Part Three 9 страница

Still there was a feeling he couldn’t shake off. A sense that, even now, uncertainty swirled around him like early-morning mist.

‘Sibrand is said to be consumed by fear – driven mad by the knowledge that his death approaches. He has sealed the docks district, and now hides within, waiting for his ship to arrive. ’

Jabal considered. ‘This will make things dangerous. I wonder how he learned of your mission. ’

‘The men I’ve killed – they are all connected. Al Mualim warned me that word of my deeds has spread among them. ’

‘Be on your guard, Altaï r, ’ said Jabal, handing him the feather.

‘Of course, rafiq. But I think it will be to my advantage. Fear will weaken him. ’

He turned to leave, and as he did so, Jabal called him back. ‘Altaï r …’

‘Yes? ’

‘I owe you an apology. ’

‘For what? ’

‘For doubting your dedication to our cause. ’

Altaï r thought. ‘No. It was I who erred. I believed myself above the Creed. You owe me nothing. ’

‘As you wish, my friend. Go in safety. ’

Altaï r went to the docks, slipping through Sibrand’s cordon as easily as breathing. Behind him rose the walls of Acre, in various states of disrepair; ahead of him, the harbour was filled with ships and platforms, hulks and wooden carcasses. Some were working vessels, others left behind from the siege. They had transformed the gleaming blue sea into an ocean of brown flotsam.

The grey stone sun-bleached dock was its own city. Those who worked and lived there were dock people – they had the look of dock people. They had an easy manner and weathered faces accustomed to smiling.

Though not today. Not under the command of Sibrand, the Grand Master of the Knights Teutonic. Not only had he ordered the area to be sealed but he had filled it with his guards. His fear of assassination was like a virus that had spread through his army. Groups of soldiers moved through the docks with roving eyes. They were twitchy, their hands constantly flitting at the hilts of their broadswords. They were nervous, sweating under heavy chainmail.

Becoming aware of a commotion, Altaï r walked towards it, seeing citizens and soldiers doing the same. A knight was shouting at a holy man. Nearby his companions watched anxiously, while dock workers and merchants had gathered to view the spectacle.

‘Y-you are mistaken, Master Sibrand. I would never propose violence against any man – and most certainly not against you. ’

So this was Sibrand. Altaï r took note of the black hair, deep brow and harsh eyes that seemed to spin wildly, like those of a sun-maddened dog. He had armed himself with every weapon he could, and his belts sagged with swords, daggers and knives. Across his back was his longbow, arrow quills peeking over his right shoulder. He looked exhausted. A man unravelling.

‘So you say, ’ he said, showering the priest in spit, ‘and yet no one here will vouch for you. What am I to make of this? ’

‘I-I live a simple life, my lord, as do all men of the cloth. It is not for us to call attention to ourselves. ’

‘Perhaps. ’ He closed his eyes. Then they snapped open. ‘Or perhaps they do not know you because you are not a man of God, but an Assassin. ’

And with that he shoved the priest backwards, the old man landing badly, then scrabbling to his knees. ‘Never, ’ he insisted.

‘You wear the same robes. ’

The holy man was desperate now. ‘If they cover themselves as we do, it is only to instil uncertainty and fear. You must not give in. ’

‘Are you calling me a coward? ’’ shouted Sibrand, his voice breaking. ‘Challenging my authority? Are you, perhaps, hoping to turn my own knights against me? ’

‘No. No. I-I don’t understand why you’re d-doing this to me … I’ve done nothing wrong. ’

‘I don’t recall accusing you of any wrongdoing, which makes your outburst rather odd. Is it the presence of guilt that compels a confession? ’

‘But I confess nothing, ’ said the priest.

‘Ah. Defiant till the very end. ’

The priest looked horrified. The more he said, the worse it got. ‘What do you mean? ’ Altaï r watched as a succession of emotions passed across the old man’s face: fear, confusion, desperation, hopelessness.

