The Messiah Secret

Prologue

AD 72 Ldumra

The nine men had made slow progress ever since they’d left the last village and started the final stage of their long climb. Now, the simple stone houses were a distant ghostly monochrome in the grey light of pre-dawn.

There was no road, barely even a track, leading to where they were going, though they knew exactly the route they needed to follow, a route that would take them high into the mountains and finish in a blind-ended valley. Each of them — bar one — also knew that they were making the last journey of their lives. Only one man in the group would ever leave the valley, or would want to. That journey or, to be exact, the reason for that journey, was the culmination of everything they’d worked for throughout their adult lives.

They were well-armed, each man carrying a dagger and a sword, and all but two of them also had a bow and a quiver of arrows over their shoulders. The whole area, and especially Ldumra, was a well-known haunt of bandits and thieves. Their principal prey were the laden caravans travelling along what would later become known as the Silk Road, but they would show no compunction in attacking any group of travellers, especially if they believed those people were carrying valuables. And the nine men were accompanying a treasure that every member of the armed escort was fully prepared to die to protect. Only when they reached their destination would they be able to relax, when the treasure would at last be safe, safe — they hoped — for all eternity.

Two of the men rode slowly at the head of the group, each mounted on a woolly two-humped Bactrian camel, an animal surprisingly well-adapted to the harsh terrain. Following them, two yaks were hitched to a small and sturdy wooden cart, one man sitting on the bench at the front, whip in hand. Two other yaks followed, tied with short ropes to the rear of the cart, then half a dozen donkeys, each bearing a single rider and with heavy packs on their rumps.

In the flat loading area of the cart was a heavy wooden box, perhaps eight feet in length, four feet wide and two feet high. The box was hidden from view, covered in piles of furs and other garments, baskets of food and pitchers of water and wine. The men hoped they looked like a group of simple travellers, transporting nothing of value, and would be of no interest to bandits.

And their appearance was unremarkable. With one exception, they all looked — and indeed were — indigenous to the area. Their skin was brown and heavily wrinkled from a lifetime’s exposure to the sun in the thin air at high altitude, their eyes Mongoloid, their faces broad and flat, their hair black and worn long.

The youngest man was the odd one out, riding one of the donkeys near the centre of the group. Perhaps twenty years old, less than half the age of the youngest of his companions, he had fair skin and almost a ruddy complexion. His eyes were a bright and startling blue and his hair — hidden under his hooded cloak — was reddish-brown. He was known to his companions as ‘Sonam’, the word translating as ‘the fortunate one’, though that was not his given name.

The track from the village ran for less than a mile, and then crossed a mountain stream. The small caravan stopped by the bank and the travellers took the opportunity to drink and refill all their water containers. It would be the last stream they would cross before the steepest part of the ascent began and, although the valley was cold, with blankets of snow covering the peaks that surrounded them, an adequate supply of drinking water was essential.

The two men riding the camels remained mounted, alert for any signs of danger lurking behind the hills and within the scrubby vegetation that bordered the tumbling waters, but saw nothing. In a few minutes all the members of the caravan had remounted and resumed their journey, fording the stream and climbing the bank on the opposite side.

The going became rougher the higher they ascended, the track — such as it was — barely wide enough to accommodate the wooden cart, and their progress was reduced to little more than a slow walking pace.

It was mid-morning before they saw the first sign of anyone else on the mountainside. The leading camel walked around a bend in the track, and as the animal stepped forward, a shadowy figure dressed in grey melted back into the rocks fifty yards in front.

Immediately, Je-tsun, the leading rider, reined in his mount and raised his hand to stop the caravan. He glanced behind him, checking that his companions had seen his signal, and at the same time grabbed his bow, drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it, ready to fire.

‘What is it?’ the man riding the second camel asked, stopping beside him and readying his own bow. His name was Ketu, and their language was a local dialect that would, in time, become known as Old Tibetan.

‘A man,’ Je-tsun said shortly. ‘In the rocks on the left.’

