Altair glanced behind to make sure no reinforcements were arriving. But then again, of course they wouldn’t. Her people had left her behind. Clearly her closeness to de Sable had done her no favours with his replacement.
On they fought. For a heartbeat she had him with his back to the balustrade, the dark sea over his shoulder and for the same heartbeat he wondered whether she could best him and what a bitter irony that might be. But her desperation to win made her careless and Altair was able to come forward, eventually spinning and kicking her feet from beneath her, then pouncing on her with his blade held to her throat.
‘Returned to finish me off?’ she said defiantly, but he could see the fear in her eyes.
‘Not just yet,’ he said, though the blade stayed where it was. ‘I want information. Why are the Templars sailing to Cyprus?’
She grinned. ‘It’s been a long, dirty war, Assassin. Everyone deserves respite.’
He fought a smile. ‘The more you tell me, the longer you live. So I ask again, why the retreat to Cyprus?’
‘What retreat? King Richard has brokered a truce with Salah Al’din, and your Order is leaderless, is it not? Once we recover the Piece of Eden, you ’ll be the one running.’
Altair nodded, understanding. Knowing, too, that there was much about the Order the Templars presumed to know but did not. The first thing being that the Assassins had a leader, the second that they were not in the habit of running from Templars. He stood and pulled her to her feet. Glaring at him, she brushed herself down.
‘The Apple is well hidden,’ he told her, thinking that in fact it was not. It remained in his quarters.
‘Altair, consider your options carefully. The Templars would pay a great price for that relic.’
‘They already have, haven’t they?’ said Altair, leading her away.
Moments later, he had gathered with his Assassins, the battle on the harbour over, Acre port theirs. Among them was Jabal, who raised his eyebrows at the appearance of Maria and waved for two Assassins to take her away before he joined Altair.
‘What’s happening on Cyprus that would concern the Templars?’ mused Altair, as they strode along. He had already decided their next destination and there was no time to waste.
‘Civil strife, perhaps?’ said Jabal, palms spread. ‘Their emperor Isaac Comnenus picked a fight with King Richard many months ago, and now he rots in a Templar dungeon.’
Altair thought. ‘A pity. Isaac was so easily bent, so willing to take a bribe.’
They stopped at the harbour steps and Maria was led past them, her chin held high.
‘Those days are past,’ Jabal was saying. ‘Now the Templars own the island, purchased from the King for a paltry sum.’
‘That’s not the kind of governance we want to encourage. Have we any contacts there?’ asked Altair.
‘One in Limassol. A man named Alexander.’
‘Send him a message,’ said Altair. ‘Tell him to expect me within the week.’
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.’