The mystic rose

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cait flew back through the woods. As she neared the fighting, she crouched low, and hid behind a tree. The half-finished camp was swarming with dark men in dark brown cloaks. Moors, she thought, counting them quickly. There were eight-and all were mounted. Two or three of the bandits held spears; the rest wielded swords and they were swooping among the knights who were struggling to fend off the marauders.

Occupied with setting up camp for the night, none of the defenders had been wearing armour when the attack began. As a result, they were only lightly armed. Most had, she saw, been able to lay hand to a sword, but none had shields, and only Rognvald had a horse.

The clash of weapons was fierce, and the shouts of the men to one another, and to their assailants, deafening; the commotion filled the clearing with a dreadful, disorienting clamour.

Above the tumult, there came another ear-shattering shriek and Cait looked to the partially erected tent. Alethea was kneeling at the tent opening, hands to her face, terrified. Dag stood before her, tent pole in hand, defending her from two swarthy assailants. Yngvar and Svein were running to join him. Just as they reached the tent, however, two mounted bandits caught them and they were forced to break off their assault to defend themselves.

The horses were picketed nearby. None had saddles, but Cait had ridden bareback from childhood. Darting to the line, she untied the nearest mount, swung herself up on to its back, drew her sword, and raced for the tent. Her attack was cut short, however, when a black-bearded Moor suddenly appeared before her and, with one swipe of his sword, knocked her weapon from her hand.

The slender blade went spinning to the ground, and the bandit, seeing that she was unarmed, reached for the bridle of her horse. Cait slashed the reins across his face, catching him on the side of the head as he leaned forward. He drew back with a curse between his teeth, and jabbed at her with the sword. She dodged aside easily, and the bandit lunged forward, snagging the bridle strap of her mount. She pulled back hard on the reins, attempting to make her horse rear, but the bandit clung on, keeping the animal's head down.

The wild-eyed brute swung around beside her, thrusting the sword at her and shouting in Arabic as he made to lead her horse away, taking her with him. Throwing aside the reins, she slid lightly off the back of the horse, landed on her feet, and started for the tent once more.

She had run but a half-dozen steps when she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet, the same instant a jarring thud between her shoulderblades lifted her off the ground. She squirmed in the air as the bandit tried to haul her on to his horse. Swinging wildly, she struck out at her attacker with her fists, striking him in the ribs. She swung again and her knuckles grazed something sharp. Twisting in her assailant's grasp, she reached for the place once more and her fingers closed on the hilt of a dagger.

The knife was out of the sheath before the Moor knew what had happened. Squeezing the hilt, she raised her arm and plunged the blade down into the meaty part of the bandit's thigh. With an astonished cry of pain and rage, her would-be captor hurled her to the ground and the knife went spinning from her grasp. She landed hard on her side, forcing the breath from her lungs.

Gasping, her chest aching, unable to breathe, she drew up her knees and cradled her head in her arms to prevent the horse's hooves from dashing out her brains. A loud whirring filled her ears, and she felt herself slipping away-as if sucked down into a dark, spinning maelstrom beneath violent waves. The whirring sound ended in a sudden crash and she felt something heavy fall upon her.

Cait could not move; the upper half of her body was trapped beneath a dense weight and when she turned her head to look, she saw the bearded Moor's sweaty face leering back at her. She felt a rush of warmth flood across her chest and stomach and looked down to see the bandit's body lying across her own, blood and bile spilling from a gash that split his torso from side to side below the ribs.

She struggled to push free of the dead weight, but it held her to the ground. A veil of darkness descended across her vision and the clash of battle grew fainter-as if the fight was swiftly receding with the onrush of night. And then the crushing burden suddenly lifted from her and she was free. Air rushed into her lungs and her vision cleared, revealing Rognvald's worried face hovering above her.

Gathering her in his arms, he raised her up. 'I can walk,' she gasped, gulping in air. 'I am not hurt.'

'This way,' he said, placing her back on her feet. Holding tight to her hand, he pulled her quickly to the edge of the clearing. 'Get down,' he said, indicating a hollow place formed by a tree growing between two big rocks. Crouching low, she leaned back into the hollow, and with a quick chop of his sword Rognvald lopped a branch from the tree and put it over her, shielding her from view. 'Stay here,' he said, dashing away again.

As soon as he had gone, Cait bent back the branches so she could see. Across the clearing, the attack appeared to be intensifying. Where before she had counted eight, there were now at least twelve, possibly more – with all of them constantly circling and swirling they were difficult to reckon. Never attacking straight on, they struck glancing blows, darting in and disappearing-only to reappear again a moment later, attacking from a different quarter.

The knights were making a valiant attempt to form a defensive circle, but their numbers were too few and the need to counter the raiders' incessant darting sorties kept them off balance and unable to close the gaps in their ranks.

Rognvald swiftly crossed the clearing, dodging two bandits as he ran to join his men. Under their lord's command, they soon succeeded in closing the circle and, but a few moments later, two of the Spanish knights had gained their horses. Svein and Yngvar soon joined their comrades in the saddle, and the next whirling attack was met by four knights on chargers. They cut down two raiders, and unhorsed a third before the Moors broke off to reform the assault.

When the next onslaught came, there were five mounted knights to repel it, which they did with quick and decisive prowess, driving into the centre of the bandit attack, unhorsing the foremost Moor and scattering the rest. The unseated raider fell backwards over the rump of his horse and landed awkwardly, his arm bent back under his body. He lay squirming on the ground, clutching his shoulder and howling. Svein dispatched him with a short, sharp chop to the base of the skull and he lay still.

The bandits were no match for mounted knights, and knew it. From her stony nook, Cait watched as four or five spear-wielding Moors made one last half-hearted feint, allowing their fellows to gather up the plunder they had succeeded in liberating from the wagon, and then suddenly all of them were fleeing back into the surrounding forest.

As soon as the last of them disappeared, Cait sprang from her protecting hollow and ran to rejoin the others. The two Spanish knights were for giving chase, but Rognvald called them back and ordered them to stand guard lest the bandits return. Upon reaching the centre of the clearing, Cait stopped and made a quick assessment of the damage. Three of the Moorish raiders had been killed, but none of the knights involved in the affray seemed to have been wounded or injured.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around. The bandits had made off with some of the provisions-a bag or two of meal, a side of smoked pork, and a few smaller items-but nothing of any real consequence that she could see. Rognvald wheeled his horse and rode to where she was standing. 'Lady Caitriona,' he said, sliding from the saddle. 'Are you hurt?'

'My ribs ache, but I am well otherwise.' She turned from the plundered wagon, and looked towards the tent, suddenly remembering what she had been about when the bandit diverted her attention. 'God help us, no!' she shouted, running for the tent. 'Where is Alethea?'