The War Lord

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(Narrator) 'In the 11th century,

Europe was a patchwork of feudal states

'extending from the Mediterranean

to the shores of the North Sea.

'Powerful dukes exerted life-and-death

control over their primitive subjects.

'One such, Duke William of Ghent,

held a coastal area in Normandy.

'To protect the fens and marshes

of a troubled corner of his domain,

'the Duke sent a troop of warriors

led by his most trusted knight,

'Chrysagon de la Crux.

'This Norman war lord was charged

to impose the Duke's will on his vassals

'and to protect their settlements

from Frisian raiders

'who crossed the waters

to plunder and pillage.'

(Bors) Hey! You naked tower!

From here to the sea and beyond,

it's yours!

Mine.

From here to the sea, we're pilgrims

to nowhere and we have arrived.

What's the matter, Draco?

- Your belly hurt?

- Aye, my lord.

What is it, brother?

What did you expect?

Whatever you want. Your wish is mine.

For myself, I expect nothing.

(Bird shrieking)

Queer, moody place.

Still, it's mine.

Given by the Duke himself.

A holding no man

in all christendom wanted.

- I want it.

- You have it.

And you'll keep it, brother,

as the Lord kept Israel.

(Metallic tinkling)

This place has

the dimensions of heresy.

(Deep horn blows)

(Blows deep note)

An alarm.

Raiders from the sea.

Frisian raiders...

they've sacked the village.

Taking women to the boats now!

To the boats!

Faster!

(Woman screams)

Peasant pigs! Ha!

Come on, move on!

Charge!

(War cries)

Normans! Normans!

Father!

- De la Crux...

- You!

Frisian butcher! I want you!

(Gasping)

You are bloodied, Chrysagon.

I had him, Draco.

I had him in my fist and I lost him.

There's no one else worth ransom?

There's only one

Prince of the Frisians.

So, they bring their heathen brats along

to teach them murder.

Here's your lesson, boy.

Hold your hand, Bors.

Let me have him.

- Why?

- I'll make a page of him.

And being a page,

he'll make a lord of me.

He will sting you with this.

Now where would such a scurvy ship's

boy steal a blade like that?

- You are the village elder?

- My name Odins.

And this my son, Marc.

- You took that from a Frisian?

- Aye, lord. I fought.

- Where are the men of the garrison?

- Gone, lord.

What do you mean, gone? Killed?

- I mean gone.

- And the warden? Dead?

Last night I saw him very much alive.

Methinks we've truly got a seigneur now

instead of just a warden in the tower.

- What difference?

- This one saved thee, man.

- This one can also hang thee.

- So could the other.

- This one has the right.

- But he's a great knight.

Twenty years in the wars,

the priest said.

Our lord, he is.

Our lord, perhaps,

but not our master.

Nor master of the stone nor the tree.

(Soft chiming and tinkling)

- Good, my lord.

- Good, Father.

Sir Chrysagon de la Crux?

Ugo de Bouillon, my lord.

Servant of God.

My flock, sire. Your vassals.

A simple people,

but pious in their fashion.

They were Druids here

before Caesar's day.

Mere children who revered

in all innocence

the customs of their fathers

before them.

- Customs of the devil, sir priest!

- Not so, good sire.

Not so?

To think such faceless brutes

could sway a priest.

Oh, they have faces.

They all look much alike to me.

Let's move closer, let me touch.

That doorway has no protection.

No protection at all.

(Flies buzzing)

It stinks.

You could find it blindfolded!

The raiders...

It stank before the raiders came.

My men marched 20 miles today.

Now they must sleep in this.

My lord, when the Duke's messenger

told our warden of his removal,

he grew somewhat...somewhat lax.

I knew him at court.

He was somewhat lax then.

A little disordered, I fear.

Where is he now, your lax warden?

It is to be hoped in heaven.

But I doubt it.

Your quarters, my lord.

(Bird shrieks)

Well, he was always chasing

some goose girl up a hayrick.

He was bewitched.

Carried off by devils, he was.

These people here

have ancient customs

in which he may have

unthinkingly have joined.

The tree and the stone?

Worshipping the devil?

No, no.

He damned the devil's flesh.

But women's flesh, he loved.

And devils dearly love to masquerade.

Priest...

- Are you saying she was a witch?

- Witch?

With white flowers?

- What is this?

- Her bridal wreath.

Come, sir priest...

was she a witch or a bride?

A virgin bride.

- The warden's?

- A villager's.

God's grace!

A bee among the flowers.

A mark of death.

(Bird shrieks)

There must be willing girls

in this place enough for any man.

Why took he a virgin?

"Keep their good will,"

the Duke told me.

And him before me.

Yet this rapacious bastard...

Small loss when the Frisians killed him.

My lord, it was not...not rape.

You see, they liked the warden well.

- Who liked him?

- These people here.

In olden times,

they sanctified a marriage

by giving the bride

on her wedding night to...

Bors! Burn that bed.

Devils!

Devils.

Oh, yes, yes. Our fens and marshes

attract them in great quantity.

I, with these eyes, have seen them.

I speak of different devils.

The Frisians.

Oh, yes, yes, lord.

Er...might I offer you

some meagre food and drink?

They'll be back.

I dare say, lord. Their land lies north

across the sea but two days' distance.

- I cannot serve you peacock...

- I know where their land lies.

And they do raid our coast

this time of year.

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