Chapter 3: Conflict

Najat took hold of Altair's arm and led him out into the open streets of the rich district. With his free arm he was pressing down onto his wound in the hopes that it would lessen the blood flowing from it so that he didn't lose too much. She quickly glanced around, scanning the area for guards, but thankfully she saw none, and with a little tug, he obediently started to follow her again.

She thought it was best if she took him down the less congested alleys around the district back to her house just in case the guards that had been on his tail earlier happened to circle again and meet up with them. She hardly spoke on the short journey; she was too busy concentrating on finding her way, and keeping an eye out for any guards or other figures of marginal authority, for if she were to be caught with an assassin, she would surely be seen as a traitor to the city and possibly sentenced to death.

She didn't even know why she was helping him. He was an assassin, and she was just a woman of wealth, neither of them were at all alike and usually would not associate with each other. Word had spread fast through Damascus about the recent assassinations in Acre and Jerusalem, but on both occasions the killer had escaped. There had been an assassination in Damascus too – and this seemed to be the beginning of a chain of assassinations in the Holy Land. Tamir, a merchant, much like her father had been slain by an assassin, who had of course, evaded capture and sparked tremendous worry amongst other merchants and the citizens of Damascus. Najat had begun to fear for her father's safety after Tamir was murdered, but he didn't seem particularly fazed by it, and continued to sell his wares in the main marketplace. A thought crossed Najat's mind: what if it was him? What if he was the one who had killed Tamir? He certainly wasn't someone to be ruled out of the equation considering he was an actual assassin in the flesh, and his gauntlet and missing ring finger were definite proof of the fact. She didn't fear for her own safety, but instead more for her father's because she knew he had been associated with Tamir, and if the assassin wanted to kill other merchants linked with him, her father would be a target.

She turned back for a moment to see if he was all right, considering he hadn't said a word since they had left the alleyway where she had saved him from the angered guards. He was looking elsewhere, obviously he too was checking for guards because his head twitched in different directions as they walked out into the open main streets to cross into the alleyways she was taking him through.

"How far until we reach your house?" he asked, the frailty of his voice very surprising to Najat.

"Not far," she replied, turning a sharp right hand corner and then taking a sharp left into a dimmer alley which was in between two tremendously tall buildings, blocking out any sunlight.

"How far is not far?" he asked.

"Here," she escorted him across the large open space surrounded by a curve of houses, and then went to the largest house at the end of the curve and quietly opened the door and brought him inside with her. She then pressed a finger to her lips as he opened his mouth to ask who was singing in the kitchen area just down the hallway. Najat beckoned for him to follow her, and she guided him past the kitchen entrance where he couldn't help but peek inside to see who the woman singing so nicely was. She was quite glad Mufeeda hadn't heard them go upstairs because she didn't want a salvo of questions being asked about the mysterious stranger she'd brought into the house, who just so happened to be an assassin. Her father was still out obviously, but she would have to be discreet when going back downstairs to go and retrieve the ointment and bandages from her father's study. She sat Altair down on her bed, and then disappeared downstairs, being very quiet, but Mufeeda was still singing, oblivious to everything. She went into her father's study, straight to the medicine cabinet which was next to one of his bookcases full of ancient texts, and took out a roll of gauze and the ointment Mufeeda had used on her own wound earlier that day. She closed the cabinet, being careful not to disturb anything else in the room; her father had a very observant eye, and would often notice if something in the study had been moved out of place. She would have to wash the wound too, and knew she already had an empty bowl and clean cloth in her room, and so went into the storage room where food and collected water was left for later use. She searched around in the room for a small bucket, dipped it into the larger ones full of fresh water, and carried it out of the room. Najat then retreated back upstairs, where Altair was still sitting on the bed where she had left him.

"How are you feeling, Altair?" she asked him as she placed the roll of gauze on her dresser and then pouring some of the water from the bucket into the bowl, and then putting the clean cloth in and soaking it completely.

"Fine," he replied, "it is only a scratch, and it does not need your time wasting on it."

Najat let out a laugh, "oh come on," she said, wringing out the cloth and walking over to him, "a scratch? If you think that," she gestured to his bleeding side where a stab wound was clearly visible, "is a scratch, then you are more deluded than I thought."

"I am not deluded at all," he said, "it is you who is deluded, thinking that I, a grown man, cannot take care of my own wound."

"You should just be thankful I pulled you into that passage when I did," she snorted in response, "by the time you would have lost them I guarantee you would be on your last thread of life."

She could see he was defeated when he turned his head away and sighed impatiently. "That wound is not going to clean itself," she said a moment later, "take your upper robe off so I can."

"Just go out," he ordered, "I can do it myself."

"You can't bandage yourself properly," she retorted.

"I can, Najat." She could tell he was growing more and more impatient as she argued with him. "I request that you just leave me be. I can sort myself out."

