Altair: Dishonour

The younger man faced his Master in the courtyard of Masyaf stonily. His eyes followed the movements of the black-robed man pacing before him. The Assassin could tell the Master was angry and displease. Altair had failed to retrieve the Templar treasure for him. Malik had done so at the cost of his arm and brother Kadar. And then had accused Altair of causing it all. He had told to his face that Altair had violated the Creed and the tenets. Altair, who lived and breathed the Creed with his very skin. He’d been hurt deeply but had not shown it. This was how far he and Malik had drifted apart.  

“Tell me, Altair, do you know why it is you were successful?”

With a start, the young Assassin came back to reality. He found al Mualim looking at him sadly with his grey eyes. He wanted to explain to him what had happened. How Malik had challenged his authority on this mission. How he’d pushed his aim off at that final moment when Altair had Robert de Sable in sights. If he’d let him kill the Templar, then his arm would still be whole. If he’d just done as Altair had told him, then they’d have had the treasure safe and sound and Robert dead. What game had Malik been playing? It had cost him his brother.

Altair realized he could not tell. Not against a Brother. Moreover, al Mualim was in no mood to listen, he could see. This public trial was for the Brotherhood’s benefit, not his. This showed the Assassins what power their Master wielded over them. Even the best of them could be brought low and humiliated. Altair understood this but still was cut to the quick. If he’d been alone he’d have recovered the treasure with no problems. But he’d been saddled with Malik and Kadar. Why? What had been the purpose of sending three where one would have done much better? These questions he’d never have a chance to ask. Al Mualim had already reached his verdict. This trial before the whole of the Brotherhood was to ensure all the Brothers knew what happened to the bad apples on this tree.

“You listened,” al Mualim sighed in disappointment. “Were it that you’d listened in Solomon’s Temple.”

Altair stayed silent. The time for explanations on his part was over. Al Mualim would never listen. All that remained now was to face the end with as much dignity as he still had left. He tried to put as much of it in his answer as he could.
“I did as I was asked.”

“NO, you did as you pleased. Malik has told me of your arrogance and disregard for our ways.”

Malik again. No doubt he was somewhere in the crowd, enjoying this immensely. A sudden anger woke in him. THIS was Malik’s fault. The disaster at the Solomon’s Temple was his doing. How could al Mualim keep him as Rafiq and blame Altair for the Templar attack when they had followed the treasure that MALIK carried? The anger choked him. If he ever lay hands on Malik al Sayr…

“Your insolence knows no bounds. Encumber your heart, my child, or I swear I’ll tear it out of you with my bare hands!”

Al Mualim’s angry expression was so close to Altair’s face that he took an involuntary step back. The teacher studied his pupil’s face and saw no remorse there. Only contempt: for him, for the tenets, for the Creed. This BOY thought himself above the teachings. He was a danger. He had to be taught a lesson. If he did not learn, then al Mualim would kill him. If this public humiliation did not knock some sense into his head, then the Master would bring his full powers to bear on him. No one gainsaid the Master of the Assassins of Masyaf.

“I am sorry, Altair. But this time the cup of my patience has overflown,” he signed to the two Brothers nearby to take Altair’s arms. He had assembled the other Master Assassins with him on the elevated porch leading into the fortress. They sat in judgment on their recalcitrant Brother. They would see him brought low since he did not wish to abide by the Creed.

”What are you doing?” Indignant at this treatment. Good, al Mualim mused. Maybe now he’d listen. But he did not hold much hope for that. The look in Altair’s eyes told him he believed himself right and his Master wrong. The old man would show him otherwise. At his word, Ghalib came forward. He looked at his former student with an unwavering gaze of a strict master. Altair had failed his teaching. Betrayed the Assassin tradition. He would see him set right. It hurt though. Altair had been his best student. Him and Malik both. Ghalib stepped up to Altair.

“Disarm him.”

As Altair’s eyes widened in surprise Ghalib took his shoulder harness off. The brace of knives and the Short Blade. Ghalib turned and put them on a small tripod table set to the side. Altair’s eyes followed them. His weapons. Parts of himself. He was losing them now. He thought he’d understood the depth of the Master’s anger. Now he knew how far al Mualim would go. His Master paced.

