Uncle Cheroot

by Alan Jansen

  ‘Ah! I’m glad you enjoyed your food and drink, stranger. Now that you are finished, come closer to the fire and sit beside me, for I have much to tell you. I found you on the shore of my island, but I had anticipated your arrival days before, as I sensed and saw you in a vision drifting on your raft on the calm sea. It’s not often I have human company. This island I dwell on is small. You can walk across it in half an hour. Only the seabirds and smaller animals live along with me. I have attended to the wound on your head, which is now almost healed. It will be all right soon. You will be in my company for a day or so, and on this island perhaps a bit longer. No ships pass this way, for my island is completely adrift of all known shipping routes. Now and then, driftwood and even storm-driven abandoned galleys make their way to my shore, which has helped me to furnish this cave. The furs you see around you have always been here. Everything else has come from wrecks and from my excursions to the lands on both sides of the Mare Nostrum you fought that battle in. I don’t travel anymore. I have not the slightest desire to travel to any longer. … Don’t ask me how the furs you see in abundance inside this cave came to be here. I don’t know. Perhaps my maker knew, but he took all his secrets with him when he went into the fire, unable to bear it any longer.’

  I cautiously wobbled over beside the fire as he requested and almost collapsed onto a chair beside this being who had made such an amazing opening statement. Who was he? Who was his ‘maker’? And why did his maker ‘go into the fire’? What blasted fire? The questions reeled through my head in succession, but they stopped immediately as I got my first glimpse of my mysterious saviour. I was immediately shocked by what I saw. He was human in appearance at first glance, but any suggestion of humanity stopped upon scrutinizing him closer. His face was of the palest complexion I had ever seen on a human. I had seen plenty of albinos in Rome and elsewhere, but this being’s complexion beggared description. It was almost transparent in its waxy paleness. His thick and abundant hair was blond with a slight touch of red mingling here and there, but it was fully matted, obviously having not been brushed or combed for years. His eyes were remarkable. They shone out like a beacon from his pale face; they were sparkling golden green orbs glowing with a brilliant sheen I couldn’t explain. He was dressed in a long gown of sorts of a luxurious red satin weave with faded golden embroidery adorning the garment’s front and collar. His feet were bare, showing long toenails that were manicured into points. The skin of his feet was as pale as his face, and his toenails seemed transparent and shone with a luminous hue. I turned my attention from his feet back to his upper body, taking in again the strange transparency of his face. I couldn’t help noticing his hands folded on his lap. His fingernails were manicured into the same sharp points I noticed on the nails of his toes, and they had the same luminous hue and transparency. It seemed that he took great care with his feet and hands, compared to the matted jumble of his golden hair. The general impression his feet and hands gave was that he used them often for gripping and other such labours. As a soldier and officer, I was afraid of no man, but the strange being in front of me made me wary and put me on my guard. He oozed powerfulness and strength, and I knew he could crush me in a physical encounter if I ever found myself locked in battle with him – an assessment any professional soldier could always make of an adversary.

  As I sat on my chair, the strange being rose from his, made his way to a roughly hewn cupboard in the rock wall of the cave, and carefully extracted a bottle that looked like a sealed bottle of alcohol of sorts covered with dust and cobwebs. I immediately noticed the great height of my companion. He was well over six feet, an uncommon height for Romans or Egyptians at that time. Although tall, he was thin, and his bony frame showed out beneath the long gown he wore.

  ‘A drink, Roman? It will strengthen you further. It is old Armenian brandy that I have in my possession, a gift from one of the abandoned vessels that floated onto my island. Pardon me if I don’t drink with you. … I once drank alcohol and know of its invigorating power, but it does not appeal to me now. Your drink and food is not to my taste.’ He said the word ‘taste’ in a strange intonation, as though enjoying a secret joke of his own making. His smile revealed two pointed teeth on both sides of his mouth, not unlike the fangs of an animal. For the first time since we met, I began to actually fear this man, or whatever being he was …

  My strange host sat down beside me again, and with his long fingers easily opened the seal on the bottle of brandy. He then placed it on a stone table in front of us, upon which a few drinking chalices of what looked like pure gold were placed in a haphazard fashion. There must have been enormous strength in those bony fingers of his, for no man I knew of could flip out the seal of a bottle like he did. I was very fond of wine and all sorts of alcohol and was most pleased with his gift. I quickly poured some brandy into a chalice and drank a large sip, immediately noticing how heavy the chalice felt in my hands. As the warm alcohol hit my stomach and warmed my insides, I gathered enough courage to question my host and rescuer.

