Sacred Sword (Ben Hope 7)

by Scott Mariani

  ‘But Jesus was a pacifist,’ Jude said. ‘Even I know that he advocated love, not war.’

  ‘As a philosopher he advocated Christian values of tolerance and goodness towards one’s fellow men,’ Wesley said. ‘The same virtues practised by, say, the Templar Knights a thousand years later, although that didn’t stop them from being ferocious warriors when violence was called for. Fact is, Jesus was far from the meek, mild hippy image he’s become identified with in modern times. Did your father ever tell you the story of how he stormed into the Temple and kicked over the moneychangers’ tables? Hardly an act of pacifism, do you think? It must have sparked a full-scale riot.’

  Jude had to concede the point. ‘Okay, but Jesus and his disciples didn’t go around with weapons, did they?’

  ‘Actually, the Bible tells us that they were routinely armed, like any soldier would be. For example, they had swords with them at the Last Supper, even as they sat around eating and talking.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s right there in the Gospel of Luke,’ Wesley said. “Jesus” last words to his disciples at the supper are to urge them to arm themselves, even if they have to sell their garments to pay for weapons. The disciples respond by reminding him they already did – “Look, Lord, here are our swords” – to which Jesus replies with approval.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Jude said.

  ‘Sure I am. And there’s more. Now, when the Last Supper is over, Jesus leads his followers to the Garden of Gethsemane, where shortly afterwards the authorities turn up to arrest him. Not just the token handful it would take to round up an unarmed pacifist, either. According to some versions of the scripture, an entire cohort of Roman soldiers was sent to capture Jesus. A cohort is one tenth of a legion. That’s six hundred soldiers, accompanied by troops of the puppet Jewish regime and various officials including the High Priest and his assistant Malchus. No sooner have they appeared, but one of Jesus’ disciples whips out a sword and slices off Malchus’ ear.’

  Jude shot Ben a look of incredulity.

  ‘It’s true,’ Ben told him. ‘It’s there in the Bible.’

  ‘Now, the Gospel of St John actually names the wielder of the sword as the disciple Simon Peter. Later to become known as St Peter the Apostle, of course, though he may also have been the same man as Simon the Zealot, a well-known militant nationalist of the time. There’s a 1520 painting, The Capture of Christ, that shows him swinging a sword at a terrified Malchus.’ Wesley grinned. ‘I know, I tried to buy it. The painting gives a pretty good idea of what the scene must have been like. What happened next? Six hundred soldiers dispatched to make an arrest, only to be met with armed resistance? There’s bound to have been fighting. Yet even despite what’s clearly written in the Bible, none of this is mentioned in the conventional account of the story that’s preached today.’

  Ben leaned forward to cut in. ‘So if I understand, your theory goes like this: when Jesus is captured, presumably along with the two other rebels who are crucified along with him, some of his men manage to escape, taking the sword with them. It remains in the hands of the rebels who continue the armed struggle against the Romans for years after the crucifixion.’

  ‘Right,’ Wesley said. ‘Imagine what an incredibly important icon it would be to them. The sword of their Messiah, passed from one rebel leader to the next, perhaps in the hope that another true king would emerge one day to lead them to victory.’

  ‘One rebellion leads to another, leaders come and go, years pass,’ Ben continued. ‘By the time of the major revolt of 66 a.d. and the sack of Jerusalem, the sword is in the possession of the rebel commander whose forces then take refuge at the fortress of Masada.’

  Wesley nodded. ‘But now, fresh from destroying Jerusalem, the Roman tenth legion turns up at Masada and surrounds the mountain with thousands of troops and siege artillery. The rebels know there’s no way out, and when they see the Romans building their assault ramp, they realise they’re running out of time.’

  ‘And rather than let themselves be enslaved or slaughtered by the Romans, the rebels orchestrate their own mass suicide. But first, their commander hides the precious sword within the fortress walls to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Wesley said.

