Assassin's Creed The Secret Crusade (20 page)

‘Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case, that Saracen and Crusader unite against the Assassins.’

‘That will never happen. They have no reason to.’

Her smile broadened. ‘Had, perhaps. But now you’ve given them one. Nine, in fact. The bodies you’ve left behind – victims on both sides. You’ve made the Assassins an enemy in common and ensured the annihilation of your entire Order. Well done.’

‘Not nine. Eight.’

‘What do you mean?’

He removed his blade from her neck. ‘You were not my target. I will not take your life.’ He stood. ‘You’re free to go. But do not follow me.’

‘I don’t need to,’ she said, pulling herself to her feet and clasping one hand to the wound at her shoulder. ‘You’re already too late …’

‘We’ll see.’

With a final glance at the ramparts, where archers were hurrying to new positions, Altaïr darted off, leaving the cemetery empty, apart from its corpses old and new – and the strange, brave and entrancing woman.

‘It was a trap,’ he exclaimed to Malik, moments later, the time it had taken him to make his way from the cemetery to the Bureau, his mind working furiously as he did so.

‘I had heard the funeral turned to chaos … What happened?’

‘Robert de Sable was never there. He sent another in his stead. He was expecting me –’

‘You must go to Al Mualim,’ said Malik, firmly.

Yes, thought Altaïr, he should. But there was that insistent feeling again. The one that told him there was yet more mystery to uncover. And why did he think it somehow involved the Master? ‘There’s no time. She told me where he’s gone. What he plans. If I return to Masyaf, he might succeed … And then … I fear we’ll be destroyed.’

‘We have killed most of his men. He cannot hope to mount a proper attack. Wait,’ said Malik. ‘Did you say she?’

‘Yes. It was a woman. Strange, I know. But that’s for another time. For now we must focus on Robert. We may have thinned his ranks, but the man is clever. He goes to plead his case to Richard and Salah Al’din. To
unite
them against a common enemy … Against us.’

‘Surely you are mistaken. This makes no sense. Those two men would never –’

‘Oh, but they would. And we have ourselves to blame. The men I’ve killed – men on both sides of the conflict … men important to both leaders … Robert’s plan may be ambitious, but it makes sense. And it could work.’

‘Look, brother, things have changed. You
must
return to Masyaf. We cannot act without the Master’s permission. It could compromise the Brotherhood. I thought … I thought you had learned this.’

‘Stop hiding behind words, Malik. You wield the Creed and its tenets like a shield. He’s keeping things from us. Important things. You’re the one who told me we can never
know
anything, only suspect. Well, I suspect this business with the Templars goes deeper. When I’m done with Robert I will ride for Masyaf that we may have answers. But perhaps
you
could go now.’

‘I cannot leave the city.’

‘Then walk among its people. Seek out those who served the ones I slew. Learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive. Perhaps you’ll see something I could not.’

‘I don’t know … I must think on this.’

‘Do as you must, my friend. But I will ride for Arsuf. Every moment I delay, our enemy is one step further ahead of me.’

Once more he had breached the Creed: unwitting or not, he had put the Order in danger.

‘Be careful, brother.’

‘I will. I promise.’

30

The armies of Salah Al’din and Richard the Lionheart had met at Arsuf, and as he made his way there Altaïr learned – from the gossip he overheard at blacksmiths’ and waterholes along the route – that after a series of minor skirmishes the battle had begun that morning, when Salah Al’din’s Turks had launched an attack on the Crusader ranks.

Riding towards it, against the flow of anxious countryfolk wanting to escape the slaughter, Altaïr saw plumes of smoke on the horizon. As he came closer he could make out the soldiers at war on the distant plain. Knots of them, huge, dark clusters in the distance. He saw a long band of thousands of men, moving in fast on horseback, charging the enemy, but was too far away to see whether the charge was Saracen or Crusader. Closer, he could see the wooden frames of war machines, at least one on fire. Now he could discern the tall wooden crucifixes of the Christians, huge crosses on wheeled platforms that the infantry pushed forward, and the flags of the Saracens and the Crusaders. The sky darkened with hails of arrows from archers on either side. He saw knights on horseback with pikes, and packs of Saracen horsemen making devastating sorties into the ranks of the Crusaders.

