Original subtitles

Should we help him?

He has to be in the lists in two minutes. Two minutes or forfeit.

Lend us those.

- Right. Left. - Thank you.

Dead.

Three scores to none after two lances.

All Sir Ector needs to do is not fall off his horse, we've won.

He's dead.

What do you mean, dead?

The spark of his life is smothered in shite.

His spirit is gone, but his stench remains.

- Does that answer your question? - No, no, no.

No, he sleeps. Rouse him.

We're minutes from victory. I haven't eaten in three days!

None of us have, Wat!

- We need to fetch a priest. - No, he's not dead!

You wake up! Come on!

Come on!

You manky git! You was never a good jouster...

- Roland. - ...and now you're dead!

Squire, Sir Ector must report at once or forfeit the match.

- Oh, he's-- - He's on his way.

I haven't eaten in three days!

Three days! What did you eat, mate?!

- If you wasn't dead, I would kill you! - I'll ride in his place.

Strip his armour. I'm riding in his place.

Wat, stop kicking him! Calm down. I'm riding in his place. Help me.

What's your name, William?

I'm asking you, William Thatcher, to answer me with your name.

It's not Sir William.

It's not Count or Duke or Earl William. It's certainly not King William.

I'm aware of that.

You have to be of noble birth to compete.

A detail. The landscape is food. Do you want to eat or don't you?

If the nobles find out, there'll be the devil to pay.

Then pray that they don't.

Visor.

Come on, we're late.

The score stands at three lances to none in favour of Sir Ector.

Lord Philip of Aragon.

Stand ye ready?

Sir Ector. Stand ye ready?

Ready?

Of course. I have tilted against Sir Ector many times.

In practice as his target. You were never allowed to strike him.

- Badger me not with details. - Landscape, then. Stay on the horse.

He needs 3 points to beat you. He has to knock you off the horse.

I know how to score, Roland.

I've waited my whole life for this moment.

For Sir Ector to shite himself to death?

Get it in the cradle. Get it in the cradle.

Get it in the cradle!

William, are you alive?

- We won! We won! - William? Can you hear me?

William? Get off me! William. Can you hear me, William?

- He's breathing. - We won!

He's breathing. He's breathing. He's breathing!

Sir Ector.

Sir Ector. Remove your helmet.

My lord, I'm afraid the final blow of the lance has bent it onto my head.

He says the final blow of the--

I present your champion, my lord.

Twenty.

No, ten.

- Fifteen. - Done.

Very good. Cheers.

Fifteen silver florins. He didn't want that.

That's five for William.

Five for Wat. Five for Roland, who's going straight home to England.

Straight to the pub for me.

Eel pie, brie tart,

tansy cakes with peppermint cream.

We could do this.

We've done it, boy. That's silver in your hand.

No, I mean, we can do this. We can be champions.

Give us your coins.

Come on. Give me your coins.

Right. Right. Now, that's one for you.

And one... for you.

Which leaves 13.

That's 13 for training and outfitting.

The tournament in Rouen is in a month from now.

In one month, we could split a prize bigger than this one.

We could be on our way to glory and riches none of us ever dreamed of.

In one month, we could be laid in a ditch with Sir Ector.

I don't want glory and riches. I just want to go home.

Tansy cakes with peppermint cream.

Dilled veal balls with squash fritters. I'll take my five now.

Oh, wait up!

You're going the wrong way!

You can't even joust.

Most of it is the guts to take a blow. To strike one! Guts I have.

And technique? I have a month to learn that.

Besides, the sword. Name a man better with a sword than I.

- In the practice ring. - You're not of noble birth.

So we lie.

How did the nobles become noble in the first place?

They took it at the tip of a sword. I'll do it with a lance.

- A blunted lance. - No matter, Wat.

A man can change his stars. And I won't spend the rest of my life as nothing.

That is nothing. And nothing is where glory will take us.

We're the sons of peasants.

Glory and riches and stars are beyond our grasp.

But a full stomach? That dream can come true.

If you can take your coins, go to England, eat cake.

But if you can't, you come with me.

You see? Money doesn't matter.

You see how hungry I am?!

- Do you?! - Damn your stomach, Wat!

Roland, please.

With 13 silver pieces, three men can change their stars.

Thirteen's unlucky.

Thirteen sat at the Last Supper. We all know how that turned out.

Fine.