Najat rolled her eyes and sighed, "Very well then," she thrust the damp cloth into his hand, walked briskly out of the room, and closed the door behind her, letting her anger at his ungratefulness show very clearly.

She leant against the wall next to the door, and suddenly became aware of some slow footsteps coming up the stairs. They were certainly too light to be her father's so she assumed it was just Mufeeda.

Surely enough, the older woman appeared at the top of the stairs with a large broom in her hands, ready to hit someone with it.

"Oh, goodness, lady Najat!" she exclaimed for the second time that day, lowering her broom and placing a hand over her heart, "I heard voices up here and then I heard your door close, I thought there were intruders."

"Sorry, Mufeeda," said Najat, "I should have told you I'd returned, my apologies."

"Do you have someone here with you?" she asked.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Oh, I could have sworn I heard more than one voice," she said, a frown intruding upon her generally happy features.

"No, it is just me, I can assure you."

"Very well Najat," she then nodded her head and began to descend the staircase again, "let me know if you need anything."

Najat thanked the Gods Mufeeda was ridiculously gullible, and was hoping she wouldn't come back up and start probing her with more questions. She moved her face closer to the door, wondering how Altair was getting on with his wound.

"Are you all right in there?" she whispered loudly through the door so he could hear her.

"Fine," he replied simply.

I think I shan't be able to control myself and might slap him around the face, she thought from behind the door, he needs to learn to be more grateful.

Five minutes later the door opened and Altair was standing in the doorway with his robe pulled up away from the wound, revealing a very nicely toned torso. His paler skin in comparison to his hands and face from what she could see underneath his hood was dotted with nasty scars, and the fresh wound would be another to add to his collection.

He waved his hand in front of Najat's face briefly which broke her away from her miniature examination of his scars, and she looked up at his shadowed face. "I need some help with the gauze."

Najat nodded and followed him back into her bedroom, and she noticed his large leather waist belt was lying on the bed. He'd managed to clean the wound, put the ointment on, and even stitch it himself, yet he couldn't do the bandaging, like she'd predicted. She could tell by the way he'd suggested she help him, rather than directly asking, he knew she'd been right all along. He sat down on the bed and handed her the roll of bandaging, and she began unravelling it ready to put on his wound. She pressed the strip of gauze onto his wound, feeling him tense a little because the procedure of even applying bandages was painful. She then began to carefully wrap it around his chest fairly tightly, and then, when she was done, she tucked the loose end into the rest.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" she asked, stepping backwards to admire her handiwork.

"No," he replied, pulling down his robe and tucking it back into his also white shalvar and tying the belt back around his waist.

He absolutely fascinated her. She was mesmerised by him and she didn't even particularly like his attitude. She would admit that yes, she was drawn to him in a strange way, and he was undeniably handsome underneath that hood of his, but he was somewhat ungrateful. Najat wasn't sure if that was because he had this ongoing façade that meant he should not show gratitude or emotion to anyone, because it went against his morals or beliefs. He was a mystery, and she was extremely determined to solve him – or at least try and melt the icy barrier that seemed to stop him from getting close to anyone.

"Do you ever take all of your weapons off?" she asked him as he stood up.

"No," he replied, "being who I am I cannot take any risks. I keep my weapons equipped all of the time."

"So how do you sleep with those swords digging into your back?" she asked flippantly.

"I think you know what I am meaning," he said seriously, brushing past her as he headed towards the balcony at the far side of her room which was concealed with the long flowing violet curtains.

"Altair," she caught his attention before he stepped out onto the stone balcony, and he turned back to her, "do you not want any food, or drink?"

He paused and pondered the offer for a moment. "Just some water, if you will."

Najat nodded and went back downstairs into the kitchen which had since been tidied up by Mufeeda, who was now sitting down in the living room, taking a break from her cleaning of the house. She filled a goblet full of fresh water, and took it back upstairs, went back into her room, where Altair was standing by the window, looking out onto the rich district.

"Here," she gave him the goblet and he took it from her. Najat watched as he carefully eyed the liquid and surreptitiously sniffed at it.

"I have not poisoned it, you know," she said, leaning against the sill next to him.

"I apologise if you took offence," he said, putting it to his lips and taking a large gulp of water, "it is a habit."

"I wouldn't try and poison you," she stated, "you saved my life; it wouldn't be a very nice way to treat my saviour now, would it?"

"I suppose not," he muttered, "you lied to me about who you were… You could be lying about anything, for all I know."

"Look," she turned to him, but he didn't turn to her, and continued to look out of the window stubbornly, "I did not intentionally lie to you. You caught me off guard."

Altair laughed sarcastically, the first time Najat had heard him show any other proper emotion apart from being stern and serious, "you poor girl," he wiped the watery residue from his upper lip with the back of his hand, "you would not be alive if I had caught you off guard."