  ‘Who are thou, stranger, and why in Hades’s name did thou abduct me? Why do you live here like this, isolated from humanity? How did thou come here to this remote island? Are you Roman, and how does thou travel away from this island? How does anyone travel away from here? Does a ship come now and then to bring you supplies and take you along when you wish to travel? Who is this “maker” you mention? And what is this food and drink you consume? Surely it can’t be very nourishing, for thy face is as pale as the moon!’

  The stranger looked at me with a very humorous expression. His eyes seemed to glow even brighter as he gazed upon my anxious face. ‘Ah! So you noticed my paleness, Roman! Perhaps you saw the nails on my fingers and toes as well, and my sharp teeth too, eh? Yes, you see what you see. I can read your thoughts, Roman, and can answer the question that is running amok in your mind. Aye, I am not human. And yes, I could crush you like an eggshell if I must, so have a care! I was once human, but human I am no longer. You see, I am what you Romans and Egyptians would call a demon. Let me tell you my story. You will understand afterwards why I brought you here against your will …

  ‘I was “made” a few centuries before the great Octavian won the civil wars and subsequently formed the empire. Rome was powerful even then and was slowly approaching the dizzying height that has made it the powerful empire it is today. I myself wasn’t Roman but had wandered down from the frozen lands in the north to seek my fortune in the warm south. Close to Rome, I was kidnapped by professional slavers and sold to a Roman nobleman who owned a stable of several fighters, or rather gladiators, as you might call them. I was a Norseman, tall, strong, and powerful, and it was my great physique that first attracted my abductors. I survived a year in the ring – a wonder in itself – before my new master, impressed by my survival statistics, took me away to work for him at his villa on his country estate outside Rome. In a short time, I rose to be his foreman. The senator was childless – unable to produce an heir – and he grew to trust me in all matters. In due course, he retired from the senate and even ceased his activities and involvement in the gladiator business. Ageing fast now, he made me his legal son and heir. After he died, I inherited his villa and estate. I settled down into a daily routine of managing the affairs of my inheritance, living a comfortable life as a country gentleman. Now and then I travelled to Rome to buy supplies and anything else that caught my fancy, always accompanied by a bodyguard of slaves in entourage. I never stayed even one night in Rome, making it a point to travel back to my comfortable villa before midnight. One day – a fateful day as it turned out – a travelling priest visited my villa. I had strict security of course, and was wary of strangers, especially spies from the Roman senate, but I had also instructed my servants to see that ordinary innocent travellers seeking alms were treated well and given food and drink before they departed again. This particular visitor created quite a stir, for he was even taller than I and had the lightest of blond hair
that grew down to his waist, besides being pale as an albino. He had arrived at night – very unusual for travellers. The servants made his arrival known to me, as I had a rule that all new arrivals to the villa be screened by me first for approval. If they were approved, then they would be offered food and drink, and shelter for a day or two. If I suspected they were spies from the Roman senate, I sent them packing immediately. I had just dined and was in a mellow mood when the stranger was presented to me in my large dining hall. I saw at once that he was no Roman, and no spy for the Roman senate either. I could tell these things with my vast knowledge and experience. My visitor introduced himself as a travelling priest from the island of Britannica, the very same that Julius Caesar made successful excursions into and that was on the other side of the landmass separated by our Oceanus Britannicus. The traveller proclaimed himself a Druid priest on a pilgrimage to some holy shrine in the east. None of us in Rome knew who or what Druids were at that time, although this day every Roman knows about them. We know today that they possess strange, even magical, powers. Had I known this at the time of his visit, I would have sent him packing on his way, for I was a superstitious man and feared the dark arts very much. Even Britannica’s final Roman conqueror, Claudius, was most wary of these priests and their special cult. Druids were respected, even feared, by successive Roman governors in Britannica, who made them all but extinct, save a few pockets that survived in secrecy. Anyway, back to my story. … The priest was allowed to stay the night. After my initial surprise at seeing such a tall and strange-looking man, I thought no more of the matter and retired for the night. I drank a final cup of wine – a lifetime habit – before anticipating a good night’s sleep, when suddenly I heard loud screams and curses being uttered that seemed to come from the kitchen area. I immediately drew my sword from its sheath that I had carelessly placed on my bedside table, and ran towards the commotion in the kitchen. At the large arched doorway leading to the kitchen, I came face-to-face with my visitor the Druid priest. His white tunic was splattered with blood here and there, enough to give the impression that he had been in a serious battle of sorts. He looked so tall and threatening that I shouted out to my servants for help. Help, however, did not come. Total silence followed my call for help. The Druid looked at me in a determined fashion before speaking coldly, the eyes in his pale face glaring in an intensely threatening manner.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Norseman. Put on your clothing and heavy cloak. We have a long journey to make. I travel only by night, and it’s a long journey you will undertake with me. Look not for your servants. Some of them are dead and cannot assist you in any way. The others I have put into a trance from which it will take them several hours to awaken.’