Wait here.

Twelve it is.

Come on. Come on.

You had to mention supper.

I'm in.

Roland?

God love you, William.

I know, I know. No one else will.

Unlucky.

- I think he's getting worse. - He is.

Switch.

Switch.

Glory and riches. Glory and riches. Glory and riches!

Come on.

No. No.

You see how dangerous it is?

Faster. Faster, Roland. All right, use those legs.

Come on, Roland. Faster. Faster.

- You missed it. - You've done it dozens of times.

Well, I guess that means we should do it again.

Come on.

Come on, ponies.

Fong him.

Faster. Faster. Balance.

No, no, no, slower, slower. Keep it steady.

And...

I got it! Look, I got it! I got it! I got--

Any minute now.

- Yes, better. - Nice one. Nice.

We need a banner.

Our emblem.

I was thinking of a phoenix.

Why waste the money? We have Sir Ector's white stag.

Someone may recognise it.

We need to be reborn,

like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

A lion.

Lying down, with his head raised.

Yeah, lion, but walking, right forepaw raised, like:

How about up on his hind legs?

- All of his weight on his left. - No, the weight on the right.

No, everyone uses lions.

Can't you see? The phoenix.

Its end is its beginning.

Like myself.

If it's all about you, pick what you want.

You're the knight. We're just humble servants.

I meant a phoenix like the three of us, not just myself.

Three phoenixes, then.

Three it is.

And he may be grasping in his talons a lion.

Just think about it.

- It's my turn to ride. - No.

We haven't reached the mile marker. And I'm not sure you should.

Suppose we pass another knight.

How would it look if my squire rode while I walked?

I don't give a witch's teat! It's my turn. It's my turn.

Hey, hey, look, maybe nobody should be riding.

The horse is not what he used to be, and we need him.

Fine. Fine, fine.

Morning.

Morning.

Oi, sir.

What are you doing?

Trudging.

You know, trudging? To trudge?

To trudge the slow, weary,

depressing, yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in his life

except the impulse to simply soldier on.

Were you robbed?

Interesting question, actually. Yes.

And at the same time, a huge, resounding no.

It's more a sort of involuntary vow of poverty, really.

But on the brighter side, trudging does represent pride.

Pride, resolve and faith in the good Lord Almighty.

Please, Christ, rescue me from my current tribu--

--lations.

Who are you?

The lily among the thorns.

Geoffrey Chaucer's the name. Writing's the game.

Chaucer?

Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer?

- A what? - "A what?" A writer.

You know, I write with ink and parchment.

For a penny, I'll scribble anything you want,

from summonses, decrees, edicts, warrants, patents of nobility.

I've been known to jot down a poem, if the muse descends.

You probably read my book, The Book of the Duchess.

Fine. Well, it was allegorical.

We won't hold it against you. That's for each man to decide for himself.

Did you say patents of nobility?

Yes, that's right. I did.

And you gentlemen are?

Well, I am Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein from Gelderland.

And these here are my faithful squires, Delves of Dodgington

and Fowlehurst of Crewe.

I'm Richard the Lionheart. Pleased to meet you.

No, I'm Charlemagne! No, I'm St John the Baptist!

All right!

Hold your tongue, sir, or lose it.

Now, you see that, I do believe,

Sir Ulrich.

Thank you... Geoff.

Have you any more to say, Master Nude, or may we be on our way?

- Off to the tournament, are you? - This is the road to Rouen.

Well, that really remains to be seen. They're limiting the field at Rouen.

Noble birth must be established for four generations on either side.

Patents of nobility must be provided.

Listen, clothe me,

shoe me, for God's sake, feed me, let me ride that horse,

and you'll have your patents.

No.

- Patents of nobility. - We need him. We need him.

- All right, let me handle it. - Be nice.

Nice, nice, nice.

All right, look.

Betray us and I will fong you until your insides are out,

your outsides are in,

and your entrails will become your extrails.

I will wreak...

all the...

Pain.

Lots of pain.

May I present my Lord Ulrich,

whose mother's father was Shilhard von Rechberg,

son of the Duke Guelph of Saxony, son of Ghibellines, son of Wendish,

the fourth Earl of Brunswick.

- The same Wendish who inherited the fief-- - That'll do, herald.

Six generations is more than enough. Show me the patents.

Indicate in which events shall your Lord Ulrich compete.

