the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

eyebrow.
Indeed it was. Goblets were raised and there was a roar of approval,
the guests tongues loosening swiftly under the influence of the wine.
‘Good, good.’ Nuqoud grinned, to reveal bits of food plastered to his
teeth. ‘It pleases me to see you so happy. For these are dark days, my
friends, and we must enjoy this bounty while we still can.’
Close to Altaïr, the toasting men returned from a second visit to the
wine fountain and were gulping from their filled goblets, stifling giggles
as Nuqoud continued: ‘War threatens to consume us all. Salah Al’din
bravely fights for what he believes in, and you are always there to
support him without question. It is your generosity that allows his
campaign to continue.’
Altaïr noticed, though he was almost certainly the only one of those
in the courtyard to do so, that the galleries along on one side were
beginning to fill with guards. He looked closer. Archers.
Nearby the men were still gulping their wine, as Nuqoud began to
speak again. ‘So I propose a toast, then,’ he said. ‘To you, my dear
friends, who have brought us to where we are today. May you be given
everything you deserve.’
‘To your health,’ came the cry, as the partygoers drank freely from
their cups.
‘Such kindness,’ Nuqoud was saying above them. ‘I didn’t think it in
you. You, who have been so quick to judge me, and so cruelly.’
Sensing a change in him the crowd murmured its confusion.
‘Oh, do not feign ignorance. Do you take me for a fool? That I have
not heard the words you whisper behind my back? Well, I have. And I
fear I can never forget. But this is not why I called you here tonight. No.