The wisps of gray that were Father Otker"s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Hakon? Is that you?”
Hakon grabbed the older man by his thin shoulders and laughed. “It is I!”
A grin stretched across Father Otker"s grimy face as a tear slipped from his eye and rolled down his sunken cheek. “Then we are saved. God be praised.”
Hakon turned to his nephew. “How long have these men been in here?”
Gudrod shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. “Several days.” As he spoke, more monks emerged from the darkness on wobbly legs, squinting into the soft light. Hakon counted the frail, dirty men. Twelve in all, including another face Hakon thought never to see again: the young novice Egbert. Winters ago, the freckle-faced redhead had healed Hakon after a fight with King Athelstan"s younger brother, Edmun