He'll first meet Roger Lord Mortimer.

Thank you very much.

I can't believe it. You did it, Chaucer.

I have to thank you. I didn't think we had a chance.

My pleasure, William.

If you don't mind, I'll stick around, see how things turn out.

Act as my herald and you'll receive a share of the winnings.

Done. If you don't mind, I got to go and see a man about a dog.

Walking out from Cheapside

My fortunes for to seek

I passed along the River Thames

Its waters did they reek

'Twas there I met a pretty lass

She said her name was Nell

Bell or hell rhymes with Nell.

Would you speak to me?

Ah, to speak.

But, sir, my sex are marked by their silence.

I would hear you speak if it cost me my ears.

That is well, for I do not want silence in my life.

Tell me your name.

- Would you care if I were ugly? - Yes!

I mean, no. I mean-- If--

You desecrate the house of God!

Tell me your name, woman.

And what would you do with my name, Sir Hunter?

Call me a fox, for that is all I am to you.

A fox?

Then a fox you shall be until I find your name, my foxy lady.

He's a handsome hunter. I give him that.

Does this not shock you, ladies?

Certainly, my lord.

I just-- I only laugh, just to keep from weeping.

Beauty is such a curse.

Pray your years come swiftly.

Pray your beauty fades, that you may better serve God.

Oh, and I do, my lord. I pray for it all the time.

Why, God, did you curse me with this face?

God's will has a purpose, but we may not know it.

Well, that is lovely.

All right!

Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein

defeats Roger Lord Mortimer,

one lance to none.

Easy, boys. They'll think it's the first time I've broken a lance.

- But it is! It is! - Sir Ulrich's broken thousands of lances.

Come on, master of a thousand lances. You're due in the sword ring.

My armour's loose.

- Germaine. - My lord?

The knight there, what badge is that?

Triple phoenixes.

Ulrich von Lichtenstein, a duke of Gelderland.

Gelderland?

Well east of the Rhine, I believe.

Shite. If they come overhead, I can't block.

Well, there's nothing for it now. We're overdue in the sword ring.

It was a mistake to do two events. I don't have time to breathe.

- I shall withdraw from the sword. - The sword is what you're best at.

The prizes are bigger in the joust. The prestige as well.

Ulrich von Lichtenstein?

- Yes. - I am Simon the Summoner.

I am overdue at the sword arena.

I must detain you on behalf of your herald.

You were never robbed, were you?

Look, I have a gambling problem.

I can't help myself.

And these people will quite literally take the clothes off your back.

What do you expect us to do about it?

He assured us that you, his liege, would pay us.

And who are you?

Peter, a humble pardoner

and purveyor of religious relics.

How much does he owe you?

Ten gold florins.

You manky git!

- Pain! Pain! Take the pain! - Get him off me!

Wat, let him go!

What would you do to him if I was to refuse?

We, on behalf of the Lord God,

will take it from his flesh, so that he may understand

that gambling is a sin.

Oh, come on.

Please, Will.

Please, will you help me, Sir Ulrich?

I promise you won't regret it.

I don't have the money.

Release him...

and, for God's sake, give him back his clothes.

And you'll get it.

Done.

You lied.

Yes. Yes, I lied.

I'm a writer. I give the truth scope!

Behold my Lord Ulrich von Lichtenstein, son of--

- Too late. He's been announced. - Excuse me? Fine.

Ten blows by sword. Sir Ulrich to receive first.

Look out!

- Strike! - Come on!

Turn it around!

Strike!

- Stop letting him hit you! - Oh, shut up! Shut up!

Two strikes for Sir Walter Loring!

Sir Ulrich to strike!

- Now it's your turn! - Come on, Ulrich!

Come on!

Hit him with your sword!

Strike!

I taught him that! That's me!

Sir Ulrich prevails, five strikes to two!

Yes!

Behold my Lord Ulrich!

The rock! The hard place!

Like a wind from Gelderland, he sweeps by!

Blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honour!

We walk in the garden of his turbulence!

Yeah!

- You've done it. You're champion. - Of the sword.

Isn't that why we're here? Come on, to the lists.

Do you want to touch him? Do you want to touch him?!

We should've saved our last penny for the blacksmith.

I can't pay you now,

- but I promise you I will, just as-- - No! Money.

- Excuse me. - Cash first, not promises.

Go on.

