All language subtitles for Harvest.2024.1080p.MUBI.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-DreamHD (1)

It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.

It’s okay, come on.

Willowjack!

Come on!

Thank God.

Thank you. Thank you, Walt.

Walt! Let’s save what we can! Move!

Why're you laughing?
What's wrong with you lads?

Water!

Have you lost your wits?

Yous are high.

Come on, here you go. That’s it.

Go on, Walt!

You!

Is this your doing?

Playing with fire again?

’Shrooms.

Why are you standing there, Master Kent?
Come on!

It’s your barn!

What sparked this fire?

There was no lightning overnight,
was there?

Was there?

Looks like someone was intending
to make off with the master’s doves.

Christopher...

It’s harvest end today.

Aye, why would anyone steal a dove

when Master Kent’s
promised us a calf tonight?

Could be no one.

No one among us.

I understand that this is the moment

when I should raise my own hand
and say my piece.

Or at least take the boys aside
and nudge them in the ribs.

But I hold my tongue.

Besides,

my hand is too damaged to be raised.

I'm okay.

Walt.

How’s your hand?

It’s okay.

I’m fine.

Does it hurt?

No?

No?

Everyone...

It’s been a long night,

and you’ve done well, very well.

You alright?

Why don’t you go home
and get some sleep, yes?

In any other place, arsonists would
be on hooks in common view.

But our fields are far from anywhere.

Two days by post-horse,

three days by chariot,

before you find the market square.

We have no magistrate or constable,

and Master Kent is kind.

He’s always taken care of us.

We’ve always taken care of him.

Maybe it is better for
the bachelors to hold their nerve,

and hope that everyone will take
the blaze to be an act of God.

Bad luck, in other words.

And not a soul to blame.

Let’s have a look.

Let’s see.

Let me do it.

Why’s he finger-wagging?

He’s counting.

What’s he counting?

And what are his scratchings for?

He’s counting us.

- How is your hand today, Walt?
- Master Kent.

- It’s healing, no concern.
- Let’s see.

You don’t want to look at it.

Philip. This is Walter Thirsk.

He was my childhood friend
and my manservant,

but then he fell in love with a local lass

and he preferred to attend to her furrows.

So you are a wise man, eh?

I don’t know.

Look. I’m just recording
and marking the lie of the land.

So, you see these lines here?

These are your woods,

your fields, the loch.

And this is your village, and...

these small dots here,

these are your people.

What’s that?

- This, this is the sea.
- The sea?

I’ve never been there before.

You must go.

What are these?

This is the compass rose.

Norte, sud.

That’s the loch then?

- That is right.
- The oak wood?

Yes, so now you see it, eh?

What’s that?

It is a smudge.

Imperfections.

Can be fixed.

It’s magical.

Thank you. It’s not finished.

It’s a beginning.

Yes.

I'm still working on this part.

Maybe we can go there.

Is this what it feels like to take wing?

I'd love to go there. That'd be fantastic.

I hope you don't mind me saying,
I just think it's...

Master Kent?

...absolutely wonderful.

Master Kent.

The loch.

Oh, no.

Hello?

There seems to be a problem.

Everyone stay calm.

But I think there’s something down there.

See to the last of the harvest, Walt.

Come on, hurry up!

Back off!

You fucking want it? Yeah?

You fucking mad?

Fuck you!

This is fucked, man.
We’ve got a right to be here!

Who are you to come
from nowhere to our land?

- It’s not your fucking land!
- Technically, it’s my land.

We know the custom and the law.

We put up walls and made a fire.
We’re at liberty to stay!

Fucking walls?
That was sticks and twigs, mate.

Fuck off.

Let us go!

We haven't used that pillory in years.

Get 'em over there.

You fucking bastards.

Get your fucking hands off me.

Fucking cunt.

- Get your fucking hands off me.
- We will accept your punishment.

Get down, get down!

Put her in the loch.

Get your hands off of her!

Get your hands off of her.

- How do you lock this thing?
- We’ll take your punishment...

Let her go!

Back away! Away.

Let the women do it.

Come here.

Stop it.

You already have one gash,

naebody wants to give you another.

Listen!

