Moors had replaced their swords with stout, long-shafted spears, which they now levelled upon the onrushing Templar knights.
The two forces collided with a crash like thunder. The clash shook snow from the nearby rooftops and shuddered the frozen ground. Seven Templars were unhorsed, and two of those did not rise; they lay in the snow with broken lance-shafts protruding from pierced ribs.
The force of the charge carried each side through and beyond the line of the other. As soon as they broke free, both sides turned and readied themselves for another foray. Again came the command, again they spurred their mounts to speed. Again the clash shivered the frigid air. Cait looked away at the last moment, and when she looked back four more Templars lay in the snow. Only nine were left to stand against Hasan's thirty.
De Bracineaux knew he could not risk another attack so this time, as soon as they passed, the Templars reined up, wheeled their horses, and flew at the backs of the retreating Moors. They succeeded in cutting down three of Hasan's troops, but the rest quickly surrounded the nine Templars. Lances were no use in close fighting, so they were abandoned in favour of the sword. This was the fight de Bracineaux wanted, and once again the heavier armour and skill of his men began to tell against the more lightly protected Moors.
One after another, the Moors fell to the Templar blades-three fell at once, followed by three more, and then two more in quick succession. Cait watched with growing apprehension as the Templars slowly cut their way through the Moorish ranks.
'De Bracineaux will have their hearts for supper,' said d'Anjou, almost glowing with exaltation at the splendid spectacle of carnage. 'Perhaps I should start the cooking fire now.'
Cait tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip and held her to her place. 'You wanted to watch, my lady,' he gloated. 'You will watch!'
There came a movement from within the Moorish ranks, and Cait saw her knights moving through the press to join battle with the Templars, who had been forced once more into a tight defensive circle. Rognvald, with Yngvar at his left hand, pushed in on one side of the ring, and Dag, Svein, and Rodrigo forced their way in from the other. The Norsemen – larger than their Moorish comrades, and used to fighting with heavy weapons-shouldered the brunt of the offensive, driving in with relentless ferocity.
Rognvald, his arm rising and falling in deadly rhythm, rained devastating blows on the Templars before him. Shields, helmets, and swords were battered and broken before the Norsemen's onslaught. The sound of their terrible hammering blows resounded across the battleground: Crack! Now a shield was riven. Crack! Now a helm split asunder. Crack! A blade shattered. Disarmed, the unlucky Templar left the saddle, diving for the ground rather than face Rognvald's killing stroke. Whirling with dread purpose, the Norse lord singled out another foe.
Slowly the balance of battle swayed once more.
Yngvar and Svein each succeeded in unhorsing an opponent, leaving only six Templars in action. Seeing they were at last beginning to overcome the stubbornly valiant Templars, Hasan's troops redoubled their efforts. A great shout of triumph arose from the Moors as they swarmed in for the final assault.
Cait was watching Prince Hasan as he forced his way to Rognvald's side and did not see the deadly struggle taking place at the far side of the dwindling band of Templars. But just as another Templar knight fell before the Norsemen's blades, a lone rider broke free from the mass and galloped towards them with Yngvar and Svein in pursuit.
The fleeing Templar reached the church, reining up a few paces from where Cait and d'Anjou were standing; he was out of the saddle before his horse had come to a halt. Throwing off his battered helm, he lurched towards them. It was de Bracineaux. 'You!' he said, reaching for Cait. 'You are coming with me.'
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Bleeding from a deep cut to his forehead, his face ashen with fatigue, de Bracineaux snatched Cait from d'Anjou's grasp. Cait screamed and clawed at him, but he grabbed her arm with his free hand and, still clutching his sword, threw his arm around her waist. He lifted her off her feet and dragged her out from among the crowd gathered in front of the church.
'Here!' cried the archbishop, rising from his prayers in the snow. 'Let her go! This is not the way, de Bracineaux.'
'Stay back, priest,' said d'Anjou, shoving him down once more. 'This is none of your concern.'
'In God's name,' Bertrano cried, 'I beg you: let her go. End the bloodshed.' Struggling to his feet, he started after the Templar commander. 'De Bracineaux!' he called. 'Stop!'
'Keep him away!' shouted the Templar over his shoulder.
Baron d'Anjou moved to head off the interfering cleric. 'I told you to stay back, priest.' He grabbed the archbishop by the arm and pulled him around. 'Bother God with your prayers, and leave the rest to us.'
'Release me, sir!' Bertrano shrugged off d'Anjou's hold. 'You will not presume to tell me what to do.' He turned and started after the commander and his captive once more, calling for Caitriona's release, and an end to the fighting.
The baron grabbed Bertrano's arm and tried to pull him back, but the big man shook off his assailant, and bulled ahead. He reached de Bracineaux and put his hands on the Templar. 'Put down your sword, commander,' the archbishop called. 'Sue for peace. I will speak to them.' He took hold of the Templar's sword hand and tried to break his grip. 'Let the woman go.'
'Get back!' snarled de Bracineaux, elbowing the cleric aside. 'D'Anjou! Keep him away from me!'
D'Anjou seized the archbishop by the belt of his robe and pulled him back a few paces. The churchman made a wild swing with his arm, knocking the baron aside; he turned and started once more for the Templar. D'Anjou lunged after him. 'Stay back,' he growled.
Bertrano shook him off and turned. D'Anjou darted after him, appeared to make a grab, but missed. The archbishop took another step, then stumbled and went down.
He writhed in the snow, pressing a hand to his side. Several of the nuns hurried to his aid. One of them screamed when she took hold of Bertrano's hand. Her own hand came away wet and red; there was blood in the snow, spilling from a gash in his side. 'I warned you,' Baron d'Anjou said, wiping the blade of his dagger with a handful of snow. 'You should have listened.'
Kicking and scratching, Cait succeeded in squirming free, but de Bracineaux got his fingers in her hair and dragged her with him. 'You have cost me dearly,' he wheezed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 'Now you are going to repay me in full.'
Cait lashed out at him with her fists, swinging hard, the blows muted by the mail and padding. Wrapping his hand securely in her hair, he hauled her to her knees and pressed the ragged edge of his sword to her throat. She felt the cold steel bite into the soft flesh of her neck, and stopped struggling. From the corner of her eye she saw two Norse knights approaching.
'That is close enough!' de Bracineaux shouted as Svein and Yngvar came running up. 'Any closer and the lady will lose her head.' As if to demonstrate the veracity of this threat, he tightened his grip in her hair and jerked her head up, pressing the sharp blade harder against the base of her throat. She felt something digging into her shoulder and realized it was the golden pommel of de Bracineaux's dagger which was hanging from his belt. If she could get her hands on it, she might have a chance to defend herself.
'Let her go, Templar,' said Yngvar. 'We mean to treat you fairly.'
'Do you think I would trust any of your promises?' replied the commander. 'No, I have a better idea. Throw down your weapons and she may yet live.'
Cait edged sideways slightly, freeing the dagger from behind her shoulder. De Bracineaux punished her for the movement by jerking her head higher and pressing the blade harder still. She heard a horse galloping swiftly nearer.
'Release her, de Bracineaux,' called the rider. She heard the voice and took hope: it was Rognvald. 'Let her go, and we will settle terms of peace.'
'I will give you my terms!' roared the commander. 'This woman dies unless you give me the cup.' When no one moved to respond, de Bracineaux forced Cait's head down and started to draw the blade across her throat;