‘William and Garnier were too confident. And they paid for this with their lives. I won’t make the same mistake. If you truly are a man of God, then surely the Creator will provide for you. Let him stay my hand. ’

‘You’ve gone mad, ’ cried the priest. He turned to implore the spectators, ‘Will none of you come forward to stop this? He is clearly poisoned by his own fear – compelled to see enemies where none exist. ’

His companions shuffled awkwardly but said nothing. So, too, the citizens, who gazed at him dispassionately. The priest was no Assassin, they could see that, but it didn’t matter what they thought. They were just glad not to be the target of Sibrand’s fury.

‘It seems the people share my concern, ’ said Sibrand. He drew his sword. ‘What I do, I do for Acre. ’

The priest shrieked as Sibrand drove the blade into his gut, twisted, then removed it and wiped it clean. The old man writhed on the dock, then died. Sibrand’s guards picked up his body and tossed it into the water.

Sibrand watched it go. ‘Stay vigilant, men. Report any suspicious activity to the guard. I doubt we’ve seen the last of these Assassins. Persistent bastards … Now get back to work. ’

Altaï r watched as he and two bodyguards made their way to a rowing-boat. The priest’s body bumped against the hull as it cast off, then began to float through the debris in the harbour. Altaï r gazed out to sea, seeing a bigger ship further out. That would be Sibrand’s sanctuary, he thought. His eyes went back to Sibrand’s skiff. He could see the knight pulling himself up to scan the water around him. Looking for Assassins. Always looking for them. As though they might appear from the water around him.

Which was exactly what he was going to do, decided Altaï r, moving to the nearest hulk and jumping to it, easily traversing boats and platforms until he came close to Sibrand’s ship. There he saw Sibrand make his way up to the main deck, eyes raking the water around him. Altaï r heard him ordering the guards to secure the lower decks, then moved across to a platform near the ship.

A lookout saw him coming and was about to raise his bow when Altaï r sent him a throwing knife, mentally cursing himself for not having time to prepare the kill. Sure enough, instead of falling silently to the wood of the platform, the sentry fell into the water with a splash.

Altaï r’s eyes flicked to the deck of the main ship where Sibrand had heard the splash too, and was already beginning to panic. ‘I know you’re out there, Assassin, ’ he screeched. He unslung his bow. ‘How long do you think you can hide? I’ve a hundred men scouring the docks. They’ll find you. And when they do, you’ll suffer for your sins. ’

Altaï r hugged the frame of the platform, out of sight. Water lapped at its struts. Otherwise, silence. An almost ghostly quiet that must have unnerved Sibrand as much as it pleased Altaï r.

‘Show yourself, coward, ’ insisted Sibrand. His fear was in his voice. ‘Face me and let us be done with this. ’

All in good time, thought Altaï r. Sibrand fired an arrow at nothing, then fitted and fired another.

‘On your guard, men, ’ shouted Sibrand, to the lower decks. ‘He’s out there somewhere. Find him. End his life. A promotion to whoever brings me the head of the Assassin. ’

Altaï r leaped from the platform to the ship, landing with a slight thump that seemed to resonate around the area of still water. He waited, clinging to the hull, hearing Sibrand’s panicked shouts from above. Then he began to climb. He waited until Sibrand’s back was turned then pulled himself on to the deck, now just a few feet away from the Grand Master of the Knights Teutonic, who was prowling the deck, shouting threats to the empty sea, hurling insults and orders at his guards, who hurried about below.

Sibrand was a dead man, thought Altaï r, as he crept up behind him. He had died as much from his own fear, though he was too stupid to know it.

‘Please … don’t do this, ’ he said, as he folded to the deck with Altaï r’s blade in his neck.

‘You are afraid? ’ asked the Assassin. He withdrew his blade.

‘Of course I am, ’ said Sibrand, as though addressing a dolt.

Altaï r thought back to Sibrand’s callousness before the priest. ‘But you’ll be safe now, ’ he said, ‘held in the arms of your God …’

Sibrand gave a small wet laugh. ‘Have my brothers taught you nothing? I know what waits for me. For all of us. ’

‘If not your God, then what? ’

‘Nothing. Nothing waits. And that is what I fear. ’

‘You don’t believe, ’ said Altaï r. Was it true? Sibrand had no faith? No God?