Excuse me, sir.

You might try the farris.

A woman?

Beggars cannot be choosers, my lord.

Thank you.

- Excuse me. - Don't work for free.

- I can't joust with broken armour. - Your problem, not mine.

Each drop of this sweat has a price on it.

Just as well. They told me I was daft for even asking.

- Who? - The other armourers.

Did they say I couldn't do it because I'm a woman?

No, they said you're great with horseshoes but shite with armour.

The fact that you're a woman wasn't even mentioned.

Cat's meat! Hot wine!

Cat's meat! Hot wine!

Cat's meat! Hot wine!

Cat's meat! Hot wine!

Lady, I will win this tournament for you.

Nay! I will win for you.

My lady, may I present Count Adhemar,

winner of the joust in France and high champion at Saint-Emilion.

All such moments forgotten

when standing before the most beautiful woman in Christendom.

Do you only pretend to fight, Count Adhemar,

or do you wage real war as well?

I am leader of the free companies.

My army's in southern France. For the moment.

Geoff, 'tis my lady.

William, you aim too high.

If there's another way to aim, I don't know it.

- Concentrate. - What should I say to her?

What do you think of the joust?

It's very abrupt.

And I'm afraid I don't understand the rules.

Then I shall educate you.

A match is three lances.

One point is awarded for breaking a lance between the waist and neck.

Two points for breaking on the helmet. It's difficult.

The helmet sweeps back.

Most blows glance off, leaving the lance unbroken.

And three points for bearing a rider to the ground.

Also, should you bear a rider to the ground, you win his horse.

And do men die in the joust?

The lances' points are tipped with coronals. This blunts them.

Of course, accidents happen.

I myself, Jocelyn, have never been unhorsed.

Nor have I.

Your name, lady.

I still need to hear it.

Sir Hunter, you persist.

Or perhaps angels have no names. Only beautiful faces.

And you are?

Well, I am...

Have you forgotten?

Or your name is Sir "Um"?

Ulrich von Lichtenstein from Gelderland.

I'd forget as well. What a mouthful.

- Your armour, sir. - What about it?

How stylish of you to joust in an antique.

You'll start a new fashion if you win.

My grandfather will be able to wear his in public again.

And a shield. How quaint.

Some of these poor country knights, little better than peasants.

--second son

of Sir Wallace Percival, third Earl of Warwick.

My lords, my ladies,

it is with honour I introduce my liege,

Sir Thomas Colville.

You're good.

You're very good.

My lords...

my ladies...

and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion...

today... today...

you find yourselves equals.

For you are all equally blessed.

For I have the pride,

the privilege, nay, the pleasure

of introducing to you a knight sired by knights.

A knight who can trace his lineage back...

beyond Charlemagne.

I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem,

praying to God,

asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood

spilt by his sword.

Next, he amazed me still further in Italy

when he saved a fatherless beauty

from the would-be ravishings of her dreadful Turkish uncle.

In Greece,

he spent a year in silence,

just to better understand the sound...

of a whisper.

And so, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado,

I give to you the Seeker of Serenity,

the Protector of Italian Virginity,

the Enforcer of our Lord God,

the one, the only

Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein!

Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week.

That was different.

It's time we celebrated our differences.

Just maybe not in public.

You...

Yes, I'm well aware a good fonging is on the way.

Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

I got their attention. You go and win their hearts.

Very good.

- Was she watching? Geoff! - What?

- Did she see me? - Yes, she saw you.

- Did she see me take the hit? - Yes, she saw you take the hit.

- Was she concerned? - Her eyes welled up. It was awful.

Colville has perfect technique. I've never seen him before.

Nor I.

But this Lichtenstein...

His technique, rudimentary. Style, non-existent.

Still, he's fearless.

Fearless? How so?

The slit in the visor is narrow, but splinters can penetrate it.

Most knights raise their chins at the last instant.

You lose sight of your opponent, but you protect your eyes.

This Ulrich doesn't.

He keeps his eye on the target.

A true hunter.

Sir Ulrich...

I'm through.

But I've never not finished before.

I wish to keep my honour intact.

A draw. And Colville is hurt.

Colville withdraws.

Ulrich advances.

Why didn't Ulrich finish him?

He shows mercy.

Then he shows his weakness. That's all mercy is.

For the love of victory, William, go to sleep.

I can't.

