the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

His fears were realized. He’d waited too long. Ahead of him, on a
Mediterranean Sea golden with the dying light of the sun, there was a
small fleet of Templar ships. Altaïr cursed and moved quickly along the
harbour into the heart of the docks. From behind him he could still hear
the sounds of battle as his men were met by reinforcements. The
Templar evacuation continued but he had an idea that the key to their
departure might be found within the stronghold itself. Carefully, quickly
and silently he made his way to the fortress, which loomed darkly over
the docks, remorselessly disposing of the few guards he came across,
wanting to disrupt the enemy’s escape as much as he wanted to learn of
its intent.
Inside, the grey stone absorbed the sound of his footsteps. Templars
were notable for their absence here. The place already had an empty and
disused feel. He climbed stone stairways until he came to a balcony and
there he heard voices: three people in the middle of a heated
conversation. One voice in particular he recognized as he took up
position behind a pillar to eavesdrop. He had wondered if he would ever
hear it again. He had hoped he would.
It was the woman from the graveyard in Jerusalem; the brave lioness
who had acted as de Sable’s stand-in. She stood with two other Templars
and, from her tone, was displeased.
‘Where are my ships, soldier?’ she snapped. ‘I was told there would be
another fleet of eight.’
Altaïr glanced over. The Templar ships were silhouetted on the
horizon.
‘I’m sorry, Maria, but this is the best we could do,’ replied one of the
soldiers.