Share an education. Given the obvious differences in their backgrounds, that meant something other than books and classrooms. But given the similarity with which they moved, he decided that meant training. They were both fighters of some sort, then.

His expressions hinted at a deeper truth, and one he was loathe to admit. Somehow, he understood that - as if some things were better kept quiet than spoken of in the open. That settled something inside him. If this man had found an enemy this way, something inside his own mind told him that he would already be dead instead of led along.

"We are fighters for some sort of common cause," he surmised. "Though not from the same place. I am comfortable thinking myself Arabic. You are..." For a moment, his eyes narrowed before he finished, "English. Your skin. But not noble. Your accent. You do not carry yourself like a--"

A flash of memory came at once. Armour, flags, the plea of a beggar woman drowned out by the sound of metal on metal. And over it all, a red cross on white--

"You are not a Knight. Not a Templar."