the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

She resisted. ‘Shalim, no. Please don’t.’
But he was already dragging her off, looking back over his shoulder
and calling to his two companions, ‘Have your fun, men. And round up
some women for me when you’re finished.’
Altaïr had seen enough. Shalim wasn’t looking for Maria, that much
was certain, and he himself wasn’t likely to find her by following Shalim
to wherever he was going with his whore: bed or a tavern, no doubt.
Instead he returned to the market district, where Markos was
aimlessly wandering between the stalls, his hands clasped behind his
back, waiting for news from Altaïr.
‘I need to get close to Shalim,’ he told Markos, when they’d repaired
to the shade, looking for all the world like two traders passing the time
of day out of the hot sun. ‘If he is as stupid as he is brash, I may be able
to get some secrets out of him.’
‘Speak to one of the monks near the cathedral.’ Markos chuckled.
‘Shalim’s wayward lifestyle demands frequent confessions.’
So it was that at the cathedral Altaïr found a bench beneath a
flapping canopy and sat watching the world go by, waiting until a lone
white-robed monk passed him, inclining his head in greeting. Altaïr
returned the gesture, then said in a low voice, so that only the monk
could hear, ‘Does it not trouble you, brother, to suffer the sins of such a
vile man as Shalim?’
The monk stopped. Looked one way then the other. Then at Altaïr. ‘It
does,’ he whispered, ‘but to oppose him would mean death. The
Templars have too much at stake here.’
‘You mean the archive?’ said Altaïr. ‘Can you tell me where it is?’
Altaïr had heard about this archive. Perhaps it held the key to the