Listen! Eyes on me.

Hello... Keys? Right.

One week.

Yes? One week.

Yous two... must pay
for dining out last night

on fowl that don’t belong to you.

Look, look.

You burn my barn?

You burn my barn.

You ate my doves.

One week will help you contemplate

better manners.

Better manners!

- You got her?
- Aye.

Hold still.

I've never seen a woman like that before.

Okay, still. Still.

Why's she looking at us?

It's just not right, it's just not right.

These fucking sick magpies.

It’s not right, what happened.
It's not right.

Oh, shut up.

Does it matter if it’s not right or not.

Well, I think she looked pretty.

I think all the men did too.

Well, that was obvious.

She could be anywhere, out there.
Anywhere. She should be...

We’re too small,
and getting smaller, John.

What?

The crops. They’re quite pathetic.

Some more able hands would make
welcome help in the coming days.

We should let the men loose.

Why don’t you say that a wee bit louder
so the whole village can hear you?

I’m only talking to you, John.

This lot...

suspicious of anyone who’s not born
with local soil under their fingernails.

You know this.

Aye. But we do need help.

I know we need help.

It’s just not right what they're doing.

Why don’t you ask your pal? Kent?

It’s not my place.

- You scared?
- No, I’m not scared.

- Your hogs. On the loose again?
- I know, I’ll take care of it.

I don’t think Gorge likes me.

That’s George.

See, that one’s Gorge,
and that one’s George.

How can you tell?

There you go.

Everybody! Everybody!

Hey, hey, hey! Quiet.

To Master Kent!

- Thank you.
- Quiet!

Thank you very much.

Hope you are enjoying the food.

Now if I just may,
I may introduce my friend,

Mr Earle.

- Earle? I thought his name was Quill.
- Me too.

You’ll see him about in my employ,
because he’s making a map,

of all our common land.

Let the man speak.

Here’s the dream that I’ve had.

Safe from vagabonds and longbows,

you walk about your fenced-in fields.

You sit in meadows and you merely watch.

You’re not freezing to the bone,

or tugging out weeds until your
backs are stiffer than a plank.

No. We are sitting warm at home,

weaving fortunes for ourselves from yarn.

Now, somewhere,

too far away to name,
a man puts on a coat,

that we’ve shepherded,

and then woven with our hands.

A woman pulls a scarf

around her head, and smells
our heathers in its weave.

We start off

with the fleece on the backs of our sheep,

and with your willing consent,

end up with garments
on the backs of noble folk!

It’s a stirring prospect. Isn’t it?

What do you say?

Yes? I think so.

He means to throw a halter
around our lives.

Sheep! Sheep!

- I need a piss, John.
- Sheep! Sheep!

- Our lives.
- Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!

Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!

You are me and me is you.

Thank you all.

Thank you. Enjoy yourselves tonight!
Enjoy yourselves.

Right, everybody. Ready?

Bow!

One, two, three, four.

It’s harvest day. We can do it today.

People are watching, Kitty.

Does it matter? Just today.

Wee baby!

I only wish our wives
were here this night, eh?

You should have told me.

Master Kent has timed his revelation well.

The veal is his.

The ale is his too.

We are no longer hungry.

We’re certainly not sober.

At least for now.

We have become like animals.

Goat drunk and lecherous.

Dog drunk and barking mad.

We do not dare to say

we count ourselves
beyond the Kingdom of God.

But certainly,
we do not press too closely to His bosom.

Rather, we are at His fingertips.

He touches us

but only just.

It’s her.

Mistress ‘Belle Dame’.

Beautiful Mistress Beldam.

Mistress Beldam?

Master Kent offers you shelter
for the night.

Mistress?

Don’t be afraid.

Master Kent and I,

we want you to be safe, Mistress.

Keep her safe, Walt.

I didn’t do nothing.

I didn't do nothing at all.

I’m no rat.

My name is Walter...

Walter Thirsk.

Did you hear that, mate?

He says he’s Walter Thirsk.

The fucking fat pig-fucking fuckface!

Walter Thirsk fucks little piggies!

I see you’re struggling...

Do you want me to find you a stone
to stand on, to ease your night?

