Utopia the good place that cannot be…
He sat astride the draught horse; it gave him a superior observation of the miles of undulating charred earth.
"Where were you on June 21, 1621, when those twenty-six noblemen were executed?" Jeremias, his compatriot queried in the early twilight mist. The war- bloodied trio gave their horses time to kick at weeds, let them recoup what little energy they could.
"I wasn't in Prague" Josef countered as the air carried the charred grass to annoy his senses. Flesh, horse carcasses and the rich earth had been laid barren by a battle's inferno. Josef was aware this was the detritus of Nobles in Bohemia and Moravia who had their property confiscated, transferred to nobles who had demonstrated their loyalty to the Church and to Ferdinand II. These were not Josef's war, just a battleground he had to cross. Josef shook his head dismissively, as if it would banish all the suffering he felt emanating from death's arena.
His younger partners, nearly fledglings compared to Josef's years on the earth, sniffed at the clammy evening air. Jeremias, his sneering dark-haired compatriot squinted into the sunset as he recounted the slaughter "Lord Abbot of Fulda, Balthasar von Bernbach, headed an itinerant Inquisition in search of witches as part of his drive against Protestantism".
Josef blinked back the taste of death in the air, "Hunting witches prevails in prosperous villages, mind you von Bernbach will put many more witches to death", now his steed pawed at the earth, taking slow steps forward over the uneven terrain.
A testy Jeremias countered, "Duke Heirch Julius of Brunswick also stalked witches". The only heat seemed to be the horse's breath rising from their flared nostrils.
Sniggering to himself, Josef declared, "Jeremias, you didn't mind interrogating witches; you find them quite to your taste" and Josef meant it literally. Their eyes traded humorous expressions back and forth between themselves at the thought of Jeremias' interrogation techniques.
Jeremias scratched at the chain mail; he felt each ring of metal thru his tunic. His brows were barely visible, yet Josef knew they were wagging lasciviously, "Those sadistic tortures used to force confessions also fed the Rector's voyeuristic libidos".
Their generally silent travelling partner, Eldon perked up at that observation, "Now, Jeremias, the persecutions were done with "Christian love" to save those who stood on the brink of damnation. Being burned at the stake merely destroyed a person's body, while heresy kills a soul forever."
So much for "Christian Love" Josef reflected. "What is forever, gentleman?" And with that query Josef snapped the reigns to urge his steed to a gallop and they followed picking up speed to race toward the walled home laying near the horizon. Wafts of clouds hung low around the Keep of the stone castle. The bonfires of the sentries glowed orange in the looming darkness and the call of amenable hospitalities grew an ache in their hearts as well as their gums.
With the squeaking of the saddle's leather and the cadence of the horses' heartbeats Josef's stallion led the trio of lone riders across the silent battlefield, it was dusk and he felt his fangs heavy in his gums, felt the urge to draw living blood across his lips, as the dead blood in the fields had only whet his appetite. He had only been turned four years ago and within the midst of all this violence and blood the urge to feed overwhelmed him.
His family had a first son, so deserving of inheriting the thousands of acres of the patrilineal grounds. Josef was given the name because it meant, "God will increase" and his sainted Mother sought to divide the estate with its castle and smaller home to the north. This was not to be and after his brother's wedding banquet Josef found himself delivered by mule to the Monastery. At the age of 16 he donned the rough woven robes he'd grow to abhor.
Josef earnestly toiled daily head down over the illuminated parchments. His speech expanded to Greek, a deeper understanding of Latin and the fluid tongue of Italian. To the music of church bells, he rose faithfully, indemnifying his love of the Lord through all his works. He strove barehanded in the honest work of the land and regarded the Monastery gardens precious as his Father's land that had turned him out. In the depths of his melancholy Josef devised endeavors to supplement the Monastery's coffers.
His progress seemed measured in fours, as it was the age of 20 he earned the reputation as an economic strategist. Once it was the idea of baking stone ground bread, rich with seeds and nuts. Seasons passed and the earth embraced the roots of vines heavy with grapes that produced a fragrant wine sold to discriminating homesteads. This moved Josef into a realm within the hierarchy of the older Monks. Gone were his days of rubbing shoulders in the fields with his youthful peers, now his only joy was in the words of the Lord.
Hours expanded as Josef read and prayed. These four years seemed longer than the term from his arrival to his promotion. As his years measured 24 he sat under a bank of oil lamps in a moonlit night dozing over his translations. A Monk of grander tenure loomed over him, scenting the scope of his tedium.