Love has given me wings, so I must fly.

I can't explain it.

- She makes me feel like a poet. - You may feel like a poet,

but you sound like an idiot.

- You don't even know her name. - Her name?

Her name is Aphrodite.

Calypso. Venus. Take your pick.

Women weaken the heart.

Without your heart, you cannot win.

- But her eyes-- - Concentrate.

Tansy cakes!

Count Adhemar sends word.

He said he will win this tournament for you.

He's won many tournaments.

He wins them for himself and for his own honour.

So it's nothing to say he wins them for me.

He wishes to speak to you again.

Not to hear a word I say.

Adhemar wants his women silent.

Would you have Sir Ulrich win this tournament for you?

No.

And he is the only knight that has not promised to do so.

Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

I would have him win my heart.

Adhemar! Adhemar! Adhemar!

Oh, lovely.

Count Adhemar, I don't think I've ever seen him lose.

No, but defeat him and you'll see it firsthand.

My liege.

Sir Ulrich.

Christiana.

- My lady bids you wear this token. - Oh, of course.

She also said to tell you, her name...

is Jocelyn.

Jocelyn.

Oh, Jocelyn.

Concentrate.

I can't breathe.

No style whatsoever.

Neither has an anvil.

- He hits like a hammer. It's amazing. - But not perfect. He aims high.

Roll your shoulder back when you strike, his blow may glance to your right.

On the right. If he strikes me on the left, I'll be obliterated.

I didn't say it wasn't a gamble.

Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!

William?

William?

William!

William, here.

Come on, come here.

Someday I'll be a knight.

A thatcher's son? A knight?

You might as well try to change the stars.

Can it be done, Father?

- Can a man change the stars? - Yes, William.

If he believes enough, a man can do anything.

Come here.

Gain more bearing, Ulrich.

See me again when you're worthy.

I'll fong you and the whole of your--

Well done, my lord! Well done.

- You bastard! - Go and see to Ulrich.

Go and see to Ulrich.

Well done, my lord.

A noble victory.

My lady, I believe this is yours.

For long spear on foot,

Pandolfo Malatesta.

For sword on foot, Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

Yeah!

And finally, for the mounted joust and tournament champion,

Adhemar, Count of Anjou.

Adhemar! Adhemar! Adhemar!

I present to you your champions.

Next time I face you, Count Adhemar,

you will look up at me from the flat of your back.

Please.

You have been weighed, you have been measured,

and you have been found wanting.

Keep winning the sword and we'll be rich.

- I won't compete in it again. - It's your best event.

No. It's tournament champion or nothing at all.

Ten florins. That should do.

It's Sixes and Sevens tonight, Chaucer. Do you feel lucky?

- Do you wear enough clothes? - Go on. Be gone. I'm done with you.

Except to exact my revenge.

What on earth could you possibly do to us?

I will eviscerate you in fiction.

Every last pimple, every last character flaw.

I was naked for a day. You will be naked for eternity.

I have a feeling we shall meet again.

Here, farris, take what we owe you.

The armour you wear, it wasn't made for you, was it?

So, what of it?

I could make such armour, you wouldn't even know you wore it.

And how much would that cost me?

Just take me as far as Paris.

We travel alone. Take your gold and go.

Get what you can out of that. The rest of us will pack camp.

Why are we leaving so soon?

Tournament at Lagny-sur-Marne starts in a week.

We leave now, we can walk and save the horse.

No. You have to go to the banquet, to dance, to make an appearance.

And have Adhemar laugh at me again? No!

- Yes! - No!

- Yes! - No!

- Yes! Yes! - No! No!

- Yes! - No!

- Yes! - No!

My lady would know the colour of your lord's tunic tonight.

- His tunic? - Yes, so that she can dress to match him.

We regret to inform your lady that we won't actually be attending--

Herald, do not answer questions you don't know the answer to.

- Absolutely, my lord. - Squire, answer her.

What colour is my tunic tonight?

Green.

Trimmed in a kind of pale green...

with wooden toggles.

I will tell my lady.

- Oh, this is a disaster! - No, it'll tunic up quite nicely.

- Give us your dagger, Wat. - That's not a disaster, Roland.

I don't know how to dance.

And one and two and three and four.

And your hand should be light, like a birdie on a branch.

And one, two and three and four.

And Wat doesn't lead, he follows like a girl.

