The Secret Crusade

36

He sailed to Cyprus alone – although not quite alone. He took Maria. He had told Jabal that he could use her as Templar bait, but he wrote in his journal that he liked to have her with him; it was as simple and as complicated as that. There had been too few women in his life. Those who shared his bed had done little more than satisfy a need, and he had yet to meet a woman able to stir those feelings found above waist height. Had he met her now? He scratched the question in his journal.

Arriving in Limassol they discovered that the Templars had occupied the island in earnest. As ever the port was soaked in the orange light of the sun and the sandstone shone with it; the blue waters glittered and the gulls wheeling and swooping above their heads kept up a constant noise. But everywhere there were the red crosses of the Templars, and watchful soldiers eyeing a begrudging populace. They lived under the iron gauntlet of the Templars now, their island sold from beneath them by a king whose claim to it was tenuous at best. Most carried on with their lives; they had mouths to feed. A few plucky souls had formed a Resistance, though. It was they who would be most sympathetic to Altair’s mission, they he planned to meet.

He made his way from his ship and along the docks. With him came Maria, her hands bound. He’d made sure she had removed any signs identifying her as a Templar Crusader and, to all intent and purposes, she was his slave. This situation, of course, angered her and she wasn’t slow to make it known, grumbling as they passed through the docks, which were quieter than expected. Altair was privately amused by her discomfort.

‘What if I started screaming?’ she said, through gritted teeth.

Altair chuckled. ‘People would cover their ears and carry on. They’ve seen an unhappy slave before.’

But what people? The docks were strangely empty, and as they came up into the back-streets, they found the highways deserted too. Suddenly a man stepped out of an alley in front of them, wearing scruffy robes and a turban. Disused barrels and the skeletons of empty crates lay about, and from somewhere they could hear water dripping. They were alone, Altair realized, just as two more men stepped out of other alleys around them.

‘The port is off-limits,’ said the first man. ‘Show your face.’

‘Nothing under this hood but an ugly old Assassin,’ growled Altair, and he raised his head to regard the man.

The thug smirked, a threat no longer, grinning. ‘Altair.’

‘Alexander,’ said Altair, ‘you got my message.’

‘I assumed it was a Templar trap. Who is the woman?’ He looked Maria up and down, a twinkle in his eye.

‘Templar bait,’ explained Altair. ‘She was de Sable’s. Unfortunately she’s a burden.’

Maria fixed him with a gaze: if looks could kill, it would have tortured him viciously first.

‘We can hold her for you, Altair,’ said Alexander. ‘We have a secure safe-house.’

She cursed their rotten souls as they made their way to it, such coarse language for an English woman.

Altair asked Alexander why there were so few citizens on the streets.

‘Quite a ghost town, eh? People are afraid to leave their homes for fear of breaking some obscure new law.’

Altair thought. ‘The Templars have never been interested in governing before. I wonder why now.’

Alexander was nodding. As they walked, they passed two soldiers, who looked at them suspiciously. Altair steeled himself against Maria giving them away. She didn’t, and he wondered whether it had anything to do with her having been abandoned by her own side in Acre. Or perhaps… No. He put that thought out of his mind.

They reached the safe-house, a derelict warehouse that Alexander had made his base. There was a storeroom sealed with a barred wooden door but they let Maria remain in the open for the moment; Altair checked the rope at her wrists, running a finger between it and her arm to make sure she was comfortable. Now she gave him a look of what he could only describe as appreciative disdain.

‘I won’t assume you’re here out of charity,’ said Alexander, when they were settled. ‘May I ask your purpose?’

Altair wanted to act quickly – he wanted to move in on the Templar base at once – but he owed the Cypriot an explanation. ‘It’s a complicated story, but can be summed up easily: the Templars have access to knowledge and weapons far deadlier than anyone could have imagined. I plan to change this. One such weapon is in our hands. A device with the ability to warp the minds of men. If the Templars possess more like it, I want to know.’

