And over all those centuries, Beaumont marvelled, the peoples of this small island at the western edge of Europe had kept their own council, co-existing peaceably with each other, and ignored the strife on the continental mainland.
Out of the ashes of the third Reich a new approach to nationhood was formed. All the countries of Europe met in a great council and decided to join together as a trading community where all borders would be open and there would be completely free movement of people. The four ancient kingdoms of Northumbria, Wessex, East Anglia, and Mercia, along with Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall were invited to join. All declined. That state of affairs couldn’t last, didn’t last. Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall stood firm, but the four kingdoms were eventually assimilated into the Community in the early 1970’s.
Big mistake.
The inevitable had happened. Over decades of incessant erosion the trading community had morphed into the Union. In the early days nations were bullied into staying by the threat of financial ruin, latterly the threats had been more militaristic. To all intents and purposes the Union was a fourth Reich, ruled by the Fuehrer, from Berlin. The more astute citizens had realised what was happening but their warnings had been ignored. And now, like Bocus said, there seemed to be more Saxons over here than there were over there.
'It's them and us.' Bocus stirred himself. 'Never been invaded, this country, mate. That Norman bloke gave it a go. William the Bastard, wasn’t it?'
Beaumont nodded.
'Aye. Thought you'd know.' Bocus suppressed a burp. 'History teacher knows things.' He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. 'Good King Harold met him on the beach, threw him back in the sea.' Bocus swigged his beer, set the glass down, 'We shall fight them on the beaches.' He nodded in approval, 'sounds good that, eh?'
It was true, Beaumont thought, apart from the Romans, they'd never been conquered by military might but King Harold hadn't lasted long after his triumph on the sands at Pevensey, and the fledgling nation had soon returned to the old fiefdoms of Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex. Who knows what might have happened if the concept of England had taken hold? Might even have built our own empire. He smiled at the thought.
'And now what have we got?' Bocus chuntered on. 'These tossers in Berlin telling us what to do, what to think. It’s no longer a free country.’
Beaumont looked round warily. Nobody was listening or taking notice, but you never knew. All it took was somebody with a grudge, anonymous call to State Security, next thing, dark room, lamp in your face, answering impossible questions with electrodes attached to your genitals.
There was a sudden commotion by the door, the room fell silent as a routine six-man patrol came into the bar, took up position by the doors. Somebody close to Beaumont muttered, 'Sodding Polizei.'
The patrol leader came round checking ID cards. When the man reached Beaumont and Bocus, they were ready. Their cards were scanned into a hand held terminal. The machine beeped once for each card. The sergeant thanked them, moved on. Beaumont watched the patrol leader continue round the bar, a succession of single beeps accompanying him. It wouldn't be long before some bright spark thought it a good idea to implant the citizens with a microchip same as they did with animals.
A quick, smooth operation, the patrol was gone from the crowded bar inside ten minutes. Beaumont and Bocus exchanged glances, didn't speak. Beaumont watched as Bocus extended the middle finger of his left hand, pointed it towards the door. He thought back to a time in his lifetime when there might have been a possibility of breaking the ties with the Union, couldn't think of one.
It was too late.
It had been too late for a long time.
THREE
STATE SECURITY HQ, YORK, NORTHUMBRIA.
Swanger eased her shoes off, rubbed the soles of her feet, thought about the meeting she'd just had with her boss. Heathersedge had been edgy, no doubt about it. Swanger wondered how far up the line the edginess went. To the top, beyond? There was a very short command structure in State Security. The field agents, of whom Swanger was one of many, reported to Heathersedge, who then reported to the Governor, who in his turn reported to Berlin. Four steps to the Fuehrer. Swanger smiled. According to the old song, there were only three to heaven.
Still, at Swanger's level, it didn't matter who above was pulling the strings. Didn’t matter to whose tune she danced. All Swanger knew, all she needed to know, was that somebody somewhere was anxious about the religious nutter out at Whitby, dipping people in the sea, and raving about a Messiah. This talk of kings coming from heaven to establish earthly kingdoms was unsettling.
Heathersedge wanted a close eye kept on the situation. Swanger snorted. What the hell did the weasel-eyed pillock think she did all day? She'd been keeping a very close eye on Baptiste and his cronies for months, in anticipation of this request. Even had an ex-Polizei officer embedded in Baptiste's circle, giving regular reports. His opinion. No need to panic, Baptiste was no threat to the regime.
Swanger could have told Heathersedge that earlier, but didn't see the point of letting him know she was ahead of the game. Still, it would be as well to check again, see if anything had changed. She smiled at the thought of a day at the coast, closed her eyes, and daydreamed of sea air, ice creams, a walk along the beach, fish and chips.
✝
The moors, Northumbria.
Hungry. Starving. Nauseous.
By his reckoning, this was the fortieth day he'd been out here camping on the Northumbrian Moors. A vast untamed area that stretched practically unbroken from the east coast to the west.
Forty days where his entire sustenance was water.
He'd never been so hungry in all his life.
Jesus had been thinking what his first meal would be back in Whitby. Fish and chips definitely, lashings of salt and vinegar, pot of tea, bread and butter.
