3 assassins creed the secret crusade oliver bowden

That Salah Al’din was on his way to Masyaf, intent on conquering it andclaiming the head of the Assassin leader, Al Mualim.. Salah Al’din was regarded as a temperate andfair-minded leade

Also in the Assassin’s Creed series

RenaissanceBrotherhood

Assassin’s Creed

The Secret Crusade

OLIVER BOWDEN

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ISBN: 978-0-14-196671-7

The majestic ship creaked and groaned; its sailsrippled, fat with wind Days from land, it split theocean towards the great city in the west, carryingprecious cargo: a man – a man the crew knew only asthe Master

He was among them now, alone on the forecastledeck, where he had lowered the cowl of his robes tolet himself be lashed by seaspray, sipping at it withhis face in the wind Once a day he did this Heappeared from his cabin to pace the deck, chose aspot to gaze out at sea, then returned below.Sometimes he stood on the forecastle, sometimes onthe quarter-deck Always he stared out at the white-crested sea

Every day the crew watched him They worked,calling to one another on deck and in the rigging,each with a job to do, while all the time stealingglances at the solitary, pensive figure And theywondered, What kind of man was he? What kind ofman was in their midst?

Furtively they studied him now as he steppedaway from the deck railings and pulled up his hood

He stood there a moment with his head bowed, hisarms hanging loosely at his sides, and the crewwatched him Perhaps a few of them even paled as

he strode along the deck past them and back to hiscabin And when the door shut behind him, each manfound that he had been holding his breath

Inside, the Assassin returned to his desk and sat,pouring a beaker of wine before reaching for a bookand pulling it towards him Then opening it Beginning

to read

so He tires of Masyaf He dislikes traversing thesteep slopes between the Assassin’s fortress and thevillage below, and the mountainous terrain holds littleappeal for him He is a Polo, he says, and after six

months here the wanderlust is like the call of avoluptuous woman to him, persuasive and temptingand not to be ignored He longs to fill the sails withwind and set off for new lands, show Masyaf his back.

His impatience is a vexation I could live without,quite frankly Altạr is on the cusp of anannouncement; I can feel it

So, today I declared, ‘Maffeo, I’m going to tell you

a story.’

The manners of the man Are we really kin? Ibegin to doubt it For instead of greeting this newswith the enthusiasm it so clearly warranted, I couldhave sworn I heard him sigh (or perhaps I should givehim the benefit of the doubt: perhaps he was simplyout of breath in the hot sun), before demanding of me,

‘Before you do, Niccolị, would you mind telling me,what it is about?’ in rather exasperated tones I askyou

Nevertheless: ‘That is a very good question,brother,’ I said, and gave the matter some thought as

we made our way up the dreaded slope Above us thecitadel loomed darkly on the promontory, as if it hadbeen hewn from the very limestone itself I’d decided Iwanted the perfect setting to tell my tale, and therewas nowhere more apposite than the Masyaf fortress

An imposing castle of many turrets, surrounded by

shimmering rivers, it presided over the bustling villagebelow, the settlement a high point within the OrontesValley An oasis of peace A paradise.

‘I would say that it’s about knowledge,’ I decided

at last ‘Assasseen, as you know, represents

“guardian” in Arabic – the Assassins are theguardians of the secrets, and the secrets they guardare of knowledge, so, yes …’ no doubt I sounded verypleased with myself ‘… it’s about knowledge.’

‘Then I’m afraid I have an appointment.’

‘Oh?’

‘Certainly I would welcome a diversion from mystudies, Niccolò However, an extension of them Idon’t desire.’

I grinned ‘Surely you want to hear the tales I’vebeen told by the Master.’

‘That all depends Your pitch makes them soundless than invigorating You know you say my tastes run

to the bloodthirsty when it comes to your stories?’