  Ignoring the giant’s words, I dodged and slipped past him into the huge kitchen, only to meet a ghastly sight. I had fifteen slaves, or rather servants, who diligently maintained my villa and grounds to perfection. They were permanent slaves bought by me from wealthy merchants who owned the gladiators that fought to the death in the Roman arenas at the public games. They were loyal to me to a man, seeing that I had saved them from a certain death in the arena either by other gladiators or by being mauled by the lions and other beasts they were forced to fight. They stayed with me permanently in my villa, in comparison to the temporary labourers I hired to work my fields and vineyards. The latter employees were just seasonal and went home to their respective dwellings at the end of each day. In the main kitchen I found six of my most skilful and strong slaves lying in all sorts of positions on the floor, apparently killed in close combat by the priest. Their bodies were twisted as though crushed by what must have been a great force, with horrible gaping wounds on their torsos. Some of them had deep punctures in their necks from which some blood was still seeping out. The rest of my servants were in the outer chambers, to all purposes and appearances in a deep sleep or trance. These included the womenfolk – wives of my slaves and other women employed in domestic capacities. I tried to wake some of them, but it was quite hopeless, as they slept on like logs and couldn’t be revived no matter how hard I shook them. Behind me I sensed the Druid giant as he spoke again, for the second time that night.

  ‘It’s useless, Norseman! Nobody can help you now! Put on your clothes and cloak and follow me, or else I will crush the life out of you like I did your gladiator slaves who foolishly tried to attack me when I put the sleeping spell on your womenfolk. I am taking you on a journey by sea to my island home. Once there, I will tell you why I have done what I have done and what your fate will be. Believe me, you will be one of the wealthiest men in the world tomorrow, and death and illness will never touch you afterwards. But wealth and immortality will come at a price. I will say no more now, for my story is long. We must hurry. I cannot travel by daylight; we must make the sea journey while it is still dark.’

  I cared naught for his promises of wealth. I was wealthy in my own right. As for immortality, it must be some religious hogwash or another, I assumed. After all, the man was a priest, wasn’t he? I made a break for the open front door, fully intending to make it to the stables and ride away on a horse to raise the alarm and fetch help from the city, but he caught me just before I made it to the front door. I had never imagined in my wildest dreams that a being could move so quickly. He grasped me by my neck and shoulders and lifted me a clear foot above the floor like I was a rag doll. I felt his immense strength as I struggled like a chicken in his grasp, instantly knowing that it was futile to offer any resistance. He flung me roughly to the floor and spoke for a third time.

  ‘Put on your clothes and follow me. The next time you resist, I will throw you so hard on the floor that the fall will crush your skull like an eggshell. I have secretly observed you for many months in the city marketplace, Norseman, and have chosen you for a great fate that no human can imagine. However, if you continue to resist, I will kill you like I killed your slaves and look further for someone else to meet my needs.’

