the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

I wish to speak more of this war – and your part in it.
‘You give up your coin, quick as can be, knowing all too well it buys
the deaths of thousands. You don’t even know why we fight. The sanctity
of the Holy Land, you’ll say. Or the evil inclination of our enemies. But
these are lies you tell yourselves.
‘No. All this suffering is born of fear and hate. It bothers you that they
are different. Just as it bothers you that I am different.’
Altaïr’s gaze went to the archers in the galleries. Feeling a twinge of
disquiet he moved to his side to inspect the galleries on the other side of
the courtyard. There, too, the bowmen had lined up. He swung round. It
was the same behind them. They were not drawing their bows. Not yet,
anyway. But, if Altaïr was right, the moment wouldn’t be long in
coming. And when it did they had the whole courtyard covered. He
moved closer to one of the surrounding walls. Not far away, a man
began spluttering and coughing, setting his companion off in more fits of
laughter.
‘Compassion. Mercy. Tolerance,’ continued Nuqoud, from the
balcony. ‘These words mean nothing to any of you. They mean nothing
to those infidel invaders who ravage our land in search of gold and
glory. And so I say enough. I’ve pledged myself to another cause. One
that will bring about a New World – in which all people might live side
by side in peace.’
He paused. Altaïr watched the archers tense. They were about to open
fire. He pressed himself against the wall. The man was still coughing. He
was bent double now, his face red. His companion went from looking
concerned to coughing also.
‘A pity none of you will live to see it,’ finished Nuqoud.