The Secret Crusade

28

The morning after Altair had told Abbas the truth about his father, Abbas had been even more withdrawn, and nothing Altair said could bring him out of that state. They ate their breakfast in silence, sullenly submitting to the attentions of their governesses, then went to Al Mualim’s study and took their places on the floor.

If Al Mualim had noticed a difference in his two charges, he said nothing. Perhaps he was privately pleased that the boys seemed less easily distracted that day. Perhaps he simply assumed that they had fallen out, as young friends were inclined to do.

Altair, however, sat with twisted insides and a tortured mind. Why had Abbas said nothing? Why hadn’t he reacted to what Altair had told him?

He was to get his answer later that day, when they went to the training yard as usual. They were to practise sword together, sparring as always. But today Abbas had decided that he wanted to use not the small wooden swords they normally sparred with but the shiny blades to which they planned to graduate.

Labib, their instructor, was delighted. ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he said, clapping his hands together, ‘but, remember, there is nothing to be gained from drawing blood. We’ll not trouble the physicians, if you please. This shall be a test of restraint and of cunning as much as it is of skill.’

‘Cunning,’ said Abbas. ‘That should suit you, Altair. You are cunning and treacherous.’

They were the first words he had spoken to Altair all day. And as he said them he fixed Altair with a look of such contempt, such hatred, that Altair knew things would never be the same between them. He looked at Labib, wanting to appeal, to implore him not to allow the contest, but he was hopping happily over the small fence that surrounded the training quadrangle, relishing the prospect of some proper combat at last.

They took up position, Altair swallowing, Abbas staring hard at him.

‘Brother,’ began Altair, ‘what I said last night, I -’

‘ Do not call me brother! ’ Abbas’s shout rang around the courtyard. And he sprang towards Altair with a ferocity the boy had never seen in him before. But though his teeth were bared, Altair could see the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes. There was more to this than simple anger, he knew.

‘No, Abbas,’ he called, desperately defending. He glanced to his left and saw the instructor’s puzzled look – he was clearly not sure what to make of Abbas’s outburst or the sudden hostility between the two. Altair saw two more Assassins approaching the training area, evidently having heard Abbas’s cry. Faces appeared in the window of the defensive tower by the citadel entrance. He wondered if Al Mualim was watching…

Abbas jabbed forward with his swordpoint, forcing Altair to dodge to the side.

‘Now, Abbas…’ chided Labib.

‘He means to kills me, Master,’ shouted Altair.

‘Don’t be dramatic, child,’ said the instructor, though he didn’t sound altogether convinced. ‘You could learn from your brother’s commitment.’

‘I am not.’ Abbas attacked. ‘ His.’ The boy’s words were punctuated with savage strikes of the sword. ‘ Brother.’

‘I told you to help you,’ shouted Altair.

‘No,’ screamed Abbas. ‘You lied.’ Again he struck and there was a great chime of steel. Altair found himself thrown back by the force, stumbling at the fence and almost falling backwards over it. More Assassins had arrived. Some looked concerned, others ready to be entertained.

‘Defend, Altair, defend,’ roared Labib, clapping his hands with glee. Altair threw up his sword, returning Abbas’s strikes and forcing him into the centre of the quadrangle once more.

‘I told the truth,’ he hissed, as they came close, the blades of their swords sliding against one another. ‘I told you the truth to end your suffering, just as I would have wanted mine ending.’

‘You lied to bring shame upon me,’ said Abbas, falling back and taking up position, crouched, one arm thrown back as they’d been taught, the blade of his sword quivering.

‘ No! ’ cried Altair. He danced back as Abbas thrust forward. But with a flick of his wrist Abbas caught Altair with his blade, opening a nick that bled warm down Altair’s side. He glanced over at Labib with beseeching eyes, but his concerns were waved away. He placed a hand to his side and came away with bloodied fingertips that he held out to Abbas.

‘Stop this, Abbas,’ he pleaded. ‘I spoke the truth in the hope of bringing you comfort.’

