Part Four 2 страница

‘Maria! ’

There was no answer.

More Templars were approaching now. With a heavy heart Altaï r fled to the rooftops, there to take stock and plan his next move.

As it turned out, his next move was decided for him. Sitting high in a tower in the shade of a bell, Altaï r had become aware of movement in the streets, which had been so empty. People were leaving their homes. He had no idea where they were going, but decided he wanted to know.

Sure enough, with the smoke was still rising from the charred remains of the safe-house, the Templars were mobilizing. Altaï r used the roofs to follow townspeople as they made their way to the square and saw the expressions they wore, overheard their conversations. Talk was of revenge and reprisals. More than once he heard Armand Bouchart’s name. Bouchart had just arrived on the island, they said. He had a fearsome reputation. A cruel reputation.

Altaï r was about to see that reputation in action, but for the time being he was overjoyed to see Maria in the crowd, alive and unharmed. She was flanked by two Templar knights in the gathering crowd – their prisoner by the look of it, though she wasn’t bound. Like everybody else in the square, her attention was fixed on the steps of the cathedral.

He kept her in his eyeline, staying out of sight on a rooftop overlooking the square, watching as Osman took up position on the steps, standing slightly to one side, ready for the entrance of Armand Bouchart, the new Templar leader, who strode out and joined him.

Like de Sable before him, Bouchart seemed to have been chosen for his formidable appearance as much as his leadership ability. He wore full armour but looked strong and lithe beneath it. He was hairless with a thick brow that seemed to shade his eyes. Sunken cheeks gave his face a cadaverous look.

‘A foul murder has shaken my order, ’ he bellowed, in a voice that commanded the whole square’s attention. ‘Dear Frederick the Red … slain. He, who served God and the people of Cyprus with honour, is paid tribute by a murderer’s blade. Who among you will deliver those responsible to me? ’

There was nothing from the crowd but the sound of awkward shuffling. Altair’s eyes went back to Bouchart, who was darkening. ‘Cowards! ’ he roared. ‘You leave me no choice but to flush out this killer myself. I hereby grant my men immunity until this investigation is concluded. ’

Altaï r saw Osman shift uncomfortably. Usually his face wore a twinkly look, but not now. He seemed worried as he stepped forward to speak to the leader. ‘Bouchart, the citizens are already restless. Perhaps this is not the best idea. ’

Bouchart’s face was turned away so Osman might not have seen it twist into an expression of terrible fury. Bouchart was not accustomed to having his orders questioned: that was clear. As to whether he considered it insubordination or not …

In one movement he drew his sword and rammed it into Osman’s stomach.

With a shout that echoed around the stunned square, the captain folded to the stone, cradling his belly. He writhed on the steps briefly until he died, his death rattle deafening in the shocked hush that blanketed the crowd. Altaï r winced. He hadn’t known Osman, of course, but what he’d seen of him, he’d liked. Another good man had died a needless death.

Bouchart reached down and wiped his sword clean on the arm of Osman’s tunic. ‘If anyone else objects, I invite you to step forward. ’

The body shifted slightly and one arm came loose, hanging over the step. Osman’s sightless eyes stared at the sky.

There were no objections.

Suddenly there was a shout from Maria, who had pulled free of her two captors. She ran to the steps and threw herself to her knees in front of the leader. ‘Armand Bouchart, ’ she called.

Though he smiled in recognition, it was not the smile of friends meeting. ‘Ah, ’ he sneered, ‘an old colleague, ’ and he replaced his sword in his belt.

‘Bouchart, ’ said Maria, ‘an Assassin has come to Cyprus. I managed to escape, but he cannot be far behind. ’

Up on his perch, Altaï r’s heart sank. He’d hoped … No. She was a Templar first. She always would be. Her loyalty was to them.

‘Why, Maria, ’ said Bouchart in high spirits, ‘that would make this your second miraculous escape from the Assassins, no? Once when de Sable was the target, and now here on my island. ’

Altaï r watched incomprehension join panic on Maria’s face. ‘I am not in league with the Assassins, Bouchart, ’ she blurted. ‘Please listen. ’

‘De Sable was a weak-willed wretch. Verse seventy of the founding Templar Rule expressly forbids consorting with women … for it is through women that the devil weaves his strongest web. De Sable ignored this tenet and paid with his life. ’

‘How dare you? ’ she retorted and, despite himself, Altaï r smiled. Any fear Maria experienced was always short-lived.

