Halfway to the church, however, there came a rattling movement and out from among the houses of the villages another mounted force appeared. At its head was Rognvald, leading a score of Arab warriors with Dag and Yngvar beside him, and Svein and Rodrigo right behind.
The sudden and unexpected appearance of the knights sent the villagers into a rapture of delight. D'Anjou tried to shout them down, but to no avail. There was nothing he could do to make himself understood. He appealed to the priest. 'Tell them to be quiet!' he shouted at Brother Timotheus. 'Shut them up!'
'If they do not speak,' replied the priest neatly, 'surely the stones themselves will cry out.'
Rognvald's troops rounded on the retreating Templars, who now discovered themselves caught between two swiftly closing forces.
Surrounded, their retreat cut off, the Templars halted and de Bracineaux formed his soldiers into a tight defensive circle. Shoulder to shoulder, they took shelter behind a ring of stout shields and a lethal array of razor- keen lance blades. The Moors whirled around the circle, shrieking with exultation. Not a blow had been struck and already the foe was forced into its final stand from which there would be no retreat.
Around and around they flew, the swift Arabian horses spinning like black leaves in a whirlpool of white. The Templars remained unmoved as a boulder surrounded by surging rapids.
The battle began in earnest.
At first the great revolving wheel of warriors appeared content simply to surround the Templars, screaming, whistling, jeering and taunting as they spun around and around. Then suddenly one of the Moors broke from the swiftly circling pack and drove in to strike a glancing blow at one of the Templars-a quick darting chop of the sword and away again before the knight could react. No sooner had he returned to his place than another Moor repeated the slashing lunge, and then another, and another. Soon the Moors were striking at will-but to no avail, since the Templars refused to break ranks and attack. Despite their superior numbers, the Moors gained no advantage.
The diving feints continued for a time and d'Anjou, thoroughly fed up with the lack of Moorish courage in meeting the Templar challenge head-on, vented his frustration. 'Cowardly bastards,' he sneered with profound distaste. 'They refuse to stand and fight, the craven dogs.'
The Moors circled, the great wheel slowly revolving while those on the inner rim performed their wary darting sallies. Cait felt her heart, buoyed by hope, begin to sink. The Templars would not be drawn into a fight they could not win, and Hasan's troops appeared unable, or unwilling, to force the confrontation.
She watched, hands clenched beneath her chin, as her own frustration grew. A few more lunges, a few more wild sweeping chops, and suddenly a cry went up from the Moorish ranks. In the same instant, Cait saw the head of a Templar lance spinning into the snow. A moment later, another lance head was carried off.
D'Anjou saw it too, and knew what it meant. 'Filthy devils!' he spat. 'Stand and fight!' he cried.
Three more Templars lost their lances in rapid succession. The knights did not move. They sat firmly in the saddle as if anchored there, faces hard, staring grimly ahead at the whooping, gyrating foe. Now and again, Cait caught sight of Rognvald, Yngvar, Dag, or Svein, or one of the Spanish knights as they careered around and around in the ever-revolving dance.
The slashing attacks continued with increasing ferocity and speed. The villagers gathered outside the church watched with dread fascination as one by one the lance blades fell to the reckless Moorish swords. Still the Templars held their ground. Indeed, the first indication they gave that the attack was wearing on them came when one of their number threw down his headless, battered lance and drew his sword. De Bracineaux steadied his men with a command; the ring tightened further on itself, and they held on.
It was not until fully half of the lance-heads had been hacked off that the Templars broke from their rock-like stance. When it came, the charge was quick and savage. Cait did not discern any signal; it seemed to her that one moment they were inert and resolute as when the battle began, and the next instant all were in motion. Down went the ruined lances and out flashed the swords even as they spurred their mounts into the rotating wall of foemen.
They hit hard and fast-twenty Templars striking as one. The sound of the clash was like the crack of a gigantic tree the instant before it falls.
The force of the charge carried the Templars deep into the revolving ranks of the Moors. Those nearest the charge could not swerve out of the way in time and were simply struck broadside. Men and horses went down. More than one Arab was crushed beneath the weight of his mount.
The rearward ranks gave way to allow their comrades to escape the onslaught and all at once the Moors were thrown into confusion. Suddenly all was rearing horses and flailing hooves. The ferocity of the assault was devastating. Again and again the Templars charged, driving into their evasive enemy, their swords rising and falling in deadly harmony.
Surprised, their formation broken, the Moors gave way before the assault. The swirling Arab ranks thinned at the point of attack and the Templars seized the first opportunity they had been offered. They drove into the weakened line and a small gap opened. For the briefest of instants the way was clear. By twos and threes, the Christian knights sped through the breach, smashing through the terrible whirling wheel.
By the time the gap closed once more, a dozen Moors lay dead in the snow, and not one of the Templars was unhorsed. Cait counted the fallen from Hasan's force, and then counted them again just to make certain. But there was no mistake: the prince's advantage in numbers had shrunk.
The Moors made an attempt to regain control of the field. Separating quickly into two divisions-one under Rognvald and the other under Hasan – they threw out two wings, one to either side of the Templars as the Christian knights reformed their ranks. But de Bracineaux was not about to allow his troops to become surrounded and trapped again. As the two wings closed on the Templars, the commander directed the whole of his force to meet the line of assault at its nearest leading edge.
Once again, the Templars' heavier horses and armour proved sufficient not only to blunt the attack, but to drive through the more lightly armed Moors. The Arab wing scattered, leaving four more dead or wounded behind, and the Christian knights quickly turned to face an onslaught of the combined enemy wings. Again Cait counted the remaining combatants-Hasan's troops, including Rognvald and her knights, numbered thirty to the Templars' original twenty. What was more, the Templars now had the houses of the village at their backs; unless they were drawn into the open, they could not be surrounded again.
'Now the field is even,' remarked d'Anjou with evident satisfaction. 'Let the slaughter commence.'
Cait bit her lip and did not dignify the comment with a reply. The archbishop, meanwhile, gathered the nuns around him and led the sisters in a prayer for a swift end to the battle and the peaceful resolution.
Thus, the two opposing forces faced one another across a narrow space-fewer than a hundred paces separating one from the other. And here they paused. The horses were growing tired. Steam rose from their nostrils and from their rumps and flanks.
For a brief moment all was silent, save for the murmured prayers of the sisters and archbishop kneeling in the snow. Then there came a movement from the Moorish line, and Cait saw Rognvald ride out a few paces into the open alone. 'Renaud de Bracineaux,' he called, his voice loud in the hush, 'for the sake of your men, I ask you to surrender.'
This brought a laugh from the Templar commander, who moved out a few paces to meet the Norseman halfway. 'Surrender?' he laughed. 'To you? Your confidence is commendable, sir, but it is misplaced. We are winning this battle.'
'You have fought well,' Rognvald acknowledged. 'It would be a wicked waste to lead such good soldiers to their deaths. Lay down your arms, and the killing can stop.'
De Bracineaux laughed again. 'The killing has not yet begun.' He turned then, and rode back to his waiting ranks.
'I give you one last chance,' Rognvald called after him. 'By the God who made me, Templar, unless you forsake the fight, I swear you will not walk from this battleground.'
The commander's reply came by way of a sudden charge. Even before de Bracineaux reached the line, his men were in motion, spurring their horses forward. Rognvald raised himself in the saddle and, with a sharp chop of his hand, signalled Hasan's troops to meet the sortie. The Moors swept across the narrow space dividing the two forces.
It was only as the combatants closed on one another that Cait realized that something had changed within the Moorish ranks: they now carried lances. While Rognvald was exchanging words with the Templar commander, the
