“My lord!” Egbert called, interrupting Hakon"s sparring session with Toralv.
Hakon checked his swing and looked over at the young monk. The dismay on Egbert"s freckled face froze Hakon"s heart. “What is it, Egbert?”
“It"s Wulfstan, lord.” Egbert turned on his heel and ran in the opposite direction, not waiting for the warriors to respond.
Hakon looked at his men, then ran after the monk. His men followed. They sprinted along the beach past Kaupang and up the hill to the north of town where the priests held Mass and where a small crowd had now gathered. It was there, in those trees, that they found Wulfstan and the eight townspeople who had so recently accepted baptism. They hung from a stout limb by bound feet, upside-down, their arms hanging stiffly above the ground, their eyes open bu