‘Touched a nerve, did I? ’ roared Bouchart, enjoying himself. Then, ‘Lock her up. ’

And with that the meeting was over. Bouchart turned and left, leaving the glassy-eyed body of Osman on the steps behind him. Maria was bound and dragged away.

Altair’s eyes went from the receding figure of Bouchart to Maria. He was torn, trying to decide on his next course of action. Bouchart was close. He might not have this chance again. Strike at him when he least expected it.

But then again – Maria.

He let himself down from the rooftop and followed the men as they led her out of the Cathedral Square, presumably towards the gaol. He kept at a safe distance. Then, when they’d turned off into a quieter street, he struck.

Moments later the two guards were dead and Altaï r was approaching Maria where she had been tossed aside, her hands still bound, struggling to get to her feet. He reached for her and she jerked away from him. ‘Get your hands off me, ’ she snapped. ‘They consider me a traitor, thanks to you. ’

Altaï r smiled indulgently – even though she had alerted Bouchart to his presence. ‘I am only a convenient excuse for your wrath, Maria. The Templars are your real enemy. ’

She glowered. ‘I will kill you when I get the chance. ’

‘If you get the chance … but then you’ll never find the Apple, the Piece of Eden. And which would curry more favour with the Templars right now? My head or that artefact? ’

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, seeing that what he said made sense. She seemed to relax.

For the time being.

Much later they met Alexander again. His face showed his concern as he told Altaï r, ‘Despite his bravado, Bouchart obviously took Maria’s warning seriously. ’ At this he shot Maria a look so furious that, unusually, she was lost for words. ‘My sources tell me that after destroying our safe-house he immediately sailed for Kyrenia. ’

Altaï r frowned. ‘That’s a shame. I was hoping to meet him. ’ He planned to meet him still. ‘What’s the fastest route there? ’ he asked.

They travelled as a monk and his companion, able to find space in the hold. Occasionally crew members would descend from the main deck and curl up to sleep there, too, farting and snuffling, paying little attention to the two strangers. As Maria slept, Altaï r found a crate and opened his journal, bringing the Apple out from a pack he wore in his robe.

Free of its swaddling it glowed and he watched it for a moment, then began to write: ‘I struggle to make sense of the Apple, the Piece of Eden, its function and purpose, but I can say with certainty that its origins are not divine. No … it is a tool … a machine of exquisite precision. What sort of men were they who brought this marvel into the world? ’

There was a noise behind him. In an instant he had swept up the Apple and covered it once more, hiding it within his robe. It was Maria, stirring from sleep. He closed his journal, stepping over the sleeping bodies of two crew members and crossing the hold to where she sat with her back against a stack of wooden boxes, shivering and yawning. She clasped her knees to her chest, watching as Altaï r sat on the deck beside her. Her eyes were unreadable. For a moment they listened to the creak of the ship, the suck and slap of the sea on the hull. Neither was sure if it was day or night, or how long they had been sailing.

‘How did you find yourself here? ’ he asked her.

‘Don’t you remember, holy man? ’ she said archly. ‘You brought me. ’ She whispered, ‘I’m your consort. ’

Altaï r cleared his throat. ‘I mean here in the Holy Land. In the Crusades. ’

‘I should be at home with a lap full of crochet and one eye on the gardener? ’

‘Isn’t that what English women do? ’

‘Not this one. I’m what they call the unusual one in my family. Growing up, I always preferred the boys’ games. Dolls weren’t for me, much to my parents’ continued exasperation. I used to pull their heads off. ’

‘Your parents? ’

She laughed. ‘My dolls. So, of course, my parents did everything they could to make me less boisterous, and on my eighteenth birthday they gave me a special present. ’

‘And what was it? ’

‘A husband. ’

He started. ‘You’re married? ’

‘I was. His name was Peter, and he was a most pleasant companion, just …’

‘What? ’

‘Well, that was it. Just … most pleasant. Nothing else. ’

‘So, not much use as a playmate. ’