Is this cunt for real?

Is he trying to say I’m fucking totty?

There's nae short-arse up here, pal.

Did you find her, Walt?

Did you get her shelter, Walt?

Put your back into it, Walt.

Where is she, Walt?

Do you like her, Walt, eh?

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Pathetic.

I’m sorry.

I’ll come back at first light
and bring help, okay?

Some hero you are, Walter Thirsk.

Hey, Walter.

Walter!

Walter Thirsk has got a tick in his dick,

and a spoon up his ass,
’cause he fucks little piggies!

Good night.

No one sleeps tonight!

No one gets to sleep tonight!

No one gets to sleep tonight!

- Wakey-wakey!
- Rise and shine!

- No one sleeps tonight!
- No one gets to sleep tonight!

I’m gonna party!

Party in the fucking pillory!

John!

John.

Help me drag a stone
for twinkle-toes there.

- What?
- Bring a stone up to the wee man there.

You broke your cup of hospitality, mate.

What does it cost you?

It’s right there.

How much does it cost you, fucker?

What does it cost you, big man?

I know.
They don’t know what they’re saying.

You’re not breaking bread
with them, Walt, are you?

Don’t you look a beggar for the day?

I’m supposed to be the
quill-carrier for the week.

I’ve got a quill for you 'ere.

Right in my scants.

Master Kent asked me personally
to show the gentleman around.

It’s not like I want to.

We were thinking you’d make
the perfect Gleaning Queen.

And what
a perfect Gleaning Queen you’d make,

- eh, Walt?
- Have fun with your Mr Quill.

Are yous too blind to see that
I’m the only one fucking helping you?

- He’s trying to help us.
- What’s this then?

Do you want this?

Fucking bunch of tadgers,
look at yous all!

The state of yous!

It’s not working.

- Maybe just hold the string.
- I think that’ll be fine.

Hello.

- Fuck off, princess.
- Fud.

I know, Willowjack, I know.

This... is a noble day.

Anything you glean is yours to keep.

For your kitchen pots, your stews,

or most likely I know, John...

your ales!

In keeping with tradition,

after you will come the cattle,
and then the geese...

Willowjack, come on, now. Here we go.

As I was saying,
after you will come the cattle,

and then the geese for fattening,

and finally... the hogs.

And the oxen next!

We’ll need to plough soon,
Master Kent, or we’ll starve.

Mr Earle! It would be a pleasing courtesy,

if you were to choose our Gleaning Queen.

Is Master Kent mad?

We count on you to be
an even-handed judge. Yes?

He's a stranger, he doesn't know us.

You...

will be the Gleaning Queen.

Your crown, my queen.

Ready?

On we go.

There we go. Oops-a-daisy.

This here belonged to my wife.
Many years ago.

But now, I think it needs a new home.

I think it should...

belong to you.

Thank you.

Our Gleaning Queen!

Fucking knob-ends.

- You okay?
- I’m fucking fucked.

I’m struggling.

Fine place for us to end up.

I’m fucking sick of these red roofs.

I wish we did burn the fucking barn.

Off, get off.

Look at this, man.

They’re fucking humiliating us.
Look at this!

Look at the state of my boot.
Look! Fucking hell!

These bastards knew what
they were fucking doing with the apples.

Fuck off, piggy!

Get tae fuck!

- Fuck.
- Fuck off!

South field, west field,

east field.

Unimpressive.

We give directions to
where we need to go, Mr Earle.

The Oak Wood.

- The Loch.
- Yes.

The Marsh.

And the Moor.

- Better.
- Better?

Yes.

I have a pair of pigs
called George and Gorge.

I want to find
better names for everything.

We’re plain folk, Mr Earle.

Meadowsweet.

- Meadowsweet.
- Good for heartburn.

Dock leaves.

Very good for nettle stings.

Have you had any yet?

I have.

- Here's rough hawk.
- Rough hawk.

Hawkbit.

- What’s it for?
- Jaundice.

Okay.

Rushes.

Rushes.

We use them to weave and make baskets.

You can also dip them in oil,
use them for candles.

- What do we call them?
- Rushes.

Very good, Mr Earle.

