the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Barnabas, who was nowhere to be seen. Now Altaïr was certain that he
had been wrong to trust him and was cursing himself. He’d listened to
his instinct. Just not hard enough.
Markos was there, though, as was Maria, who had been deposited in
the cell, a much sturdier design than the makeshift gaol they had been
using in Limassol. The door between the drying room and the storeroom
was open so they could see her: she sat behind bars with her back
against the wall, occasionally kicking her feet among the rushes spread
out on the floor and regarding all goings-on with a baleful, sardonic
expression. Altaïr watched her, musing upon all the trouble she had
caused.
He learned that she, Markos and several other Resistance men had
arrived at the safe-house to find it deserted. Barnabas had been gone
when they had got there. How convenient, thought Altaïr.
‘What’s going on out there?’ Markos had exclaimed. ‘The city is in
turmoil. I’ve seen riots.’
‘The people are protesting the death of a citizen, a man named Jonas.
Have you heard of him?’
‘My father knew him well. He was a good man. How did he die?’
Altaïr’s heart sank even further, and he found himself avoiding
Markos’s eyes as he replied, ‘Bravely. Listen, Markos, things have
become complicated. Before I find Bouchart, I need to eliminate the Bull
and put an end to his violence.’
‘You’ve quite a taste for chaos, Altaïr,’ called Maria from her cell.
He liked the way his name sounded in her mouth. ‘The Bull is one
man responsible for the subjugation of thousands. Few will mourn his
loss.’