This morning Andrew lingered in the doorway. 'That girl?'
'What girl?' Peter frowned. 'I know lots of girls.'
'Last night, you were leaving the pub with her as I came in. Dark haired, attractive, red dress.'
'Oh,' Peter smiled. 'That girl.'
'Known her long?' Andrew tried for casual, fell some way short.
‘Nah, met her last night.'
'Quick work.'
'Andy, bro, she was a whore. Gave me an excellent shag. End of. Now,' he rustled the paperwork on his desk, 'if there's nothing else.'
'Not a new girlfriend then?'
Peter sat back in his chair, regarded his brother. 'Why the sudden interest in my activities?'
Andrew shrugged. 'Just wondered if you'd got yourself a proper woman at last.'
'No, no, no.' Peter grinned. 'I don't think so. I think you fancy a piece of the action. Why didn't you say? I can get you her pimp's number. Just don't put it through the books as entertaining.'
'No thanks, I'm quite happy with Marje, I don't need another woman.'
'Don't fancy a change?' Peter teased.
'That's how it started with you. Fancying a change. Now look at you. Jayne's gone. You’re pissed every night, throwing your money away on cheap whores.' Andrew toyed with the idea of telling his brother about Baptiste, the prophecy of Messiah. As always, the fear of ridicule kept him silent.
'I'm living the dream bro, and you're just jealous.' Peter scooped the buzzing phone off the desk. 'Hello?' He listened in silence, then, 'Send him in.' He replaced the phone. 'Jim from Whitby Builders, come to give us a quote for the office extension.'
Andrew nodded. 'I'll catch you later.'
Jim settled behind the wheel of his battered pick-up, Whitby Builders just visible through the grime. He was scribbling a few notes when his phone rang.
He looked at the screen, Jude the Dude calling.
This had better not be trouble. He didn't need trouble, not the Dude kind anyway.
'Yeah?' He answered the call with a growl.
'Hey Jimbo, it's the Dude.'
'I know who it is, whaddaya want?'
'It's Jesus.'
'And?'
'He's vanished.'
Jim sighed, trouble it was. 'Whaddaya mean vanished, are we talking puff o' blue smoke or alien abduction?'
'Nah Jimbo, nothing so exciting, he's walked off the job.'
Jim frowned. Didn’t sound at all like Jesus. His best worker by far, the most renowned, sought after chippie in all Northumbria. 'Did he say anything? Perhaps he's ill.'
'Nah, he just said, it's time, and then he walked.'
Silence, then, 'Just thought I'd let you know.'
'Time for what?' Jim asked.
'How should I know?'
'Tea? Shop? Dump?'
'Dunno.'
'When was this?'
'Two hours ago.'
The Dude's knowledge exhausted, Jim cleared the call, found Jesus' number in his phone contacts, called and got voicemail, 'Hello, and thanks for calling Jesus, of Whitby Builders, I can't take your call at present, please leave a message.'
✝
Phil meandered along the beach strumming his guitar, desperately trying to come up with more lyrics. He thought of himself as a wandering troubadour serenading the crowds. Someone nudged his arm. It was a woman in her fifties. A bored looking man of a similar age hovered at her elbow.
'What's going on here love?' She asked. 'I mean, who are all these people?'
'It's a religious gathering.' Phil said.
'Oh, religion?' The man sneered. 'We thought it might be summat interesting. 'Come on Mavis, we've no business here.' He turned to go, and stopped when he realised the woman wasn't behind him.
'What religion is it?' Mavis asked.
'We're Jewish.' Phil told them.
The man rolled his eyes.
'The one where God created the earth in six days and will one day send a Saviour.' Phil explained.
'What brought you here, like?' Mavis asked.
'Must be our green and pleasant land.' The man muttered.
'Shut up Ted. Sorry love,' she smiled at Phil, 'carry on.'
'There's loads of information on the internet about it.' Phil said, strumming a chord change.
Ted looked about to speak, but a glance from Mavis silenced him.
'We thought we might have seen that feller immersing people.' Mavis said.
Phil looked along the beach. He could see Tom scribbling away in his notebook, Nathan was moving around the gathering crowd, chatting to people. 'That's Baptiste. We believe he's a prophet preparing the way for the Messiah.'
'Messiah?' Mavis raised her eyebrows.