A proper Northumbrian meal.
Jesus bowed his head, spoke aloud, 'Father, how much longer?'
Silence.
Thinking about food had sent his senses haywire again. Yesterday it had been a sizzling steak, now it was freshly baked bread and, was that a hint of roasted coffee beans.
Stop it.
It was tantalising.
In fact, it was so real it had to be real.
He opened his eyes. Saw he had a visitor.
An old man, dressed in rags, long straggly hair, wild eyes, stood before him, chewing on a piece of bread.
At last.
'Satan.' Jesus acknowledged.
The man changed into a younger incredibly handsome version, film star looks, and a twinkle in his eye. 'You recognised me.' He complained.
'You haven’t changed a bit.' Jesus replied.
Satan produced a packet of cigarettes, flipped the lid, and offered one to Jesus, who shook his head. Satan shrugged, put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, drew breath, the end of the cigarette glowed red. He inhaled, blew smoke at Jesus who raised an eyebrow. 'What are you doing here Jesus?'
'I wasn’t sure, but I am now.' Jesus said.
Satan adopted a puzzled look. 'I'm not getting it. You've put your majesty to one side, stepped out of heaven, come down here,' he gestured with his arms, 'for what? I mean, what do you hope to achieve?'
Jesus shrugged.
Satan blew smoke rings into the clear morning air. 'The earth is my realm, my playground. You've no business here.'
Jesus was silent.
The cigarette in Satan's hand morphed into a thick wedge of bread spread with golden butter. 'Like a piece?' he offered.
Jesus declined.
'Why do you do it Jesus? Why starve yourself like this? Who benefits? You still insist you’re the son of God?’ Satan shrugged. ‘You're not acting like you are.' He frowned in disappointment. 'Anything you desire could be yours for the asking.'
Jesus watched as Satan ate the bread, licked the butter from his fingers.
'That was good.' He teased. 'Come on Jesus, if you were the son of God yo
u could have food at any time, you should be able to produce bread like that.' He snapped his fingers and more bread appeared in his hand.
'Man does not live by bread alone, 'Jesus replied, 'but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'
Satan smiled, went back to smoking. 'Ah, the old quoting the ancient scriptures trick. Back in the day when God's people were stumbling around in the wilderness, led by that cretin Moses.'
'My Father will provide what I need.'
'But will he? And is your precious Father going to provide food?'
'It is written.' Jesus replied.
Satan raised his eyebrows.
'Do you remember the garden?' Jesus asked.
'Garden?' Satan looked puzzled.
'Of Eden.' Jesus said, 'The man and the woman?'
Satan clicked his tongue. 'With you. That was so easy. They wanted to believe they could become like God.' He laughed. 'Fools.'
'Yes, that was a mistake,' Jesus replied. 'And one that humanity has paid for ever since. But no more, I've come to pay the full price for that mistake, once and for all.'
Satan smiled. 'We'll see.'
Jesus closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Satan had vanished.
✝
NorPro, Whitby, Northumbria.
Maggie gave into the loudest voice, as she knew she would. It was futile to resist the voice that told her to have the Morph, that she needed it, couldn't live without it. She placed the small lump of black tarry substance on the flat piece of foil, heated the underside with her lighter. As the wispy vapour came off, she inhaled it through a straw.
Her friend Poppy came into the restroom, kicked off her shoes, poured a red wine, lit a cigarette. 'You'll get a better rush injecting.'
Maggie nodded. 'I hate needles. This is okay for me.'
Poppy shrugged, blew a perfect smoke ring. 'Drink?'
'Yeah, thanks.' Maggie packed away her gear, took the glass from Poppy, sipped, and waited until the voices were subdued, peace for a while. She sighed. 'And relax.'
'Busy night?' Poppy asked, blew smoke, and wafted it away.
'Not too bad, you?'
'Four straights and a light spanking,' Poppy grimaced, 'oh, and another, "my partner doesn't understand me".'
Maggie laughed, holding her glass against Poppy's, 'Cheers.'
'Cheers.' Poppy echoed, drank half her wine in one go. 'I should be grateful all he wanted to do was talk.'
'You or him?' Maggie asked.
'What?'
'The spanking. You or him?'
Poppy laughed, drained her glass, and offered it. 'Him, thank the Lord.'
Maggie gave her friend a sideways glance. 'Do you believe then?'
'Nah.' Poppy gave a brief shake of her head. 'Just a saying, innit? Why, do you?'
'Dunno.' Maggie refilled the glass, handed it back. 'I'd like to.'
'Don't believe in anything, me.' Poppy declared.
Maggie sipped her wine, enjoyed the peace of the Morph. 'Have you seen that feller down on the beach? Dipping people in the sea, preparing them for a Messiah.'
Maggie thought back to the night she’d heard the voice on the beach singing about a coming Messiah. 'What is a Messiah?' She asked.
Poppy shrugged. 'Dunno, some kind of all-powerful king, I think. The Jews believe he's gonna turn up and save them from the Saxons, get them back to their ancient homeland.'
'Don't you ever dream of someone coming along, take you away from all this?' Maggie smirked, 'The daily grind.'
