the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

blanketed the crowd. Altaïr winced. He hadn’t known Osman, of course,
but what he’d seen of him, he’d liked. Another good man had died a
needless death.
Bouchart reached down and wiped his sword clean on the arm of
Osman’s tunic. ‘If anyone else objects, I invite you to step forward.’
The body shifted slightly and one arm came loose, hanging over the
step. Osman’s sightless eyes stared at the sky.
There were no objections.
Suddenly there was a shout from Maria, who had pulled free of her
two captors. She ran to the steps and threw herself to her knees in front
of the leader. ‘Armand Bouchart,’ she called.
Though he smiled in recognition, it was not the smile of friends
meeting. ‘Ah,’ he sneered, ‘an old colleague,’ and he replaced his sword
in his belt.
‘Bouchart,’ said Maria, ‘an Assassin has come to Cyprus. I managed to
escape, but he cannot be far behind.’
Up on his perch, Altaïr’s heart sank. He’d hoped … No. She was a
Templar first. She always would be. Her loyalty was to them.
‘Why, Maria,’ said Bouchart in high spirits, ‘that would make this
your second miraculous escape from the Assassins, no? Once when de
Sable was the target, and now here on my island.’
Altaïr watched incomprehension join panic on Maria’s face. ‘I am not
in league with the Assassins, Bouchart,’ she blurted. ‘Please listen.’
‘De Sable was a weak-willed wretch. Verse seventy of the founding
Templar Rule expressly forbids consorting with women … for it is
through women that the devil weaves his strongest web. De Sable
ignored this tenet and paid with his life.’