Original subtitles

HEROIC TIMES

"As if a blazing shepherd's fire on autumn nights,

seen from afar on a sea of barren steppes,

thus appears to me the figure of Mikl�s Toldi

from the depths of nine or ten generations."

J�nos Arany

My life began on the middle of that summer,

now I know,

that was the concluding summer of my childhood years.

Me and my older brother became orphans too soon.

My father, a knight of the king,

fell in battle,

thus it fell onto our widowess mother to rear us.

My brother,

as the rightful heir to the land and title,

was embraced by the royal courts,

proceeding to shove me down

to his servantry.

It wasn't the hard labour I was afraid of.

I've respected our servants,

as I ate the same bread

our collective efforts won from the hard, sullen earth.

Then again, I reckoned,

I have a calling for more noble tasks.

My conviction was boosted by the example set by our father.

In the feverous, uneasy dreams of my adolescence

I often found myself leading a mighty army,

found myself gaining a glorious victory

with the triumphant sword of my father.

Oh that sword...

He guarded it from them all until his death.

In the middle of that summer

a shiny army crossed our land,

and their leader,

thinking I was some filthy serf,

asked me for directions.

When he tossed me a gold piece with an air of superiority,

my glass of bitterness finally got filled to the brim.

I've decided to counter the fate I was handed down,

soliciting for my paternal lot and leaving my childhood home.

Oh wretched anger!

The woeful cross of my life!

If our mother fails to intervene,

my blind rage might have driven me to the vicious crime of fratricide.

But my loving brother

knew the way to fan the coals of my passion without him

being victimised by it.

He roused his serfs against me

to unleash the utmost of my anger

with their blatant taunting.

I murdered.

I've killed a hapless, unwitting man.

I've become both the tool and the victim of my brother's lowly plan

at the same time.

I've had a single desire left:

to say goodbye to my mother.

But the shades of the night whispered evil advices in my ear:

even he wants your blood, like the wolves!

A single snap, and you're free!

Why hesitate? Kill him!

You've already killed before!

The ways of God are inscrutable.

Was it His will that a storm happened to wash away my traces?

Either His will

or blind chance directed me to the king's headquarters,

I don't know which.

Days or weeks passed meanwhile.

Time is blurred in my memory.

There was a custom in those times

involving vagabond knights

who would challenge royal warriors when in the courts.

The loser of the duel was obliged to give his weapons to the winner.

Wandering the town streets, I've heard about the knight

with the bull's head who managed to triumph over our best fighters,

showing no mercy to anyone.

The king would attend the duels every day,

and he was disappointed each and every time.

One day,

when two young heroes applied to the duel,

I was among the spectators.

The king happened to receive

emissaries from some distant country that day.

Those surrounding me whispered that

they brought the portrait of his prospective bride,

in order to secure the wedding

which could advance our country to become an empire.

At that point I wouldn't care about this,

I only focused on the duel.

The first knight was easily defeated by the vagabond,

and I couldn't help but glance towards the tent of the king

to see how he receives the latest defeat.

As if struck by lightning,

I was stunned at what I saw: my brother was

whispering in the king's ear!

There my last hope vanished as I was sure that

the king knows everything now. Maybe even more,

maybe things that haven't happened!

None of our knights dared to undertake the duel.

I wasn't surprised by my brother,

as he used to shelter himself from all storms,

but all the valiant fighters of our country,

one by one they cowardly defied the bidding of the king.

There were quite a few fine-looking lads though

who could've stood a better chance

than the young fighters that were defeated.

But alas, that dear life!

The one life!

That was when the idea came to mind.

If I could fight this knight...

Duel!

Without a weapon and armours?

But I was a pursued, lawless pauper at this point!

As I stood there in front of the blacksmith's workshop,

yearningly staring at all the merchandise,

I heard that a ruckus developed on the street:

a runaway bull chased after all the people and animals.

I saw this as divine guidance:

Fight the bull!

And then you'll fight the bullheaded one too!

I've led the bull back to the slaughterhouse,

nurturing a na�ve hope that

my reward will guide me closer to my goal.

However, divine destiny is wiser than mortal men,

who would be quick to trade in their virtue for cash.

A mother's heart was sure to discover the trace

that brotherly hatred was unable to find.

My mother found me

and brought with her my most sacred relic:

the weapons of my father!

Triumph was complete.

With that single blow of this sword,

I've not only managed to gain the pardon of this world for my crime,

but also cut the vicious head of all

the envy and intrigue I was subjected to.

