Chapter 1
Chapter 1DorsetI changed my mind.
In an instant, I decided to forgo lunch and take the
road to Wimborne Minster and Compton Place. It was less than a month since
my last visit, when I’d left abruptly with his words ringing in my ears.
Now was the moment to make amends.
I give no prior warning of my visit. I never do.
Usually, I just drop in and ask to see him. When he appears there’s a
welcoming grin and arthritic fingers smooth the remaining wispy strands of
white hair. He grips my hand as though I’ve been away for years – not
just the past three or four weeks.
I share two passions with Reverend Julian Makepeace: a
fascination with ancient texts and religious jousting. We have quite
opposite views on religion, we’ve been arguing since I was an
undergraduate at Oxford and he was my tutor.
Julian has a probing intelligence and, despite his name,
delights in provocation. It’s never long before voices are raised.
Sometimes my visits end with ruffled feathers, other times we almost come to
blows. I’m usually the one to lose it. Even in the thick of a verbal brawl
Julian retains an urbane manner, which infuriates me even more.
My last visit had ended suddenly when I was advised by
the manager to moderate my tone as there had been a complaint. We were
sitting enjoying the gardens, when Julian turned once more to his topic of
the moment – the advent of a new prophet.
“Of course, it all started with Abraham,” he
began.
“Not again…” I rolled my eyes.
Undeterred he carried on. “Do you know, every 500
years or so we witness the coming of a prophet: Moses, Zoroaster, Buddha,
Christ, Mohammed… look at the timeline.’ He pushed back a loose strand
of hair that fell across his forehead.
“Now we’ve reached the second millennium… who
might be next I wonder?”
‘I think I can guess…’ I said impatiently.
Julian turned towards me, a fire in his eyes that
contrasted with the clerical black and Roman collar. He was up to
something.
“I have the strongest premonition there will soon be
another coming! One that will lead to a marked shift in the world’s
religions… Someone will offer another path to Nirvana. I’m certain of
it.”
“Complete nonsense! Look at the recent so-called
visionaries! Charles Russell with his Jehovah’s Witnesses, Ron Hubbard and
the Scientologists, Sun Myung Moon and the Unification Church… mere cults
that have got no further than acquiring a handful of followers!”
He smiled that infuriating smile.
“Matthew, you know of my interest in this new
prophet… Well, I believe he is soon to make his presence known.”
I nodded, barely paying attention.
“I have a name – Bal’Ashtu – even a location –
Kurdistan.”
“Another so-called holy man walking the sands of the
Middle East? What makes you think that this one will be any
different?”
“A contact tells me this prophet is a true radical. He
foresees the coming of a new age of enlightenment.”
“You wait until religious leaders get wind of what
he’s up to. There’ll be an almighty closing of the ranks.”
“Perhaps… But before that happens I want you to do
something for me.”
Julian hesitated, then it spilled out. “I want you to
take me to Kurdistan to meet him. I’ll pay, of course, but I want to hear
his teachings. To see for myself the effect he has on people, the strength
of his following. I want to be there.”
It was then I realised that Julian Makepeace had been
leading up to this for months.
“You old devil!” I barked, loudly, but he just sat
there benignly, unapologetic.
That was when the manager of the home, Daniel Horne,
came bustling over and asked me to quieten my tone or leave.
“I’m going anyway…” I retorted and strode off
across the lawn to the car park.
*
I decided to stop on the way and buy a peace offering
– a half-bottle of Bushmills whiskey, his favourite tipple. With the
memory of our last conversation playing over in my mind, I turned into the
gates of Compton Place and swept up the long drive.
The question refused to go away: why not go with him to
Kurdistan? Why not?
As I parked the car, I became aware of a knot of people
milling in front of the large entrance doors. In the wing mirror I glimpsed
Daniel Horne running towards me.
“Doctor Clements! That was quick,” said Horne
breathlessly. “I only asked someone to phone you a few minutes ago.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“Didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He paused and lowered his voice
“I’m afraid Julian Makepeace is dead.”
