Erik the Viking Page #4

INGEMUND THE OLD

Leave him alone.

Ingemund hits Sven. Thangbrand hits Ingemund and a general fight breaks out. Erik's grandad clearly considers this the highlights of the evening, but Erik looks at it in disgust and at his grandad in despair. Eventually he gets up and walk out of the Mead Hall. His grandad notices and frowns. He knows something's wrong with his grandson but hasn't a clue what it could be. Erik's mother frowns and nods to his grandad. Grandad gets up and fights his way through the melee to follow Erik out of the Hall. The snow lies thick over the village as Erik's grandfather joins his grandson beside the little quay. Erik is staring broodily into the night.

GRANDFATHER:

What's the matter, son?

Erik doesn't reply. His grandfather glances back at the Mead Hall, whence the sound of the fight drift across the snow.

GRANDFATHER:

We're missing all the fun...

ERIK:

What's it all about?

GRANDFATHER:

What?

ERIK:

We toil and labour, we loot and pillage, rape and kill... and yet...

GRANDFATHER:

You talking piffle, son?

ERIK:

Where does it all get us, Grandpa?

GRANDFATHER:

Who have you been talking to?

ERIK:

I met this girl...

GRANDFATHER:

It's always the women that start the trouble.

ERIK:

She got me thinking...

GRANDFATHER:

So? What'd you do to her?

Erik stops in his tracks - as if brought up short by the horror of what he has done.

ERIK:

I... I... KILLED her...

GRANDFATHER:

That's my boy!

Erik's grandfather gives him a paternal hug. Erik looks at him and thinks about the generation gap. Cut to feet running in the snow. It is day.

ERIK:

Freya!

Erik looks around him and calls out again.

ERIK:

Freya!

Erik runs into the distance - a small figure against the dramatic wintry landscape.

Cut to a remote, barren mountainside. Erik climbs up into shot, and continues climbing until he reaches a cave. He enters it. As his eyes get used to the dark he can make out a few signs of life: a cooking pot on a fire, a straw bed, a pile of rune-sticks.

ERIK:

Freya? Freya?

There is a bundle of rags behind Erik. A head rises from it. This is Freya.

FREYA:

Ah... Erik... Erik the "Viking"...

It is not clear whether her words are not a little mocking.

FREYA:

Now what CAN you want with me, Erik the "Viking"?

ERIK:

I shouldn't have come.

FREYA:

They will make fun of you for listening to an old woman's stories?

Erik doesn't reply. Freya watches him craftily.

FREYA:

Young men are only interested in fighting and killing.

Erik looks up at her sharply. It is as if she has read his mind.

ERIK:

But has it always been like that, Freya? From the beginning of time?

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