Maria piped up from behind them: ‘And we can certainly trust the Assassins to put the Apple, the Piece of Eden, to better use…’

Altair suppressed a smile but ignored her, saying to Alexander, ‘Where are the Templars holed up now?’

‘In Limassol Castle, but they’re expanding their reach.’

That had to be stopped, thought Altair.

‘And how do I get inside?’ he asked.

Alexander told him about Osman, a Templar whose sympathies lay with the Cypriot Resistance. ‘Kill the captain of the guard,’ he said. ‘With him dead it’s likely Osman will be promoted to the post. And if that happens, well, you could walk straight in.’

‘It’s a start,’ said Altair.

As he moved through the streets of the city he marvelled at how quiet it was. As he walked, he thought of Maria and the Apple. He had brought it with him, of course – it remained in the cabin of his ship. Had it been foolish, perhaps, to bring the Treasure into such close proximity with the enemy? Only time would tell.

At the marketplace he located the Templar captain of the guard, who had kindly made himself easy to spot, wearing a red tunic over chainmail and looking as imperious as a king. Altair looked around, seeing other guards in the vicinity. He lowered his head, drawing no attention to himself, avoiding the gaze of a guard who watched him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. When he passed on, he did so looking for all the world like a scholar. Then, very carefully, he began to work his way around, manoeuvring himself to the rear of the captain, who stood at the other end of the lane, barking orders at his men. Apart from the captain and now his killer, the lane was empty.

Altair took a throwing knife from the sheath at his shoulder, then, with a flick of his wrist, set it free. The captain sank to the stone with a long groan, and by the time the guards came running, Altair had taken an adjoining alley and was melting into the empty side-streets. His task fulfilled, he had now to go in search of Osman, just as Alexander had instructed.

Stealthy and fast, he made his way across the rooftops of the sun-bleached city, scuttling catlike across the wooden beams, until he found himself overlooking a courtyard. There below him was Osman. A Templar, he nevertheless had Assassin sympathies, and Altair waited until he was alone before lowering himself into the courtyard.

As he did so, Osman looked from Altair to the wall above them, then back again, regarding his visitor with amused eyes. At the very least he had a high regard for the Assassin’s stealth.

‘Greetings, Osman,’ said Altair. ‘Alexander sends his regards, and wishes your grandmother a joyous birthday.’

Osman laughed. ‘The dear lady, may she rest in peace. Now, how may I help you, friend?’

‘Can you tell me why the Templars purchased Cyprus? Was it to set up another exchequer?’

‘I don’t rank high enough to know for certain, but I have heard talk of an archive of some kind,’ said Osman, as he looked left, then right. If he was seen talking to Altair he would almost certainly be put to death in the market square.

‘An archive? Interesting. And who is the ranking Templar in Limassol?’

‘A knight named Frederick the Red. He trains soldiers in Limassol Castle. A real brute.’

Altair nodded. ‘With the castle guard dead, what would it take to get me inside?’

‘Assuming I’m appointed to his position, I could find an excuse to reduce the castle watch for a short time. Would that work?”

‘I’ll make it,’ said Altair.

Things were moving quickly.

‘Osman is making the arrangements,’ he told Alexander later, back at the safe-house. While he’d been out, Maria had spent much of the day in the storeroom where she had kept Alexander entertained with a string of insults and wisecracks, her infuriation only increasing when he had asked her to repeat them, a fan of her English diction. Now, however, she had been allowed out to eat and sat on an unsteady wooden chair, glaring at Altair and Alexander, who sat talking, and shooting angry glances at any other Resistance men who happened to pass through.

‘Excellent. Now what?’ said Alexander.

‘We give him some time,’ said Altair. He turned to Maria. ‘He also told me about the Templar archive. Have you heard of such a thing?’

‘Of course,’ said Maria. ‘That’s where we keep our undergarments.’

Altair despaired. Turning back to Alexander, he said, ‘Cyprus would be a good location to safeguard both knowledge and weapons. With the right strategy, it’s an easy island to defend.’

He stood. Osman would have had time to clear the castle walls by now. It was time to infiltrate the castle.