The War Lord Page #3

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Sir Priest!

You have the right. The wedding's

tomorrow, the right of the first night.

Ask the priest.

Of the seven golden virtues,

I swear the most peculiar is chastity.

Look, you're the lord

of this miserable place.

She belongs to this miserable place,

therefore she's yours.

Ask him.

Dear learned priest,

we need your counsel.

Such as I have to give.

Are you well versed in church law,

Father?

Middling well, though my order

runs not to law,

it seeks rather to make amends

for the evils wrought by men

through the absence of love.

Splendid.

It is of love that I would ask you.

Now, this noble knight has need

of a little innocent pleasure.

There is no such thing

as "innocent pleasure".

Priest...scholar...

Certainly you have heard

of the Right of the Seigneur

to take a virgin bride

on her wedding night?

The church does not admit it.

It is pagan law.

And these are pagan lands.

- Not of a Sunday morning, I assure you.

- These are evening matters.

We found the warden

with a bride in his arms.

Was she not freely given by her people?

A warden!

What do they say in Rome?

Jus primae noctis.

That being the Roman for it.

You hear that? It's known in Rome.

And damned as heresy.

And yet...and yet...

Speak on, good Father.

Well, now, fertility...

Some say it's pagan.

But who's not pagan in some matters?

True, true!

I love the speech of scholars.

These young folks here think

of nothing but frolicking.

"Desist!" I tell them.

But they will go awantoning.

So, lest the devil take them,

I preach them a text from holy writ.

"Increase and multiply," I say.

"Replenish the earth."

And, oh, how they obey me.

But how this touches

on your problem...

Oh, clearly, clearly.

The pagan part may honour

pagan law. We ask no more.

- What hour is the wedding?

- The wedding in church or the other?

What other?

We'll be at the church.

To claim that right?

War lords, forbear!

In this weak hand lie lightnings

and I'll use them!

Ah, no, no sacrilege.

Not in God's church!

There's a... There's another wedding.

Their tribal way,

that wedding's theirs.

Feasting, drinking, clowning, dancing...

Oh, lords, how they do caper.

(Music and cheering)

(Music and cheering cease)

(Speaks in tribal tongue)

(Cheering)

Hold the boy.

You come to do us honour, my lord.

To claim my right.

(Crowd mutters)

- He has the right.

- No!

Silence!

- No!

- Let it be my own son.

He has the right.

Not by his law, but by ours.

Ours.

Long before the Norman came

with his church and his tower,

we worshipped at the stone

and at the tree.

And in the fields we plant holy seeds.

Then as now, a virgin sacrifice was

made for the fertility of our earth

and the enrichment of our tribe.

To take her your way is rape!

It should be done our way, the old way.

You accept this?

With a ring of fire.

The sacred way of the Druid.

You accept this?

I do.

Prepare then a high place.

I have a high place.

Make it ready.

And your men wearing iron.

Wearing iron, Norman lord,

and standing.

As the moon rises,

the virgin bride shall be brought to you.

But hold! At the rising of the sun,

I will reclaim her.

So be it.

(Groaning)

(Shrieks)

(Muttering prayers)

I go, my lord, to wait

the rising of the sun.

(Sobbing)

You weep?

- No, be still.

- Yes, my lord.

"My lord"?

My lord speaks and all obey.

Is that not what you want?

No, I want you to be free

to go or stay as you will.

But I fear you'd go, so...

Look at me!

I have the right to take you.

I have the right!

You want me to go?

Go!

Back to your pigs

and your strange damned people,

and your death-sucking bees, yes!

Go, and let me go!

Go!

Wait...

I want...

I need you as I need breath...

...sunshine...

...fire in the winter...

...honour.

That's what festers.

I want my life in you.

Its truth. It goes beyond the blood,

fever in the flesh.

They say it's a sacred thing to have

a high-born man begin your life.

Are you afraid of me?

I cast no spells.

Better if you did.

Spells can be broken.

My lord, I too am bewitched.

You! You had them hold me!

- Or see you cut to pieces.

- Better that!

Aye, and all the rest of us.

He's got my wife. He's touching her.

Oh, my God! He's touching my wife!

- Bear it, my son.

- Slaves have no sons!

Who took my mother from you, coward?

Who's my father?

Toughen up your heart.

If she'd been gored by an ox,

you'd tend her.

Try and forget the pain.

Who knows her better than you do?

She's yours.

Ever since she was little,

it was always Marc.

I couldn't sleep, it's cold out there.

I feel rheumaticky.

Good Father,

you have pointy ears.

You have sneaky eyes.

How does that lie in your stomach?

I couldn't sleep either.

We are all of us, good Father,

made of the coarsest clay.

You, me, my stern and glorious brother

up there in bed.

Though I'm sure he isn't sleeping!

(Chuckles)

I wonder whether the louse wasn't

created on the sixth day with Man.

You too are a party to it!

And undeserving of the frock I wear.

But you see, my lord, I too am a man.

And a louse.

Stand to attention!

You are a guard of honour!

The sun, like every other day.

You cried out last night. I put my fingers

to your lips and you slept again.

I dreamt of my father.

He died when he came home

and found his lands sold for ransom.

And I took up arms for the Duke.

He died in two halves.

First his right side, then his left.

He had me set my hands

between his...

...dead hand and his live one, and

swear to keep his faith with the Duke.

I swore to protect my brother,

to recover our lands.

But he was already dead.

From under his right hand,

I took that sword.

And I've lived 20 years

with that cold wife.

And off his dead finger, I took this ring.

What are you doing?

My lord, it's dawn.

They won't take you.

Not the Duke, nor the devil, nor all...

It could never, never be.

It's daylight in the swamps.

Did you notice?

You look as though your fever's gone.

The elder...what's-his-name...Odins

waits for her below there.

Don't you hear me, Chrysagon?

It's over now.

I'll talk to him.

That old clown, let him howl.

But there was an understanding

with the Duke. Have you forgotten?

"Keep their goodwill," he said.

I'll not give her up.

I can't.

Must you run stallion-mad

and trample all our lives to pieces?

My life is my own!

Dear lord and brother,

you were the Duke's

most favourite jewel, his cosset.

Through you comes everything.

All we have.

And we must have something!

You've had the grain

out of my horse's mouth.

And the new armour

that should've clothed my men.

Their blood paid for your fineries!

My blood too!

- But...

- All bounty from the wars!

Each favour of the Duke I gave to you,

all to you, awantoning at court,

while I sweated inside

that damned, dirty armour 20 years!

I've had nothing. Nothing! Nothing!

You are our lord!

You cannot be a slave of a slave!

It sets the whole world turvy!

And look at her, this flower face...

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