  Ben chewed the theory over for a moment or two. It was a compelling story, but there was just one small problem. ‘Even if you can prove that this sword belonged to the Judean freedom fighters of Jesus’ time, I don’t see how you can trace it back to Jesus himself.’

  Wesley considered the question, pausing to wet his lips with another sip of wine. ‘I mentioned before the sword that Peter the Apostle used to slice off the ear of Malchus at the scene of Jesus’ arrest. Now, that particular weapon is believed to have passed into the hands of Joseph of Arimathea, the man who gave up his own prepared tomb for Christ to be buried in.’

  ‘I know who Joseph of Arimathea was.’

  ‘Fine. Then you know that legend tells how Joseph later travelled to Britain, where he became the first Christian bishop there. Some accounts say that he brought with him the Holy Grail, given to him by a ghostly apparition of Jesus. More likely, what he brought with him was St Peter’s sword. We know that from there it made its way eastwards, until it finally shows up in Poznan´, Poland, sometime in the tenth century. You can still see its remains on display at the Poznan´ Archdiocesan Museum, and I’ve been there to examine them. Believe me, there ain’t much left but a pitted, blackened hunk of rust. That’s what happens to a piece of low-grade steel after a couple of thousand years, or even just a few centuries. You should see some of the rotted old sticks in my collection, dating back to as recently as the fourteenth century.’

  Wesley turned to the sword on the table and ran his fingers delicately along its smooth blade. ‘Look at it. It’s almost perfectly preserved, and you can’t put that down purely to the arid climate of Masada.’ He glanced up at Ben. ‘What do you know about metallurgy?’

  Ben had to admit that he didn’t know a great deal at all.

  ‘Without the development of forged steel,’ Wesley said, ‘we’d still be in the Bronze Age. It changed everything and made our whole history possible, but it wasn’t an overnight process. The reason so many ancient weapons have simply rotted away is that most of them were made from second-rate metal. Thankfully, not all were. As far back as the sixth century b.c., master craftsmen were forging steel weapons that were as strong as those we know today. Ever heard of Wootz steel?’

  Ben hadn’t.

  ‘The name originates from India, where it was being developed from about 300 b.c. onwards. It’s an exceptional grade of iron ore steel, extracted from raw ore and formed using a crucible to melt and burn away impurities and to add carbon and other ingredients known only to the most skilled swordsmiths. It was a delicate process – too much carbon and you had wrought iron, too soft. Too little carbon and you ended up with cast iron, which was hard but also brittle and prone to shattering. But get the balance of the ingredients right, and you had one ass-kicking fighting sword. It wouldn’t chip, snap or bend. It would withstand both the rigours of battle and the test of time. Wootz steel was so sought after that it was traded widely throughout ancient Europe, the Arab world and the Middle East, where it was known as Damascus steel. Needless to say, it was extremely valuable and expensive.’

  Wesley picked up the sword. ‘And here’s an example of an early Damascene blade, right here. Now, I’ve had this thing analysed by a hundred experts. The tests show an incredibly refined internal structure, containing carbon nanotubes and nanowires and all kinds of stuff that would blow away even the most expert modern-day swordsmith. We couldn’t even replicate a blade like this nowadays. It’s a lost art.’

  He swished the sword through the air. ‘In the first century a.d. and for a very long time afterwards, a sword of this quality would have represented the ultimate technology, the equivalent of the most ultra-advanced electronics in our age. No ordinary person could
aspire to owning one. It’s even more beautifully made than the bronze khopesh swords found in the burial chamber of Tutankhamen. In other words, what we’re looking at here was a weapon forged for a king. And not just any king, either.’

  Wesley suddenly thrust the blade at Ben, the point stopping a foot from his chest. ‘Again, that was all groundwork. Now here comes the best part. Take a look at the blade inscription. As you can see, it’s pretty badly worn and faded, unreadable in places. Make anything out?’

  Ben peered at the barely-visible markings on the blade and could just about discern the faint outlines of curved lettering engraved into the steel.