- And what is this?
- Rowan tree.

Wards off witches’ spells,
protects our beasts from evil.

Also cleans your insides out.

Everything here will either
give you the shits,

or keep you from getting it.

Writing their names is your way
of knowing them?

Naming things is knowing them.

Good morrow, Mother Derby.

Good morrow, Walter.

Good morrow.

Tom.

Lauren.

Esme.

Sorley.

Today’s the day we walk the commons.

Bump the children’s heads
against the boundary stones.

So they know where they belong.

But you needn’t worry.

You don’t belong.

Well, you look lovely in it.

Agnes!

Agnes.

Did he really try and touch
your wee lassie back there?

Aye!

So close.

How dare he take the liberty
to touch my daughter.

I would have snapped his hand off.

I don’t trust that man.

I don’t trust Master Kent
for bringing that man in.

Don’t trust him
with his charts and his pen.

And picking our Gleaning Queen?

That’s not right.

Where are you taking me?

- The bottom.
- The bottom?

Hey-ho, is anyone there?

Walt.

Matthew, Liam.

Your world is humbling in its beauty.

How shall I name this place?

The Turd and Turf?

The Blossom Marsh.

You make good company, Walt.

I can use an assistant.

Come up to the manor with me.

I haven’t been there for a long time.

Walter.

Mind your hand, eh.

It should be light enough for the light
of a candle to shine through.

But mind your hand.

Can I share something with you?

Okay, this...

is my true account.

Ah, see.
You see circles in the same way I do.

- You see eyes everywhere, like me.
- Yes.

Everything is made up of circles,
isn’t it?

Yeah.

Or beautiful...

breasts.

I can see where your mind is.

- So, you like it?
- Very much.

It’s a map of dreams.

I’m proud of this one.

Wow. A small frog.

Let me.

He is as snug and personal
with his colours...

as I have learned to be with clouds.

I have my blues.

This blue betokens harvest days.

It will not rain.

And that one promises a crack
in the frost.

Another, darker,

reveals itself only silently

when the sun has withdrawn
into his bedchamber,

but the windows of his heavens
are not yet quite closed.

This is the blue

that says we’re free to finish work

and rest.

When I was greener and less timid...

I used to eat them.

They are beyond forgetting, Mr Earle.

Fairy caps.

Come on, Mr Earle!

So, how did you come to be here?

- You really want to know?
- Yes.

Master Kent.

My mother was his milk nurse.

We were playmates almost of an age.

Sometimes he let me borrow his books,

so I was led to read and write
and calculate.

I managed these less clumsily
than he, I dare say.

He brought me with him when
Lucy Jordan agreed to be his wife,

took charge of this estate.

I tumbled into love with everything
I saw this first season.

You know, I don’t wish to beat a drum,
but there is something of myself

I see in you, Mr Earle.

Something that is being lost.

Each dawn was like a genesis,
I wanted to immerse myself in it.

I was more of an angel than a beast.

Such... unexpected solace for a man
most used to market towns.

When I discovered my own wife,

my Cecily,

Master Kent was friend enough

to let me go
from his employment as his service man.

I confided in him my love for her.

Her hearty laugh,

her sturdiness,

and for the very crumble of this earth.

He said, ‘Then you should
go plough this earth.’

And that is my history.

Not a product of these commons,
just a visitor who stayed.

And you had babies?

That chance was taken from us.

Snatched.

She died too soon.

Bee-stung.

I’m sorry, Walt.

Give me a slap, Mr Earle.

Excuse me?

Give me a slap, Mr Earle.

I, I don’t want to slap you.

Please give me a slap, Mr Earle.

A proper slap. Come on.

- Harder.
- Walter.

I need to feel it.

Harder.

Walter.

This is her burial ground. My Cecily’s.

Shared with Mistress Lucy.

They were taken from us
that spring, same spring.

’Tis a sorrow we share,

Master Kent and I.

Don’t forget to mark that
on your map, Mr Earle.

- Was all this hers?
- Her inheritance.

But we have the common right
to graze and glean,

to cut wood and peat, to draw water,

and grow food.

This is our land.

This is our land.