‘In no sense. My ideal husband would have embraced those aspects of my character that my parents wanted to excise. We would have gone hunting and hawking together. He would have tutored me in sports and combat and imbued me with learning. But he did none of those things. We repaired to his family seat, Hallaton Hall, in Leicestershire, where as chatelaine I was expected to manage the staff, oversee the running of the household and, of course, produce heirs. Three at least. Two boys and a girl, preferably, in that order. But I failed to live up to his expectations as miserably as he had failed to live up to mine. The only thing I cared for less than the hierarchies and politics of the staff was child-rearing and especially the birth that comes beforehand. After four years of prevarication I left. Fortunately the Bishop of Leicester was a close friend of the elderly Lord Hallaton and he was able to grant an annulment rather than risking this silly impetuous girl cause the family further embarrassment. I was of course persona non grata at Hallaton Hall – indeed, in the whole of Leicestershire – and, returning home, the situation was no better. Hallaton had demanded his bride price back but Father had already spent it. In the end I decided it was best for everyone if I left so I ran away to the Crusade. ’

‘As a nurse? ’

‘No, as a soldier. ’

‘But you’re …’

‘Adept at disguising myself as a man, yes. Did I have you fooled that day in the cemetery? ’

‘I knew you weren’t de Sable, but …’

‘You didn’t anticipate me being a woman. You see? Years of being boisterous finally paid off. ’

‘And de Sable? Was he fooled? ’

Altaï r sensed her rueful smile, rather than seeing it. ‘I liked Robert at first, ’ she said softly. ‘He certainly saw more of my potential than Peter did. But, of course, he also saw how I might be exploited. And it wasn’t long before he was doing so. ’ She sighed. ‘It was fitting that you killed him, ’ she said. ‘He was not a good man and was unworthy of whatever feelings I had for him. ’

‘Did he give you that? ’ said Altaï r after a time, indicating her hand, the gem that shone there.

She looked at and frowned, almost as though she had forgotten she was wearing it. ‘Yes. It was a gift from him when he took me under his wing. This is all I have left of my ties to the Templars. ’

There was an awkward silence. Eventually it was broken by Altaï r, who said, ‘Did you study philosophy, Maria? ’

She looked at him dubiously. ‘I’ve read scraps … nothing more. ’

‘The philosopher Empedocles preached that all life on earth began simply, in rudimentary forms: hands without arms, heads without bodies, eyes without faces. He believed that all these early forms combined, very gradually over time, to create all the variety of life we see before us. Interesting? ’

She all but yawned. ‘Do you know how ludicrous that sounds? ’

‘I do … but I take comfort in the advice of the philosopher Al Kindi: one must not be afraid of ideas, no matter their source. And we must never fear the truth, even when it pains us. ’

‘I don’t see the point of your ramblings. ’ She laughed softly, sounding sleepy and warm.

Perhaps he had misjudged her. Maybe she wasn’t ready to learn. But just then a bell sounded, the sign that they had docked at Kyrenia. They stood up.

Altaï r tried again. ‘Only a mind free of impediment is capable of grasping the chaotic beauty of the world. This is our greatest asset. ’

‘But is chaos something to be celebrated? Is disorder a virtue? ’ she asked, and something in him lifted at the question. Perhaps she was receptive to higher knowledge, after all.

‘It presents us with challenges, yes, ’ he said, ‘but freedom yields greater rewards than the alternative. The order and peace the Templars seek require servility and imprisonment. ’

‘Hm, ’ she said. ‘I know that feeling …’

He felt a certain closeness towards her as they reached the steps that led to the upper deck and realized it was the very sensation he had been chasing almost since they had met. Now he had it, he liked it. He wanted to keep it. Even so, he should be careful. Hadn’t she already told him that she planned to kill him? Her loyalties to the Templars had been torn but that didn’t mean she had suddenly come over to the way of the Assassin. As far as he could tell, her way was the way of Maria.

So it was to prove.

At the ladder she smiled and held out her hands and he regarded them distrustfully. But she couldn’t possibly climb with her hands tied and, anyway, they were travelling with pirates: although pirates were notoriously low on ethics, even they might be surprised by a monk who kept his companion bound. The two who had been sleeping were now pulling themselves to their feet, yawning, scratching their groins and casting looks across the hold at the pair of them. Surreptitiously Altaï r flicked out his blade and sliced the rope at her wrists. She shot him a grateful look before beginning to climb the ladder.

Then, he heard something. A murmur. He was alerted more by the tone than what was being said. Without making it obvious, he listened. As he’d thought, the two pirates were talking about them.

‘I knew it was him, ’ rasped one. ‘I told you. ’

Altaï r could feel their eyes on his back.

