Death of King Æthelberht of Kent
King Æthelberht of Kent, the first Anglo-Saxon king to convert to Christianity, has just died in the royal hall of Canterbury. His body lies in state as his son Eadbald, the Christian clergy, and paga
Setting
The royal hall in Canterbury, a large timber-framed structure with a thatched roof, dimly lit by torches and candles. The hall is adorned with simple tapestries depicting Christian symbols and Anglo-Saxon motifs. The king's body lies on a raised wooden platform covered with furs and fine linens.
Characters
Eadbald
primary
A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late twenties with a warrior's build, his fair hair worn long in the Anglo-Saxon style. His face is strong-jawed but currently drawn with tension, his blue eyes flickering between the Christian and pagan factions. His hands bear the calluses of sword practice.
Bishop Laurence
primary
A tall, gaunt man in his late fifties with a deeply lined face and piercing gray eyes that convey both wisdom and sternness. His thin lips are often pressed together in contemplation, and his high forehead is framed by a tonsure, the crown of his head shaved in the manner of Roman clergy. His hands are long-fingered, frequently clasped together in prayer or gesturing emphatically when speaking.
Thegn Wulfric
secondary
A broad-shouldered pagan nobleman in his late 40s with a weathered face, deep-set grey eyes, and a thick beard streaked with silver. His hands are calloused from years of sword training, and a faded blue warrior's mark coils around his left forearm.
Queen Bertha
secondary
A woman in her late forties, with a delicate frame and fair, aging features that still bear traces of her Frankish nobility. Her once-vibrant eyes are now clouded with sorrow, and her hands, once used to royal gestures, now lie limp in her lap.
Monk Scribe
background
A middle-aged monk with a gaunt face and deep-set eyes, his tonsure neatly shaved. His hands are ink-stained from hours of writing, and his posture suggests years spent hunched over manuscripts. His thin frame is wrapped in simple monastic robes, and his expression is one of quiet distress as he observes the unfolding tension.
Dialog
Eadbald
My father lies cold upon his bier—yet you speak of crosses and chrism while Wulfric's men sharpen spears by the hearth!
Bishop Laurence
The Holy Church mourns with you, Prince Eadbald. But souls are won in such hours—let not the raven's wine drown the lamb's salvation.
Thegn Wulfric
Hark! The Frankish priest speaks of lambs while our king's sword-hand grows stiff! The gods whisper through the yew trees—will you hear them, Eadbald, or only this foreigner's honeyed words?
Eadbald
By Woden's... No. By my father's... (trails off, gripping sword hilt)
Bishop Laurence
Æthelberht's baptismal vow binds Kent to Christ as surely as your oath binds you to him. Would you break both?
Thegn Wulfric
Oaths sworn under foreign gods are wind across the whale-road! The folk cry for their king—will you be Æthelberht's son or Rome's pawn?
Eadbald
Enough! The death-fires burn tonight—tomorrow... tomorrow we shall see whose gods still walk in Kent.