The Vikings

The Vikings in Europe of the eighth and ninth century

were dedicated to a pagan god of war, Odin.

Cramped by the confines of their barren, icebound northlands,

they exploited their skill as shipbuilders

to spread a reign of terror then unequalled in violence and brutality

in all the records of history.

The greatest wish of every Viking

was to die sword in hand and enter Valhalla,

where a hero's welcome awaited them from the god Odin.

The compass was unknown,

and they could steer only by the sun and the stars.

Once fog closed in, they were left helpless and blind.

After all, the earth was flat.

Sail too far off course, and the black wind would blow them

across the poison sea that lay to the west

and over the edge of the world into limbo.

Their abiding aim was to conquer England,

then a series of petty kingdoms, each one the jealous rival of the next.

Thus, when the Vikings set forth to rob and plunder England,

they never sailed out of sight of land.

They confined their attacks to swift overnight raids.

It was no accident that the English book of prayer contained this sentence:

"Protect us, oh Lord, from the wrath of the Northmen."

Ragnar! - (YELLING OUTSIDE)

The king is dead. Long live the king.

For two months we have mourned the good King Edwin,

who by the cruel Viking Ragnar was foully murdered,

and still lies unrevenged.

The council of the kingdom now declare that Aella is of the true royal line

and welcome his succession to the throne.

Your Majesty.

Thank you, my gracious lady.

Rest assured that the barbarians that murdered your husband, my cousin,

will soon feel the weight of my anger.

And though your union with Edwin was fruitless,

feel confident that you retain the respect of us all.

You may retire... Queen Enid.

We, Thurston Bishop and Matthew Bishop,

ask you, will you take Aella as your king and accept...

You need not fear, my lady. His words cannot hurt you.

He has no right to the throne.

There is no direct heir, my lady.

There is an heir.

What?

Brother Godwin, I am with child. But not Edwin's.

The child is that of the Viking, Ragnar.

A bad omen.

The holy sword Requitur, the sword of kings.

Long live the king!

He is the son of a barbarian... but I love him as if he were Edwin's child.

There are already rumours of his birth. If they were to reach Aella...

Where are you sending him?

To Italy, to be tended by monks who will not know his identity.

But his life will be safe, and yours too.

Father Godwin!

- The pommelstone of the sword Requitur. It is his by right.

If you hope to identify him in years to come by this stone, so can his enemies.

20 years passed. Queen Enid had died,

but the rumour that she had given birth to a son continued to plague Kink Aella.

Although his castle became the stronghold of all England,

Aella was unable to stop the Viking raids.

Now let it be known throughout the kingdom of Northumbria

that I, King Rhodri of Wales, bestow on King Aella

the hand of my daughter, Morgana.

I will consent to this.

I, too, King Rhodri of Wales, consent.

Praise be to God.

Amen.

Please rise, child.

On the first day of spring, you will become my bride.

I trust, Lord Egbert, that you approve of this alliance?

With all my heart, sire.

Then why do you spread tales of an heir to the throne left by Queen Enid?

"Tis common knowledge, sire.

The queen on her deathbed spoke of a son sent off to Italy

with the pommelstone of the sword Requitur tied about him.

Your Majesty, is it wise to speak of things so long in the past?

I hope soon to silence these wagging tongues.

This beautiful child will present me with an heir to the throne.

And this marriage will combine our strengths

and protect our people from the depredation of the Vikings.

That is not enough!

I must also expose a traitor in our midst.

Surely there are no traitors in this hall, sire.

Cousin Egbert... why have your lands never been attacked by the Vikings?

What do you mean, sire?

Neither your lands nor those of your conspirators have suffered any harm.

- Conspirators?! - You have schemed against me.

I'll not be the scapegoat for your failure to stop the Vikings!

You have conspired with the foes of England to dethrone me!

- What foes? - The Vikings! Take him out!

Lies will not sustain a tyrant!

Use skill. It must appear as if he took his own life.

