Part Two

1776 (Sixteen Years Later)

HAYTHAM

My love for Ziio never faltered.

My very conscience pivoted on this one woman, who came into my life and was snatched from it too soon. I never heard from her again. She promised that she would negotiate with her people; tell them I was no threat. But there was only silence. I supposed her people had every right not to trust me – and perhaps they had banned her from speaking to me. My heart would ache with the effort, but if nothing else, I prayed for her safety.

That was all I had left of her. A figure who lay in God's hands. A ghost; a memory rebounding off the walls every day. My bed seemed half-empty instead of half-full. Ziio had slept there. She belonged there...or so I wished. But no, she belonged with our son. Our boy, whom – in the few moments of his presence I'd stolen – I trusted. I related to. In a way, I felt a surge of family loyalty: the first I'd felt since my father died.

Death, and more death. Nothing was the same now.

Henry was gone. He passed away in 1770. By then, he was so frail that he couldn't work any longer. His son's family took the man under their wing. At least he was not alone. They wrote to me to deliver the news, and – having witnessed my fair share of death – I was nothing more than slightly saddened.

Rose would never be back. She married some French beau the year after Ziio left. Through two pregnancies she continued to serve, until her third. Her husband was offered a post elsewhere (Virginia, I believe). The family moved away in 1771. That was the last I saw of Rose. I was pained to see her go: the woman had worked tirelessly, more like a samaritan than a maid.

As for the position of butler, I promoted Robert. He remained the stable hand, although now he was older and more skilled. It was much easier to appoint the boy in Henry's place than search the streets for another. Robert was a good worker; of course he was, or I'd never have chosen him. I trusted him wholly. So, what was the problem? Simply, he was not the sort of company that kept me in tact. I was alone, even in his presence.

America was unravelling at the seams.

It seemed so trivial in my eyes. The British government had decided that the colonists needed taxation. As a result, there had been an uproar of disgust. The Templars stood back and watched it unfold. No matter the morals of our accomplices, we wanted this revolutionary bickering to end. But Charles had different reasons. He desired what would benefit him most.

This became apparent after the Boston Massacre, in 1770. Pitiful affair. Men and women hoarded the streets, demanding that the British Army should leave. The generals requested that they return to their homes, but when the people refused ("We ain't goin' anywhere!"), Charles fired his pistol into the air. The ruthless bastard, I remember thinking. At once the guards began open firing on the citizens; screams rose like boiling water. Still...I was none too affected. Charles and I often disagreed on our levels of brutality, even if our goals were the same.

Three years later, one of our main funding schemes was thrown overboard. Literally. The Boston Tea Party of 1773 was almost as ridiculous as the Patriots themselves. A chain of tea was completely sabotged, its cargo being thrown into the water. Why did I care? Because the tea was our primary money-provider. It belonged to William Johnson.

And now, Johnson was dead.

Before the outbreak of this wretched war, he bargained with the Iroquois Confederation to buy their land. The natives thought nothing of his intentions: preventing its peoples being swept away in the blizzard of war. They argued: "It is not your land to claim."

As the protests grew louder, William became desperate. In the end, a Native man was shot dead. And it did not stop there. Several more fell, staining the land with their own crimson warpaint. Why had William done that? I had no idea. He was a fool, and paid his life for it. Assassinated by some Native child.

Pitcairn was dead, too.

Killed last year, by the very same boy. I never met him...but more on that later. I confess, of all the deaths of my allies, I was most vexed by John's. His neutral desire for power and striving diplomacy was what I admired. While Thomas remained nonchalant, William always pleading, Charles often brutal and Benjamin's...well, deed...Pitcairn was the only Templar whom I whole-heartedly agreed with. And now he was gone.

Rather annoyingly, the killer-boy uncovered a plot we'd forged to kill Washington. We – the Templars, that is – ended up switching sides. The Continentals were the winning side, and we wanted to be in control of whoever reigned victorious. The British Army had offered an ideal of structure, but none of it mattered. The colonies were already in chaos. But that was not the main reason why we switched.

Charles grew tired of serving the British Army, wanting a better pay. That was his sole purpose for it all. Money. He competed against George Washington in the role of Commander, but as he wanted better pay and Washington longed for nothing, Charles lost. He was bitter for years after. Who could blame him? Washington was a dreadful leader. He was better off dead than in charge...so that was exactly what we planned.

I sent Thomas to do the job. He had also been counterfeiting to earn for the Order (not to my knowledge). Slippery dunce, I thought, when I heard that he'd been caught. But that wasn't all. I was sent to move him from Bridewell Prison. That was a pain in itself: the prison was in New York, so was a long ride for me.

I'd stayed overnight in an inn with Charles. During this time, I brushed up on my knowledge of this Mohawk boy. Something told me he was more than just a thorn in our side. What had caused him to kill both William and John, and try to strike Thomas? Why have a hatred of the Templar Order that strong? I should've realised the signs sooner. He was an Assassin.

Not that it affected me, of course. Years of slaughter and betrayal had hardened my heart, like a cannonball. I was now nothing but a killing machine; one who strived for direction. I felt no love. No weakness.

We had Thomas moved to a different cell. It turned out this Assassin boy had been arrested, too. As the fumes of the cells choked me along the corridor, and the rattle of steel rung in my ears, I saw him. He was in the cell behind us.

Hickey pointed at the boy, telling me what happened. But I wasn't listening. I watched as the prisoner gripped the bars with two burly hands. The veins bulged in his arms, the same way that fury bulged in his eyes. Burning brown, fiery eyes. I swallowed as they sucked in my appearance. I diverted my gaze from them, but could not understand why.

He wore a muddy shirt, over which was swept long, unkempt black hair. His skin almost seemed copper in the darkness of the corridor. It was only when he bared his teeth that it struck me. I had seen him before.

But where?
Stop staring. It is rude.
Why should I? He seems...familiar.

"There can be no further mistakes, Thomas," I said, switching my attention to my colleague. "Am I understood?"

He muttered a bitter reply, which my ears were closed to. I studied the face of the Assassin again: his defined jaw, his intense eyes, and his surly expression. His huge hand went to his neck. He gripped something around his collar, as if shielding it from my sight. I struggled to look. When I realised what was in his fingers, I felt myself falling. Falling away from reality; away from my men and away from the prison.

It was Ziio's necklace. The one made from animal teeth, which she never wore at my house. I held a gasp with difficulty; my heart began to race. The necklace confirmed my mild assumptions. I was right.

The boy was Ratohnhaké:ton. My son.

Welcome back, everyone!

Remember that sequence? Where Haytham has Thomas removed from the cell? I loved it. Father and son meet eye-to-eye for the first time. Ooh, chills...

Anyway, sorry about the length of this chapter. I was explaining American history to myself as much as to you. It's not an area I cover in my History lessons, but it's really interesting. I thought I'd brush up and further my understanding of the Revolution! Hehe :)

I'm not really sure where this is heading next, so bear with me. I'll figure it out soon! Thank you for reading...