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