New Page 1

Read God?

The Ya'acovian Revelation by Lionel Refson
    What if current Islamic and Christian tensions boiled over in the UK? What if a right wing racist politician was allowed free rein to incite religious hatred with the sole aim of provoking a violent backlash? What if the Government were behind this man, seeking justification to pass Draconian measures to control the trouble including the opening of Guantanamo style detention centres all round the country with the right to incarcerate Muslim terrorist suspects at will?

What if civil war, indeed full-scale global conflict was imminent? Unrealistic? Think again!

£8.99

    Against this turbulent backdrop, a lost Gospel is discovered, a Gospel that holds the key not only in averting a civil war in the UK, but worldwide global conflict. This Gospel is the true Gospel of James, the brother of Jesus and only one man understands its content and its purpose. Those that come seeking guidance are the ones he will teach, the eminent and atheist physicist, the catholic priest, the businessman turned politician, the author and his Doctor wife. As Society moves towards meltdown, as an inexperienced and ineffective Home Secretary fails to come to grips with the situation, it is to these unlikely heroes that the world must turn.
        The Ya'acovian revelation is not an empty thriller. It is based on fact, many of the events in the book have already recently happened and to that extent, it is one possible fictional extrapolation of these events. Be ready to question your beliefs about God. Be prepared to question your beliefs about Islam, Christianity and all religions in a new light...But above all be ready to think.

Prologue
Jerusalem 1099

    The old knight was tired, but still he followed his Saracen guide down the narrow streets of Old Jerusalem. The air was humid and hot and he could barely breathe. Here and there were the sounds of men, crying, screaming, dying. The smell of blood and death hung heavy in the air, a thick, sickly stench. How he wished he was in England once more, surrounded by its gentle green countryside, how he wished he was anywhere but here in this hot arid desert-like land, amid the smell, the dust, the blood, the carnage. And yet he would not return empty handed, that he had promised God .His was a scholarly quest, a quest which would change Christendom forever. He was sure of it. He could not fail.
    He had been following his guide blindly, not daring to show his face. Suddenly someone stood in their way and he bowed his head lower praying that his disguise would be enough. Luckily it was and the burly guard let them through. He had paid his guide a king's ransom for what he was about to receive and he was going to make absolutely sure it was worth it. His grip on the borrowed scimitar tightened. "How much further Ibrahim", he muttered under his breath.
    "Not much my Lord, but be silent, if we are caught we will both be cut to pieces."
    "I am aware of that, but time runs short."
    "I know my Lord, we are nearly there. We need to descend below the city; the opening is somewhere close by. Ah yes it is here. Come, be quick!"
    The Saracen lifted up a well disguised hatch that hid a ladder descending down into a dry well. He looked furtively to his left, then his right and then waved the knight to follow him.
    Sir Roger reluctantly obeyed. "If this is a trap Ibrahim, I will remove your head from your skinny body", The knights voice croaked with the dust.
    "No trap my Lord, do you think I would risk losing my little Yusuf"
    The knight grimaced. He had captured the pair of them, father and son, just outside the gates of Jerusalem, trying to sneak in. He'd been prepared to use torture to find what he sought, but the father had been more than forthcoming. Of course, he hadn't believed the Mohammedan, but being so close to his goal, the risk seemed worthwhile. Besides, his men still held the boy. If he wasn't back by nightfall, they had orders to kill him. There was a price to pay to serve The Lord and to make sure of success he had also rewarded the Saracen financially to seal the deal.
    He descended the first two steps and reaching up closed the trap-door above them. They reached the bottom of the dry well and Ibrahim began tearing at the ground to one side in a feverish manner.
    "What is it, what are you doing" Sir Roger asked straining to see his companion in the half-light, their torches casting large shadows on the walls. The Saracen continued to dig almost wildly at the ground, throwing dirt behind him, all the while muttering "Its here, It has to be here"
    Sir Roger drew his scimitar. "Find it now or I will make your son an orphan. I have no more patience"
"Please my Lord. It’s buried here my Lord, somewhere here.... Ah wait. There is something... I have it, come and see."
    The old knight waved his torch at the object in the Saracen's hand. It was indeed an ancient scroll. One glance was enough to know. Quickly he snatched it from the trembling man, rolled it open it and began to read the ancient aramaic. A gasp escaped his tight lips.
    "My God, what you say is true. Ibrahim lead us back right now"
    Ibrahim hesitated, "Is it authentic in your opinion Sir Roger? Is it the Gospel of the brother of Jesus?"
    "Yes, yes now lead us out of here", It was the knight's turn to tremble. He felt a slight draught and looked up. Someone was opening the hatch above them.
    The Arab’s tone became suddenly harsh. "That I cannot do Sir Roger" I am prepared to sacrifice my Yusuf to aid the cause of Allah, but Christendom will not be allowed to have this scroll. Thank you for confirming its veracity I would have allowed you to steal a forgery of course, but these true words you cannot have.”
    Sir Roger tried to control his rising panic. "Don't be a fool man. We both have too much to lose"
    The Saracen picked up a knife that had been buried in the soft earth, next to the scroll and Sir Roger took a step forward sword in hand.
    "There is no way out of course Sir Roger. The soldiers know you are here and now we also know that the scroll is real. Prepare to die "
    The Saracen threw the knife and it whistled by the old knight's ear, but he'd moved just in time. Sir Roger swung his sword at the Arab's throat and it made heavy contact. His assailant fell to the floor blood pumping out of a huge gaping wound. He was done for, they both knew that. Above them the knight could hear angry voices, the soldiers were descending. He knew he had to get the scroll out but he was completely trapped. So he did the only thing he could do. As they came down, he began hacking wildly at them. Then taking the torch from the wall he set fire to the bottom of the ladder, forcing them to scurry back up.
    Twice more they lowered ladders down but he set fire to those too. So they left him to starve to death. He would not abandon the scroll. He could not escape their trap and so he sat sword in one hand and scroll in the other, waiting for his rescuers to come. Seven days later when the city of Jerusalem fell to the Crusaders he was found by his soldiers, in that same position, dead, and completely at peace, his work done.