‘How could I, given what I know? What I’ve seen. Our treasure was the proof. ’

‘Proof of what? ’

‘That this life is all we have. ’

‘Linger a while longer, then, ’ pressed Altaï r, ‘and tell me of the part you were to play. ’

‘A blockade by sea, ’ Sibrand told him, ‘to keep the fool kings and queens from sending reinforcements. Once we … Once we …’ He was fading fast now.

‘… conquered the Holy Land? ’ prompted Altaï r.

Sibrand coughed. When he next spoke, his bared teeth were coated with blood. ‘Freed it, you fool. From the tyranny of faith. ’

‘Freedom? You worked to overthrow cities. Control men’s minds. Murdered any who spoke against you. ’

‘I followed my orders, believing in my cause. Same as you. ’

‘Do not be afraid, ’ said Altaï r, closing his eyes.

‘We are close, Altaï r. ’ Al Mualim came from behind his desk, moving through a thick shaft of light shining through the window. His pigeons cooed happily in the afternoon heat and there was that same sweet scent in the air. Yet despite the day – and although Altaï r had once again gained his rank and, more importantly, the Master’s trust – he could not yet fully relax.

‘Robert de Sable is now all that stands between us and victory, ’ continued Al Mualim. ‘His mouth gives the orders. His hand pays the gold. With him dies the knowledge of the Templar Treasure and any threat it might pose. ’

‘I still don’t understand how a simple bit of treasure could cause so much chaos, ’ said Altaï r. He had been mulling over Sibrand’s final mysterious words. He had been thinking of the globe – the Piece of Eden. He had experienced its strange draw at first hand, of course, but surely it had merely the power to dazzle and divert. Could it really exert a hold above that of any desirable ornament? He had to admit to finding the idea fanciful.

Al Mualim nodded slowly, as though reading his thoughts. ‘The Piece of Eden is temptation given form. Look at what it’s done to Robert. Once he had tasted its power, it consumed him. He saw not a dangerous weapon to be destroyed, but a tool – one that would help him realize his life’s ambition. ’

‘He dreamed of power, then? ’

‘Yes and no. He dreamed – still dreams – like us, of peace. ’

‘But this is a man who sought to see the Holy Land consumed by war …’

‘No, Altaï r, ’ cried Al Mualim. ‘How can you not see when you’re the one who opened my eyes to this? ’

‘What do you mean? ’ Altaï r was puzzled.

‘What do he and his followers want? A world in which all men are united. I do not despise his goal. I share it. But I take issue with the means. Peace is something to be learned. To be understood. To be embraced, but…’

‘He would force it. ’ Altaï r was nodding. Understanding.

‘And rob us of our free will in the process, ’ agreed Al Mualim.

‘Strange … to think of him in this way, ’ said Altaï r.

‘Never harbour hate for your victims, Altair. Such thoughts are poison and will cloud your judgement. ’

‘Could he not be convinced, then? To end his mad quest? ’

Al Mualim shook his head slowly and sadly. ‘I spoke to him – in my way – through you. What was each killing, if not a message? But he has chosen to ignore us. ’

‘Then there’s only one thing left to do. ’

At last he was to hunt de Sable. The thought thrilled Altaï r but he was careful to balance it with notes of caution. He would not make the mistake of underestimating him again. Not de Sable, or anybody.

‘Jerusalem is where you faced him first. It’s where you’ll find him now, ’ said Al Mualim, and released his bird. ‘Go, Altair. It’s time to finish this. ’

Altaï r left, descending the stairs to the doors of the tower and coming out into the courtyard. Abbas was sitting on the fence, and Altaï r felt his eyes on him as he crossed the courtyard. Then he stopped and turned to face him. Their eyes met and Altaï r was about to say something – he wasn’t sure what. But he thought better of it. He had a task ahead of him. Old wounds were exactly that: old wounds. Unconsciously, however, his hand went to his side.

The morning after Altaï r had told Abbas the truth about his father, Abbas had been even more withdrawn, and nothing Altaï r 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.

