that made her skin crawl. 'It seems you've made an extremely resourceful enemy. You want to be more careful.'
'Archbishop Bertrano,' said the abbess, 'I refuse to deliver the Sacred Chalice of Our Saviour into the hands of a self-confessed murderer. If we are to surrender the holy relic, I demand that it be given to Pope Adrian himself, and no one else.'
'From your hands to his, abbess,' answered Bertrano. 'In view of all that has come to light, I agree that would be best.'
'No!' roared de Bracineaux. 'That we will not do. It has been entrusted to me, and I will fulfil my duty.' He stepped nearer so that he towered over the abbess. 'I want the cup. Now. Give it over.'
'I will not.'
De Bracineaux's hand whipped out and caught the old woman on the cheek. The force of the blow snapped her head sideways and she staggered backwards. Cait caught her as she fell and bore her up.
'I will not ask you again, old woman.' De Bracineaux stood over the half-kneeling abbess. 'Bring me the cup.'
Brother Timotheus rushed to interpose himself between the Templar and the abbess. He raised his hands before the commander's face, crying 'Peace! Peace!'
'Fool, get out of my way.' De Bracineaux shoved the priest violently aside. The cleric fell, striking his head on the stone-flagged floor. He groaned and lay still.
All at once the villagers rose up with a shout. They had watched the conversations in bewildered silence, but an attack on their beloved priest was something they understood. They rushed forward in a mass, swarming over the commander, lashing at him with fists and feet.
'Sergeant!' roared de Bracineaux as he fell.
D'Anjou and Gislebert, swords in hand, leaped to defend the fallen commander. Two of the Templars near the door sprang forth, wading into the clot of people. Cait, still holding the abbess, moved back through the surging crowd, pulling the elderly woman back from the fray.
It was over in a moment. When the shouting and chaos subsided, three lay unconscious and four more were wounded. Gislebert, d'Anjou, and the two Templars stood over the commander with bloody swords, defying anyone else to come near. De Bracineaux climbed to his feet; he was bleeding from a split lip, and sputtering with rage. 'Get these people out of here!' he shouted, swinging his arm wildly in the direction of the cowering congregation. 'This outrage will be avenged. Get them out!'
The Templars started forwards, but before they could lay hands on any of the offending villagers the church door burst open. 'Master!' shouted the Templar soldier who entered. 'You are needed at once.'
From outside someone shouted, 'Moors!'
De Bracineaux whirled towards the open door. 'What?'
'Hurry, my lord. We are attacked.'
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Commander de Bracineaux glared at the messenger. 'How many?'
'Thirty, my lord. Maybe more.'
The Templar commander turned and called, 'D'Anjou, keep everyone in here.' Then, shouting for the sergeant to fetch his sword and shield, he strode from the church and out into a raw red dawn.
As soon as he had gone, the townsfolk rushed to the bodies of their wounded. Archbishop Bertrano moved to the stricken priest and the nuns hastened to the aid of their injured abbess. Annora waved them off, saying, 'I am not hurt. Go and help the others.'
'Stay where you are, all of you,' shouted d'Anjou, but no one paid any attention to him. Within moments, the door of the church was open and villagers were crowding the entrance.
Cait motioned Alethea to join her. 'Wait here with the abbess.'
'Where are you going?' she asked, but Cait was already dashing away.
She pushed through the press at the door and looked out. High clouds were coming in from the north, drawing a veil across the pale dawn sky. The Templars were racing to their mounts as de Bracineaux called them to arms. Above the shouting and clamour of men and horses could be heard the rhythmic drumming of hooves, and through a gap between the nearer houses came the attacking riders as they rounded the lake and rode for the village. A moment later, the first rank came into view at the end of the wide expanse which served the town for a street.
Even in the pale light of dawn Cait could see from the turbans and battledress that the riders were, indeed, Moors-and they were coming fast. AH Waqqar! she gasped. The bandits had found them and now joined the fray. Hands clenched in helpless desperation, she watched as they drew swiftly closer. Now she could pick out individuals from among the dark mass of advancing riders. There, in the centre of the front rank, was the bandit leader. She recognized the imposing, arrogant bulk, and her heart sank.
But then a movement in the ranks caught her eye. The riders parted and Prince Hasan appeared in the gap, astride his black stallion, his warriors at his back. Beside him rode Halhuli; like those with them, they carried small round black shields and long, slender-bladed lances.
The Templars were quickly armed and mounted. The speed with which they had prepared themselves to meet the enemy was remarkable and, Cait thought, demonstrated their renowned and formidable discipline. They had met Arabs before, and were not afraid.
With a single word from their commander, they formed the battle line and rode out to meet the attack. Cait, watching from the church door, heard a movement behind her, and someone grabbed hold of her arm to pull her back. 'Please,' she said, 'I have to see.'
'De Bracineaux misjudged you,' said Baron d'Anjou. 'But I will not. We cannot have you running loose out there, can we? That would not do at all. Who knows the trouble you might make?'
Contempt and revulsion roiled within her as she looked into the baron's dead eyes. 'I beg you,' she said, swallowing down her loathing. 'Let me stay.'
'Very well, if only because I want to see it, too. We will stay here together, you and I.' D'Anjou moved close beside her, maintaining his tight grip on her arm. Others were pushing in around them now -villagers eager to witness the clash, and nuns praying for deliverance. The crowd gave a push, and Cait and d'Anjou were carried out into the yard. Soon almost everyone from inside the church had joined them, including Archbishop Bertrano and a very dazed and bewildered Brother Timotheus pressing a hand to his injured head.
The Templars urged their horses to speed. Levelling their lances, they prepared to meet the onrushing Moors. Up from their throats arose a cry: 'For God and Jerusalem!'
The battle cry of he Templars was met and drowned by a mighty shout from the Arabs: 'Allahu akbarf they cried, spurring their mounts to a gallop. Over the snow they came, the horses' legs lost in a blurring cloud churned up by their swift hooves so that the riders seemed to glide like avenging angels flying to the fight.
'Now we see whether the Moors have mettle enough to stand to a real fight,' observed d'Anjou.
'The Templars are outnumbered,' Cait pointed out.
'Dear, deluded lady,' replied the baron, 'the Templars are forever outnumbered. That is how they prefer it.'
The two lines closed with heart-stopping speed and Cait, unable to look away, held her breath. At the last instant, the Moors split their line, dividing neatly in two. The main body of the Templars found themselves carried into the midst of a fast-scattering enemy and suddenly exposed on either flank.
This brought a cry from the watchers at the church. Some of the nuns sank to their knees, clasping their hands and crying to Heaven; others stood and gaped in open-mouthed amazement. All around her, Cait heard the quick babble of voices as the villagers discussed the manoeuvre excitedly, and the nuns prayed with increasing fervour.
De Bracineaux, a bold and decisive commander, realized the danger and signalled the retreat at once. Rather than allow his force to become surrounded, he chose flight. In an instant, the Templars wheeled their horses. Back they came, the Moors in close pursuit.