My brother fell out of favour and I was glorified.

The outcast, the pariah, the criminal rogue ascended

to become a knight of the king!

Oh, I cannot imagine how that sudden happiness

failed to crush my heart there and then!

I didn't know, I couldn't know that I was standing

on the pinnacle of my life.

It was a glorious fight.

Ours was a noble cause:

to protect our home.

Now I know:

for the last time in my life.

The enemy's preponderance was close to crush our handful of warriors,

when a sort of otherworldly force energised our tired arms.

They say it was a miracle:

the legendary knight king himself, arising from his ashes,

helped our weary army to achieve victory.

Me, I've made a solemn oath then that from now on,

I will dedicate all my life as a loyal knight of my country and king

to the virtues of clarity, honour,

bravery and brotherly love, and if need arise,

I shall sacrifice my life for them!

Illustrious words...

soft, colourful petals.

I believed in those words,

but the years to come failed to put me to the test.

I was expecting heavy boulders,

but I finally stumbled on tiny pebbles.

The contenders fought a tournament for the hand of a maiden.

A girl, a pink sprout...

from God's parterre.

I didn't line up among them,

the notion of marriage was stranger to me back then,

preferring other things.

Backing out from this brash, childish foolishness,

my eyes fell on a fellow of mine,

one not blessed with great strength,

what's more he was left-handed.

He admired the "winner's prize" with such a yearning

that I felt sorry for his suffering and easily offered him:

let us trade clothes, and I will win the girl for him.

But how I wish I were piked to death by my rivals!

Death could've saved me from the further torments of my destiny!

At the end of the tournament...

I saw the girl!

My world just turned upside down, everything became fuzzy.

All the things that were sacred to me, my faith,

my life, my honour, I was ready

to toss away all these for a single smile from those clear blue eyes!

I knew, I felt that she was the one,

I must have her,

and she knows it too, she must know!

I fought for her in honour...

In honour?

But a true man and knight

must not fight in stupid disguise!

My poor red flower!

Neither the actual owner

nor the usurper of this armour is fit for your wreath.

What is this miserable and still sickly sweet feeling?

A secret power?

The absolute will of demons or angels?

Know that I've seen that girl before,

but not like...

today...

And I see her like that ever since...

Forever...

Then a herald came.

The emperor commanded our young king to submit to his rule.

Around me a rouse of enthusiasm:

let us avenge this offence with arms!

March forward for our country!

For our king!

Fate smites with one hand, liberates with the other,

but at the end of the road, man is once more ambushed

by another snare, not freedom.

As a sweltered man yearns for water,

I thirsted for a duel.

Perhaps the storm of a war shall wash my honour clean,

or death might soothe my aching soul.

Yet our wise king had

measured the might of our force to the army of the emperor,

and thought up a strange jest:

he made our fighters wear a disguise.

As for me, this festive shirt burned my skin like ember.

To put on a disguise once more?

That what was dishonest on the tournament field

shall be a noble virtue in a war?

That which ashamed me should bring glory to the king?

Aren't we supposed to fight for a noble goal with noble tools?

How could our knight king enable such a guile?

The "triumph" was complete.

The "jest" ended in style.

The tower fell,

the cowering emperor offered his daughter's hand

to the king as a pawn to lasting peace.

The tears of shame

and powerlessness were pricking at my throat.

Away from here,

from this gory sideshow of monstrosity and perversion!

How could I even measure

my misstep to this orgy of betrayal and dishonour?

May the holy knight king, the one I solemnly vowed to,

pardon my sin.

And that girl, I can feel it,

will love me!

I wove a tapestry of neat words

that should extenuate my being hotheaded.

It is unthinkable that she would push me away,

since fate has created us for one another.

The long years of a complete, happy life shall prove that

I was born for her hand.

These years ought to tip the balance of her judgment,

when on the other side is a mere moment of trifleness.

When I saw that shrieking girl in the saddle of the robber,

it was as if I saw this girl...

At the bottom of a stone pit,

on filthy hay, with broken limbs,

tormented by fever, it became known to me

that the fruit of revenge is now ripe:

the children of the bullheaded knight set a trap for me

to avenge the death of their father.

No one ever saw me being scared:

this is more of an illness rather than a virtue,

but this particular girl,

the daughter of the bull-headed knight, truly made me frightened.

I, who always yearned for the purest love,

was thus far unaware of the fact

that the human soul harbours such a hell of wild

and lecherous passion.

This repulsion and desire did multiply my strength:

I broke out of my prison.