Altaï r, however, sat with twisted insides and a tortured mind. Why had Abbas said nothing? Why hadn’t he reacted to what Altaï r 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, Altaï r. You are cunning and treacherous. ’

They were the first words he had spoken to Altaï r all day. And as he said them he fixed Altaï r with a look of such contempt, such hatred, that Altaï r 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, Altaï r swallowing, Abbas staring hard at him.

‘Brother, ’ began Altaï r, ‘what I said last night, I –’

‘Do not call me brother! ’ Abbas’s shout rang around the courtyard. And he sprang towards Altaï r with a ferocity the boy had never seen in him before. But though his teeth were bared, Altaï r 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. Altaï r 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 Altaï r to dodge to the side.

‘Now, Abbas …’ chided Labib.

‘He means to kills me, Master, ’ shouted Altaï r.

‘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 Altaï r.

‘No, ’ screamed Abbas. ‘You lied. ’ Again he struck and there was a great chime of steel. Altaï r 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, Altaï r, defend, ’ roared Labib, clapping his hands with glee. Altaï r 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 Altaï r. He danced back as Abbas thrust forward. But with a flick of his wrist Abbas caught Altaï r with his blade, opening a nick that bled warm down Altaï r’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. Altaï r 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. ‘Altaï r. ’

But the two fighting boys ignored him, their swords meeting again. Altaï r, 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 Altaï r, then pushed forward again, swinging his sword wildly. Altaï r 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 Altaï r to try to explain –

But Abbas shrieked. And with a final war cry he leaped towards Altaï r 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 Altaï r 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 Altaï r and pinning him to the ground. From his belt he produced his dagger and held it to Altaï r’s throat. His wild eyes were fixed on Altaï r. 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 Altaï r, 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 Altaï r’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.

‘Altaï r, did you lie? ’ asked Labib.

A silence shrouded the training yard: all waited for Altaï r’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 Altaï r 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 Altaï r was made an Assassin. The injustice increased his hatred of Altaï r, who slowly came to see Abbas as a pathetic, bitter figure. When the citadel was attacked, it was Altaï r who saved the life of Al Mualim and was elevated to Master Assassin. That day, Abbas spat in the dirt at Altaï r’s feet but Altaï r 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.

When Altaï r next arrived at the Jerusalem Bureau, it was as a changed man. Not that he would make the mistake of thinking his journey was over – that would have been an error made by the old Altaï r. No, he knew that it was just beginning. It was as though Malik sensed it too. There was something changed about the Bureau leader when Altaï r entered. There was a new respect and accord between them.

‘Safety and peace, Altaï r, ’ he said.

‘Upon you as well, brother, ’ replied Altaï r, and there was an unspoken moment between them.

‘Seems Fate has a strange way with things …’

Altaï r nodded. ‘So it’s true, then? Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem?

‘I’ve seen the knights myself. ’ Malik’s hand went to his stump. Reminded of it by mention of the Templar.

‘Only misfortune follows that man. If he’s here, it’s because he intends ill. I won’t give him the chance to act, ’ said Altaï r.

‘Do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, brother. We both know no good can come of that. ’

Altaï r smiled. ‘I have not forgotten. You have nothing to fear. I do not seek revenge, but knowledge. ’

Once he would have said such a thing parrot fashion, knowing the beliefs expected of him. Now he truly believed it.

Again, Malik somehow understood. ‘Truly you are not the man I once knew, ’ he said.

Altaï r nodded. ‘My work has taught me many things. Revealed secrets to me. But there are still pieces of this puzzle I do not possess. ’

‘What do you mean? ’

‘All the men I’ve laid to rest have worked together, united by this man. Robert has designs upon the land. This much I know for certain. But how and why? When and where? These things remain out of reach. ’

‘Crusaders and Saracens working together? ’ wondered Malik, aloud.

‘They are none of these things, but something else. Templars. ’

‘The Templars are a part of the Crusader army, ’ said Malik, though the question was written all over his face: how could they be King Richard’s men if they were staying in Jerusalem? Walking the city streets?

