the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

The crowd began to get to their feet and de Montferrat turned to say
something to one of his guards. Altaïr strained to hear.
‘I fear there will be no place for men like him in the New World. Send
word that I wish to speak with the troops. We must ensure everyone is
doing their part. Warn them that any negligence will be severely
punished. I’m in no mood to be trifled with today.’ Then he turned to the
rest of his men. ‘Follow me.’
Suddenly there was a great surge towards the fortress, not just of de
Montferrat’s guards but of traders hoping to find custom inside. Altaïr
joined them, buffeted by their hessian sacks but staying in the crush and
just squeezing through the gates before the guardsmen took control and
slammed them shut. Inside, traders were being herded by irritated
soldiers towards a courtyard, there to display their wares, no doubt. But
Altaïr could see de Montferrat making his way along the lower bailey
and towards the inner curtain. He ducked to one side and squeezed into
a gap between the wall and an inner building, holding his breath, half
expecting to hear a shout from a sharp-eyed guard who had seen him
slip away. There was none. He looked upwards, and was pleased to see
handholds in the sandstone surface of the building. He began to climb.
Archer.
Of course. He’d been so pleased to elude the sentries down below that
Altaïr had forgotten to consider those above. He stole another look over
the edge of the roof, waiting for the man to turn his back. He needed
him in the middle of the roof. Didn’t want him falling into the fortress
and raising the alarm. When the guard reached the right spot, Altaïr
struck, the throwing knife glittering in the sun, then burying itself in the
sentry’s back. He grunted and fell, thankfully not over the edge, and