I thought,

perhaps it's not too late, perhaps she still awaits me.

It cannot be that the heavenly judge should smite me

so terribly for a single offence.

For a few moments I could hold her in my arms.

A few moments of happiness,

the length of an autumn leaf falling to the ground,

of a snowflake melting to water from the warmth of our hand -

that was all the happiness my fate allotted me

for an entire lifetime.

Then her husband stepped in,

my "brave" comrade champion,

lifting his filthy hand on her.

I would've crushed him if She doesn't wedge in between us,

I know, rather protecting me from the filth

than that miserable worm, who slandered me

with horrific backbites while I was away!

The abomination!

I murdered again.

I killed nevertheless.

It's a noble obligation to avenge an insulted weak woman

- that is how I palliated myself,

though all I really wanted was to sweep away

the dam that was wedged between the two of us.

And her, this pure soul,

shuddered at the thought of a happiness won by blood,

measured my doing no the scale of conscience,

and afflicted the both of us with her cruel adjudication:

she pushed me away.

I was hoping to find my peace of mind

in the solitude of a monastery.

I have applied as a servant brother.

There wasn't a lowly, base drudgery

that I would mind doing with obedience just to punish myself.

The king's betrothed, the pale daughter of the emperor

was called to Himself by the Creator.

Our king didn't desire a permanent widowhood,

seeking for the consolation of a new woman.

That is how

the image of his one-time bride appeared to him again.

The small fact that the former sweetheart was now happily married,

seemed irrelevant to him.

It shouldn't hamper such an ambitious plan:

the unification of the two countries.

It appears that even the destruction of a happy marriage is

transcended into a sublime notion

if the king is its mastermind.

But this actually helped my cause.

I saw a glimmer of hope:

I can reclaim my title of chivalry in the ensuing battle.

I was sure that the king would pardon my vice.

And perhaps that girl as well...

I am sweltered by blood.

The sputter of flesh,

the penetrating stench of the smoke from burning towns,

the rattle, the crying,

the rotting smell of all the corpses roasting under the parching sunlight,

the nocturnal fumbling of foxes and corpse-robbers...

This is war.

This much is the price to pay for a dream.

At the end a precise and swift strike,

just as a scholarly surgeon would cut off a putrefied limb,

spells the death of the prince.

Nothing steps in between the king and the marriage anymore,

the country may now enter a phase of convalescence.

I have reached all my goals as well, since the king,

to repay his being saved, and for me being zealous and chivalrous,

have gracefully pardoned me.

As a broken branch squirming in a flood,

sometimes pulled down in the depths, sometimes floating on the wild surface,

we are thrashing about in the midst of our fate's opaque maelstroms.

The weary swimmer

who hopes for a solid ground under the green of a moor's grass,

but his feet sag into black swamp,

the bottom of which a cruel death awaits...

That girl perished,

and with her I perished as well.

The world died,

goals and reason...

all perished.

The cherished dream of the empire scattered to the wind.

The heavenly judge sent his murderous angel

onto our triumphant army.

The name of the angel is: repulsion and perdition.

The name of the angel is: hatred and revenge.

The name of the angel is:

pestilence and contagion.

A crime is a crime even if committed by kings.

They cannot walk about unpunished for anything.

Years,

decades passed.

The country's life was once again thriving.

The king,

as if attempting to remedy his sins,

his duplicity and destruction,

newly dedicated his life

to purify the monarchy from its dust of olden notions.

Yet I didn't find,

couldn't find my place in this brave new world.

I haunted the alien streets as a spirit of withered times,

and the strangers evaded me like a sceptre.

Images of ancient times were floating in front of my eyes:

sword against sword,

pike against pike...

What use for this anymore?

When a single wilted creature is

capable of sweeping away armies

with a twitch of his finger?

What use for the old virtue?

What use do I have?

And then once again, for a last time,

satanic heat boiled up inside me.

All I see is a black knight

who conquered everyone,

and my blood was boiling hot:

to hell with you, wretch!

To hell with all of you who defile the sacred virtue,

the pure faith of man!

To hell with the whole world!

Let all be destroyed!

Down with this fancy farcical world!

Oh, Lord!

We are yearning for light and clarity...

yet our mundane passions

keep on polluting our pure goals with the mire of sin.

You poor little red flower...

Lord,

save my soul!

Screenplay was based on the Toldi Trilogy by J�nos Arany

Music composed by

With the participation of

Painted by

Cinematographer

Designed and directed by