Poppy laughed, choked on her wine. 'Ya bin watching too many films pet.'
Maggie sighed. 'I expect so.'
'It's just us against the world love.' Poppy said.
Maggie frowned, was that true? 'I'm thinking of going down to the beach. See what they're all about.' The voices stirred, but were silent, listening for treachery. 'I have this feeling Poppy.'
'Lucky you, I wish I did.' Poppy laughed. It was a harsh sound.
Maggie smiled, acknowledged the quip, and continued, 'It's time for change Poppy. There’s something in the air, can you feel it?'
A soft buzzing sound started, both girls looked at their phones. Poppy shook her head, pressed the mute button on her phone, 'No love, I can't.’ She sniffed, laughed. ‘Your dreams and stale smoke, that’s all I can smell,’ She slipped her shoes on. 'Tomorrow will be the same as today,' She placed her half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, finished her drink. 'Just like today was the same as yesterday.' She paused at the door, 'Don't touch that ciggie, I'll be back in three minutes.'
Maggie watched her go, miffed it was Poppy that had been summoned She ignored the voice in her head telling her not to bother, there was no point, she was past it, that nobody would want her ever again.
✝
The moors, Northumbria.
York.
The roof of the Temple at night. A dream? It didn't feel like a dream, he could feel the wind on his face. A vision then.
Jesus looked over the rooftops at the lights of the capital, wondered what was coming next. He peered over the edge of the roof at the ground. He felt a chill, became aware of a presence.
'It's a long way down, isn't it?' A soft, soulful voice, whispered.
Jesus turned, and looked at the beautiful woman stood at his shoulder. She was wearing a gold dress, had long black hair. She was a vision of feminine beauty.
He nodded in reply.
The woman moved even closer, Jesus was conscious of her perfume, the red of her lips, her jet black eyes.
'Any person falling from here is bound to die.' She said.
Jesus didn't respond.
'Just you and me, Jesus.' The woman said. 'It would be so easy to push you off.'
'If you had the power and the authority,' Jesus replied, 'which you don't.'
The woman changed into the familiar form of the handsome young man.
Satan, again.
'Don't push your luck, Jesus.' Satan said. 'This is my realm. I'm the prince of the earth.' He raised his hands as though to push Jesus in the chest but stopped, laughed. 'Just kidding.'
Jesus stood impassively. 'What is it you want?'
'You're puzzling me, Jesus. You say you're the son of God, but you're not willing to prove it. I wonder why that is?'
'I don't need to prove anything.' Jesus replied.
'Of course not.' Satan agreed, 'but,' he shrugged, 'you might find people unwilling to believe unless you give them some proof. Don't you think?'
'No.' Jesus responded.
'I don't believe you are who you say you are. You’re an imposter. You couldn't produce bread when you were starving. I bet you're still hungry now.'
Jesus was silent.
'Let's settle it right now. Why don't you jump from this great height, see what happens? If you were the son of God, you could jump from here, Jesus, and be saved. It is written, "For He will command His angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up so that you will not strike your foot against a stone".'
'Oh, Satan,' Jesus replied. 'It is also written, you shall not test the Lord your God.'
'Aren't you curious though,' Satan said, half smile, 'to see if he means it? Your constant thought on the way down. Will he, won't he? A bit like bungee jumping. Is the rope too long?'
'Satan, I know what you're about.'
'You do?' Satan tried, failed to look innocent.
'I don't have to jump to prove my trust in the Father. I trust His word. If I were to jump, I’d be putting myself in danger in order to force Him to save me. I would be trying to manipulate Him. You, with your experience of the Lord, know that God is sovereign. If I jump, I will be telling my Father that I doubt Him. We both know this is not the case.’
Satan pulled a face. 'You're no fun, Jesus.'
'The kingdom I bring has no place for your kind of fun.'
'We'll see.' Satan said, before fading from Jesus' sight.
✝
NorPro, Whitby, Northumbria
.
Levi checked the roster in the manager's office, running his finger down the list of names. The youngest girl on duty today was Sally, a sixteen-year-old blonde, and the eldest, a vivacious, experienced forty-three year old redhead, Samantha.
Levi had been with Sam before, she was good, but today, he fancied a younger model, someone new, different. He finished his coffee, wandered through to the bar-come-waiting area where the girls were seated at tables waiting for clients. He stood in the doorway letting his eyes adjust. One of the things he loved about his job was seeing so many women lounging around in varying states of undress and NorPro catered for all tastes. Every town throughout the kingdom had a branch, and Levi, employed as a hygiene inspector, was always busy. He sat at an empty table, picked up the printed card. Joanne, twenty-seven. The passport-sized photo, showing an unsmiling woman with lank hair, didn't do her any favours, but Levi knew from experience not to rely on the selection cards.
A waitress, eighteen, nineteen, maybe, bright eager smile, offered him a drink. Levi declined, asked for Maggie.
The girl scanned the room. 'With a client, sir. Was it just Maggie, or would you like to choose another girl?’
'It was, but now I've met you...' He didn't disguise his interest, his eyes roamed over her body.
The girl shook her head, smiled uncertainly. It was well known the waitresses were off limits, serving drinks their only function.
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