‘I’ll bet the Templars would pay a handsome reward for those two. ’

Silently the Assassin cursed. If he was right, he’d be needing his blade again at any moment …

He heard the sound of scimitars being drawn.

… now.

Altaï r wheeled to face the two men as his companion decided to pursue the Way of Maria and launched a bid for freedom, kicking out with her trailing foot and sending him stumbling against the side of the hold, pain flaring in his face.

There was pain inside him, too. A different kind of pain.

Then she was gone, disappearing into the square of sunlight at the hold door. Altaï r cursed again but aloud this time and righted himself to meet the attack. The first pirate grinned as he came forward, thinking no doubt of the bounty – the wine and women he would buy when he had collected it.

Altaï r thrust his sword through the man’s sternum and he stopped grinning, sliding wetly off the blade. It gave the second pause for thought and he stopped. His eyes narrowed and he swapped his weapon from hand to hand. Altaï r smiled at him and stamped, pleased to see him flinch in response.

Good, he thought. He liked his mercenary pirates to be a little scared before they died.

And die he did. The pirate’s eyes rolled up as Altaï r buried his blade in his side then sawed quickly to the front, opening a vast gash in his flank as he dropped to the deck, joining his companion. Now the Assassin scaled the ladder and then he was blinking in the sunlight as he found himself on the main deck, casting his eyes around in search of his escapee. Pirates, alerted by the sudden presence of Maria, came running. A shout went up as they saw Altaï r and realization dawned on them. He dashed across the deck, ducking beneath rigging, then running nimbly down the gangplank and on to Kyrenia docks, desperately looking for a place to hide where he could let the threat go by.

And then, he thought angrily, he was going to find Maria. This time he wouldn’t allow her to escape.

He looked around. Another city held by the Templars. It twinkled in the sun. Somehow it was too beautiful to be in the hands of the enemy.

At least finding Maria caused him no difficulty. Trouble came to her like rats to a ship’s hold. Sure enough when Altaï r next crossed paths with her, pirate corpses were strewn at her feet and three local men were standing nearby, flicking blood from their swords and recovering their breath after battle. They tensed as Altaï r appeared and he held up his hands in a gesture of good faith, taking in the scene: Maria, the men, the dead bodies.

Once again, it seemed, she’d had a lucky escape.

‘I thought I’d seen the last of you, ’ he said to her, arms still upraised.

She had a gift for refusing to be surprised at any turn of events. ‘If only I were so lucky…’

He frowned at her, then addressed one of the Cypriot men, the likely leader. ‘What is your business with this woman? Are you a Templar lackey? ’

‘No, sir, ’ stammered the man. He stood with his sword drawn and Altaï r’s hands were empty, but even so, the Cypriot knew a skilled warrior when he saw one. ‘The pirates attacked her and I had to help. But I’m no lackey. I hate the Templars. ’

‘I understand. You’re not alone, ’ replied Altaï r.

The man nodded gratefully, their common purpose established. ‘My name is Markos, sir. I’ll help in any way I can, if it means ridding my country of these Crusaders. ’

Excellent, thought Altaï r. ‘Then I need you to keep this woman safe until I return. I have to find someone before the Templars do. ’

‘We’ll be at the harbour all day. She’ll be safe here with us, ’ said Markos, and once again Maria was grumbling as the men hauled her away. She’d be all right, thought Altaï r, watching them go. She’d spend the day between a couple of burly Cypriots, watching the world go by in Kyrenia harbour: there were better ways to waste a few hours, but also far worse. At least he knew she’d be safe while he met with Alexander’s Resistance contact, the Barnabas he’d been told about.

He found him at the safe-house, which doubled as a grain store. Walking in, Altair had called out cautiously, hearing nothing but the scuttling of mice and the distant sounds of the street. Then a man had appeared from among the sacks. He had a dark beard and watchful black eyes, and introduced himself as Barnabas. When Altaï r asked him if the safe-house had an area that could be used as a cell, he smiled obsequiously and assured him that of course it did, but then dithered, going first to one door, which he opened and closed, and then to a second, through which he peered before announcing that the drying room had a barred area that could be used as a cell.

‘I’ve been following Armand Bouchart, ’ Altaï r told Barnabas, moments later, the two of them now sitting on grain sacks in the storeroom.

