48
“My son,” Eata said, looking up at the prisoner, “because of the foul deeds you have done, your life is forfeit. In the name of God and of Oswy, king of these lands, you will be hanged from the neck until dead. Will you not repent of your sins and seek God’s forgiveness?”
The Saxon sat on his horse with his hands tied behind him. A noose lay around his neck, the rope tied to a large branch of a spreading oak tree by the road at the edge of Uirolec’s holding, visible for all to see as they passed by. Celyn stood to the side of the horse’s hindquarters, a switch in his hand, his face shadowed and grim.
The man snarled and spit, causing Eata to take a hasty step back. He looked up at the Saxon, smoothing the anger from his face.
“Very well. May God have mercy on your soul,” he said, cr