  ‘It’s Aramaic,’ Wesley said. ‘I paid a specialist team three hundred thousand bucks to work with a language expert and produce a computer-generated image of what the inscription would have looked like two thousand years ago. Want to know what they came up with?’ He grinned at Ben with a look that said, ‘Are you ready for this?’

  Then he said, ‘The inscription reads, “Hosanna to the Son of David”.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Ben stared at the blade. Was it possible he was really looking at the sword of Jesus Christ?

  ‘Okay, it’s not outright proof,’ Wesley said, still grinning. ‘But it’s near as dammit, when you place the sword in its historical context.’

  ‘Has this thing been verified?’ Ben asked after a few moments’ stunned silence. It was becoming harder to deny the possibility that Wesley was right.

  Wesley’s grin fell away. ‘That’s been a sticking point from the beginning,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve spent almost three years trying to persuade any number of university historians and other academics to see what’s in front of them, but they won’t open their goddamn eyes. The problem is that the sword is technically unprovenanced. In other words, it wasn’t personally excavated by archaeologists who would’ve placed it on official record, dated it, certified it, and so on. As things stand, nobody will accept that it was a legitimate discovery from the excavation of Masada, and so the matter of its origin falls into question. It’s frustrating, but I believe the truth will out one day. Fabrice and Simeon believed it too.’

  ‘So this was what my dad was writing his book about?’ Jude said. ‘The sword of Jesus?’

  Wesley nodded. ‘I first met your father at a construction site near Millau in France, where I was overseeing the restoration of a ruined medieval church. He’d turned up hoping to learn something of how it was done. Fabrice was the local minister, and the three of us kind of hooked up and hit it off as friends. At that time I was still so dizzy about the discovery of the sword, I was bursting to tell someone about it. So I confided in them. They took a little persuading, at first, but before long they were as excited as I was. That’s where it began, our little fellowship. I flew them over to the Whitworth Mansion to see the sword, and sometime later we all travelled together to Israel to meet Hillel and see for themselves where he’d found it.’

  Wesley gazed into space and was silent for a few moments, remembering his lost friends. ‘I’m not a religious man,’ he went on. ‘I don’t know if there’s a heaven, or a hell, or if there’s anyone up there watching over us. But one thing I know for sure is that I’d hate to see the churches crumble into dust along with the old traditions. I’m glad I’ll be dead and gone before that day comes. That’s why I was worried about the sword at first. I told Simeon and Fabrice my concerns, that going public with the idea of Christ as a freedom fighter, a kind of Che Guevara or Robin Hood figure of ancient times, might do more harm than good. Next thing the pro-atheist lobby would be using it to their advantage – “See, folks? He wasn’t the son of God after all”.

  ‘But Simeon turned me around on that one. He believed it was time for the church to stand up strong against the rising tide of secularism. Talked about the responsibility of modern clergymen to move on from the old ways and bring Christ more into line with the cultural heroes of today, for a younger and more modern audience. He said the modern Christian faith was fighting a battle for its survival, and the sword of Jesus would give it the power to unite and withstand its enemies. He was so impassioned – you should have heard him talk.’

  Jude gazed sadly down at the table. ‘I miss him,’ he murmured.

  ‘I miss him too, son,’ Wesley said. ‘He was quite a man. People loved him. Because he was young and dynamic and already had a following with his TV appearances, radio and internet presence, we agreed that it would be his name on the book and he’d be the frontman for the whole show once we felt ready to go public with it. Before I knew it, he was leading the way. And I didn’t mind a bit. Meanwhile, I was chipping away in the background, trying to find a university department that’d listen to me and back us up. I’d just come back from Buffalo the day the attackers came to the house.’

  Ben had been listening quietly for a while, struggling with his doubts and trying to beat his jumbled thoughts into shape. ‘All right,’ he said to Wesley. ‘Let’s just say for the sake of argument that what you’re telling us is true, and that no matter how wild and crazy it might sound to me, I have to accept that Simeon Arundel wouldn’t have fallen for a pile of bullshit. Even if this really was the sword of Jesus Christ, it doesn’t get us any closer to knowing who’s behind all this.’