‘Ah … Bouchart is in Kyrenia? ’ said the Resistance man. ‘He’s probably visiting his prisoners in Buffavento. ’

‘Is that a keep nearby? ’

‘A castle, yes. It was once the residence of a wealthy Cypriot noblewoman, until the Templars seized her property. ’

Altaï r frowned at their greed. ‘Can you take me there? ’

‘Well … I can do more than that. I can get you inside without the guards batting an eyelid. But you must do something for me first. For the Resistance. ’

‘A familiar request, ’ said Altaï r. ‘What is it? ’

‘We have a traitor in our midst, ’ said Barnabas, darkly.

The traitor was a merchant named Jonas, and after Barnabas had given him the necessary details Altaï r tracked him to an amphitheatre in the centre of the city. According to Barnabas, Jonas was feeding secrets to the Templars. Altaï r watched him for a while, meeting other tradesman, looking for all the world like any other businessman. Then, when he turned to go, the Assassin followed him from the amphitheatre and into the back-streets, noting as the merchant slowly became aware that he was being followed. He cast more and more frequent glances behind him at Altaï r, his eyes wilder and more frightened each time. Suddenly he broke into a run and Altaï r was in pursuit, delighted to see Jonas turn into an alleyway.

He speeded up, and raced after his quarry.

The alleyway was empty.

Altaï r stopped, glanced behind to check he was not seen, then – snick – engaged his blade. He took two steps forward so that he was level with a large, unsteady pile of crates, which was teetering slightly. He bent slightly, then drove his blade through a crate. The wood splintered and there was a scream. The pile toppled down on to Altaï r, who braced himself, almost losing his footing.

He stayed still, though. And when the wood had settled around him he relaxed, looking along the line of his outstretched arm, to where Jonas was pinned by his blade, blood slowly spreading from the wound at his neck. Still in the crouched position he’d adopted to hide, the merchant cut a desperate, pathetic figure. And though Altaï r knew he was a traitor, and that information he gave to the Templars had no doubt been used to kill, capture and torture members of the Resistance, he pitied him, so much so that he removed the blade gently, shoving aside the remnants of the boxes so that he could lay Jonas down and bend to him.

Blood oozed from the neck wound. ‘What’s this? ’ wheezed Jonas. ‘An Assassin? Does Salah Al’din have his eyes on poor Cyprus too? ’

‘The Assassins have no ties to the Saracen. Our business is our own. ’

Jonas coughed, revealing bloodied teeth. ‘Whatever the case, word of your presence is widespread. The Bull has put a bounty on your head … and on the head of your female companion. ’

Altaï r saw the life bleeding out of him. ‘I’m worth more and more every day, ’ he said, and delivered the killing blow.

When he stood up, it was not with the satisfaction of a job well done, but with a terrible sense that something was amiss. The Bull Jonas had mentioned. Whoever he was, he was loyal to Armand Bouchart and he knew of Altaï r and Maria’s presence in Kyrenia. Was that the source of Altaï r’s disquiet?

He took to the rooftops, meaning to find Markos and Maria at once.

‘Well, Maria, it seems there’s a hefty price on both our heads, ’ said Altaï r, when he’d found her. Just as he’d imagined, she was sitting on a stone bench between Markos and another Resistance man, wearing the glowering look to which he was becoming accustomed.

‘A price? Damn Bouchart. He probably thinks I’m your apprentice. ’

‘Someone called the Bull has dispatched his men to search for us. ’

Maria jumped as though stung. ‘The Bull? So they gave that zealot his own parish? ’

‘Is he a friend of yours? ’ said Altaï r, wryly.

‘Hardly. His name is Moloch. He’s a pious blowhard with arms like tree trunks. ’

Altaï r turned to Markos. ‘Do you know the Resistance safe-house in the Commons District? ’

‘I know where it is, but I’ve never been inside. ’ Markos shrugged. ‘I’m just a foot soldier for the Resistance. ’

Altaï r thought, then said, ‘I can’t be seen with Maria, so you’ll have to take her. Keep her out of sight, and meet me there when you’re safe. ’

‘I know some back alleys and tunnels. ’

‘It may take longer, but we’ll get her there in one piece. ’

Separately they made their way to the safe-house, Altaï r arriving first. Barnabas had spread out sacks of grain and had been relaxing, but he pulled himself to his feet as Altaï r entered, stifling a yawn as though roused from slumber.