‘Comfort,’ said Abbas. The boy was talking to the assembled crowd now. ‘To bring me comfort he tells me my father killed himself.’

There was a moment of shocked silence. Altair looked from Abbas to those who were now watching, unable to comprehend the turn of events. The secret he had sworn to keep had been made public.

He glanced up to Al Mualim’s tower. Saw the Master standing there, watching, his hands behind his back and an unreadable expression on his face.

‘ Abbas,’ shouted Labib, at last seeing something was amiss. ‘ Altair.’

But the two fighting boys ignored him, their swords meeting again. Altair, in pain, was forced to defend.

‘I thought -’ he began.

‘You thought you would bring shame upon me,’ shrieked Abbas. The tears were falling down his face now and he circled Altair, then pushed forward again, swinging his sword wildly. Altair crouched and found space between Abbas’s arm and body. He struck, opening a wound on Abbas’s left arm that he hoped would at least stop him long enough for Altair to try to explain -

But Abbas shrieked. And with a final war cry he leaped towards Altair who ducked beneath his flailing blade, using his shoulder to upset Abbas’s forward momentum so that now they were rolling in the ground in a mess of dirt and bloodied robes. For a moment they grappled, then Altair felt a searing pain in his side, Abbas digging his thumb into the wound and using the opportunity to twist, heaving himself on top of Altair and pinning him to the ground. From his belt he produced his dagger and held it to Altair’s throat. His wild eyes were fixed on Altair. They still poured with tears. He breathed heavily through bared teeth.

‘ Abbas! ’ came the shout, not from Labib or any of those who had gathered to watch. This came from the window of Al Mualim. ‘Put away the knife at once,’ he roared, his voice a thunderclap in the courtyard.

In response Abbas sounded small and desperate. ‘Not until he admits.’

‘Admits what?’ cried Altair, struggling but held firm.

Labib had climbed over the fence. ‘Now, Abbas,’ he said, with placating palms held out. ‘Do as the Master says.’

‘Come any closer and I’ll carve him,’ growled Abbas.

The instructor stopped. ‘He’ll put you in the cells for this, Abbas. This is no way for the Order to behave. Look, there are citizens here from the village. Word will spread.’

‘I don’t care,’ wept Abbas. ‘He needs to say it. He needs to say he lied about my father.’

‘What lie?’

‘He told me my father killed himself. That he came to Altair’s quarters to say sorry, then slashed his own throat. But he lied. My father did not kill himself. He left the Brotherhood. That was his apology. Now tell me you lied.’ He jabbed the point of the dagger into Altair’s throat, drawing more blood.

‘Abbas, stop this,’ roared Al Mualim from his tower.

‘Altair, did you lie?’ asked Labib.

A silence shrouded the training yard: all waited for Altair’s reply. He looked up at Abbas.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did lie.’

Abbas sat back on his haunches and squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever pain went through him seemed to rack his entire body, and as he dropped the dagger with a clang to the ground of the quadrangle, he began weeping. He was still weeping as Labib came to him and grabbed him roughly by the arm, pulling him to his feet and delivering him to a pair of guards, who came hurrying up. Moments later Altair was also grabbed. He, too, was manhandled to the cells.

Later, Al Mualim decided that after a month in the dungeons, they should resume their training. Abbas’s crime was deemed the more serious of the two; it was he who had allowed his emotions free rein and by doing so brought disrepute to the Order. His punishment was that his training be extended for an extra year. He would still be on the training yard with Labib when Altair was made an Assassin. The injustice increased his hatred of Altair, who slowly came to see Abbas as a pathetic, bitter figure. When the citadel was attacked, it was Altair who saved the life of Al Mualim and was elevated to Master Assassin. That day, Abbas spat in the dirt at Altair’s feet but Altair just sneered at him. Abbas, he decided, was as weak and ineffectual as his father had been.

Perhaps, looking back, that was how he had first become infected by arrogance.