THE LAST DRUID KING
FADE IN OVER BLACK:
“In the year 409 A.D., the Romans ceased to rule in Briton.” — BEDE
These are the dark years when chaos reigns. From Caledonia
in the north to the shores of Cornwall, all that was Caesar’s
tumbles to dust and ruin.
Hadrian’s Wall now stands a silent sentry between the last
of the Britons and the Armies of the Night.
Wooden ships slip quickly down the coast carrying Saxons and
Angles and Jutes — the promise of war without end…
EXT. BLUFFS ABOVE BRITON’S NORTH SEA – DAY
Granite fists clenched against an angry sea. Dark clouds muscle the sun. White caps mark the breakwater.
TITLE OVER: The year of Our Lord 503…
The skree of gulls as they soar up the cliff to —
AN ABBEY FORTRESS
Known as BLACKTHORN, the Abbey stands alone at the edge of the world. Stonework battlements. A wooden cross.
In the open air at twilight, a CHRISTIAN PRIEST serves Mass in white vestments. First Communion.
In Spiritus Sanctus, Dominus nobiscum est…
Kneeling before him —
A Briton whose father was a freeman. In his early thirties. Ruler of this forsaken point of land, and his wife —
Her long flaxen hair in a single braid. Radiant in her coarse cloth dress. At 29, still sensual despite her age.
And there between them on this, her First Communion Day stands —
Igraine’s daughter. Fourteen. Restless. Lithe and supple like a young birch yearning to be climbed.
In the sight of God most Holy on this her day ofFirst Communion,
dear Lord receive Your servant, Morgan, daughter of Igraine…
Bored with ceremony, her eyes, cold and clear, wander past the Priest. Out to sea —
EXT. DRAGON SHIPS – DAY – MORGAN’S P.O.V.
Three Saxon raiders cut the blue-black sea making for the
…and her husband, Gorlius…
BACK ON SCENE
Morgan stares transfixed. A small smile curls the corners of her mouth. Provocative. Excited.
MORGAN (a whisper)
Hearing this, Igraine turns. Follows her daughter’s gaze.
The cry catches in her throat as all turn now, reacting.
Gorlius rises. Igraine at his arm.
Gorlius, no… Place your faith in
the Lord. He is your shield and
(re: the Saxon raiders)
Tell it to them!
Go to the village. Gather the women
and children. Stay in the abbey no
No. They will kill you. We must
flee! Now, before they reach the
Do as I say!
As he rushes from the Abbey, Igraine looks to where Morgan had been standing. But she is nowhere to be seen.
Oh, my God…! Morgan!
EXT. LEAD SHIP – DAY
A dragon’s head prow knifes the water as it races towards the onrushing shore. Standing on the foredeck —
A Saxon king come to plunder. At nearly thirty, a face both handsome and cruel. Scarred from years of rampage.
Eager for the fight, he dons his horsehide helmet and raises his iron sword. Shouting into the wind —
I am Uthor! Son of Woden and the
gods of rain. Let all who stand
against me know my blade…!
Behind him, a score of Saxon warriors raise their voices in an eerie cry. As they leap overboard to beach their craft —
EXT. SLAYFORD BEACH – DAY
Gorlius has rallied the village. TWO DOZEN ARMED MEN trammel down the rocky bluff and make their stand.
Gorlius stands beside an Ancient Bell. His eyes find Uthor.
In a single rush, the battle is joined. The clang of iron on iron. The strangled screams of the maimed and dying carry across the sand —
INT. STONE HUT – DAY
As Igraine throws open the door, still frantically in search
of her daughter.
Morgan…!? Morgan, please…!
EXT. THE BATTLE – DAY
As Uthor parries Gorlius’s blow and drives his blade deep into the defender’s chest. Blood choked and dying, he falls as Uthor races past.
INT. STONE HUT – DAY
Not finding her daughter, Igraine turns as Uthor bursts through the door. Her eyes meet his in instant recognition.
Excited by battle, Uthor smiles. Discarding his helmet, he stalks her. Tearing her dress as she tries to run.
They tumble to the floor. Exposed and naked beneath rough muslin. He clasps her body hard against his own.
Having known his embrace before, she refuses to scream. His hands grope her breasts, rip at her skirt.
No…! Not… again… Never!
She tries to claw his eyes. His leather kilt rides up. His bare thigh against hers. He finds her.
HOLD on Igraine as she feels his thrust. SMASH —
EXT. BLUFF – NIGHT (LATER)
Thick smoke boils into a black sky. Red flames tongue roofs of thatch as Saxons lay waste to the village below.
Having long since finished with Igraine —
Runs toward the Abbey door. Sword in one hand, rucksack in the other. The Priest attempts to block his path.
Dominus illuminato mea… Dies irae,
dies illa. Solvet saeclum infavilla…
And with a single blow, Uthor severes the Priest from throat to sternum. An explosion of blood!
Shunting the Priest’s lifeless corpse aside, Uthor enters —
INT. BLACKTHORN ABBEY – NIGHT
Candles burn upon the altar. A carved Christ writhes tortured upon a wooden cross. Gold accoutrements of God.
Uthor crosses to the altar as —
Steps from behind it. Sensual. Excited. Uthor stops. Sword poised, uncertain. Her eyes devouring his.
Outside, the SOUNDS of war.
Unafraid, she moves to him. Her eyes burn into his. Uthor stands transfixed, his chest still wet with priest’s blood.
Her fingers draw him to her. She kisses the blood from his nipples. With a single sweep he clears the altar.
She pulls him down upon her. His sword slipping from his grasp as he fumbles with her clothing.
The SOUND of metal on stone. The sword clatters across the floor.
Guiding him to her, she stifles a scream. Pain. Pleasure. Her nails against his naked back. As she twists beneath him, SMASH —
EXT. MOUNTAINS NORTH OF THE HUMBER – DAY
Craggy. Inhospitable. A rugged grassy upland laced with bedrock. Mists gather in the dells.
Moving south along the crest of the ridge, A LONE FIGURE in a hooded cloak moves with the aid of a staff —