This story is a work of fiction.
Even if it is partly inspired by real facts and refers to certain people who truly existed, it remains first and foremost a thriller.
Most of the heroes in this book have left few clues in history but, thanks to the fantastic time machine of writing, I was able to carry out a two-year investigation in a first-century Palestine full of miracle-workers and messiahs. And that helped me to understand it better.
I have tried to be as meticulous as possible to ensure the authenticity of the settings evoked and the facts related, but the only testimonies we have come from historians like Flavius Josephus, Tacitus or Suetonius who were not born at the time when the events took place. Contemporaries such as Seneca, Philo of Alexandria or Pliny the Elder do not mention Yeshua of Nazareth in their writings. The work of the Evangelists was of course invaluable, but it was written at best 70 years after the events by second or third generation disciples who, therefore, did not know the one we call Jesus. Moreover, their accounts have been altered several times since. They are therefore, like fiction, questionable and shrouded in mystery.
This novel therefore does not claim to be an exegesis or the work of a historian. It is an apocryphal investigation carried out by a believer from birth who summons up the grandson of the carpenter to find faith in its most human, most organic aspects. It is the literary search of a baptized person who desperately seeks the scent of the Jordan.
It is the confession of a man who doubts. But... isn’t doubt the very principle of faith ? If you say "I believe", it means you are not sure.