Walter, there is a gentleman
who is making a claim upon your freehold.

But she died during stillbirth.
Her parents produced no sons.

Master Kent is Mistress Lucy’s
single heir.

By law, the husband is not blood.

There is a cousin. Edmund Jordan.

The changes Master Kent
employed for me to make,

they are not his own.

The sheep, the charts...

They are demanded by the cousin.

And he will arrive soon
to claim his entitlement.

Master Kent is keen
that I share this with you,

and with no other.

You cannot think it is he who wishes them.

We don’t even have a name
for all this, Mr Earle.

It’s just the village

surrounded by the land.

Come on, then. Take a good look!

Look at what you’ve done, look at him!

- We pray for sinners, for Your mercy...
- You stupid fucking imbeciles.

He did nothing to you!

...not only for the living, but also for
the dead. We pray for Your mercy...

We pray for sinners, for Your mercy...

Look at him. What did we do?

Let's help!

No, no, no. You get away.

You and your fucking pigs!

You could have saved him!

He’s dead because of you and your hogs!

- The keys, Charles!
- Keys, keys.

You did this!

You and your fucking hogs.

Mr Earle!

You Walt, this is you!

Shut up!

This is your fault!

Oh, the leg.

- Here we go.
- Lift!

John!

John! John!

Charles!

- It was the pigs...
- What?

Is he gone?

Mind his leg!

Come on, be gentle.

- Quickly, hide him! Hide him.
- Don't just stand there.

- Why?
- Hide him where?

I've got it. I've got it.

The poor man!

- Gently, gently! Careful now.
- Hey! What's going on?

Can't hurt him any more.

He's coming. He's coming.

I’m sorry.

Hello, cousin.

Hello, cousin.

Well,

as you can see, we’ve had quite the week.

We didn’t expect you today,
to be honest. So...

What are you wearing?

Ah, that's better.

- Charles?
- Yes.

How has my cousin Lucy’s fine manor house

ended up as shabby
and as threadbare as a beggar’s sack?

Please forgive the neglect, cousin.

After my wife’s passing, I...

I simplified life.

It is my judgement, that you...

make problems for yourself
by being too lenient.

A fire-setter should expect
to have his ears chopped off!

And then be hoisted to the gibbet.

And the younger man
must still serve out his sentence.

I will personally see to the burial
of this wretched man.

My men will see to his disposal.
Cousin, sit.

I’m a little bit concerned

about your role in the community.

Well, I like to think of it
as, as one big family.

And every one of us has a role to play...
for the good of the whole.

Yes, yes. It’s not by design
this land has fallen into my hands.

I have no desire to be a country mouse.

Also, agriculture
without profit is absurd.

Personally, I much prefer

to live in my house in town,
and simply check the figures.

What wool has arrived to my warehouse,

what cloths my hired women
have woven in their looms,

what profits have been made and lost

to middlemen.

You, sir. Cousin Charles’s friend.

Finish your map-making
before the week is out.

This gentleman, Mr Baynham,
is adept at preparing land for sheep.

This is not the first community
to benefit from his stewardship.

He will be guided by your charts.

Before the first fall of snow,
we will be structuring everywhere.

Fences, dykes, walls.

- Reclaiming forestry.
- Yes.

Because how can it profit us,
that there are trees, producing...

shade?

We will be requiring a grid map.

You are familiar with the latest styles?

Oh, certainly.

A record of the land, notated,

quite independent of anything alive.

Excellent.

The commons will be cleared
and privately enclosed.

These lands are pasture now,
they will never need another plough.

Cousin, about that.

There’s about 50 souls to feed,
thereabouts.

So, they can’t,
they gotta eat something...

- They can’t just eat grass.
- Yes.

There will be a place for
a few shearers and sheep boys.

Mr Baynham will employ
what hands he needs,

but we will sadly need to make...
cuts on labour.

Forgive me.

It’s Mr Earle, I think,

who should be grateful that he has
no duties other than with maps.

It’s a little late to begin
to grow a conscience

about the land that you have
already drawn out of existence.

Don’t you think?

No?

When I first started calling
at the Widow Gosse’s cottage,

she and I would hardly
look each other in the eye.

