The Secret Crusade

7

Later the Assassins were assembled in the courtyard, still savouring their triumph.

The logs had tumbled from the watchtower and into the knights below, most of whom were crushed by the first wave, while others were caught in a second load stacked behind the first. Just moments before, they had been assured of victory. Then their bodies had been pummelled, limbs snapping, the entire force in disarray, Robert de Sable already ordering his men back as the Assassins’ archers pressed home their advantage and rained arrows down upon them.

Now, though, Al Mualim commanded a hush over the gathered Assassins, indicating to Altair to join him on the rostrum by the entrance to his tower. His eyes were hard, and as Altair took his place, Al Mualim beckoned two guards to take their place at either side of him.

Silence replaced the congratulations. Altair, with his back to the Assassins, felt all eyes on him. By now they would know what had happened in Jerusalem; Malik and Abbas would have seen to that. Altair’s efforts in battle, then springing the trap – they would count for nothing now. All he could hope was that Al Mualim would show mercy.

‘You did well to drive Robert from here,’ said the Master, and it was with a measure of pride that he said it. Enough for Altair to hope that he might be forgiven; that his actions since Jerusalem had redeemed him. ‘His force is broken,’ continued Al Mualim. ‘It shall be a long while before he troubles us again. Tell me, do you know why it is you were successful?’

Altair said nothing, heart hammering.

‘You were successful because you listened,’ pressed Al Mualim. ‘Had you listened in Solomon’s Temple, Altair, all of this would have been avoided.’

His arm described a circle, meant to take in the courtyard and all that lay beyond, where even now the corpses of Assassins, of Templars and villagers were being cleared away.

‘I did as I was asked,’ said Altair, trying to choose his words carefully, but failing.

‘ No! ’ snapped the Master. His eyes blazed. ‘You did as you pleased. Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed. Your disregard for our ways.’

The two guards on either side of Altair stepped forward and took his arms. His muscles tensed. He braced himself against them but did not struggle.

‘What are you doing?’ he said warily.

The colour rose in Al Mualim’s cheeks. ‘There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassin’s Creed. Three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost: stay your blade…’

It was to be a lecture. Altair relaxed, unable to keep the note of resignation from his voice as he finished Al Mualim’s sentence. ‘… from the flesh of an innocent. I know.’

The crack of Al Mualim’s palm across Altair’s face echoed from the stone of the courtyard. Altair felt his cheek burn.

‘And stay your tongue unless I give you leave to use it,’ roared Al Mualim. ‘If you are so familiar with this tenet, why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent. He did not need to die.’

Altair said nothing. What could he say? I acted rashly? Killing the old man was an act of arrogance?

‘Your insolence knows no bounds,’ bellowed Al Mualim. ‘Make humble your heart, child, or I swear I’ll tear it from you with my own hands.’

He paused, his shoulders rising and falling as he took hold of his anger. ‘The second tenet is that which gives us strength,’ he continued. ‘Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you so that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember? Because, as I hear it, you chose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you’d struck.’

Still Altair said nothing. He felt the shame squat in his gut.

‘The third and final tenet,’ added Al Mualim, ‘the worst of all your betrayals: never compromise the Brotherhood. Its meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us – direct or indirect. Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger. Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home. Every man we’ve lost today was lost because of you.’

Altair had been unable to look at the Master. His head had remained on one side, still smarting from the slap. But as he heard Al Mualim draw his dagger he looked at last.

‘I am sorry. Truly, I am,’ said Al Mualim. ‘But I cannot abide a traitor.’

No. Not that. Not a traitor’s death.

His eyes widened as they went to the blade in the Master’s hand – the hand that had guided him since him childhood. ‘I am not a traitor,’ he managed.

‘Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice.’ Al Mualim drew back his dagger. ‘Peace be upon you, Altair,’ he said, and plunged it into Altair’s stomach.