By now we had made our way up the barbican tothe outer part of the fortress We passed beneath thearch and through the guard station, climbing again as

we headed towards the inner castle Ahead of us wasthe tower in which Altạr had his quarters For weeks Ihad been visiting him there, spending countless hours

by him, rapt, as he sat with his hands clasped and hiselbows on the rests of his tall chair, telling his stories,his old eyes barely visible beneath his cowl Andincreasingly I had come to realize that I was being toldthese stories for a purpose That for some reason yetunfathomable to me, I had been chosen to hear them

When not telling his stories, Altạr broodedamong his books and memories, sometimes gazingfor long hours from the window of his tower He would

be there now, I thought, and hooked a thumb underthe band of my cap and shifted it back, shading myeyes to look up at the tower, seeing nothing but sun-bleached stone

‘We’ve an audience with him?’ Maffeointerrupted my thoughts

‘No, not today,’ I replied, instead pointing at atower to our right ‘We’re going up there …’

Maffeo frowned The defensive tower was one ofthe highest in the citadel, and was reached by a

series of vertiginous ladders, most of which looked inneed of repair But I was insistent, and I tucked mytunic into my belt then led Maffeo up to the first level,then to the next and finally to the top From there welooked across the countryside Miles and miles ofcraggy terrain Rivers like veins Clusters ofsettlements We looked over Masyaf: from the fortress

to the buildings and markets of the sprawling villagebelow, the wooden stockade of the outer curtain andstabling

‘How high are we?’ asked Maffeo, looking a littlegreen, no doubt conscious of being buffeted by thewind and that the ground now looked a long, long wayaway

‘Over two hundred and fifty feet,’ I told him ‘Highenough to put the Assassins out of range of enemyarchers – but able to rain arrows and more downupon them.’

I showed him the openings surrounding us on allsides ‘From the machicolations here they couldlaunch rocks or oil over their foe, using these …’Wooden platforms jutted out into space and wemoved over to one now, holding on to uprightsupports either side and leaning out into the air tolook down Directly below us, the tower fell away tothe cliff edge Below that the shimmering river

The blood draining from his face, Maffeostepped back on to the safety of the tower floor Ilaughed, doing the same (and secretly glad to, feeling

a little giddy and sick myself, truth be told)

‘And why is it you’ve brought us up here?’ askedMaffeo

‘This is where my story begins,’ I said ‘In moreways than one For it was from here that the lookoutfirst saw the invading force.’

‘The invading force?’

‘Yes Salah Al’din’s army He came to lay siege

to Masyaf, to defeat the Assassins Eighty years ago,

a bright day in August A day very much like today …’

First, the lookout saw the birds

An army on the move attracts scavengers Of thewinged variety, mainly, which swoop upon whateverscraps are left behind: food, waste and carcasses,both horse and human Next he saw the dust Andthen a vast, dark stain that appeared on the horizon,slowly beetling forward, engulfing everything in sight

An army inhabits, disrupts and destroys thelandscape; it is a giant, hungry beast that consumeseverything in its path and in most cases – as SalahAl’din was well aware – the mere sight of it wasenough to move the enemy to surrender

Not this time, though Not when his enemies werethe Assassins

For the campaign the Saracen leader had raised

a modest force of ten thousand infantry, cavalry andfollowers With them he planned to crush theAssassins, who had already made two attempts onhis life and would surely not fail a third time Intending

to take the fight to their door he had brought his armyinto the An–Nusayriyah mountains and to theAssassins’ nine citadels there.

Messages had reached Masyaf that SalahAl’din’s men had been plundering the countryside, butthat none of the forts had fallen That Salah Al’din was

on his way to Masyaf, intent on conquering it andclaiming the head of the Assassin leader, Al Mualim

Salah Al’din was regarded as a temperate andfair-minded leader, but he was as angered by theAssassins as he was unnerved by them According toreports, his uncle, Shihab Al’din, was advising him tooffer a peace agreement Have the Assassins withthem, not against them, was Shihab’s reasoning Butthe vengeful Sultan would not be moved, and so it wasthat his army crawled towards Masyaf on a brightAugust day in 1176, and a lookout in the citadel’sdefensive tower saw the flocks of birds, the greatclouds of dust and the black stain on the horizon, and

he raised a horn to his lips and sounded the alarm.Stockpiling supplies, the townspeople movedinto the safety of the citadel, thronging the courtyards,faces etched with fear, but many of them setting upstalls to continue trading The Assassins, meanwhile,began fortifying the castle, preparing to meet thearmy, watching the stain spread across the beautiful

green landscape, the great beast feeding on the land,colonizing the horizon.