Truly, I can only guess
what she sees in me.

And I suppose it is the same for her.

She finds me inexplicable.

It’s not finished yet, but.

I’ve been too schooled, she says.

I made this for you.

I’m not even sure
if she and I are friends.

That is the state of widowhood.

We have no idea.

No scratch of wool next to your skin.

Willowjack’s dead.

Right.

That’s it, show’s over.

I mean you, Abel. Go.

Have your breakfasts.

Show some respect.

Everything’s going...

and I don’t know how to stop this.

Walter Thirsk.

Cousin Charles’s serviceman.

And closest friend, apparently.

My name’s Edmund.

I’m here to make improvements
on our estate.

It’s tragic, isn’t it,
what happened to Cousin Lucy’s mare?

Do you know who did it?

Well, then we must find out.

Charles seems to trust you.

Would you help me ease his pain?

Fantastic.

Horses have enormous, pumping hearts.

So, blood would have fountained...

from the animal’s head,

the minute that blade... went in.

So, whoever’s responsible
has not escaped dry.

None of you shall stray a step
beyond the threshing barn today,

while my men,
accompanied by one of your own,

search for the spoiled garments.

And one of you cannot expect to walk
these lanes tomorrow,

but will be dragged, by his heels,

to join the carcass...

Willowjack.

The carcass of...

Willowjack, the horse,

that he killed.

And his brother scoundrel,

who thought he could set fire
to his master’s doves.

It's that woman.

Sorry, Charles.

Had to be done, you understand.

Let’s have a drink.

And whose is this?

Kitty Gosse.

Never seen a pig do that before.

I'm so tired.
Cannae even keep my eyes open.

He better not be lying.

How could he help pull our cottages apart?

Even yours.

He was caught
between a nettle and a thorn.

Quit defending him.
He’s spineless.

That sorceress is behind it all.

She’s put a curse onto our land.

See that fancy shawl she had?
She’s a thief.

- Should have never let her go.
- You don’t even know her!

And can you blame her?

Did you see our men gawking at her,

each with a lock of her hair
in their lusty pockets?

We are all fair game.

The freehold of our fathers,
then our husbands, then our sons.

No.

The curse started with that chart-maker,
that gentleman.

Walter! Go soft, eh?

You’ll rip it.

Remove the skin for me, please.

This one is the grid map
Master Jordan demanded.

As you can see,
I have plaited in the boundary line.

You may as well have painted
the yellow teeth

of a thousand sheep
surrounding us, Mr Earle.

I have walked this thousands of times.

It’s easy going

till you get up to this ridge here.

This field has a slope, so it drains well,

but the soil keeps.

You have to use the cow track there,

at the ridge,

all the way over here...

until you get to here,
which is an open gap.

As you pass along the lane of thorns,

into the field, where
on a normal harvest day,

you’d find our cattle gleaning grain.

See this point?
This is when you’re too closed in.

Have to climb a tree for that
or be a hawk.

Your account of our land
is not as honest as you’d hoped.

You’ve flattened us.

Your land is effortless.

A lie.

And yet, I can tell you exactly
where we are upon it.

But not where we will be
in the days to come.

Excuse me.

Have I offended you?

Mr Earle?

Have I said something
to hurt your feelings?

Mr Earle?

You know those people.

- The ones you call ‘Beldam’?
- Aye.

Yes, yeah...

Three or four maps ago.

They are from a village
not unlike your own.

A village that you flattened.

Walter.

I am a chart-maker.

But I am not a fool.

I ply my trade, I make my living

and when my job is complete, I move on.

How do you sleep?

How do you silence your demons?

Hello.

Hi.

So where did you find that shawl?

Whose version of events should I believe?

- Hey! Hey!
- Hey!

Lizzie Carr was bound to be noticed
by Master Jordan’s men,

sporting such a fine cloth
upon her shoulders.

You're making it up as you go along.

Anne Rogers is the fiery sort.

And Kitty is mulish
when she wants to be.

Wait. We're coming! We're coming.

With Lizzie.

I can’t imagine them standing aside.

We’re done for.

And I’m sure our arsonists judged this
the moment to pack up and go

before their foolish secret
was uncovered.

