the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

warned the crowds to move back and those at the front began calling for
those at the rear to stop pushing forward. Still more citizens arrived,
though, surging towards the raised area in front of the main gates. More
guards formed a shield around the entrance. Some had their hands on
the hilts of their swords. Others brandished pikes menacingly, snarling,
‘Back with you,’ at the seething, complaining crowd.
Suddenly there was a great commotion from the fortress gates, which,
grinding, rose. Altaïr craned his neck to see, first hearing the clip-clop of
horses’ hoofs, then seeing the helmets of the King’s bodyguards. Next the
crowd was kneeling, Altaïr following suit, though his eyes were fixed on
the arrival of the King.
Richard the Lionheart sat on a splendid stallion adorned with his
livery, his shoulders back and his chin high. His face was worn, as
though carrying the imprint of every battle, every desert crossed, and his
eyes were weary but bright. Around him was his bodyguard, also on
their horses, and walking at his side another man, this one, Altaïr
realized from the crowd’s murmurings, William de Montferrat. He was
older than the King, and lacked his bulk and power, but there was a
litheness about him; Altaïr could see he might well be a skilled
swordsman. There was a look of displeasure about him as he walked by
the side of the King, small in his shadow and heedless of the crowds
surrounding them. Lost in his own thoughts.
‘… three thousand souls, William,’ the King was saying, loud enough
for the entire marketplace to hear. ‘I was told they would be held as
prisoners – and used to barter for the release of our men.’
‘The Saracens would not have honoured their side of the bargain,’
replied de Montferrat. ‘You know this to be true. I did you a favour.’