They heard the horns and drums and cymbals.And soon they could make out the figures as theymaterialized from the heat haze: thousands of them,they saw The infantry: spearmen, javelinmen andarchers, Armenians, Nubians and Arabs They sawcavalry: Arabs, Turks and Mameluks, carrying sabre,mace, lance and longsword, some wearing chainmail,some leather armour They saw the litters of thenoblewomen, the holy men and the disorderlyfollowers at the rear: the families, children and slaves.They watched as the invading warriors reached theouter curtain and set it ablaze, the stables too, thehorns still blaring, cymbals crashing Inside thecitadel, the women of the village began weeping.They expected their homes to be next under the torch.But the buildings were left untouched, and instead thearmy came to a halt in the village, paying little regard

to the castle – so it seemed

They sent no envoy, no message; they simplymade camp Most of their tents were black, but in themiddle of the encampment was a cluster of largerpavilions, the quarters of the great Sultan Salah Al’dinand his closest generals There, embroidered flagsfluttered; the tips of the tent poles were gilded

pomegranates, and the pavilion covers were ofcolourful silk.

In the citadel the Assassins mulled over theirtactics Would Salah Al’din assault the fortress or try

to starve them out? As night fell they had their answer.Below them the army began work assembling itssiege engines Fires burned long into the night Thesound of sawing and hammering rose to the ears ofthose manning the citadel ramparts, and to theMaster’s tower, where Al Mualim called an assembly

of his Master Assassins

‘Salah Al’din has been delivered to us,’ saidFaheem al-Sayf, a Master Assassin ‘This is anopportunity not to be missed.’

Al Mualim thought He looked from the towerwindow, thinking of the colourful pavilion in whichSalah Al’din now sat plotting his downfall – and that ofthe Assassins He thought of the great Sultan’s armyand how it had laid waste to the countryside How theSultan was more than capable of raising an evenlarger force should his campaign fail

Salah Al’din had matchless might, he reasoned.But the Assassins, they had guile

‘With Salah Al’din dead, the Saracen armies willcrumble,’ said Faheem

But Al Mualim was shaking his head ‘I think not

Shihab will take his place.’

‘He is half the leader Salah Al’din is.’

‘Then he would be less effective in repelling theChristians,’ countered Al Mualim, sharply He tiredsometimes of Faheem’s hawklike ways ‘Do we wish

to find ourselves at their mercy? Do we wish to findourselves their unwilling allies against the Sultan? Weare the Assassins, Faheem Our intent is our own Webelong to no one.’

A silence fell over the sweet-scented room

‘Salah Al’din is as wary of us as we are of him,’said Al Mualim, after reflection ‘We should see to itthat he is made even more wary.’

The next morning the Saracens pushed a ramand siege tower up the main slope, and as Turkishhorse-archers made passes, showering the citadelwith arrows, they attacked the outer walls with theirsiege engines, under constant fire from Assassinarchers and with rocks and oil pouring from thedefensive towers Villagers joined the battle, peltingthe enemy with rocks from the ramparts, dousing thefires, while at the main gates, brave Assassins madesorties through the wicket doors, fighting back infantrytrying to burn them down The day ended with manydead on both sides, the Saracens retreating down thehill, lighting their fires for the night, repairing their

siege engines, assembling more.

That night, there was a great commotion in theencampment, and in the morning the brightly colouredpavilion belong to the great Salah Al’din was takendown, and he left, taking a small bodyguard force withhim

Shortly after that, his uncle, Shihab Al’din,ascended the slope to address the Master of theAssassins

‘His Majesty Salah Al’din has received your message,and thanks you most graciously for it,’ called theenvoy ‘He has business elsewhere and has left, withinstructions for His Excellency Shihab Al’din to enterinto talks.’

The envoy stood by Shihab’s stallion, cupping ahand to his mouth to call up to the Master and hisgenerals, who were assembled in the defensivetower

A small force had climbed the hill, two hundredmen or so and a litter set down by Nubians, no morethan a bodyguard for Shihab, who remained onhorseback On his face was a serene expression, asthough he were not unduly concerned about theoutcome of the talks He wore wide white trousers,vest and red twisted sash Inset into his large,blinding-white turban was a glittering jewel That jewelwould have an illustrious name, thought Al Mualim,gazing down upon him from the top of the tower It

would be called the Star of something or the Rose ofsomething The Saracens were so fond of namingtheir baubles.

‘Do begin,’ called Al Mualim, thinking, Business elsewhere,with a smile,his mind going back just afew hours to when an Assassin had come to hischambers, raising him from slumber and calling him

to the throne room

‘Umar, welcome,’ Al Mualim had said, wrappinghis robes around himself, feeling the early-morningchill in his bones

‘Master,’ Umar had replied, his voice low and hishead bent

‘You’ve come to tell me of your mission?’ AlMualim said to him He lit an oil lamp on a chain thenfound his chair, settling into it Shadows flitted acrossthe floor

Umar nodded There was blood on his sleeve,noticed Al Mualim

‘Was our agent’s information correct?’