And one and two and...

twirly, twirly, twirly.

And one and two, and you're still getting it wrong.

And one and two and three and four.

You can hit me all day 'cause you punch like a what?

- A girl. - That's enough of that!

Get back! Quiet!

- He starts it. - You know he's touchy!

Oh, and you can do better, can you?

- Of course I can. - Good. Why don't you show us, then?

No.

No.

If I'm going to all this effort, you best learn to dance.

Now ask her nicely.

I'm sorry, Kate.

I was wondering if you would care to show us how to dance.

Please.

- Please. - Please.

And one and two, three and four.

Five, six, seven, change partners.

And one, two, three, four,

five, six, seven.

Polonaise. And one, two...

You're not gonna wear your hair like that, are you?

Is there another way?

Sir Ulrich. You look fantastic.

Jocelyn, you look...

You...

You remind me of the Bible.

When God stopped the sun to give Joshua more time to defeat the Amorites.

I don't understand.

If I could ask God one thing,

it would be to stop the moon.

Stop the moon and make this night...

and your beauty

last forever.

Lady Jocelyn.

What fortune to be seated beside you.

Yes, and with Sir Ulrich.

Of course.

Congratulations on your victory with the sword.

And yours in the joust.

Jocelyn...

you look...

great.

Thank you, my lord. For the poor.

Thank you, my lord. For the poor.

Alms for the poor. Thank you, sire.

For the poor, my lord.

For the poor who wait outside, please.

Thank you.

For the poor.

Oh, thank you. You're very generous.

For the poor.

There won't be poor any longer

when Ulrich is through emptying his pockets.

No, Adhemar, there will always be poverty.

Poverty is the one possession the poor have that no one would envy.

Or take from them.

You're wrong, Sir Ulrich.

My lady.

The poor do have something that I envy.

They can marry for love, while we cannot.

Marry for money, lady...

and the love will follow.

So, what dance will you have? A coranto?

Or a basse danse?

Sir Ulrich.

Why don't you show us all a dance of your country?

Show us a dance of Gelderland.

Yes. Gelderland.

Well, it's a lot like the farandole...

but with some differences.

Well, you should bow.

And...

And...

Places. Places.

What?

I don't know. It's too small. It's too light.

He'll be crushed. Killed.

No. I found a new way to heat the steel.

It's thinner, smaller, but just as strong.

What are these?

The marks of my trade, should another knight admire the armour.

Twist and bend. Feel the movement.

Well, I...

- But eventually I will be struck. - And then death.

Do you at least have the courage to test it?

Are you all right, Will?

I didn't feel a thing.

It works?

It's a miracle.

- What's the name of that knight? - Piers Courtenay.

He's raised taxes on his land three times this year to pay for tournament.

His people starve while he sits at banquet.

It's probably true.

Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!

Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

My lord, the Count Adhemar,

son of Philippe de Vitry,

son of Gilles...

master of the free companies,

defender of his enormous manhood...

a shining example of chivalry

and champagne.

Nice work!

Bravo!

My lords...

Watch every move Adhemar makes. If there's a weakness, we'll find it.

Colville looks fit. This should be good.

...my liege,

second son of Sir Wallace Percival.

It is my deepest honour--

My deepest honour to present to you...

It's Edward, my lord. They're sure of it.

...I give you the noble,

the illustrious Sir Thomas Colville!

Adhemar withdrew.

Withdraw like that can mean only one thing.

Royalty.

I'll see what I can find out.

Prepare to drop the flag.

No, no, no. Not yet. Not yet. Wait, listen.

- Musicians, announce! - Listen to me. Wait.

- I must speak with my lord. - Then go.

And see if you can beat the Second Coming.

Wait! Wait!

Colville is Edward, the Black Prince of Wales

and future king of England.

He's in disguise like me, so he can compete.

He's never met an enemy without victory nor a town he couldn't defeat.

We're English! We know who he is!

You must withdraw, Will. Go tell them, Geoff.

- Absolutely! - Here, give me the lance.

Give me the lance. Give me the lance!

Lance!

Oh, my giddy aunt.

The match is a draw!

Are you mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family.

He knowingly endangers himself.

Well fought, Sir Ulrich, as it was in Rouen.

And you also, Prince Edward.

- You knew me? - Yeah.

And still you rode?

- It's not in me to withdraw. - No. Nor me.

Though it happens.

