatter dies down as TARQUINIA motions for silence. PERUGIA rises to her feet.

PERUGIA: The Prince has requested asylum for the survivors. Including a space to build permanent homes and settlements.

A murmur goes through the room. Voices are raised once again.

CLEVSI: It is as we feared!

VOLCI: A Prince of Troy, building a new city!

CORTONA: How long is it until they march north?

VALATU: Another empire, here on our shores!

VOLTERRA: May Tinia rain fire on their ships!

AREZZO: (yelling) My people will die before that eastern filth touches our streets!

KISRA: (cries loudly, clutches her beaded necklace) They’ll take our daughters, steal our children!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA stay silent for a few moments and calmy let the anger in the room rise to a crescendo. When the murmur rises to a roar, they nod to each other, and TARQUINIA interrupts again.

TARQUINIA: Fellow cities, please, please!

PERUGIA: We understood you would have this response. We have already drafted a response we think everyone will accept.

A hush falls over the room as PERUGIA produces another parchment, obviously a rough copy, and reads it out loud.

PERUGIA: We are grateful and honored to have the Prince of Troy alight on our humble shores. We are happy to accommodate your request for succour in our friendly Federation. (an angry murmur ripples through the air, PERUGIA raises her voice to speak over it) All we ask in compensation for this accommodation is whatever is left from your family’s hoard, and you and your people may have the lowlands below the cliffs of Vieo (PERUGIA takes a moment to nod in the city’s direction) which marks the southern border of the Etruscan Federation. (a deadly hush suddenly falls over the table). May you prosper and live in peace in your new home.

There is now total silence in the chamber. Anyone standing slowly returns to their seat.

CORTONA: Sweet merciful olives. He’s giving them the swamp.

VIEO: By Una’s tits, (he’s staring at PERUGIA) you are a heartless bitch.

PERUGIA: Well, YOU were the one crying about all those boats. Now you get a nice view to watch their progress.

VIEO: Progress? Are you crazy? They’ll die down there. Fever, no fresh water, nothing but bracken…

AREZZO: Nothing grows in that swamp. Are they going to live on anchovies?

VIEO: That’s the point (speaking with a sudden, resigned calm, as he stares into the now empty wine glass).

TARQUINIA: Either they wither and stay weak and under our control, or they die. Either way, we’ll have the last of the Trojan riches, with no war or opposition.

TARQUINIA returns to her seat. PERUGIA remains standing.

PERUGIA: (waves the parchment in the air) Well, that’s our draft. What say you?

Every city raises a hand in agreement, except for VIEO, who puts the empty glass on the table and gives it a forlorn stare. PERUGIA smiles and slowly returns to her seat. The lights dim and the scene ends.

Scene 2

A year has passed, and the day of the annual meetings has arrived. PERUGIA and TARQUINIA are the only ones sitting in the chamber. They’re sitting in front of a large basket filled with gold coins and other spoils. Other members start to filter in, and cordial nods and greetings are exchanged as the council chamber fills up. Once again, however, VIEO is late, and his chair remains vacant).

CORTONA: (gestures towards the empty seat) The one person I wanted to see.

VOLTERRA: Right? What is it this time?

KISRA: Perhaps the drama in the swamp is keeping him busy.

A light wave of laughter ripples through the chamber. PERUGIA and TARQUINIA laugh a bit louder than the others. But then VIEO appears from stage left, wearing rich robes, some impressive jewellery, and carrying a fancy carafe. Everyone changes their tune to greet him.

PERUGIA: Oh, there he is! (smile fades and regards his clothes with a raised eyebrow). What news from the coast?

VIEO: (obviously in high spirits, ignores PERUGIA at first) Hello everyone! Well met, my friends, well met indeed. (walks over to Orvieto first) Orvieto, lover of wine and song, hand me your cup. This is the best vintage you’ll ever taste. Don’t scowl at me that way! Come now, tip your glass!

ORVIETO: A bold claim! The best? Better than the golden fruit of my sunny hillside?

ORVIETO sniffs the glass, takes a sip, his facial expression changes completely as he takes a deep drink. The other cities gasp in a mix of appreciation and apprehension. A vintage better than the wine of Orvieto!