Phil sighed. He was asked the same thing countless times a day. 'Messiah is the Saviour that God will send to save his people and lead them out of captivity. He’ll set us free.'
Mavis looked around, lowered her voice, 'That could be dangerous, couldn't it? I'm not sure the authorities would welcome this Messiah.'
Phil smiled, shrugged. He didn't care one way or the other.
'Mavis.' Ted tugged at her cardigan. 'Mavis, let's go. I don't want to miss the brass band'
'You and your blessed brass bands.' Mavis snorted.
'Mavis, this is the Northumbrian and they do a fine rendition of Blaydon Races.'
The sounds of instruments tuning up could now be heard. Phil smiled, strummed his guitar.
'They'll be starting soon.' Ted complained.
Mavis rolled her eyes at Phil. 'But why does he dip people in the sea?'
'It's a symbolic act of repentance in readiness for the Messiah's arrival.' Phil was always happy to discuss elements of his faith. 'It's a public acknowledgement that despite how clean we might look on the outside, on the inside we're just dirty. It's a declaration that we recognise that we need cleansing and that’s a job for the Lord.'
Mavis chuckled. 'Are you listening Ted, happen you could do with some o' that.'
Ted gave a tight smile, turned, head cocked like a bird. In the distance the band started to play.
The conversation tailed off. Phil turned towards the road, people were still streaming down to the beach and behind him, he could hear Ted and Mavis chuntering away.
'Ted, it's not every day you get to hear a genuine prophet.'
'Mavis, I am not missing that brass band concert for a prophet, or a Messiah.'
Phil tuned them out and watched as the crowd continued to grow.
✝
'Repent, repent. The kingdom of heaven is near.'
Baptiste was in full flow proclaiming and denouncing in equal measure. Nathan stood at the water's edge, waiting for the preaching to stop and trying to estimate the size of the crowd. Between seven hundred and a thousand was his best guess. Nathan had heard it all before, and reckoned he could deliver it just as well as Baptiste. He was good though, Nathan admitted.
'You immoral generation, you bend like trees in a gale.'
The crowd lapped it up. They seemed to like being insulted and came from all over the kingdom for the privilege. Nathan had already spoken with folks from Newcastle, Leeds, Sheffield, York, and they all told him the same thing. They were here to be dipped by Baptiste.
Nathan yawned, stretched. He’d been detailed to help Baptiste with the immersions, along with Phil - that is, if Phil could be arsed to put his guitar down.
'There is no conscience anymore. And what of the commandments handed down by our forefather, Moses? Those instructions carved in tablets of stone by God Himself, are ignored.’ Baptiste paused, the crowd were silent, hanging on every word, then, arms held high, he continued, 'You must confess and repent. The Lord is watching, He will judge. He will burn with unquenchable fire.'
Nathan didn't think anybody had sussed he was a State Security officer working undercover. Tom was always asking questions though, maybe he was undercover as well. Nathan wouldn't put it past the authorities to have infiltrated more than one person into Baptiste's ci
rcle.
Nathan watched as Baptiste worked himself to a fever pitch, and then dropped his voice to a whisper.
'You people, you think that I am Messiah.'
Silence.
Anticipation.
'I am not Messiah.'
The crowd let out a collective groan.
'I have come to prepare the way for Messiah.'
The official line on Baptiste was: low level agitator, harmless, if not a little mad, with his message of the coming Messiah. Now though, with the growing crowds, TV and internet exposure, Nathan wouldn't be surprised if the decision makers were getting a little anxious.
'I am not the light.'
Nathan wondered about the promised Messiah, what might happen if he did arrive. It could be a right bloodbath.
'I have come to bear witness to the light.’
'You people, you believe that Messiah is an earthly warrior, that he'll come to overthrow earthly powers. Think again. He's more, much more. The coming kingdom will not be of this world. The Lord's kingdom will be established here on earth.'
Wild cheers erupted from the crowd. This was close to sedition, Nathan realised. He scanned the area towards the road, wondering where the riot Polizei was. They'd be close, waiting, and ready to move in if it all kicked off.
Baptiste must have realised he was getting close to what was acceptable as he finished his preaching soon afterwards. He rubbed his face on a towel, had a quick drink, and then took his place between Nathan and Phil, ready to begin immersing.
