The War Lord Page #4

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- Purple foxglove?

- A leaf or two for love sickness.

Three leaves or four can stop the heart.

Witchery.

No, my lord. Not witchery.

They all kill.

What's that?

Mistletoe. The golden bough

that twines around the sacred oak.

- Why is the oak sacred?

- It's connected by lightning to the gods.

- You believe that?

- Yes.

Before I came here, they told me

the Marsh People had

spotted bellies and webbed toes.

- Do you believe that?

- Not since I saw you in the lake.

We'll lie under that tree.

No.

I feel good about you.

I've been fighting all year,

I haven't had time to lie under trees.

- Please, my lord, let me go.

- I fought all last year too.

I haven't even seen a girl with tan hair.

I'm tired of fighting.

- My lord, I...

- Shh! Don't talk, witch.

Have pity.

(Crows cawing)

This is not lawful.

You want to serve in this troop? Ha-ha!

Aye, sir. I want to be my lord's man.

People of your tribe

cannot bear arms in any service.

Besides, you have no skill

with weapons.

I found these poachers in the glen, sire.

- They are not poachers, my lord.

- With a pair of stags, Rainault.

- You said two.

- Yes, sire.

These stags were lying dead already,

my lord. Locked together by the horns.

They needed the meat surely.

The Frisians slaughtered

most of the livestock in the village.

That be truth, lord.

The Frisians killed our pigs.

And so, of course, they poach.

The woodland belongs to the lord.

These louts must be made to carry

the stump of their right hand in the left.

The woodland belongs to the Duke.

We keep it for him.

We keep the peace here too.

We share Lord Draco's outrage.

To kill the Duke's deer is a grave crime.

But there is no proof.

Proof? It is my considered opinion...

I too hold considered opinions.

- I am a knight.

- And I can write letters!

- The devil's tools!

- Enough!

Beware, my lord.

Another time these clods might take

your compassion for weakness.

There will not be another time.

You, Volc!

What in God's name are you doing

with that boy still roped up?

Why, training him, sire.

It's the only way.

See you keep to the tower now, boy.

Bors!

My lord has spent the morning

on you people, don't waste his time!

I speak for my son Marc

who humbly beseeches

our lord's grace and consent to wed.

To this girl?

The foster daughter of my house,

called Bronwyn.

When?

- Tomorrow, my lord.

- So soon?

They've been promised since childhood.

It's time, lord.

I give leave to your son to wed.

We thank thee.

(Footsteps)

Work on the moat goes well, lord.

But the drawbridge, the blacksmith...

No more now! Get him out!

Out!

(Thunderclap)

(Dogs whimper)

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