Levelling his malignant gaze at Cait, he said, 'See here, archbishop, this is the woman who stole your letter. You know her, I think.'

'I have seen her before, yes,' the archbishop confessed. To Cait, he said, 'Lady, is it true? Did you steal the letter?'

'Why ask her?' demanded de Bracineaux angrily. 'You know the truth of it-how else could she have cozened you with lies about my death?'

'Let her speak,' said Bertrano. 'I would hear it from her own lips.' Turning once more to Caitriona, he said, 'Is it true, lady? Did you steal the letter from Commander de Bracineaux?'

'I did,' answered Cait simply. 'And I would do it again.',

'Why?'

'What difference does it make?' charged de Bracineaux, rounding on her again. 'She has admitted the theft, and stands condemned out of her own mouth. She must be punished for her crime-and all who aided her in this deception shall be punished as well.' He glared around the church as if he meant to begin seizing villagers then and there.

Brother Timotheus pushed his way forward. 'Heaven forbid!' he cried. 'We know nothing of any crime. This lady has shown us only kindness and respect. She is a true noblewoman in every way.'

'No doubt she can appear so when it suits her,' said de Bracineaux smugly. 'The archbishop and I know otherwise.'

Archbishop Bertrano turned sorrowful eyes on Cait and asked again, 'Why did you take the letter? Was it to steal the Holy Cup for yourself?'

'I did take the letter,' she replied. 'I went to the commander's room that night to avenge the murder of my father, Lord Duncan of Caithness. Renaud de Bracineaux killed him in Constantinople,' she said evenly, pointing to the commander. 'I wanted to find a way to hurt him, and I allowed myself to imagine the Blessed Cup would help me to do that.' She paused and looked to Abbess Annora. 'I was wrong.'

'Yes, of course,' said de Bracineaux as the last details of the explanation fell into place, 'you were with him in the church that day.' His face twisted in a paroxysm of hate and gloating triumph. 'So, Duncan had a daughter. I imagined he was alone, otherwise I would have finished you, too.'

The archbishop turned astonished eyes on the Grand Commander of Jerusalem. 'Is this true? You murdered her father?'

'I settled an old debt, yes,' replied de Bracineaux carelessly. 'As Defender of Jerusalem, it is my right to vanquish the enemies of the Holy Land – wherever I encounter them.'

'Very messy, my friend,' said d'Anjou, shaking his head slowly. He regarded Cait with an expression of delight 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.'

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.