- Kitty! What’s going on?
- Deirdre.

Hey. Here. Take her.

- Very pretty, aren’t you?
- Who are you?

Let’s have some fun. Come on.

Get off me, you creep!

Get off!

Let me go!

No, no.

- Not you, horse-man!
- Excuse me...

What’s all this ruckus about?

What’s going on here? Who’s in there?

I cannot condemn my neighbours
for closing ranks.

Gervase? Agnes?

- What’s happened?
- Who wants to know?

You’re not the man we trusted.

Not one of us after all.

- Excuse me?
- Helping them.

Traitor.

If you’ve kept secrets from us...

I don’t keep secrets.

Some want to march to
the manor house like maddened geese.

But they are only honking.

Others say let the evening run its course.

Open the door, please!

The master’s bound to intercede.

Get Cousin!

This is my house, goddamn it!

This is my house!

Comfy?

Yes, thank you.

Have you seen Lizzie?

Is Lizzie okay?

We’ve had enough of this!
Who killed the horse?

We haven’t done anything.

- Is she the ringleader?
- Ringleader of what?

Who are the witches?

- Are you the witches?
- What are you talking about?

We’re witches?

The girl... Is she the sorceress?

- Is she the one to blame?
- Come on, ladies!

No, no, no!
It’s that woman...

Gentleman! It’s that gentleman.

Which gentleman?

That chart-maker.

Tell him, little girl. Tell him.

About the chart-maker.

He was the one that made me queen.

So he gave you the shawl?

Knew it.

Alchemy.

Do you play chess?

No.

I’ll teach you.

- Lizzie!
- Master Kent!

The queen is the most powerful.

Master Kent!

We’ve come to see Master Kent.

He’s unavailable.

Is he hiding?

Master Jordan, then.

Master Jordan is also... unavailable.

We’ve come to fetch our women!

- First, the names of all complicit.
- Complicit?

- I hear there’s witchery about.
- What!

That’s a charge we don’t even let
our children to make!

Listen. We believe it to be coincidence

that fucking chart-maker turns up,

and then those couple of cunts
in the pillory at the same time?

Aye, him and Walter Thirsk.

They’ve been in each other’s pockets.

Aye, they’re as thick as thieves.

And he’s not even here with us now.

Why’s that?
When his own sweeting is in there?

They have to take care of their own.

It’s no surprise.

I’m not included in ‘our own’.

I almost welcome it.

And I, the chart-maker’s assistant,

his vellum-maker,

I can be of no use to him now.

Show them to us.

- Go home.
- What?

No way.

Bring us the girls.

If you go home, everyone will be safe,
including the women.

- Let’s see them first.
- Aye.

- Why did you take them?
- Show them in a window.

You seem like a reasonable man.

What are you gonna do?

Storm your master’s house?

I wouldn’t advise it.

Take them home.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow what?

Tomorrow.

You have my word.

- How good is your word?
- Aye, how good is your word?

As good as my handshake.

...if that was me in there...

Tomorrow.

He gave us his word.

Brother, I brought you some water.

Listen...

I’m sorry about your friend.

- We trust him, John?
- Tonight?

Let’s go. They’ve got until tomorrow.

Let’s go, Agnes. Come on.

- Let's go.
- Tomorrow!

Master Jordan must think
there’s none more pitiful than us.

None more meek.

He’s not wrong.

He will replace us with nobler stock.

Not one of our people came to help us.

Not even Walt.

We both know
he was never going to come anyway.

Wait!

Wait!

You’re never gonna catch her.

Wait!

Don’t be scared.

Wait, eh!

You destroyed our village.

Tomorrow this village is gone.

Your maps,

they ruin lives.

Mr Quill.

Mr ‘Pity.’

Pity for what?

You don’t feel sorry for anything.

You think it is easier

to invent names for things,

when you know they are already gone?

- What?
- Philip Earle?

Walter.

- Walter.
- Walter.

Walter.

Charles.

He...

He means to shear us all.

Master Jordan?

Well, stop it then, Charles.

He dressed me.

You going somewhere?

No.

I fear that... the women have...

endured a night of punishment.