- He's gone, sire! - Hunt him down.

Bring me his head!

Hail, Ragnar!

- We've waited half the night. - I nearly didn't get here at all.

Aella knows of our meetings. You've got to take me with you!

He's no more use to us. Send him back.

That's no way to reward a man who's guided our raids.

No, we'll find good use for him.

Come aboard.

- Make sail for Long Sound. - Make sail for Long Sound!

Shh.

Ragnar!

Come on.

Hail, Ragnar! Hail, Ragnar! Hail, Ragnar!

Hail, Ragnar!

Hail, Einar!

I drink to your safe return in English ale!

- I wish that it were English blood. - (LAUGHTER)

Hold your mouth! This is an Englishman.

- Englishman? - Lord Egbert. An ally.

Then drink to my father's return, Englishman.

Do you want the English to think we're barbarians?

This is Einar, my only son in wedlock.

He's so vain of his beauty, he won't let a man's beard hide it.

He scrapes his face like an Englishman.

Hail, Ragnar. And hail, Ragnar's beard.

- I want you to teach Egbert our customs. - I'll teach him.

- Remember I live by brains, not brawn. - Yes, my lord.

- Then fetch him a horse. - Now?

Why not?

- Einar... Gently, gently. - I know. Brains, not brawn.

He's got to draw us maps of the English coast!

What man ever had a finer son?

Odin could have sired him, but I did.

Come!

Don't be frightened. She's forbidden to hunt Englishmen.

- Too much for her to swallow. - We have the same sport in England.

With hawks like this? Watch.

Kill.

You call that a hawk?

I think we have hawks to equal that one.

Here. Bring up Long Claw.

Look, now there's a hunting bird.

- You again. Whose bird is that? - It's mine.

Oh? A slave with a hunting hawk?

- I found her frozen to a tree. - Where'd you steal it?

Sandpiper was with me when I found her.

The perfect witness... deaf and dumb. Perhaps you'd like your tongue cut out.

- Then you'd tell no more lies. - I'm not a liar.

Is this the way slaves talk to Vikings?

Tell the English lord that you're a liar.

Kill!

Kill him!

No!

Don't kill him.

Odin!

Odin!

Bring in the slave.

Look how he glares at me.

If he wasn't fathered by a black ram in the full of the moon, my name is not Ragnar.

What would you do with him in your country?

We have a special reward which is rather entertaining in a noisy way.

- What's that? - Nothing much, just a pit full of wolves,

half mad with starvation and trained to appreciate the flavour of human blood.

Ah, you see! The English are civilised.

- Can you think of anything worse? - I can think of something far worse.

I guess you can, with your pretty dainty face spoiled.

But he was a good slave. Kill him quick.

- No. No quick death for him. - What do you suggest I do with him?

- Nothing. - Nothing?

I want this slave alive.

After tearing your face apart?

Yes.

The sun will cross the sky a thousand times before he dies.

And you'll wish a thousand times that you were dead.

Kitala!

You can't kill the slave.

What do the runes say?

If Odin willed that Eric should die, Thor's hammer would sound his death knell.

But the sky is silent.

The curse of Odin waits on him who kills the slave.

Then no man shall kill him. Let the tide of the sea do it.

Bind him, cast him into the slop-pool at low tide! Take him out!

You'll throw him into the slop-pool to be drowned and eaten by crabs?

Then let the crabs be cursed by Odin! That's my decision.

If he survives the pool, what then?

If he's still alive when the tide turns,

then any fool who fishes him out can have him!

Survives!

Odin! Odin!

Send a wind and turn the tide.

Odin! Odin!

Odin!

Put her on the testing board.

I think I'll go and watch that slave drowning.

Stay here! You'll see something more interesting.

It does look rather an interesting game.

It's not a game. It's Odin's test for unfaithful wives.

Is she an unfaithful wife?

- Ask Einar. - Her husband says she is.

- Which is he? - He's throwing the axes.