He could hear the drumming of hoofs on the plain, and the constant crash of Saracen cymbals, drums, gongs and trumpets. He could hear the noise of the battle: the unending all-encompassing din of the shouts of the living, the screams of the dying, the sharp rattle of steel on steel and the pitiful whinnies of wounded horses. He began to come across riderless animals and bodies now, Saracen and Crusader, spreadeagled in the dirt or sitting dead against trees.

He reined back his mount – just in time, because suddenly Saracen archers began to appear from the treeline some way ahead of him. He dropped from his horse and rolled from the main track, taking cover behind an upturned cart. There were maybe a hundred of them all told. They ran across the track and into trees on the other side. They moved quickly and were bent low. They moved as soldiers move when they are stealthily advancing into enemy-held territory.

Altaïr stood and darted into the trees, too, following the bowmen at a safe distance. For some miles he pursued them, the sounds of the battle, the vibrations of it, growing stronger until they came upon a ridge. Now they were above the main battle, which raged below them, and for a moment the sheer size of it took his breath away. Everywhere – as far as the eye could see – there were men, bodies, machines and horses.

As at the Siege of Acre he found himself in the middle of a fierce and savage conflict with no side to call his own. What he had was the Order. What he had was a mission to protect it, to stop the beast that he had unwittingly unleashed from tearing it apart.

All round him on the ridge were bodies, too, as though there had already been a battle a short time ago. And of course there had: whoever held the ridge had the advantage of height, so it was likely to be savagely contested. Sure enough, as they came upon it, the Saracens were met by Crusader infantry and bowmen and a great shout went up from both sides. Salah Al’din’s men had the element of surprise and so the upper hand, and the first wave of their attack left the bodies of knights in their wake, some falling from the ridge into the seething war below. But as Altaïr crouched and watched, the Crusaders managed to regroup and the combat began in earnest.

Passing along the ridge was the safest way of moving to the rear of the Crusader lines, where Richard the Lionheart would be stationed. And reaching him was the only hope he had of stopping Robert de Sable. He came closer to the battle and began to move to his left, leaving a wide berth between himself and the combatants. He came upon a Crusader who was crouched in the undergrowth, watching the battle and whimpering, and left him, running onwards.

Suddenly there was a shout and two Crusaders moved into his path, their broadswords raised. He stopped, crossed his arms and reached to his shoulders, drawing his sword with one hand and flicking a knife with the other. One of the scouts went down and he moved to the other and had felled him when he realized that they weren’t scouts. They were sentries.

Still overlooking the battle he found that he was on the brow of a hill. Some distance away he could see the standard of Richard the Lionheart and thought he caught a glimpse of the King himself, sitting astride his distinctive steed, flaming orange beard and hair bright in the afternoon sun. But now more rearguard infantry were arriving and he found himself swamped by knights, chainmail rattling, their swords raised and their eyes full of battle beneath their helmets.

Their task was to protect their liege; Altaïr’s was to reach him. For long moments the battle raged. Altaïr danced and ran, sometimes carving himself a route, his bloody sword flashing, sometimes able to make a long dash, coming ever closer to where he could now see Richard. The King was in a clearing. He had dismounted, wary of the commotion approaching, and his immediate bodyguard were forming a ring around him, making him a small target.

Still fighting, his sword still swinging, men falling at his feet, his robes stained with Crusader blood, Altaïr broke clear of an attack and was able to dash forwards. He saw the King’s lieutenants draw their swords, eyes fierce under their helmets. He saw archers scrabbling up to surrounding boulders, hoping to find a lofty position in order to pick off the intruder.

‘Hold a moment,’ called Altaïr. Just a few feet away now, he looked King Richard in the eyes, even as his men came forward. ‘It’s words I bring, not steel.’

The King wore his regal red, at his chest a gold-embroidered lion. He was the only man among them not cursed by fear or panic and he stood utterly calm at the battle’s centre. He raised an arm and his men stopped their advance, the battle dying in an instant. Altaïr was grateful to see his attackers fall back a few paces, giving him room at last. He dropped his sword arm. As he caught his breath, his shoulders rose and fell heavily and he knew that all eyes were on him. Every swordpoint was aimed at his gut; every archer had him in his sights. One word from Richard and he would fall.

