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 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.