‘I just had word that someone found poor Jonas’s body, ’ he said, with a sneer in his voice. ‘What a waste, eh? ’ He brushed grain from his robes.

‘You knew him better than I did, ’ replied Altaï r. ‘I’m sure he understood the risk of working for both sides. ’ He looked at Barnabas carefully, taking note of the crooked smile he wore. Altaï r took no pleasure from death – any death – and he was apt to look poorly on those who did, whether they be Templar, Assassin or Resistance. On the one hand Barnabas was an ally. On the other … If Altaï r knew one thing it was to trust his instincts and his instincts were nagging him now; just a low, hushed nagging, but insistent nonetheless.

Barnabas was continuing: ‘Yes … unfortunately, this has complicated things. Jonas was a respected Cypriot and his death has sparked riots near the Old Church. The public is hungry for revenge and the Bull will tell them you were responsible. You may lose the support of the Resistance. ’

What? Altaï r stared at him, hardly able to believe his ears. That instinct of his: it moved from nagging to outright harassment. ‘But Jonas was a traitor to the Resistance. Did they not know? ’

‘Not enough of them, I’m afraid, ’ Barnabas admitted. ‘The Resistance is quite scattered. ’

‘Well, you’ll have the chance to tell them yourself, ’ said Altaï r. ‘Some men are on their way to us now. ’

‘You’re bringing people here? ’ Barnabas looked concerned. ‘People you can trust? ’

‘I’m not sure who I can trust right now, ’ said Altaï r, ‘but it’s worth the risk. Right now I need to see these riots for myself. ’

‘As for our bargain, I’ll see what I can do about getting you close to Bouchart. A deal’s a deal, eh? ’ said Barnabas. He smiled again.

Altaï r didn’t care for that smile. He liked it less and less each time he saw it.

Altaï r paid a visit to the church and his heart sank at the sight of the unrest. Templar guards had formed a cordon and were holding back marauding citizens, who had been prevented from moving out of the immediate area of the church and were smashing everything in sight. Crates and barrels had been splintered and there were scattered fires on the streets. Streetside stalls had been attacked and dismantled, and the smell of trampled produce mingled with the smoke. Men had gathered in groups and were chanting slogans to the beat of drums and the constant rattle of cymbals, trying to goad the lines of Templar knights, who watched them carefully from behind makeshift barriers, overturned carts and stalls. Every now and then small squads of soldiers would make short, ruthless sorties into the mob, dragging out men who kicked and yelled, and either clubbing them with the hilts of their swords or throwing them behind the barrier to be taken to the cells – not that their raids did anything to frighten the rioters or dampen their temper.

Altaï r watched it all from up high, squatting on the edge of a roof, shrouded in despair. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong. And if the Bull decided to make an announcement naming him as the killer, then things were going to get even worse.

He made his decision. The Bull had to die.

When he arrived back at the safe-house, he looked in vain for Barnabas, who was nowhere to be seen. Now Altaï r was certain that he had been wrong to trust him and was cursing himself. He’d listened to his instinct. Just not hard enough.

Markos was there, though, as was Maria, who had been deposited in the cell, a much sturdier design than the makeshift gaol they had been using in Limassol. The door between the drying room and the storeroom was open so they could see her: she sat behind bars with her back against the wall, occasionally kicking her feet among the rushes spread out on the floor and regarding all goings-on with a baleful, sardonic expression. Altaï r watched her, musing upon all the trouble she had caused.

He learned that she, Markos and several other Resistance men had arrived at the safe-house to find it deserted. Barnabas had been gone when they had got there. How convenient, thought Altaï r.

‘What’s going on out there? ’ Markos had exclaimed. ‘The city is in turmoil. I’ve seen riots. ’

‘The people are protesting the death of a citizen, a man named Jonas. Have you heard of him? ’

‘My father knew him well. He was a good man. How did he die? ’

Altaï r’s heart sank even further, and he found himself avoiding Markos’s eyes as he replied, ‘Bravely. Listen, Markos, things have become complicated. Before I find Bouchart, I need to eliminate the Bull and put an end to his violence. ’

‘You’ve quite a taste for chaos, Altaï r, ’ called Maria from her cell.

He liked the way his name sounded in her mouth. ‘The Bull is one man responsible for the subjugation of thousands. Few will mourn his loss. ’