ORVIETO: (offers his glass again) What on Una’s green earth? Where…

VIEO: I have a new friend, and they could even teach you something about wine. And other things! And here he is! Friends, may I present…

A figure in rich, flowing robes sweeps into the room. He’s a tall, handsome gentleman with a glowing smile, obviously high-borne and wealthy. A surprised gasp fills the room. Several cities jump out of their seats to shake his hand and complement him.

VIEO: Aeneus, the Prince of Troy!

PERUGIA and TARQUINIA look at each other in surprise, then look back at Aeneus. The prince seems to understand the tension and clears his throat, as if to make an announcement. The chamber falls silent.

AENEUS: Kind, compassionate leaders of the Etruscan Federation, it is indeed I. Prince Aeneus, the last surviving member of a once great royal house. I thought of sending a letter, like last year, or maybe even a formal delegation. But my friend here, (nods towards Orvieto) insisted that I visit personally as his guest.

TARQUINIA: (one of the few cities that isn’t swooning, rises and bows gracefully) We are honored by your presence, Lord Aeneus. How have you and your people been keeping for the last year?

TARQUINIA is painfully cordial and acts completely oblivious to the fact that she sent the refugees to die in a swamp. Aeneus, however, remains totally unfazed as he explains.

He produces his own decanter and starts to fill every glass on the table. VIEO is refilling ORVIETO’s glass and his neighbours are leaning forward, pushing their own glasses forward to get a taste.

AENEUS: Well, we did have some challenges! But such a rich land! How generous of you to give it so cheaply!

PERUGIA: (slowly blinks and leans forward) A rich land, you said?

AENEUS: Oh, absolutely! Once we built some aqueducts for drainage and irrigation, we started to see some impressive results. We made too much wine, so I thought I would bring some. Have you tried it?

PERUGIA: (blinks a few more times, getting slightly flustered) Not yet…(holds glass aloft, AENEUS pours a generous amount in, smiles and winks at her). Oh…that’s lovely, thank you.

VIEO: The aqueducts, my lord! The sweet water! (takes a gulp of wine). Tell them about the houses of bathing!

CORTONA: The houses of what? What was that?

VIEO: The water supply is so generous, all from what used to be a swamp! The crops are fine and strong, the animals are fat and happy…

CORTONA and RAVENNA: The bathing house!?

AENEUS: A simple and essential civic addition, my friends. A place for everyone to refresh, stay clean, and maybe have a bite to eat. A social time, something for leisure.

TARQUINIA: Ah, indeed, you would presume to teach the Etruscans of leisure?     

Everyone laughs politely, including Aeneus.

AENEUS: Of course, you must come and see them yourselves! Don’t be alarmed, the swamp has been almost completely drained but my engineers are still working on more stubborn parts. Draining water is a different idea than moving it in, certainly! But we managed. The land is rich if it’s managed properly.

VIEO: There’s a city too, and a port! (VIEO walks over to AENEUS, swaying a little) What are you calling it again?

AENEUS: Ah, yes, our little new Old City! We’ll think of another name soon enough. But does everyone have a full glass? Come now, take your seats, and accept some friendly gifts as symbols of our gratitude! How many of you have tried garum?

An entourage of Trojans comes in carrying baskets, chests, and litters overflowing with riches. Trade goods from all over the Mediterranean are stacked high on each, like silk, spices and ceramics. There’s also plenty of local goods, like olive oil, fruit, and fish. The crowd of Trojans and Etruscans mix happily and freely, talking about the exotic wares. TARQUINIA and AENEUS move to the front of the crowd and stand together, before the audience.

TARQUINIA: (has a silk scarf on and some long, beaded necklaces) I must say…this visit is a pleasant surprise.

AEUNEUS: Perhaps you did expect a visit eventually, but not of this nature. I do hope we can have a closer relationship in the future. Maybe I can name our new city after our mutual descendants, eh?

AENUES extends his hand and TARQUINIA enthusiastically clasps it.

TARQUINIA: Absolutely! (pauses briefly) Would you like to marry my daughter?[2]

FIN

[1] Etruscans are known for their love of geometric patterns.

[2] According to Virgil’s Aeneid, Prince Aeneus is the direct ancestor of Romulus and Remus.