the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

‘Kill him!’
‘Slit his throat!’
The Assassin, his head still held by Addin, spoke: ‘Killing me will not
make you any safer. I see the fear in your eyes, hear the quiver in your
throats. You are afraid. Afraid because you know our message cannot be
silenced. Because you know we cannot be stopped.’
Altaïr was at the bottom of the steps. He stood there as if attempting
to get a better view. Others had seen him and were doing the same. The
two guards had been standing at the top entranced by the action, but
slowly became aware of what was happening. One called to the other
and they stepped down and began commanding citizens to leave, even as
more spectators were pouring up the stairs. All wanted to get as close as
possible to the execution and were jostling and shoving, some forced off
the steps, including one of the furious guards. Altaïr used the disorder to
climb higher until he stood just a few feet away from Addin, who had
released the Assassin’s head and was preaching to the crowd of his
‘blasphemy’. His ‘treachery’.
Behind Altaïr the scuffle continued. The two guards were fully
occupied. Ahead of him, Addin had finished addressing the crowd, who
were suitably whipped up and desperate to see the final kill. Now he
turned back to the prisoner, brandishing his sword, its blade already
stained red, and moved towards him for the death blow.
Then, as though alerted by some higher sense, he stopped, turned his
head and looked straight at Altaïr.
For a moment it was as though the square contracted, as though the
disorderly crowd, the guards, the condemned man and the corpses were
no longer there. And as they regarded one another Altaïr saw realisation