‘Yes, Master I made my way into theirencampment and, just as we were told, the gaudypavilion was a decoy Salah Al’din’s tent was nearby,

a much less conspicuous accommodation.’

Al Mualim smiled ‘Excellent, excellent And howwere you able to identify it?’

‘It was protected, just as our spy said it would be,with chalk and cinders scattered on the perimeter so

my steps would be heard.’

‘But they were not?’

‘No, Master, and I was able to enter the Sultan’stent and leave the feather as instructed.’

‘And the letter?’

‘Pinned by dagger to his pallet.’

‘And then?’

‘I crept from his tent …’

‘And?’

There was a pause

‘The Sultan awoke and raised the alarm I wasonly just able to escape with my life.’

Al Mualim indicated Umar’s blood-stainedsleeve ‘And that?’

‘I was forced to cut a throat in order to makegood my escape, Master.’

‘A guard?’ asked Al Mualim, hopefully

Umar shook his head sadly ‘He wore the turbanand vest of a nobleman.’

At which Al Mualim closed tired and sorrowfuleyes ‘There was no other option?’

‘I acted rashly, Master.’

‘But otherwise your mission was a success?’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Then we shall see what transpires,’ he said.What transpired was the exit of Salah Al’din andthe visit from Shihab And standing tall in his tower, AlMualim had allowed himself to believe that theAssassins had prevailed That his plan had worked.Their message had warned the Sultan that he shouldabandon his campaign against the Assassins, for thenext dagger would not be pinned to his pallet but tohis genitals Simply by being able to leave it they hadshown the monarch how vulnerable he really was; howhis great force counted for nothing when a loneAssassin could outwit his decoys and guards andsteal so easily into his tent as he slept.

And perhaps Salah Al’din was fonder of hisgenitals than he was of pursuing a long and costly war

of attrition against an enemy whose interests onlyrarely came into conflict with his own For he hadgone

‘His Majesty Salah Al’din accepts your offer ofpeace,’ said the envoy

On the tower, Al Mualim shared an amusedglance with Umar, who stood by his side Furtheralong was Faheem His mouth was set

‘Have we his assurance that our sect canoperate without further hostilities, and no furtherinterference in our activities?’ asked Al Mualim

‘As long as interests allow, you have thatassurance.’

‘Then I accept His Majesty’s offer,’ called AlMualim, pleased ‘You may remove your men fromMasyaf Perhaps you would be good enough to repairour stockade before you leave.’

At that Shihab looked sharply up at the tower,and even from the great height Al Mualim saw angerflash in his eyes Shihab leaned from his stallion tospeak to the envoy, who listened, nodding, thencupped his hand to his mouth to address those in thetower once more

‘During the delivery of the message, one of SalahAl’din’s trusted generals was killed His Majestyrequires reparation The head of the culprit.’

The smile slid from Al Mualim’s face At his side,Umar tensed

There was silence Just the snorting of thehorses Birdsong All waited to hear Al Mualim’sresponse

‘You may tell the Sultan that I reject that demand.’Shihab shrugged He leaned over to speak to theenvoy, who in turn addressed Al Mualim

‘His Excellency wishes to inform you that unlessyou agree to the demand a force will remain here atMasyaf, and that our patience is greater than your

store of supplies Would you have the peaceagreement count for nothing? Would you allow yourvillagers and your men to starve? All for the head ofone Assassin? His Excellency dearly hopes not.’

‘I will go,’ hissed Umar to Al Mualim ‘Themistake was mine It is only right I should pay for it.’

Al Mualim ignored him ‘I will not give up the life

of one of my men,’ he called to the envoy

‘Then His Excellency regrets your decision andasks that you bear witness to a matter now in need ofresolution We have discovered the existence of a spy

in our camp, and he must be executed.’

