the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

the upper hand, and the first wave of their attack left the bodies of
knights in their wake, some falling from the ridge into the seething war
below. But as Altaïr crouched and watched, the Crusaders managed to
regroup and the combat began in earnest.
Passing along the ridge was the safest way of moving to the rear of
the Crusader lines, where Richard the Lionheart would be stationed. And
reaching him was the only hope he had of stopping Robert de Sable. He
came closer to the battle and began to move to his left, leaving a wide
berth between himself and the combatants. He came upon a Crusader
who was crouched in the undergrowth, watching the battle and
whimpering, and left him, running onwards.
Suddenly there was a shout and two Crusaders moved into his path,
their broadswords raised. He stopped, crossed his arms and reached to
his shoulders, drawing his sword with one hand and flicking a knife with
the other. One of the scouts went down and he moved to the other and
had felled him when he realized that they weren’t scouts. They were
sentries.
Still overlooking the battle he found that he was on the brow of a hill.
Some distance away he could see the standard of Richard the Lionheart
and thought he caught a glimpse of the King himself, sitting astride his
distinctive steed, flaming orange beard and hair bright in the afternoon
sun. But now more rearguard infantry were arriving and he found
himself swamped by knights, chainmail rattling, their swords raised and
their eyes full of battle beneath their helmets.
Their task was to protect their liege; Altaïr’s was to reach him. For
long moments the battle raged. Altaïr danced and ran, sometimes
carving himself a route, his bloody sword flashing, sometimes able to