Najat's eyes twinkled mischievously for a moment, and before he could stop her, she slipped the short sword out of its sheath on his back, and she leapt backwards, pointing the blade towards him. "Allow me to see if you are as good as you say you are."

The assassin hesitated, and Najat took a swipe at him with the short sword, and in a flash he'd drawn his own blade and there was a terrific clash that rung through the air as metal met metal. His strength was superior to hers, and he pushed her backwards which caused her to stagger and momentarily lose her balance. She regained her posture and lunged again, but her sword was confronted with his own and she was stopped once again. She then began to strike with a flurry of swift movements, but each time her blade was deflected. She wondered why he was only defending rather than attacking, but as the fight progressed further, and she grew increasingly tired, she realised why. She hunched over her sword, panting heavily, and lunged forwards once more, projecting all of the remaining energy she had into the final blow. Altair blocked the attack and they were in a weapon deadlock, but not for long when he disarmed her by twisting her wrist by circling her sword with his own, and the short sword went flying across the room and skidding across the varnished wooden floorboards, stopping as it hit the wall. Before Najat could react, he had directed the tip of his cutlass at her throat.

"Am I?" he asked, still holding the blade to her.

Najat narrowed her eyes at him, and casually pushed the blade away with her hand. She turned away from him; annoyed that he was actually as good as he'd said he was. She clenched her fists and inhaled deeply, aware of him sheathing his blade again behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, briefly taking her by surprise, and she turned around to face him again. He was smiling, properly, for the first time Najat had seen, and it relinquished her anger because it was so, so genuine.

"Yes," she breathed calmly as he edged his face closer to hers. He got so close that she could feel his own breath tickle her lips, and she reached up to gently pull down his hood, but he took hold of her wrists with his hand before she could.

"I would have to kill you," he said softly.

"Get your filthy hands off my daughter!" roared Najat's father whom neither of them had heard coming up the stairs. The burly man stormed into the room with a longsword and stood a metre or so away from the two. Altair released his grip from Najat's wrists and turned to face her father.

"You have my word that I do not wish to harm either you or your daughter." He raised his arms to show he wasn't a threat to either of them, but as he did so Najat's father saw the missing ring finger and made the same assumption as she had done earlier.

"Liar!" he yelled, "you are an assassin!"

Najat darted in front of Altair as her father raised his sword ready to strike him. "Please, father," she met his harsh gaze and pleaded with her eyes, "he saved my life yesterday; he is not going to harm us."

Her father stopped and folded his lips into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the assassin behind his daughter. "Najat, get out of my way," he instructed forcefully.

Najat turned her face to the side slightly so she could see Altair out of the corner of her eye. "Go," she whispered.

Before her father could act in response, the assassin shot across the room and out onto the balcony, and within a split second had jumped off the parapet. Her father rushed out onto the balcony and looked over, but he was nowhere to be seen. He turned around and walked back into the room towards Najat. "What do you think you are doing?" he asked her angrily, "he is an assassin! A killer! Do you have any idea what could happen to you, to me, if the officials find out you are fraternising with an assassin?"

"Father, please," Najat sank down onto the bed and sighed heavily, "he saved my life!"

"That does not excuse the fact that he is a murderer, Najat!"

"He was injured; it was the least I could do to repay him."

Her father had a look of sheer disappointment on his face as he shook his head at her. "You have disgraced yourself… You have disgraced me."

"Father please do not be like this," she begged, standing up and approaching him, "if he had not come when he did, I might not be here now."

"I do not want to speak about it anymore," he forced her into silence by raising his hand as she opened her mouth to speak in protest, "you shall not go out anywhere from now on without me to escort you."

"But-"

"I do not want to hear another word from you!" he shouted, and stormed out of her room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that it nearly came off its hinges.

Najat sat back down on the end of her bed, silently cursing her father as she heard his heavy footsteps descend the staircase. He had absolutely no right to tell her she couldn't go out, she was old enough to make decisions for herself, and she was capable of looking after herself when she was out and about in the city. She glanced around her room for a moment, looking for something worthless to smash or hit to take out the anger she was feeling on, when she saw the short sword she had taken from Altair lying on the floor next to the wall on her right. She walked over to it and picked it up. This would be her ticket to see him again. He'd realise he'd left it here, with her, and would come back and get it. She was stung into fleeting happiness, and reminisced back to the moment where he'd leant in closer to her and she could feel his soothingly warm breath on her lips. She felt something. Something strange, she couldn't quite figure out what it was, but she concluded it was a nice feeling.

Najat walked back over to her bed and slid the sword underneath it gently, and then lay down amongst the many cushions by her pillows. She lay there for a while thinking about him, and before she knew it, she had drifted into a deep sleep.