  ‘Maybe it does, though,’ Jude said. ‘Wouldn’t a lot of Christian groups be seriously against something like this? I mean, it would change everything about the way people saw Jesus, wouldn’t it? Maybe some folks would be so pissed off about it that they’d do anything to keep the secret from getting out there. If they found out someone from the clergy was planning to write a book about it … ’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time the church has conspired against its own, that’s for sure,’ Ben admitted.

  ‘Okay,’ Jude said. ‘So that could be the answer. Perhaps we’re dealing with some kind of crazy Christian group or fundamentalist sect or something like that. Dad often used to complain about some of the bishops, said they were a bunch of hardline old bastards who’d happily torch heretics at the stake if they could get away with it – maybe it’s one of them. Or maybe there’s some secret society out there, that’s known about the sword all along and is determined to suppress the truth.’

  Wesley looked doubtful. ‘I thought about that too, but you’d have to be talking about one hell of a seriously organised and influential Christian sect. What kind of organisation has the power and contacts to cover up murders and track people from their credit cards? That’s more like the kind of muscle that a government agency has, and I don’t see any western government agency supporting a religious group right now, covertly or otherwise. Not in this day and age.’

  ‘Then who?’ Jude said.

  ‘I have no idea, son. I’ve racked my brains and I can’t figure it out. Nor can I understand how anyone could have known what we were up to. We were so damned careful to keep this quiet. Your father wouldn’t even tell your mother about it, and I know how much it hurt him to keep secrets from her.’

  ‘Your hired consultants might have leaked it to someone,’ Ben said. ‘That was a security risk, for a start.’

  ‘Sure, I knew it was a potential risk. That’s why I never gave any of them more information than they strictly needed, so they couldn’t guess its history.’

  ‘But you told the universities everything,’ Ben said.

  ‘What choice did I have? I was trying to persuade them, so of course I didn’t hold anything back. But these guys are reputable academics. It’s crazy to suggest they could be behind this. In any case, they all thought I was just some hare-brained eccentric. No, it’s got to be something bigger.’

  Ben reflected for a moment. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘Whoever these people are, we know that they have a lot of power and influence. The resources and connections to monitor all your landlines, for a start. That’s got to be the main reason they knew so much.’

  Jude frowned. ‘Hold on. I don’t get that. Did they tap the ph
ones because they already knew about the sword, or was it by tapping phones that they found out about it in the first place?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ Ben said.

  ‘And that’s another weird thing,’ Wesley said. ‘If the sonsofbitches were onto us from the beginning because they were listening into phone calls, how come they never went after Hillel? For which I’m very thankful, I might add.’

  ‘I don’t know that either,’ Ben said. ‘I’d have to hazard a guess that the phone surveillance only began more recently, when Hillel was no longer in the picture.’

  But it really was just a guess, and Ben was getting that nasty sinking feeling that they’d reached another impasse. They were floundering.

  A silence fell across the table as each man wrestled with his own thoughts and nobody seemed able to come up with anything useful. Wesley poured out the last of the wine.

  They’d been talking a long time. It was getting late.

  ‘These people are still out there,’ Jude said. ‘And we still have no idea who they are.’

  ‘Maybe the only thing we can do is sit tight and wait for them to make their next move,’ Wesley said.

  ‘You mean all of us, here?’ Jude asked.

  ‘Sure, if you feel like sticking around Martha’s Vineyard for a while. That’d be fine with me. Or if you want to go back to England, no problem. We can protect ourselves wherever we are. All it takes is money, and money’s not an issue. I’ll do what I offered to do for your father, and hire a goddamn army of bodyguards to take care of you around the clock until this thing’s over. We can outlast the bastards. And if they dare show their faces, we’ll bury ’em.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The conversation meandered on a while longer around the table, but everyone was tired and their energy was waning. Finally Jude stretched out his arms and yawned. ‘I can barely keep my eyes open.’