Al Mualim caught his breath as the Saracensdragged the Assassin agent from the litter After himcame an executioner’s block that two Nubians placed

on the ground in front of Shihab’s stallion

The spy’s name was Ahmad He had beenbeaten His head – battered, bruised and blood-stained – lolled on his chest as he was manhandled tothe block, dragged on his knees and draped over it,throat up The executioner stepped forward: a Turkcarrying a glinting scimitar that he grounded, placingboth hands on the jewelled hilt The two Nubians heldAhmad’s arms; he groaned a little, the sound rising tothe stunned Assassins high in the defensive tower

‘Let your man take his place and his life will be

spared, the peace treaty honoured,’ called the envoy.

‘If not he dies, the siege begins and your peoplestarve.’

Suddenly Shihab raised his head to shout, ‘Doyou want that on your conscience, Umar Ibn-La’Ahad?’

As one the Assassins caught their breath.Ahmad had talked Under torture, of course But hehad talked

Al Mualim’s shoulders slumped

Umar was beside himself ‘Let me go,’ he urged

Al Mualim ‘Master, please.’

Below them the executioner planted his feetwide Two-handed, he raised the sword above hishead Ahmad pulled feebly at the hands that pinnedhim His throat was taut, offered for the blade Thepromontory was silent but for his whimpering

‘Your last chance, Assassin,’ called Shihab.The blade shone

‘Master,’ pleaded Umar, ‘let me go.’

Al Mualim nodded

‘Stop!’ shouted Umar He moved to a platform ofthe tower, calling down to Shihab ‘I am Umar Ibn-La’Ahad It is my life you should take.’

There was a ripple of excitement among theranks of Saracens Shihab smiled, nodded He

indicated to the executioner, who stood down,grounding his sword once more ‘Very well,’ he said

to Umar ‘Come, take your place on the block.’Umar turned to Al Mualim, who raised his head tolook at him with red-rimmed eyes

‘Master,’ said Umar, ‘I ask you one final favour.That you see to the care of Altạr Accept him as yournovice.’

Al Mualim nodded ‘Of course, Umar,’ he said

‘Of course.’

There was a hush across the citadel as Umarclimbed down the ladders of the tower, then took theslope through the barbican, under the arch and to themain gate At the wicket gate a sentry came forward

to open it, and he bent to go through

A shout came from behind him: ‘Father.’ Thesound of running feet

He paused

‘Father.’

He heard the distress in his son’s voice andsqueezed his eyes shut against tears as he steppedout of the gate The sentry closed it behind him

They pulled Ahmad from the block and Umartried to give him a reassuring look, but Ahmad couldnot meet his gaze as he was hauled away anddumped outside the wicket gate It opened and he

was dragged in It closed again behind him Armstook hold of Umar He was pulled to the block, spread

as Ahmad had been He offered his throat andwatched as the executioner towered above him.Beyond the executioner the sky

‘Father,’ he heard from the citadel, as thegleaming blade came slicing down

Two days later, under cover of darkness, Ahmad leftthe fortress The following morning when his

disappearance was discovered there were those whowondered how he could bear to leave his son alone –his mother having died of the fever two years

previously – while others said the shame was toomuch for him, that that was why he had been forced toleave

The truth was a different matter altogether

20 June 1257

This morning I awoke with Maffeo shaking myshoulder – not especially gently, I should add.However, his insistence was prompted by an interest

in my story For that at least I should be grateful

‘So?’ he said

‘So what?’ If I sounded sleepy, well, that’sbecause I was

‘So what happened to Ahmad?’

‘That I was to discover at a later date, brother.’

‘So tell me.’

As I pulled myself to a sitting position in my bed Igave the matter some thought ‘I think it best that I tellyou the stories just as they were told to me,’ I said atlast ‘Altạr, ageing though he is, is quite the teller oftales I believe I shall adhere to his narrative And what

I related to you yesterday formed the bulk of our veryfirst meeting together An episode that took place

when he was just eleven years old.’

‘Traumatic for any child,’ reflected Maffeo ‘What

of his mother?

‘Died in childbirth.’

‘Altạr an orphan at eleven?’

‘Indeed.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘Well, you know what happened He sits up in histower and –’

‘No, I mean what happened to him next?’

‘That also will have to wait, brother The next time

I saw Altạr he had moved the focus of his narrativeforward by fifteen years, to a day that found himcreeping through the dark, dripping catacombsbeneath Jerusalem …’

The year was 1191, more than three years sinceSalah Al’din and his Saracens had captured

Jerusalem In response the Christians had gnashedtheir teeth, stamped their feet, and taxed their people

in order to fund the Third Crusade – and once moremen in chainmail had marched upon the Holy Landand laid siege to its cities

England’s King Richard, the one they called theLionheart – as cruel as he was courageous – hadrecently recaptured Acre, but his greatest desire was

to re-take Jerusalem, a holy site And nowhere inJerusalem was more sacred than the Temple Mountand the ruins of the Temple of Solomon – towardswhich Altạr, Malik and Kadar crept.

