the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

25
It was Al Mualim who had taught them the Creed, the young Altaïr and
Abbas. The Master had filled their young heads with the tenets of the
Order.
Every day, after a breakfast of flat bread and dates, stern governesses
had seen to it that they were washed and neatly dressed. Then, with
books clasped to their breasts, they had hurried along corridors, their
sandals slapping on the stone, chatting excitedly, until they reached the
door to the Master’s study.
Here they had had a ritual. Both passed a hand over his own mouth
to go from happy face to serious face, the face the Master expected. Then
one would knock. For some reason they both liked to knock, so they
took it in turns each day. Then they would wait for the Master to invite
them in. There, they would sit cross-legged on cushions that Al Mualim
had provided especially for them – one for Altaïr, and one for his
brother, Abbas.
When they first began their tutelage they had been frightened and
unsure, of themselves, of each other and in particular of Al Mualim, who
would tutor them in the morning and at evening, with training in the
yard in the afternoon and then again at night. Long hours spent learning
the ways of the Order, watching the Master pace the study, his hands
behind his back, occasionally stopping to admonish them if he thought