  I was angry and frustrated, but common sense prevailed. I capitulated. A being who could kill six well-trained men who had fought as gladiators in the Roman arenas and who could put many people collectively into a hypnotic sleep wasn’t one to be trifled with. Besides, having felt his great strength when he lifted me off the ground, I knew that resistance was futile. I’ll follow him, I thought to myself, but when an opportunity arose, I would somehow kill him and escape. Putting on my day clothes and a heavy night cloak, I sullenly followed the devil priest, having no other option. At the stables, we mounted upon two horses and rode to the harbour, where the priest had anchored a medium-sized sailing boat at the far end of the jetty. Gesturing me to step into the vessel, he lifted anchor, and we set sail immediately out into the open sea.

  After nearly three hours with a strong and vigorous wind driving the single sail on our vessel, we sighted a very small island. Of course during the sea journey I had thought of jumping into the sea and taking my chances, but having felt the strength of my abductor when he lifted me off my feet at the villa, I knew this was useless. He would only fish me out with ease. The Druid seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where we were heading. The island was obviously his final destination …

  We alighted on the island. The creature safely anchored the boat in a little cove on the shoreline. After walking a short distance, we arrived at this very cave that you now find yourself in, the Druid half-dragging me inside. It was still night, and my abductor wasted no time in doing what he wanted to do. He had laid out his plans well, almost as though he had rehearsed them in advance. Well inside the cave, he suddenly pulled me towards him and forced my neck to his mouth, whereupon he punctured it with sharp teeth and sucked the warm blood that flowed freely from the two incisions he had made. I felt myself losing consciousness, but was pulled back from the abyss as the monster opened a vein in his arm and forced it to my mouth. Warm blood was forced into me; I was compelled to drink it or else die of suffocation. As the blood flowed into my mou
th and I swallowed it, I felt exhilarated, as though I had drunk the best wine in the world. I greedily sucked more and more. My heart beat like a drum, and just when I thought it would burst, the Druid pulled me away from him and threw me to the floor, where I slipped into a state of unconsciousness. When I awoke, it was still dark inside the cave, but it was a shade lighter, so I guessed it was morning. A foul smell surrounded me, and it did not take me long to detect its source. It was my own waste that had run out from my insides while I had slept. My abductor must have anticipated this, for clean clothes were laid out on a chair beside me, which I was happy to put on after first cleaning myself as best as I could. My neck throbbed from the puncture wounds the creature had made in it, although once I felt the wounds, it appeared they had almost healed. In spite of my recent ordeal, I felt like a new man. My body felt like I had an immense strength, and my skin had taken upon a hue that was almost transparent. As a Norseman, I was naturally pale, but looking upon my skin now, I discovered that the paleness seemed to have multiplied by ten. I looked around for my abductor the Druid priest, but he was nowhere to be seen. I explored the cave gingerly and came to a smaller cove-like second chamber which looked like a small prison. The room could not be entered, as iron bars sealed the entrance and a heavy lock was on the iron door. Through the iron bars I saw my captor lying inside on a hollow boat-shaped bed, his eyes closed, to all purposes sound asleep or lying in a trance-like state. Unlike the rest of the cave, where there was some faint daylight, there was no daylight in this room, only a large oil lamp that was mounted on the wall, its flame flickering with enough light to dimly make visible what was inside. I tried the locked iron door, of course, but it would not open. The creature had locked himself in. I retreated into the main cave and tried the front door – also an iron affair, with a huge padlocked iron chain around its bars – but it wouldn’t budge an iota. I was trapped inside the cave – a prisoner with my abductor safely inside a vault of his own, where I couldn’t reach him. My captor had placed some cheese and bread on a rough stone table and a pitcher of water in the outer chamber of the cave. Famished, I started to eat with gusto, but suddenly stopped, my stomach and gut refusing to take in the food. I retched what I had swallowed and tried a sip of water, but even that I had to spit out, as it almost choked the life out of me. I was hungry and my thirst was enormous, but I couldn’t eat or drink. What in Hades was wrong with me?