Scene from a Deathbed

 

King Eindriði : "Astrid! Fetch my sword! I must again do battle against the innocents! I must lance the boil of peasant revolt. I must tear down the citadel of evil that surrounds us! It's is my duty to once again enter the fray!"

Astrid: "Papa, no. Lie back against your pillow. Drink this potion. Your wound is suppurating and the apothecary is fretting."

Eindriði: "I must rally my troops and march into victory once more. I have no time for the ministrations of the treasonous who would assail my realm. I am the commander and will obey the call to duty!
I needs must...I..." He falls back, clutching feebly at the air.

Astrid: "Oh, Papa, your delusion is strong. The fever has taken your mind out to play on former battlefields. The land is at peace - there are no more battles to be fought - you have conquered all your challengers. Rest now, and heal so that you can enjoy ..."

Eindriði: "Damn it all, girl! Do as you were bidden! The enemy is at the gates. They wear the masks of battle. They march in rhythm to the changing of the guard. They stink of rat semen and bear oil. They lust for our blood. 
I know them well, daughter, as I've fought them on the plain, in the swamp, on the mountain side and in their caves.
And now I must take up my sword and fight for all the vanity that I can store in the treasure vault. It is my duty."

Astrid: "Father, you ramble in delusion. The fever has taken hold of your mind. None of this is true. None of this is necessary. Your heart will explode if you don't take your rest! I must insist ..."

Eindriði: "Back away, heathen! I will not be forced by the likes of you. Bring me my ..."

As a coughing fit burbles foam from the king's mouth, Hans, the apothecary races into the chamber, bearing aloft a ruby red beverage in a clear goblet.

Hans: "Majesty, I beseech thee to quaff this potion. It will strengthen your blood and return you to health. The spell was in my grimoire and has been efficacious in the past."

Eindriði, pushing away the medication: "Why does no one heed me? Have I already passed beyond? Tomorrow we march on Valhalla! Fólkvangr will become part of my realm. This I vouch to all and sundry."

Astrid: "No, Papa, no! It's not yet your time to meet with Odin. You must get well. Otherwise, it is only I who can rule in your place. I am not worthy."

From the corner of the chamber, a voice whispers, "Let him die. His mind has collapsed and he lives now only in the past. Astrid glances over to the speaker, meets his eyes  and nods while placing her left hand on her bosom. In turn, he does the same. 

Eindriði: "I see that serpent in the west! Begone, Flæmingr - thou foul Spirit! I shall not be defeated by your vaunting ambition. I SHALL NOT PASS INTO THE BEYOND THIS NIGHT! There are battles to be won and the time is growing late. I must be off! Bring my horse and cape. I will rouse my men. We march at dawn."

Coughing up crimson foam, Eindriði tries to rise from his pallet. He tumbles to the floor, striking his head on a chair arm. Blood flows. 

His lifeless body is hoisted back onto the bed.

The apothecary touches the king's neck and pronounces him dead.

All present bow down before Astrid.
As one: "The King is dead! All hail Queen Astrid! Let the feasting begin!"

Flæmingr bends the knee to the new queen. She raises him up and bestows a kiss upon his cheek. 

Astrid: "This knight shall be my rod and staff and will be duly rewarded in due time. Let us not feast until the king has been set on his funeral pyre."

The king's body gives off a final belch and fart and his face is covered by his manservant. 

All exit but those tasked with preparing the corpse for its final rites.



©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: darkageshistory com