Warleggan, Cornwall 1972

    In another time and place, nearly nine hundred years later an old man was breathing his last .The old isolated Church had provided his home for the past 45 years, but Reverend John Mcormick had always hated it. Now as he lay dying on the stone cold floor in front of the crude altar, alone and without hope, his thoughts returned, as they always invariably did, to the beginning.
    He'd once been happy in his digs at Cambridge University, but then she'd turned up. Fifteen years old, innocent and beautiful and he had seduced her. He'd first taken her virginity and then the accursed parish, on the insistence of his Bishop, purely to avoid scandal. He'd abused not only his position but also the trust of those that knew him. A stupid dalliance with a cleaning maid had ruined not only his career but also his life.
    For forty-five years he had begged forgiveness at every opportunity, but instead only loneliness, isolation and eventually insanity answered. He'd tried to move on at first, even to make light of his situation, but the self loathing and guilt he felt soon repelled those who came into contact with him. His parishioners shunned him almost from the very beginning . There was something not quite right about that one, they would say.
    And later, the rumours grew. It was said that the Church was haunted and the Reverend was accused, behind his back of course, of being a Satanist by his superstitious backward parishioners. Indeed many swore that late at night they had heard strange noises emanating from the vicinity of the Churchyard. It was on account of his loneliness that he set about making cardboard cut-outs of them, to give sermons to them when his flock no longer ventured to the Church, but it didn't help ease the pain. They found him so unapproachable and unkempt, with his dirty long grey hair and his bad smell that letters were sent to the Diocese to complain but to no avail. The Church knew well that they had no-one to take his place and replied in polite terms that they had, to quote, absolute faith in their Minister.
    So over the years, isolated and without friends Rev Mcormick lost his mind. When he wasn't preaching to his cardboard cut-outs, he would lock the church, retire to his chambers and often sit for hours rocking back and forth on his old chair, arguing loudly with himself, in the gloom. Occasionally he ate and rarely he slept. But he had one thing which had kept him alive. The scroll that he avidly read, the one that the little girl had found, hidden deep within a secret passage in the Church's crypt, back in 1952. They'd made a bargain. He wouldn't tell anyone that she'd been trespassing on Church property and in return she would not mention the scroll to anyone including and especially her Mother. Over the years they had both kept their word and he'd had peace and time to read it, to study its every word. Paradoxically it gave him something to live for, but at the same time, its content destroyed his faith, his soul, his very raison d'etre...his belief in God.
    Once he'd been a theological scholar par excellence and he'd always missed the huge comforting library at the University. He'd spent many hours there, safe from the awkwardness of human company. He'd liked to study and it had comforted him to persevere in the translation of the old scroll and once more surround himself with books. His Secretary in the village, a woman whom he disliked intensely, had at least got him all the literature he had requested. Her penchant for gossip however did him no good at all and had only fuelled the rumours of strange rituals taking place. Indeed a couple of local youths swore blind that they had seen the Church pews full, late at night, on more than one occasion.
    Neither did it help matters that he often asked her to get him books of dubious standing. She knew, as did they all of course that he was writing some book or other himself, but they didn't care and on the day that she found the Reverend John Mcormick slumped across the altar cold and dead to the world, she barely gave him a second glance. She knew that his heart had been bad and she was glad he was gone. She was more interested in his belongings than anything else. She pocketed his gold watch and fifty pounds in cash before something on his desk caught her eye. It was an old manuscript and next to it were pages and pages of notes in his handwriting. The manuscript was in some foreign language and she didn't recognise any of the curious letters, but his notes she could understand.
    Her hands started shaking and her heart beat wildly. "The old bastard had hid that well," she thought as she ran out the Church . Twenty minutes later she was back at her cottage, phoning the only man she knew who'd be able to understand the scroll and pay handsomely through the nose for the privilege. She knew she'd just become rich and that was all that really mattered to her. No longer would she have to struggle to live. What she didn't know was that the scroll she would sell, would one day change the very future of mankind.