The Last Kingdom

I am Uhtred, son of Uhtred.

I was born an Ealdorman of England.

Our ancestors took this land,

and you will die for it, if needed.

I saw my father killed in battle and my uncle steal his lands.

I was taken by the invaders...

first as a slave and then as a son to Earl Ragnar.

That was my family, my life...

young Ragnar, my brother, and Brida, my friend.

Until my family were murdered by Kjartan the Cruel

and his one-eyed son, Sven,

and my sister taken hostage on the eve of her wedding.

I fled to Alfred, the Saxon king of Wessex.

I fell in love with a pagan queen, who saw my sister in a vision.

Uhtred, she lives, and is being held in the North.

In the year 878 at Ethandune,

I fought alongside King Alfred

to defeat the Danes, and drove them from Wessex,

but at a great price.

Uhtred Ragnarson, I have a gift for you.

Your queen!

Peace was secured with hostages, Brida and Ragnar,

and by the Danish earl's baptism and acceptance of the Christian God.

As for Uhtred, the godless?

My path led North,

to blood feuds, to revenge...

and to Bebbanburg.

Destiny is all.

No mercy!

No mercy!

Lord?

Lord, are the ideas suitable?

I have tried to show both courage and sacrifice.

Faced with a fearsome enemy.

But I do not see God.

He was there, within us all.

Praise Him.

Word of the victory is being spread throughout the land.

People will hear that it was God-given.

He was amongst us.

Aethelflaed, with me, before you hurt him.

Yes, Mother.

The Witan is full to brimming.

Every Ealdorman and his brother is here to bask.

Not all of them deserving.

_

Wessex is safe.

But, Ealdormen,

to keep Wessex safe, we must now look beyond its borders,

to Mercia, East Anglia, to Cornwalum, Wales

and to the North, to Northumbria

and to the once great and holy city of Eoferwic,

where now, Christian men and women suffer

under the dark rule of the Danes.

There are two Northmen, Sigefrid and Erik,

two Godless brothers

with a voracious appetite for land, silver, slaves and war.

I want it known...

and I want them to know...

that God, Alfred and the Ealdormen of Wessex are watching.

The day of reckoning will come!

Make way, make way.

Is this the palace of King Alfred?

Halt! Stand back from the king's guard.

I have a letter that he will wish to read.

You must let me pass!

In all too soon a time,

Aethelflaed will be old enough for betrothal, then marriage.

- You require a list of suitors, Lord? - I do.

They must be a match for my daughter, her mother,

for Wessex and my idea of a united land.

In which order, Lord?

Oh, do not ask me, my friend. I pray I never need to choose.

I have business with the king.

Lord, forgive my interruption,

may I introduce Brother Trew.

Lord, I am honoured.

Brother Trew has travelled from the North.

Cumbraland, in the west of Northumbria.

He has a letter that tells of a vision and a prophecy.

From the heavens, Lord, I swear.

The abbot Eadred of Cumbraland did dream of the likeness

and this likeness did speak to him.

The likeness was of Saint Cuthbert.

Cuthbert?

Speaking directly from heaven.

The abbot tells of Cuthbert's instruction within the letter.

Lord, for the Saxons and Britons in the North, there is an urgency.

We are lost, we are, in general, ruled by Danes,

we are in need of a Christian saviour.

This saviour is Guthred.

A man who is a lowly slave and who himself must first be saved.

At the behest of the blessed Cuthbert.

The doors are open to the elements, Brother Trew,

nothing more.

It can be done, Lord, it can be arranged...

with your help and guidance.

And you shall have it, Brother Trew, I'm sure.

Father Beocca, I will send for you when I have read the letter,

which I shall do immediately, do not wander.

No, Lord.

Influence beyond Wessex, Odda.

Heaven sent.

Come on, move on.

Move on.

_

Come on.

- Good day. - It is, Sister.

Your sword.

It is not your sword.

You may keep the silver you will have taken, but not the sword.

You will turn and run, girl.

I have killed...

and I will kill again, I'm sure.

But hopefully not today...

girl.

Morning, Lord. She did the very same thing to me.

- We're leaving. - Argh!

Could you not have shook me awake?

It's time for you to stop drinking and whoring

- and to do what we set out to do. - I'm wet!

Your sword has been stolen, Lord, along with your silver.

Hild!

I have recovered Serpent-Breath and when you are able to stand,

I shall return her. We will be leaving.

I will decide when we're leaving!

I am Uhtred, son of Uhtred.

I will not be schooled by a nun!

She's not wrong, Lord. You have been drinking whole fields of barley.

Nor will I be lectured by an arseling!

If you're drinking to forget Iseult, you do her no favours.

Her memory should be cherished,

not lost in a fog of ale and bosoms.

My sword.

Are we to ride to Northumbria,

or to the next inn and the next jug of ale?

What am I to do in Northumbria with an army of two,

a nun and a rag-arse?

A loyal rag-arse.

Prepare yourself.

To do what?

Kill Kjartan and the men who surround him?

You can begin to carry yourself as a lord!

Or we can return to Winchester?

No, we cannot return to Winchester.

Did she not say that your path led North?

Thank you.

_

Forgive me, Lord.

Please, Lord.

May the gods protect you on your quest.

What do you know of my gods?

Nothing, Lord. I meant no insult.

Sigefrid, leave him, he's just a priest.

Come on, brother, we have Scots to kill.

Erik!

The city, we leave in your hands.

It's ours, it must remain ours.

I will ensure it.

You have enough men, keep them sober

and do not kill for the fun of it.

No, Lord.

You do me a great honour, Lord,

though I wish I was going with you.

Remember, what we need more than silver is women!

Red-haired women!

To the shield wall that awaits us!

To the joy of battle!

And to the blood of the Scots!

Ah, Father Hrothweard,

we've been waiting for you.

I will serve.

We must rise up.

Every day we hear stories of what has happened in Wessex.

The brothers have, this very moment,

taken their army North.

They will be gone for months, perhaps.

There is no better time than now.

We must take Alfred's lead

and kill every bastard Dane and Northman in Eoferwic....

in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

I'm not saying grace!

It is a battle cry!

Smoke.

Come on.

Danes.

Danes would not slaughter Danes like this.

If there is slaughter, Lord, and there appears to be slaughter,

why do we ride towards it?

We are curious.

Fight the Dane!

Test your sword-craft!

Do battle with a turd,

directly from the devil's arse!

You can cut him, but you cannot kill him!

And if he kills you, then so be it!

More fool you!

Hit him!

Hit him!

Hit him!