To Nathan's surprise, the first man in the queue was someone he knew. A riot control officer. Was he here for genuine reasons, or was he too working undercover? The officer gave no indication that he knew Nathan. Nathan and Phil stood just behind him, held him at elbow and shoulder, waited for the signal.
'Do you believe in the one who comes after me?' Baptiste asked.
'I believe.' The man replied.
'Do you repent?'
'Yes, yes, I repent. ' The man replied. Nathan could feel him shaking, whether from the cold or emotion, he couldn’t tell.
Baptiste placed the palm of his hand on the man's chest, pushed.
They lowered the man into the sea, and then raised him back to a standing position. The crowd cheered.
'You are ready, for the kingdom is near.' Baptiste told him. 'Go, tell others.'
The man tried to speak, Phil urged him to move away. Nathan, watched as the man stumbled up the beach and prepared himself for the next person in line.
The afternoon wore on and hundreds of people were dipped. The line of people waiting eventually getting shorter. Phil was replaced by Tom, but Nathan carried on.
They were down to the last dozen when it happened.
Baptiste had just finished an immersion when he stood stock still and stared along the beach. It was late afternoon, Nathan, tired, hungry, wanted a curry and a pint. He tried to make out what Baptiste was looking at, and decided it was the lone man walking towards them. As he got closer, Nathan could see the man, early thirties, above average height, clean-shaven, was wearing a light pair of chinos and a long sleeved blue shirt. The shirt was tucked in, the collar open. On his feet, he wore grey canvas deck shoes.
The man stopped a few metres away, smiled at them both. Nathan had an incredible feeling of peace sweep over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
After a moment's hesitation, Baptiste said, 'Jesus, it's you.'
The two men embraced.
'Did you know?' Jesus asked.
Baptiste shook his head in amazement, smiled. 'I've always had an inkling, a mere suspicion that it might have been. But just now, when I saw you walking towards me, I knew.' He paused. 'Jesus, will you baptize me?'
'No,’ Jesus replied, ‘you must baptize me.'
‘I’m sorry, I can't.' Baptise was apologetic. 'I'm not fit to lace your boots.'
'If the ancient scriptures are to be fulfilled you have to baptize me.' Jesus said. He stood waiting between Tom and Nathan.
Baptiste hesitated for a second, before touching Jesus on his chest. They lowered Jesus into the water, then back up again. There was an instant rumble of thunder. It went on for several minutes, Tom and Nathan looked at each other in amazement. It was a clear, cloudless sky, no hint of rain. The thunder faded away and as it did Tom could see that Jesus' countenance had changed. A blanket of compassion, utter kindness, and unconditional love seemed to be resting on him.
It seemed to Tom as though time stopped, it could have been hours or seconds, he had no way of knowing. The angelic, dreamlike atmosphere was broken when he realised that Baptiste was lying in a crumpled heap on the wet sand. Tom couldn't be sure, but it looked as though Baptiste had diminished, was smaller, as though part of him was missing.
Jesus stood before Nathan, looked him in the eye. Confused, Nathan looked away. It was as though Jesus had x-ray vision. He felt the layers of his existence peeled away, his every thought and deed exposed. Jesus smiled. 'Nathan, Tom,' he said, 'I must go now, but we'll meet again, soon.'
Jesus turned and walked back the way he’d come. Tom and Nathan watched in silence until he was out of sight. At their feet, Baptiste lay sobbing.
Jim answered the phone warily. It’d been a long day; he didn't need any more shit.
'Jimbo. It's the Dude.'
'I know. Whaddaya want?'
'Jesus is here. He wants some camping gear.'
'And?'
'What shall I do?'
'Give him what he wants.'
'How long's he gonna be off? You know we've got that big job coming up.’
Jim sighed, a weary sound that lasted a long time. 'Jesus no longer works for me.'
'You've sacked him?' The Dude was stunned.
'No, he resigned. Apparently he's got other more important stuff to do.'
'Do you reckon he's setting up on his own?'
'No idea.'
'How do you feel about that?'
'Dude.' Jim answered with feeling. 'I am not my brother's keeper.'
