The Vikings

The Vikings, in Europe of

the 8th and 9th 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 unequaled

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 blowthem...

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!

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.

You may 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...

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 Requiter...

the sword of kings.

Long live the king!

He's the son of a barbarian...

but I love him

as if he were Edwin's child.

There are already

rumors 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 pommel stone

of the sword Requiter.

It is his by right.

If you hope

to identify him...

in years to come

by means of this stone...

so can his enemies.

Twenty years passed.

Queen Enid had died...

but the rumor that

she had given birth to a son...

continued to plague King 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 l,

King Rhodri of Wales...

bestow on King Aella...

the hand of

my daughter Morgana.

I will consent to this.

l, 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 pommel stone...

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