Yes, it does.

- Good luck with the tournament. - And you also.

The winner of the mounted joust and tournament champion,

Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

Here, melt it down, sell it, do whatever you do.

- Yes, Your Majesty. - You're tournament champion!

I'm not champion until I defeat Adhemar. He withdrew.

Sir Ulrich.

I've come to see what you'll wear to banquet tonight.

Nothing.

Then we'll cause a sensation, for I'll dress to match.

Don't you ever get tired of putting on clothes?

I believe she's talking about taking them off.

A flower is only as good as its petals, don't you think?

A flower is good for nothing.

Really?

You can't eat a flower. A flower doesn't keep you warm.

And a rose never knocked a man off a horse either, did it?

You're just a silly girl, aren't you?

Better a silly girl with a flower than a silly boy with a horse and a stick.

Goodbye, then.

It's called a lance.

Hello.

- I have word. - What?

Adhemar has been called back to the free companies.

The Black Prince commanded it. Could be gone all season.

First Jocelyn and now Adhemar.

Well done.

Yeah, well done.

What? I--

The tournament results, my lord.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

- Geoff. - William.

I need to write a letter.

"Dear Jocelyn." No. "My dearest Jocelyn."

Better.

"I miss you."

Hold-- Was that wrong?

Well, it's up to you, really. It's your funeral. I mean, letter.

- Say something about her breasts. - You miss her breasts.

Her breasts?

Yes, you could, but I would tend to look above her breasts, William.

I miss her throat?

Still higher. Towards the heavens.

The moon, at least. Her breasts were not that impressive.

The moon? The moon.

"It is strange to think...

I haven't seen you since a month.

I have seen the new moon but not you.

I have seen sunsets and sunrises but nothing of your beautiful face."

That's very good, William.

I used to know this girl once who...

She broke my heart. I used to say that the pieces...

"The pieces of my broken heart are so small

that they can be passed through the eye of a needle."

He writes as though I had died.

Yes, madame.

He dies as well.

She used to cook for the Duke of York.

I miss her like the sun misses the flower.

"I miss you like the sun misses the flower.

Like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter.

Instead of beauty to direct its light to...

the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to."

"I next compete in the city of Paris.

I'll find it empty and in the winter if you're not there."

I like it.

And now, to finish it.

With "hope."

Love should end with hope.

My husband, God rest him,

told me something I'll never forget.

"Hope guides me."

"It is what gets me through the day and especially the night.

The hope that after you're gone from my sight,

it will not be the last time I look upon you."

And finish it with:

"With all the love that I possess... William."

You mean "Ulrich."

"With all the love that I possess...

I remain yours...

the knight of your heart."

My master hoped you might have something to send him in return.

Cock-a-doodle once! I shall not deny him.

Cock-a-doodle twice! I shall not deny him. Cock-a-doodle thrice!

I deny him.

Thrice he denied him!

No Adhemar.

No Adhemar.

Wat.

Wat. Tell me, did you see her? Did she read the letter?

Yes, and yes.

And?

She's coming to Paris.

Did she give you anything for me in return? A letter or a token?

Did she give me a token? She did.

Yeah...

Yeah. I mean...

Well, what is it, Wat? Come on. Give it to me.

Yes!

Yeah!

Hell, yes!

She-- 'Cause she's-- That means she-- Yeah! Yes!

Yes, yes, yes!

That's a nice round number.

All right.

They wager they wish to make is that a Frenchman, not Sir Ulrich,

will win the tournament.

However, the amount is 50 florins.

- That's all we got. - If we had 60, the bet would be 60.

Even money. But Ulrich against every Frenchman here?

He's won four tournaments in a row. And once again Adhemar is not here.

I check shields too. John Beaumont's here.

Count Theobald, Philip of Burgundy, all three French champions.

An Englishman will not win this French tournament.

English legs are unsteady on French soil.

Shut your mouth, all right?!

Come on, Roland. It's a good bet. Win and I can buy my own tavern.

- I could write full-time. - And a forge for me.

Yes, and because French wine is too much for English bellies.

All right!

I'm about this fonging close, mate. I swear to God, Quasimodo!

Listen, all I want is to go home,

and I already have enough to make that trip a hundred times.

And most importantly because the pope himself is French!

The pope may be French, but Jesus is English. You're on.

He won't lose, not with the princess watching him.