The two men scanned the track that meandered along the side of the mountain in front of them. If the figure was a bandit, he and his fellow thieves hadn’t picked a particularly good place for an ambush. The caravan — apart from the cart, obviously, which was unable to leave the track — could move well over to the right, away from the rock-strewn mountainside, which would give the riders space to manoeuvre, and to fire their arrows.

‘Not where I’d have chosen to mount an attack,’ Ketu muttered.

As if in answer to his remark, a figure wearing a grey cloak appeared some distance away from the track and, behind him, a handful of goats could be seen, moving erratically across the rough and rocky terrain towards a small level area studded with patches of green.

The two men sighed in relief.

‘Was that the man you saw?’

Je-tsun nodded. ‘I think so. It looks like him, anyway.’

After a few minutes, the caravan resumed its slow but steady progress along the track and the increasingly uneven ground. Fallen rocks and trees frequently blocked their route, and several times three or four of the men had to dismount to drag and lever the obstacles to one side to create sufficient space for the cart to continue on its way.

Just after the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Je-tsun ordered the caravan to stop on a small level plateau that offered good visibility in all directions. They dismounted and clustered around the cart where their supplies were stored. They chewed hunks of heavy unleavened bread and strips of dried meat, washed down with water — they wouldn’t touch the wine until they reached their destination.

Less than fifteen minutes later they were on the move again, and about half an hour after that the bandits hit them.

They rounded another bend to see a tree trunk completely blocking the track. In itself, that wasn’t a cause for concern — they’d had to shift half a dozen already — but when they reined in their mounts the silence of the mountains was shattered by a sudden shouted command, and then a volley of arrows erupted from the rocks over to their left.

Most of them missed, but two hit Je-tsun squarely in the chest, knocking him backwards in his saddle. He grunted with the double impact, but didn’t fall.

Beside him, Ketu swiftly notched an arrow on his own bow and fired at one of the attackers who they could now see clearly. A gang of about a dozen bandits, clothed in grey and brown cloaks, were standing among the rocks to the left of the ambush site, all armed with bows and arrows or throwing spears.

Behind the two men on camels, the rest of the group surged forward, yelling defiance as they dismounted. They used the bodies of their animals for cover, unslung their bows and fired at the bandits. The exception was the blue-eyed younger man, who was quickly dragged behind the yak-drawn cart by one of his companions.

‘Sonam, stay down!’ the man hissed, seizing his own bow and pulling an arrow out of his quiver.

In seconds, the air filled again with arrows, the missiles clattering against the rocks and thudding into the wooden sides of the cart. The driver jumped off the vehicle and ducked for shelter — he had no bow — while his companions fought for their lives.

Three of the bandits fell screaming, tumbling back into the rocks, their bodies pierced by the well-aimed arrows of the travellers.

The driver of the cart suddenly howled with pain as an arrow slammed into his thigh. He fell backwards, both hands clutching at his injury, and the two other men dragged him behind the cart, desperately seeking shelter from the hail of missiles that still whistled across the mountainside.

One of the donkeys fell, three arrows striking it almost simultaneously and killing it instantly, and Je-tsun’s camel roared in pain as a spear grazed its side. Two of the travellers collapsed to the ground, one with an arrow through his neck, the point glistening red in the weak sunlight, the other pierced by two spears.

Then another shout rang out, and for an instant the volley of arrows diminished as the bandits stared at the scene in front of them.

Both of the men mounted on the camels were still in their saddles, but each of them had sprouted a handful of arrows, their points embedded in their chests and stomachs. Yet neither man appeared in any way affected by this — they were still aiming their bows and firing arrows without any obvious discomfort.

The sight was unsurprising to the travellers, but was clearly unnerving the bandits, who obviously believed both men should be dead or at least mortally wounded. The men pointed, shouting at each other in disbelief, then stopped the attack and simply took to their heels, vanishing into the jumble of rocks that covered the slope behind them.