They moved fast but stealthily, clinging to thesides of the tunnels, their soft boots barely disturbingthe sand Altạr went ahead, Malik and Kadar a fewpaces behind, all with senses tuned to theirsurroundings, their pulses quickening as they camecloser to the Mount The catacombs were thousands

of years old and looked every day of it; Altạr couldsee sand and dust trickling from unsteady woodensupports, while underfoot the ground was soft, thesand wet with the water that dripped steadily fromoverhead – some kind of nearby watercourse The airwas thick with the smell of sulphur from the bitumen-soaked lanterns that lined the tunnel walls

Altạr was the first to hear the priest Of course hewas He was the leader, the Master Assassin; hisskills were greater, his senses sharper He stopped

He touched his ear, then held up his hand, and allthree became still, like wraiths in the passage When

he glanced back, they were awaiting his nextcommand Kadar’s eyes gleamed with anticipation;Malik’s were watchful and flinty

All three held their breath Around them the water

dripped, and Altạr listened intently to the priest’smumblings.

The false Christian piety of a Templar

Now Altạr placed his hands behind his back andflicked his wrist to engage his blade, feeling thefamiliar pull on the ring mechanism he wore on hislittle finger He kept his blade in good order so thatthe noise it made when it released was almostinaudible – he timed it to the water droplets just to besure

Drip … drip … snick

He brought his arms forward and the blade at hisleft hand glittered in the flickering torchlight, thirsty forblood

Next Altạr flattened himself to the tunnel wall andmoved forward stealthily, rounding a slight bend until

he could see the priest kneeling in the tunnel He worethe robes of a Templar, which could only mean therewere more ahead, probably within the ruins of theTemple In search of their treasure, no doubt

His heart quickened It was just as he’d thought.That the city was under Salah Al’din’s control wasn’tgoing to stop the men of the red cross They, too, hadbusiness at the Mount What business? Altạrintended to find out, but first …

First there was the priest to take care of

Crouched low, he moved behind the kneelingman, who prayed on, unaware of death’s proximity.Shifting his weight to his front foot and bending at theknee slightly, Altạr raised the blade, his hand bentback, ready to strike.

‘Wait!’ hissed Malik from behind him ‘Theremust be another way … This one need not die.’

Altạr ignored him In one fluid movement hegrasped the priest’s shoulder with his right hand andwith his left jammed the point of the blade into theback of his neck, slicing between the skull and the firstvertebra of the backbone, severing his spine

The priest had no time to scream: death wasalmost instantaneous Almost His body jerked andtautened but Altạr held him firm, feeling his life ebbaway as he held him with one finger on his carotidartery Slowly, the body relaxed and Altạr allowed it tocrumple silently to the ground where it lay, aspreading pool of blood blotted by the sand

It had been quick, soundless But as Altạrretracted the blade he saw the way Malik looked athim and the accusation in his eyes It was all that hecould do to suppress a sneer at Malik’s weakness.Malik’s brother, Kadar, on the other hand, was evennow looking down at the priest’s body with a mixture

of wonderment and awe

‘An excellent kill,’ he said breathlessly ‘Fortunefavours your blade.’

‘Not fortune,’ boasted Altạr, ‘skill Watch a whilelonger and you might learn something.’

As he said it he watched Malik carefully, seeingthe Assassin’s eyes flare angrily, jealous, no doubt, atthe respect Kadar afforded Altạr

Sure enough, Malik turned on his brother

‘Indeed He’ll teach you how to disregard everythingthe Master taught us.’

Altạr sneered once more ‘And how would youhave done it?’

‘I would not have drawn attention to us I wouldnot have taken the life of an innocent.’

Altạr sighed ‘It matters not how we complete ourtask, only that it’s done.’

‘But that is not the way …’ started Malik

Altạr fixed him with a stare ‘My way is better.’For a moment or so the two men glared at oneanother Even in the dank, cold and dripping tunnel,Altạr could see in Malik’s eyes the insolence, theresentment He would need to be careful of that, heknew It seemed that young Malik was an enemy inwaiting

But if he had designs on usurping Altạr, Malikevidently decided that now was not the right moment

to make his stand ‘I will scout ahead,’ he said ‘Trynot to dishonour us further.’