Surely you defended them?

I mean, they locked me in my room.

I was, I was confined.

I was left toothless.

What could I do, you know?

You did nothing?

I did nothing.

And you did nothing, too.

I don’t deserve her, do I?

Probably not.

And what do we do now?

I don't know.

And Mr Earle?

Well, he was named ringleader.

My cousin’s men are looking
for him just now.

Who’s that man?

- What’s he even doing here?
- I don’t like him.

I don’t know, ignore him.

What's he doing here?

Ripe as apples, you are.

Move!

Creep.

Feisty.

Where do you suppose that chart-maker
might’ve found some secret refuge?

Where’s my daughter, you son of a bitch?

It’s Lizzie Carr I’m talking of.

You’ve seen her, haven’t ya?

She’s just a wee twig of a girl.

Your master has her up at the big hoose.

She owned up to all her wickedness.

And if she’s just a twig,

she’ll burn nicely
like those other she-devils.

We’ll have a bit of charcoal from her yet.

You pig!

What have you done?

You touch her, I will kill you!

Fucking pig!

Creepy bastard!

Look at him now.

May God forgive me.

He’s bringing soldiers.

There’s no misunderstanding now.

We’re done for.

I’m dead.

The world outside the village cannot be
as frightening as Master Kent claims it.

But no matter what

it will be new for us.

I want to see this world.

- Ready?
- Ready.

Here.

Thank you!

Liam!

Liam!

Where are you going?

Nobody knows.

John!

What about Kitty, huh?

Anne Rogers?

Your wee niece Lizzie Carr?

You’re gonna leave 'em behind?

Our staying won’t save them.

And little Lizzie?

At best she’ll be orphaned.

Her mum and dad set upon that man.

They cannae expect to live.

Nor can any Carr.

You backed a broken horse.

Your names will be forgotten in towns,

your faces won’t ring a bell, John.

Better than being hunted down,

and left to clog up the rivers.

Save yourself, Walt.

Take care of yourself.

Ah, just the man I’m looking for.

Come in, help yourself.

What happened to your face, Walt?

You cannae have gotten
much sleep last night, eh?

And counting sheep is not the remedy.

So, firstly,
since you still have your tongue,

an account of what happened
in the village this morning.

Has anyone remained?

No one has stayed who’s born here.

Did they speak of their return?

No.

What frightened mice your neighbours are.

Well. We leave today, also.

With Cousin Charles in our good company.

So you are leaving?

- Yes.
- Yes.

Yours has been a village of enough.

Soon, it will be a settlement of plenty.

Wouldn’t that be nice, Walt?

My steward Baynham has already ridden off

to organise the purchase of the sheep.

So, in the coming months,
you can expect the arrival of hired hands,

who will lodge in your empty cottages,

while trees are cut and stalls are built.

And then, when the autumn comes,
the shepherds will arrive

and they will carry
with them coins for your wage.

So you want me to stay, Charles?

Unfortunately,
you can rely only upon yourself

for company, in the beginning.

Yourself and Mr Pillory.

To my reckoning, the man
has three more days to serve,

so don’t show him lenience,
otherwise you really will be on your own.

I have your word?

Set him free
only when the hour lets him free?

I’ll need the keys.

Keys.

I... I spoke to Cousin,

and I promise you, Walt,

the women, they will be released

when we reach our new home.

It's my demand to see

Kitty, Anne and Lizzie,

to see them walk freely on the streets.

I promise you.

- Do you remember this game?
- Aye.

What about this game?

Yes!

Yes! Yes!

I win!

You win, Charles.

You're very short, Charles, aren't you.

Such a small creature.

Very snappy, very quick.

You'd look handsome tall, Charles.

Ah, to be back in town!

You must be very glad
to be leaving this place.

Stinks of shit.

There’s no one left except me.

You can walk among our cottages

and help yourselves to whatever you want.

What’s your name?

That’s mine to keep.

Ploughing is our sacrament.

Our solemn oath.

And not to mark our future in the soil,
before the winter comes,

is to say there’s no next spring.

Master Jordan said,

‘You’ll never need the plough again.’

To this I say,

I will defend the coming spring.