The call ended and Jude returned to the garage. He would have liked to question Jesus about his plans, but didn't feel he could. Something had happened to the guy between him walking off the job in the morning and reappearing a while ago asking about camping stuff. He'd changed. Perhaps Jim hadn't been too far off the mark when he'd joked about alien abduction.
Jesus looked at him and smiled. That was another thing. His smile seemed different. It had some kind of brilliance to it.
'What did Jim say?' Jesus said.
'Jim?'
'You just spoke to him on the phone, didn't you?'
Jude thought about lying for a split second, realised he couldn't. 'Yeah, he says you've resigned.'
Jesus nodded. 'That's right. It’s time for me to be about my father's business. I'd like you to be part of it.'
Jude was flattered, wondered if there'd be a pay rise.
'We'll talk more when I return from my trip.'
'Where you going?' Jude wanted to know.
'I'm going to spend some time alone out on the Northumbrian moors.'
'Communing with nature sort of thing?'
Jesus smiled. 'I wouldn’t say that.'
'Tent, sleeping bag.' Jude ticked them off the list, looked at Jesus, seated on an old camping chair, eyes closed in an attitude of prayer, either that, or sleeping. 'Camping stove, spare gas, matched, rucksack, sleeping mat, clothes, I'll let you sort your clothes Jesus. I'm not your mum.'
He couldn't be sure, but a faint smile seemed to flit across Jesus' face.
'Water, food,' He looked at the mound of camping gear he'd accumulated, convinced he had a stack of meals ready to eat that he'd acquired from a contact in the Northumbrian civil defence. Not here now. He sighed, 'Jesus, you need food.'
'No food.' Jesus replied his eyes still closed.
'That's what I'm saying, you need food, but we can pop down the shops, get you sorted.'
'I'm not taking any food.'
'You can't go camping on those moors without food, you won't last a week.'
'No food.’ Jesus was insistent. ‘My father will supply all I need.'
Jude shook his head in disbelief, didn't like to say that Joseph had been dead over ten years. Fell off that roof, big house in Redcar. Not his problem, Jesus seemed to know what he was doing. Couldn't help wondering: what had happened to him today?
'How you getting out there?' Jude asked. He removed the camping stove, spare gas, and matches from the pile.
Jesus opened his eyes, gave the Dude a brilliant smile. 'I thought you might give me a lift.'
✝
Leeds, Northumbria.
Bocus weaved his way back from the bar.
Beaumont watched him, wondered, not for the first time, why he continued these meetings. It wasn't like they had a great deal in common, apart from their hatred of the Saxons.
Bocus set the drinks down, offered a smoke, Beaumont declined. Bocus lit his own, blew a thin plume. Beaumont took a sip of his beer, savoured the taste, watched in fascination as Bocus took a long pull, and demolished half his pint.
'Seems like an ideal opportunity.' Beaumont ventured. And it was. Bocus given the keys to all the Northumbrian water facilities, remit to improve security. Fox invited in by the chickens.
'’Kin' right mate, show these bastards a thing or two.' Bocus declared, voice a notch too loud.
Beaumont gave the bar a quick scan. 'Keep your voice down.' He advised.
'Couldn't believe it when he called me in, told me what he wanted.' Bocus continued, 'thought it was a bollocking at first, but no,' he shook his head in amazement. 'Just the job, eh? Get all the info. Pass it onto comrades who can make use of it.'
'Shh.' Beaumont urged.
'What?'
'You never know who might be listening.'
'So what?' Bocus shrugged. 'Bunch o' pillocks these Saxons, coming over here, taking our jobs, screwing our women.' He belched. 'It’s about time we fought back.' He lapsed into a moody silence.
Beaumont thought back over the Union, how it had evolved. Way back in time, the Germanic tribes had, after decades of warfare, finally subsumed the Roman Empire. A power vacuum ensued, filled only when the first Reich was established. That empire, a loose collection of small independent territories, had lasted the best part of a thousand years before falling apart in the early years of the 19th Century. The second Reich followed in 1871, lasting until the early 20th century, after which, the first Fuehrer seized power and established the third Reich. He quickly expanded his territorial empire to the north, south, and west before turning his attention to the Slavic nations to the east. A disastrous war lasting six years followed, during which, both combatant empires fought themselves into the dust. With the death of the first Fuehrer in 1945 an uneasy peace ensued, both sides turning inwards to recover and rebuild.
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