"Brother, what do you know of Utopia?" The virtually hunchbacked man stared down a birdy nose at Josef.
"The book, sir?" Josef's mind rattled as he tried to salvage the highlights of what his Father and older brother debated over goblets, "My knowledge is insufficient to enter into intelligent discourse, sir" Josef hoped to sidestep a discussion, the Monk was reputed to hold discourse till nearly Lauds yet he was continually bright of eye and senses.
"Then, son, might you be more inclined to "The Land of Cokaygne"? The old man's eyes glimmered as he recited the tale of pure hedonism, a foil for the innocent and instinctively virtuous life that was depicted in their library of volumes.
Josef squinted at the mention, his own bawdy Father's library held secrets like this tale of Cockaygne, a land of overindulgence and gluttony rather than saintly minimalism and virtue. Considering his vocation, Josef felt it diplomatic to decline its knowledge. His eyes and posture exhibited curiosity while his head shook "no".
Reading Josef's age of curiosity the Abbott whispered, "My son, it is in that place there is freedom from drudgery, and every material object is free and accessible. Cooked larks fly straight into one's mouth; the rivers run with wine; sexual promiscuity is the mean; and there is a fountain of youth which keeps everyone young and potent" His eyes seemed to glitter in the dim candle light.
"These are the utterances of woolgathers, sir" Josef shook his head to banish the erotic sights flying freely in his skull.
The Abbott seemed to straighten up, emboldened by Josef's skepticism, "Your eternal soul, Josef, do you carry it within you? Or do you store it within your cell alongside your prayer book?" Now the man's years waned before Josef's eyes as the hush vibrated between them.
Josef's young lips quivered at the Abbott's corporal metamorphosis he could not comprehend. Perspiration formed even in the cool, marble chamber, and sluggishly it streamed down the center of Josef's muscular back. The wool robes chilled as they wicked away the pervasive sweat beading over him.
"Young man, does intelligent discourse alarm you?" The Abbott's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared; had the man huffed over Josef?
In the distance night birds whimpered a mournful song to the waning crescent moon. Wherever those birds were, Josef wished he were in their congenial company. Those mellifluous words had tied a silken cord in Josef's "reason" and suddenly Josef's thoughts floated to memories of lyrical voices and the throaty murmurs of prescient sensuality. Josef had experienced just enough the summer of his 14th year to know women could wield their sexuality like a weapon to slay a man's vigor, to turn a soul toward gluttony for lust and drunkenness.
The Abbott's voice had registered as notes from a cello, resilient, deep - nearly throbbing. Those words were obscured by a mesmerizing aura, drawing Josef closer and closer to the Abbott's icy breath. Confusion infused him; his mind rang with the Abbott's leering discourse.
Josef's eyes blinked back his renunciation of this Abbott's doctrine of corruption. Then within a realm of speed and discomfiture the Abbott swept him into a devil's embrace. The golden candle light chilled to a polar white and spun like a kaleidoscope.
The colors on the scribed pages were Josef's last vision; smalt blue cried loudly against the King's yellow as it spun against the bone black.
Words lost their meaning as the sound in his ears became his own waning heartbeat. Were his young vital hands losing his grip against the portly misshapen Abbott?
Wood splintered, or was it bone? The peace that comes from true capitulation overcame him. Josef's new senses caught the whisper of angel's wings, a swish of silk and the warmth of an obliging caress. The ache in his gums tightened his eyes shut as he cried in hunger, cried in pain. Then, breeching flesh for his first meal he tasted domination, he tasted elation, he swallowed eternity.
His 1624 turning left him an ardent seeker and what pivoted his existence that dark night would take eons of evolution to perfect. In his travels Josef watched a number of his milieu crumble in flames or lose their heads yet his dark "birth" set off a vigilant epoch of triumph.
Nights washed into each other, stunning faces blurred from hamlet to crossroads. As Josef's "years" increased so did his capital. His "prize", his focus, lay obscured to others by the trappings of his persona. The fine horse, his brash and daring-do compatriots, his richly embroidered suits of clothing buttoned with pearls the size of marbles – all of these were his convention. He mapped his growth in four year "eras", migrating to new villages assuming a new "character".
Tonight, as the trio approached the smoke smudged stone walls Josef stayed his horse there in his tracks and sat head bowed. Josef summoned his compassion to greet the survivors and strategize his next four rousing years.
There, would he find Utopia?