Instead, Richard said, ‘Offering terms of a surrender, then? It’s about time.’

‘No. You misunderstand,’ said Altaïr. ‘It is Al Mualim who sends me, not Salah Al’din.’

The King darkened. ‘
Assassin
? What is the meaning of this? And be quick with it.’ The men pressed forward a little. The archers tensed.

‘You’ve a traitor in your midst,’ said Altaïr.

‘And he has hired you to kill me?’ called the King. ‘Come to gloat about it before you strike? I won’t be taken so easily.’

‘It’s not you I’ve come to kill. It’s him.’

‘Speak, then, that I may judge the truth.’ King Richard beckoned Altaïr forward. ‘Who is this traitor?’

‘Robert de Sable.’

Richard’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘My lieutenant?’

‘He aims to betray,’ said Altaïr, evenly. He was trying to choose his words carefully, desperate not to be misunderstood. Needing the King to believe him.

‘That’s not the way he tells it,’ said Richard. ‘He seeks revenge against your people for the havoc you’ve wrought in Acre. And I am inclined to support him. Some of my best men were murdered by some of yours.’

So – Robert de Sable already had the King’s ear. Altaïr took a deep breath. What he was about to say could mean his immediate death. ‘It was
I
who killed them. And for good reason.’ Richard glowered but Altaïr pressed on: ‘Hear me out. William of Montferrat. He sought to use his soldiers to take Acre by force. Garnier de Naplouse. He would use his skills to indoctrinate and control any who resisted. Sibrand. He intended to block the ports, preventing your kingdom from providing aid. They betrayed you. And they took their orders from Robert.’

‘You expect me to believe this outlandish tale?’ said the Lionheart.

‘You knew these men better than I. Are you truly surprised to learn of their ill intentions?’

Richard seemed to think for a moment, then turned to one of the men standing at his side, who wore a full-face helmet. ‘Is this true?’ he said.

The knight removed his helmet, and this time it really was Robert de Sable. Altaïr looked at him with open disgust, remembering his crimes. This man had sent a woman as his stand-in.

For a heartbeat the two stared at one another, the first time they had met since the fight below the Temple Mount. Still breathing hard, Altaïr clenched his fist. De Sable smirked, his lip curling, then turned to Richard. ‘My liege …’ he said, in an exasperated tone ‘… it is an Assassin who stands before us. These creatures are masters of manipulation. Of
course
it isn’t true.’

‘I’ve no reason to deceive,’ snapped Altaïr.

‘Oh, but you do,’ sneered de Sable. ‘You’re afraid of what will happen to your little fortress. Can it withstand the combined might of the Saracen and Crusader armies?’ He grinned, as though already imagining the fall of Masyaf.

‘My concern is for the people of the Holy Land,’ Altaïr countered. ‘If I must sacrifice myself for there to be peace, so be it.’

Richard had been watching them with a bemused expression. ‘This is a strange place we find ourselves in. Each of you accusing the other …’

‘There really is no time for this,’ said de Sable. ‘I must be off to meet with Saladin and enlist his aid. The longer we delay, the harder this will become.’ He made to move off, hoping, no doubt, that the matter was at an end.

‘Wait, Robert,’ said Richard. His eyes went from de Sable to Altaïr and back again.

With a snort of frustration, de Sable snapped, ‘
Why?
What do you intend? Surely you do not believe
him
?’ He indicated Altaïr, who could see in de Sable’s eyes that maybe the King had his doubts. Perhaps he was even inclined to believe the word of the Assassin over that of the Templar. Altaïr held his breath.

‘It is a difficult decision,’ replied the King. ‘one I cannot make alone. I must leave it in the hands of one wiser than I.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No, Robert, not you.’

‘Then who?’

‘The Lord.’ He smiled, as if pleased to have come to the right decision. ‘Let this be decided by combat. Surely God will side with the one whose cause is righteous.’

Altaïr watched Robert carefully. He saw the look that passed across the Templar’s face, de Sable no doubt recalling the last time they had met when he had easily bested Altaïr.

Altaïr was recalling the same encounter. He was telling himself that he was a different warrior now: last time he had been handicapped by arrogance, which was why he had been so easily defeated. He was trying not to recall the knight’s great strength. How he had picked up and tossed Altaïr as easily as hefting a sack of wheat.