Any punishment for that particular insubordinationwould have to wait, decided Altạr, as Malik left,heading up the tunnel in the direction of the Temple

Kadar watched him go, then turned to Altạr

‘What is our mission?’ he asked ‘My brother wouldsay nothing to me, only that I should be honoured tohave been invited.’

Altạr regarded the enthusiastic young pup ‘TheMaster believes the Templars have found somethingbeneath the Temple Mount.’

‘Treasure?’ gushed Kadar

‘I do not know All that matters is the Masterconsiders it important, else he would not have asked

me to retrieve it.’

Kadar nodded and, at a wave of the hand fromAltạr, darted off to join his brother, leaving Altạr alone

in the tunnel He looked down, pondering, at the body

of the priest, a halo of blood on the sand around thehead Malik might have been right There had beenother ways of silencing the priest – he hadn’t had todie But Altạr had killed him because …

Because he could

Because he was Altạr Ibn-La’Ahad, born of anAssassin father The most skilled of all those in the

Order A Master Assassin.

He set off, coming to a series of pits, mistfloating in their depths, and leaped easily to the firstcrossbeam, lithely landing and crouching catlike,breathing steadily, enjoying his own power andathleticism

He jumped to the next and to the next, then came

to where Malik and Kadar stood waiting for him Butrather than acknowledge them he ran past, the sound

of his feet like a whisper on the ground, barelydisturbing the sand Ahead of him was a tall ladderand he took it at a run, scampering up quickly andquietly, only slowing when he reached the very top,where he stopped, listening and sniffing the air

Next, very slowly, he raised his head to see anelevated chamber, and there, as he’d expected,stood a guard with his back to him, wearing the outfit

of a Templar: padded gambeson jacket, leggings,chainmail, sword at his hip Altạr, silent and still,studied him for a moment, taking note of his posture,the dip of his shoulders Good He was tired anddistracted Silencing him would be easy

Slowly Altạr pulled himself to the ground where

he crouched for a moment, steadying his breathingand watching the Templar carefully, before moving upbehind him, straightening and raising his hands: his

left a claw; his right ready to reach and silence theguard.

Then he struck, snapping his wrist to engage theblade, which sprang forward in the same instant that

he rammed it into the guard’s spine, reaching with hisright hand to smother the man’s scream

For a second they stood in a macabre embrace,Altạr feeling the tickle of his victim’s final muffledshout beneath his hand Then the guard wascrumpling and Altạr lowered him gently to the ground,stooping to brush his eyelids closed He had beenpunished severely for his failure as a lookout, Altạrthought grimly, as he straightened from the corpseand moved off, joining Malik and Kadar as they creptbeneath the arch that had been so poorly guarded

Once through, they found themselves on an upperlevel of a vast chamber, and for a moment Altạr stoodtaking it in, feeling suddenly overawed This was theruin of the fabled Solomon’s Temple, said to havebeen built in 960 BC by King Solomon If Altạr wascorrect they now stood overlooking the Temple’sgreater house, its Holy Place Early writings spoke ofthe Holy Place as having its walls lined with cedar,carved cherubim, palm trees and open flowersembossed with gold, but the Temple was now ashadow of its former self Gone were the ornate

wood, the cherubim and the gold finishing – to where,Altạr could only guess, though he had little doubt theTemplars had had a hand in it Yet even stripped of itsgilding it was still a place of reverence, and despitehimself, Altạr found himself filled with wonder to seeit.

Behind him his two companions were even moreawestruck

‘There – that must be the Ark,’ said Malik,pointing across the chamber

‘The Ark of the Covenant,’ gasped Kadar, seeing

it too

Altạr had recovered, and glanced over to see thetwo men standing like a pair of foolish merchantsdazzled at the sight of shiny baubles Ark of the Covenant?

‘Don’t be silly,’ he chided ‘There’s no such thing.It’s just a story.’ Looking over, though, he was lesssure Certainly the box had all the properties of thefabled Ark It was just as the prophets had alwaysdescribed: plated entirely with gold, a golden coveradorned with cherubim, and rings for inserting thepoles that would be used to carry it And there wassomething about it, Altạr realized It had an aura …

He tore his eyes away from it More importantmatters needed his attention, namely the men who