The news, when it came, struck Olaf like an axe in his side, almost toppling him. Teetering over to his throne, Olaf collapsed into it, a shaking hand reaching out for wine. One huscarle pressed a wooden goblet into his king"s hand, whilst a second looked on. The bearer of the news. Grim-faced. Silent.
Stepping out from the shadows, the priest, Father Ersted, hands swallowed up by the deep sleeves of his habit, levelled his gaze towards the messenger; a man whose face ran with sweat, whose clothing and mail shirt were encrusted with dust and dirt. A man who had ridden hard from a considerable distance.
“You have seen this for yourself?”
The huscarle"s eyes grew dark as he turned to the man of Christ. “Aye, I saw them. I saw the ships beach, the huscarles and hirdmen streaming ashore. I
