The Messiah Secret

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.