For a few seconds, nobody on the track moved. They just stared at the hillside, making sure that their attackers really had gone, and weren’t regrouping to launch another assault.

Behind the cart, Sonam and his companion stood up cautiously and looked round, then turned to give what assistance they could to the injured driver.

Je-tsun issued crisp orders. Two of his men drew their swords and ran across to the side of the track where the attack had been launched, and where a dull moaning sound could be heard, coming from one of the wounded bandits. Moments later, the moaning rose to a scream, then there was the sound of a blow and the noise stopped completely. Seconds afterwards, Je-tsun’s men reappeared, one of them cleaning the blade of his weapon.

At the same time, two other men stepped forward to check on their fallen companions, but it was immediately apparent that they were both dead. Swiftly, the bodies were stripped of their weapons and belts, and then they were carried over to the opposite side of the track. There was no time to bury them, but Je-tsun ordered the two corpses to be laid out and covered with rocks, to try to keep away the vultures and other scavengers.

Only then, when he was sure the attack was over, did Je-tsun nudge his camel to make it kneel on the stony track, and dismount. Behind him, Ketu did the same.

‘It worked, my friend,’ Ketu said, stepping towards the other man with clumsy movements.

‘It worked,’ Je-tsun agreed, and awkwardly pulled his cloak over his head, the front of it stuck fast to his chest by the handful of arrows. Underneath it, secured by wide leather straps over his shoulders, he wore two thick planks of wood, covering his chest and back, a rudimentary form of body armour.

Je-tsun placed the wood on the ground and plucked out the arrows, one by one, then donned the planks again and replaced his cloak.

He turned to look at the wound his camel had sustained, but it was little more than a graze. The spear had obviously struck the animal a glancing blow that had left a shallow cut on the skin. One donkey was dead, pierced by three arrows, and two others had minor wounds.

Je-tsun walked across to the yak-drawn cart and looked at the three men there, one injured, the other two ministering to him.

Sonam stood up as he approached, and Je-tsun bowed down in front of him. ‘You are unhurt, my lord?’ he asked, standing erect again.

Sonam nodded. ‘Yes, but Akar is bleeding badly from his thigh. The arrow has cut through several blood vessels, I think.’

Je-tsun nodded, clasped the younger man by the shoulders and then bent down to look at the injured man.

Akar looked up as Je-tsun knelt beside him. He was quivering with shock, and blood was pumping out of both sides of his thigh — the arrow had penetrated right through his leg, and was still lodged in the wound.

Je-tsun looked at the pain-racked face of the man he’d known for decades and shook his head. He knew that the injury was life-threatening simply because of the blood loss, but there was more to it than that. The bandits were known to smear the tips of their arrows with poison or excrement and, even if the wound wasn’t fatal in itself, there was a good chance that infection would follow in the days to come, killing the victim more slowly but just as surely.

Akar stared at Je-tsun, knowledge of the reality of his situation written on his face. He nodded slowly, lifted his right hand and seized the other man’s arm. ‘Make it quick, my friend,’ he said. Then he leaned back on the rocky ground and closed his eyes.

Je-tsun nodded in his turn, drew a short dagger from the scabbard at his belt and swiftly drove it into Akar’s chest, straight through his heart. The man on the ground shuddered once, then lay still, his features growing slack as the pain ebbed away for the last time.

About half an hour later, the small caravan, now three men down, moved off again. For the rest of the journey the remaining men neither saw nor met anyone else, and finally they reached their destination, high up the valley, just after sunset.

Je-tsun ordered torches lit, then sent two of his men inside to check the structure thoroughly, and to ensure that nobody else had taken refuge there, though at that altitude it was unlikely. They emerged a few minutes later, to report that the place was exactly as it had been the previous year, when they’d found it for the first time, and when they’d spent almost six months preparing it, a task that had proved to be physically demanding and had also required considerable ingenuity.