‘Or so they’d like King Richard to believe, ’ said Altaï r. ‘No. Their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable and some mad idea that they will stop the war. ’

‘You spin a strange tale. ’

‘You have no idea, Malik …’

‘Then tell me. ’

Altaï r began to tell Malik what he had learned so far. ‘Robert and his Templars walk the city. They’ve come to pay their respects to Majd Addin. They’ll attend his funeral. Which means so will I. ’

‘What is this that Templars would attend his funeral? ’

‘I have yet to divine their true intentions, though I’ll have a confession in time. The citizens themselves are divided. Many call for their lives. Still others insist that they are here to parley. To make peace. ’

He thought of the orator he’d questioned, who had been adamant that his masters wanted an end to war. De Sable, a Christian, was attending Majd Addin’s funeral, he a Muslim. Wasn’t that proof that the Templars sought a united Holy Land? The citizens were hostile to the notion of Templars being present in Jerusalem. The Crusader occupation was still fresh in their minds. Unsurprisingly there had been reports of fighting breaking out between Crusaders and Saracens, who took exception to the sight of knights in the streets. The city remained unconvinced by the orators who insisted that they came in the name of peace.

‘Peace? ’ said Malik, now.

‘I told you. The others I have slain have said as much to me. ’

‘That would make them our allies. And yet we kill them. ’

‘Make no mistake, we are nothing like these men. Though their goal sounds noble, the means by which they’d achieve it are not. At least … that’s what Al Mualim told me. ’

He ignored the tiny worm of doubt that slithered in the pit of his stomach.

‘So what is your plan? ’

‘I’ll attend the funeral and confront Robert. ’

‘The sooner the better, ’ agreed Malik, handing Altaï r the feather. ‘Fortune favour your blade, brother. ’

Altaï r took the marker. Swallowing, he said, ‘Malik … Before I go, there’s something I should say. ’

‘Out with it. ’

‘I’ve been a fool. ’

Malik gave a dry laugh. ‘Normally I’d make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about? ’

‘All this time … I never told you I was sorry. Too damned proud. You lost your arm because of me. Lost Kadar. You had every right to be angry. ’

‘I do not accept your apology. ’

‘I understand. ’

‘No. You don’t. I do not accept your apology, because you are not the same man who went with me into Solomon’s Temple, so you have nothing to apologize for.

‘Malik …’

‘Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I would not have been so careless myself. I am just as much to blame. ’

‘Don’t say such things. ’

‘We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer. We grow stronger. ’

‘Thank you, brother. ’

And so it was that Altaï r found himself at the cemetery, a small, unadorned burial ground, joining a sparse crowd of Templars and civilians who had gathered around the burial mound of Majd Addin, the erstwhile city regent.

The body would have been bathed and shrouded and carried in a procession, then buried on its right side and the hole filled, members of the procession adding dirt to the grave. As Altaï r entered, an imam was stepping up to deliver the funeral prayer and a hush had descended over the holy ground. Most stood with their hands clasped in front of them and their heads bowed in respect for the dead, so it was an easy task for Altaï r to slip through the crowd in order to gain a good vantage point. To locate his final target. He who had set Altaï r on this path – whose death would be just retribution for the suffering he had caused and that which had happened in his name: Robert de Sable.

Passing along the rows of mourners, Altaï r realized it was the first time that he had ever found himself at the funeral of one of his targets, and he cast a look around to see if there were any grieving members of the dead man’s family nearby, wondering how he, the killer, would feel to be confronted by their grief. But if Majd Addin had had close relatives they were either absent or kept their sorrow hidden among the crowd; there was no one at the graveside but the imam and …

A cluster of Templar knights.

They stood in front of an ornately decorated fountain set into a tall sandstone wall, three of them, wearing armour and full-face helmets, even the one who stood in front of the other two, who also wore a cape. The distinctive cape of the Templar Grand Master.

And yet … Altaï r squinted, staring at de Sable. The knight was somehow not as Altaï r remembered him. Had his memory played tricks on him? Had Robert de Sable taken on greater dimensions in his head because he had bested Altaï r? Certainly he seemed to lack the stature that Altaï r remembered. Where, also, were the rest of his men?