The War Lord Page #2

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Bronwyn...

What happened to you?

He did nothing.

A bee stung him.

He?

I fell in the water.

And he did nothing?

- They were hunting.

- Who?

- Lord Chrysagon.

- And he did not touch you?

Am I hurting you

by asking these questions?

Then why do you weep?

Marc, I love you.

I have since the day

your father took me in.

Stay away from him.

Yes, Marc.

Stay away from him!

(Chirruping)

(Raucous laughter)

God's great fist, I can see him!

My lord and brother!

Planting himself in front of her

and staring her down.

Giving her battle orders:

"You go! Wheel around!

"Keep your flanks covered!

Pull up your breastplate!

"Your rear echelon's exposed!"

(Crockery clatters)

You have not had

the shirt off your back

and that is why the wound frets you.

Frets me?

You fret me like an old woman.

I told you, it's a scratch, nothing more.

Fester, then.

Enflame.

- You have a fever, brother?

- Can't sleep.

Maybe you took it from that girl.

At the pond.

What's she like?

Oh...I don't know. A woman...

Tan hair, breasts, belly, legs...

A woman.

She has a calm face.

So has a cow.

How was she?

- I let her go.

- You let her go?

Small wonder you can't sleep! Why?

Ah, there's a strangeness in this place.

I've felt it since first we came here.

Nonetheless, I thought it mine.

Poor place.

Marsh, naked tower...

The world's end almost.

But to have it, to hold it.

If only...

What do you think of it, this land?

Dung heap.

You deserve better. Much better.

What say you, Bors?

You are my lord.

This land serves you, I serve you.

But if it should be a land unholy?

Here.

Do you feel nothing,

hear nothing, see nothing?

I feel bored.

I hear the wind. I see fever

burning holes in your head.

Silence.

That speaks of spells.

Ah!

Bors...

Sire, all men have heard how,

when the Lord Christ came,

the old gods, demons and spirits with

snakey hair were cast down into hell!

Good riddance.

But some say they still linger,

prowling the dark corners

and unblessed places of the earth.

Changed to beggar men and goose girls.

Bors, you surprise me.

You've produced a thought.

God help the man who meets one.

The blood in his heart changes.

And what of that devil's dish

he met today?

She's the cause of his fever

and that's the truth.

- How so?

- Because you let her go!

Bors...

You know who she is?

Well, find out from Rainault

and put her to work in the kitchen.

(Grunts)

Why should she waste her charm

on pigs in the swamp

when there's use to be made of it here?

Ha! Oink!

(Snoring)

(Bors) Come here!

Now, girl, you will take his arms

and hold him firm while I...

Lie flat, my lord.

Here!

Now you will hold him here and here.

And he will plunge like a gelded colt.

I did.

Take him.

A trick I learned from the heathen Moor.

If a wench hold a warrior, he doesn't kick

as much. Pride of manhood, I suppose.

Take ten men to hold my lord

or one woman.

Sire, I shall count to five.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

(Falcon shrieks)

(Draco) Volc, call him down.

Use your lure!

Damn falcon,

he never knows what he wants.

(Volc) They're almost human that way,

my lord.

(Draco) You know less about falcons

than a flea does about Sunday.

In order to train a falcon, Volc, you must

have a larger brain than a falcon.

Come down here

or I'll wring your damn neck.

Devil damn me,

but look at Sir Flea bristle!

(Laughter)

I'll kill him.

By my faith, I'll kill them both!

I'll twist your nose

with a slack in your belly!

I'm...sorry.

Draco...

Draco!

Don't run from me.

- Is that poppy?

- Yes.

- What do you want with this?

- We call it oxeye.

We get camomile from it for seasoning.

It also has the power

to rob men's minds.

(Sniffs)

Like magic.

- And it can kill.

- Oh, no magic.

My foster father heals with these herbs.

- Purple foxglove?

- A leaf or two for love sickness.

Three leaves or four can stop the heart.

Witchery.

No, my lord. Not witchery.

They all kill.

What's that?

Mistletoe. The golden bough

that twines around the sacred oak.

- Why is the oak sacred?

- It's connected by lightning to the gods.

- You believe that?

- Yes.

Before I came here, they told me

the Marsh People had

spotted bellies and webbed toes.

- Do you believe that?

- Not since I saw you in the lake.

We'll lie under that tree.

No.

I feel good about you.

I've been fighting all year,

I haven't had time to lie under trees.

- Please, my lord, let me go.

- I fought all last year too.

I haven't even seen a girl with tan hair.

I'm tired of fighting.

- My lord, I...

- Shh! Don't talk, witch.

Have pity.

(Crows cawing)

This is not lawful.

You want to serve in this troop? Ha-ha!

Aye, sir. I want to be my lord's man.

People of your tribe

cannot bear arms in any service.

Besides, you have no skill

with weapons.

I found these poachers in the glen, sire.

- They are not poachers, my lord.

- With a pair of stags, Rainault.

- You said two.

- Yes, sire.

These stags were lying dead already,

my lord. Locked together by the horns.

They needed the meat surely.

The Frisians slaughtered

most of the livestock in the village.

That be truth, lord.

The Frisians killed our pigs.

And so, of course, they poach.

The woodland belongs to the lord.

These louts must be made to carry

the stump of their right hand in the left.

The woodland belongs to the Duke.

We keep it for him.

We keep the peace here too.

We share Lord Draco's outrage.

To kill the Duke's deer is a grave crime.

But there is no proof.

Proof? It is my considered opinion...

I too hold considered opinions.

- I am a knight.

- And I can write letters!

- The devil's tools!

- Enough!

Beware, my lord.

Another time these clods might take

your compassion for weakness.

There will not be another time.

You, Volc!

What in God's name are you doing

with that boy still roped up?

Why, training him, sire.

It's the only way.

See you keep to the tower now, boy.

Bors!

My lord has spent the morning

on you people, don't waste his time!

I speak for my son Marc

who humbly beseeches

our lord's grace and consent to wed.

To this girl?

The foster daughter of my house,

called Bronwyn.

When?

- Tomorrow, my lord.

- So soon?

They've been promised since childhood.

It's time, lord.

I give leave to your son to wed.

We thank thee.

(Footsteps)

Work on the moat goes well, lord.

But the drawbridge, the blacksmith...

No more now! Get him out!

Out!

(Thunderclap)

(Dogs whimper)

Bones of the saints!

What's wrong with you?

- Is it the wench?

- Draco, enough.

I'm only saying, if you want her, take her.

I told you...

I know it's not my business but

you don't look at a woman every day.

- She marries tomorrow.

- What's wrong with tonight?

She's not one of your she-goats, Draco.

I won't take a woman

the night before her wedding.

You're right, it's wrong tonight.

I could bite my tongue for mentioning it.

But what about tomorrow?

Get the what's-his-name...the priest.

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