The Messiah Secret Read online

  THE MESSIAH

  SECRET

  James Becker

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Also by James Becker

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  England

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Egypt

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  India

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Author’s Note

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781407055800

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  THE MESSIAH SECRET

  A BANTAM BOOK: 9780553825046

  First publication in Great Britain

  Bantam edition published 2010

  Copyright © James Becker 2010

  James Becker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  Typeset in 11/14.5pt Sabon by Falcon Oast Graphic Art Ltd.

  Printed in the UK by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading, RG1 8EX.

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  To Sally, as always, and for everything

  James Becker spent over twenty years in the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm and served during the Falklands War. Throughout his career he has been involved in covert operations in many of the world’s hotspots; places like Yemen, Northern Ireland and Russia. He is an accomplished combat pistol shot and has an abiding interest in ancient and medieval history. His previous novels, The First Apostle and The Moses Stone, are also published by Bantam Books. The First Apostle was one of the biggest selling eBooks of 2009.

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Also by James Becker

  THE FIRST APOSTLE

  THE MOSES STONE

  and published by Bantam Books

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks go to a very talented duo – Selina Walker and Jessica Broughton – a pair of ‘slash-and-burn’ editors who together took the bones and flesh of this book and imbued it with real life. And they, of course, are just a part of the experienced, dedicated and gifted team at Transworld who all worked to ensure that the book was as good as we could possibly make it.

  And, as always, my thanks to Luigi Bonomi, the best literary agent an author could have, a good friend and real inspiration to me.

  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 eig
ht 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.