Je-tsun nodded in satisfaction. He ordered the yaks to be unhitched from the cart and had them turned loose, together with the remaining donkeys. They wouldn’t need those animals again. But the two camels were tethered securely on a patch of level ground nearby, where scrubby bushes would provide them with something to eat.

The men removed all the furs and other goods from the cart to expose the heavy wooden crate, lifted it between them and carried it into the entrance, where they laid it on the ground. Then they lit more torches to provide enough light to start their work. Baulks of timber had been piled against the opposite wall, and it took over an hour to remove them all, and to reveal the inner chamber.

Before they entered, Je-tsun walked in and inspected it. The small room was almost square, and for obvious reasons devoid of windows or any other openings. At one end was what looked almost like an altar, an oblong shape made from hewn chunks of solid stone, the gaps between them filled with some kind of mortar, and the top covered with half a dozen slabs of stone.

The men picked up the heavy box again, carried it into the chamber and set it down beside the stone structure. Je-tsun issued another order, and his men began removing the slabs, leaning the heavy pieces of stone against the wall. Their actions revealed that the structure was completely empty, just an oblong cavity formed from shaped rocks. When they’d removed the last slab, Je-tsun peered inside, ran the tips of his fingers along the inner surfaces and nodded in satisfaction.

Building this cavity of stone had been one of the tasks he and his men had carried out the previous year, and his only concern had been the possibility of damp inside it, because their treasure was very fragile. But he could detect no signs of moisture on the cold stones that formed the cavity, the structure that would be the last resting place of the wooden box and its precious contents.

Getting the box inside the stone cavity was not going to be easy, just because of its size and weight, but they had foreseen the problem and Je-tsun had come up with a simple and effective solution.

One of his men laid three short lengths of wood in the base of the stone structure, to provide a platform on which the box could rest. Then, together, the six men lifted the box up to waist height, and then lowered it on to the top of the stone structure so that it lay across the opening. They slung heavy ropes underneath it, looped the ropes around their shoulders and, when Je-tsun gave the order, lifted the box again just using the ropes. They shuffled awkwardly around, manoeuvring the wooden box until it lined up exactly with the opening, then lowered it carefully into the structure.

Once it was resting on the floor, they pulled out the ropes from underneath it. Then they carefully replaced each stone slab on the top of the stone structure, sealing the cavity again.

Once he was satisfied that it was properly sealed, Je-tsun took a hammer and chisel and, in the middle of the central slab, carved two symbols that, in the Tibetan dialect, equated to the letters ‘YA’. Each of the men touched the carving once, then all but one filed slowly out of the chamber — that man had a single final task to perform. Then they closed the door for the last time.

It was too late to complete their task that night, so they ate some of their provisions and drank a little wine before wrapping themselves in the furs and sleeping as best they could on the cold and rocky floor.

The following morning they rose to finish their work. Concealing the entrance to the inner chamber took a couple of hours, but when they’d finished the result was impressive. Without knowledge of what was hidden there, nobody would have any idea that it even existed.

Je-tsun inspected the result and expressed his satisfaction.

‘We have done well,’ he told the men who’d followed him on this, their final mission. ‘Now it is time.’

The men filed outside and followed Je-tsun up the valley floor to the edge of a cliff, where a deep gully split the rock.

As they approached the edge, the man known as Sonam moved a little to one side, his expression troubled.

‘Is this necessary, Je-tsun?’ he asked. ‘You have all been loyal to me and to our master. Such loyalty should not have to be rewarded in this way.’

The older man shook his head. ‘We would not speak out willingly, my lord, but we know not what the future holds, and this is the only way we can be certain the secret will be preserved.’

Sonam shook his head. ‘I cannot witness this,’ he muttered. ‘I will leave you now.’

He stepped forward and clasped Je-tsun around the shoulders, then turned and walked away without a backward glance, down the slope to where the two camels were grazing contentedly.

Behind him, he heard the first cry of pain as Je-tsun began the willing slaughter of his faithful and trusting companions.

England