“There are rules by which the Assassins abide. Three simple tenets which you seem to have forgotten,” al Mualim walked up to him and grabbed his chin, making his black eyes meet his grey ones. “First and foremost, stay your blade…”

Altair interrupted impatiently, “…from the flesh of an innocent.” He did not need a lecture. “I know.”

Next he knew his cheek stung as al Mualim slapped him. Lighly enough but that hurt all the same. A physical punishment would have been more welcome. This was a child’s punishment for misbehaving. He, a man grown, treated like a stupid child. His face flushed red with shame and rage. How dare al Mualim do with him like this? He was an Assassin Instructor, not a novice.

“And stay your tongue unless I give you leave to use it. If you’re so familiar with this tenet, why did you kill the old man in Solomon’s Temple? He was innocent.” His Master was shaking with anger the equal of his own. Altair felt a stirring of fear. That was an unusual emotion for him as was seeing the Master so angry. And at him. They’d had disagreements of course. They argued. They fought it out in the ring. But nothing ever prepared Altair to face the Master’s rage now.

“The second tenet is that which gives us strength,” al Mualim went on, his “lecture” mood on him now. Altair remembered it well from his time with the Master in his class. “Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd.” He stepped closer. “Do you remember? Because as I hear it you chose to expose yourself before you’d struck. That was behaviour to be expected from a mere novice.” His voice dripped contempt for Altair’s skill. In his eyes, the boy had shown disrespect to him and his fellow Brothers. But worst of all to the Creed.

The belt and the sword were removed by the still-silent Ghalib. Another part of his soul gone. A rent opened up in him. Sudden and inexplicable. The Master could not be doing this! Was not humiliating him before his Brothers enough? He shifted in the men’s grip. It tightened. They thought he’d meant to break it. Altair would not bother with that. His gaze tracked al Mualim as he went on.

“The third and final tenet. The worst of all your betrayals – never compromise the Brotherhood,” al Mualim shook with suppressed rage. “It’s meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm to the Brotherhood, direct or indirect. Your selfish acts in Jerusalem brought the enemy to our home. Every man we lost in the Templar attack was lost because of you!”

“Master…,” Altair did not finish as another slap sent him reeling.

“Not another word out of you. You have brought dishonour on yourself and the Brotherhood,” al Mualim snarled. “Now,” he went on, “your Hidden Blade you will take off yourself.” His gaze brooked no disobedience. Altair’s arms were released. Ghalib stood nearby ready to receive the Blade. A chill ran all through the young Assassin. This was too much! The Hidden Blade was the centre of his being. He’d worked so hard to get it. He’d devoted his whole life to its’ attainment. He felt as if his soul were ripped to shreds. The hurt inside became bigger. It widened to an abyss. And he was falling into it.

With numb fingers he started to undo the buckles. He looked his last on it as Ghalib placed it on the table beside his other weapons. He was not an Assassin anymore in the Brotherhoods’ eyes. Only a man, a novice. Al Mualim’s and the other Assassins’ unflinching cold eyes told him as much. He could tell from the murmurs all around that many had not expected al Mualim to go this far but found the judgment fair. He hoped Malik was glad of his work. His tongue had placed Altair into this situation.

“I cannot abide a traitor in our midst, Altair. You leave me no choice.” Al Mualim’s gaze was regretful but hard. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a golden knife. Altair’s eyes immediately flashed to it. He knew this knife. Every Assassin knew it. This was the ultimate punishment an Assassin received for the highest crimes he could commit. Disobedience to the Master merited the touch of this knife.

His mouth was dry. No, al Mualim did not mean…? He tried one last time.

“I am not a traitor.”

“Your actions indicate otherwise,” al Mualim shook his head. “Peace be upon you, Altair.”

Altair stiffened, ready for the blow. The men gripped his arms tighter in case he decided to make a break for it. He did not. He stared his Master in the face as the knife went into his unprotected gut. The shock knocked his breath out. As he tried to take another one he found he could not. He gasped, trying to keep his feet. His knees gave. His shoulders screamed in protest at being wrenched as his weight settled down. He raised his head, feeling death come near. His vision was blacking out. Altair felt he had to take one last look at al Mualim. To understand why he’d done this. To show him he was not afraid of death as no Assassin was ever supposed to be. An Assassin knew no fear. He gazed deeply at al Mualim as life left him. He thought at the last that he glimpsed some emotion in those grey eyes. Sorrow? Compassion? Altair did not know as darkness descended on his mind.