He's blond! He's pissed!

He'll see you in the lists! Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein!

He's blond! He's tan! He comes from Gelderland!

He comes from Gelderland!

Gelderland!

Gelderland! Gelderland!

Gelderland! Gelderland! Gelderland!

- Do you think he will come? - As sure as the sun will rise.

You favour cathedrals.

I come for confession.

And the glass.

A riot of colour in a dreary, grey world.

Don't you think?

It's beautiful.

I feel the same way about the letter you sent.

Speak to me.

Speak those words.

I will win this tournament for you.

Excuse me?

This tournament, I'll win it in your name.

Every knight I defeat, I defeat for you.

Your beauty will be reflected in the power of my arm and the flanks of my horse.

- Really? - Yes.

Really? Its flanks?

Yes.

I wish to hear poetry, Ulrich.

Well, I'm not ready.

But I am.

Why must everything for a woman be run on a man's schedule?

Well, a man's day is fuller,

and, well, you see, a man, he has more demands on his time.

- Is that so? - Yes.

Maybe.

No?

I demand poetry...

and when I want it. And I want it now.

Your breasts...

they're below your throat, where...

Jocelyn, how may I prove my love to you? How?

- Do you ask in earnest? - Yes.

- If you would prove your love... - Right.

- ...you should do your worst. - My worst?

What do you mean?

Instead of winning to honour me with your high reputation,

I want you to act against your normal character and do badly.

- Do badly? - Lose.

Losing proves nothing except that I'm a loser.

Wrong. Losing is a much keener test of your love.

Losing would contradict your self-love.

And losing would show obedience to your lover and not yourself!

- Really? - Woman, shh!

Do not "shh" me and spare him! Now be gone! Go!

What is your answer?

I will not lose.

Then you do not love me.

The Protector of Italian Virginity,

the Lance that thrilled France,

the Harasser of Paraser!

He gave them hell at La Rochelle!

The Enforcer of our Lord God!

The one, the only

Sir Ulrich

von Lichtenstein!

God, I'm good!

His horse's flanks.

Maybe where he comes from, it means love.

What are you doing?

- Losing. - I don't understand.

Neither do I.

He loves me.

Are you blind?

- Did you see the flag? - Yes, I saw it, okay?

I know. I know.

You want to drop behind for a more dramatic victory.

Look, Jocelyn told me I should lose to prove my love.

- Oh, God, I'd rather you were blind. - Don't be foolish, Will.

- Each woman wants proof, that's all. - Proof of what?

That their legs have not been uncrossed for nothing.

Roland, I haven't uncrossed her legs.

Then why in the name of St Swithin are we doing this?!

Because!

Because...

I love her.

Oh, God.

- I'm going to lose everything! - That's why it's called gambling.

Pain! Pain! Here's your pain!

It's very romantic, though.

Are you a woman or a blacksmith?

Sometimes I'm both.

Ooh, that chafes!

Put him down.

No one knight has distanced himself with victories yet.

If you win all your remaining matches

and some of your opponents take key losses,

you could make the semis, even the finals.

- At least the armour's proven itself. - And your love?

Have you proven that yet?

Wat, you remember church as a boy. The fear, the passion.

That's what she makes me feel.

And for that, I say my rosary to Jocelyn and no one else.

William, that's blasphemous.

Then may I burn in hell.

Withdraw.

Lose that way. Just don't take any more punishment.

Oh, Roland.

My lady sends this message. She says that if you love her--

Look, I know, I know. I must lose. Is she not watching?

She says that if you love her, you will not lose another match.

She says that if you love her, you will win this tournament.

There she is, the embodiment of love. Your Venus.

And how I hate her.

Yeah!

- I don't understand women. - Nor do I, but they understand us.

Maybe not you.

Yes!

Women, eh?

Forty-eight,

forty-nine,

and 50!

Thank you, gentlemen. It's been excellent doing business with you.

Do look us up if you're in London, the World Championships, maybe.

Come on. Don't look too sad. Here, have a drink on me.

He's quick, he's funny

He makes me loads of money, Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein!

Guinevere comes to Lancelot.

Bed him well, my lady.

Bed him well.

We missed you at banquet, Sir Ulrich.

"We"?

I.

Jocelyn.

Your prize.

My prize.

I am not worthy of a prize.

Then who is?

My maid tells me that sometimes your varlets...

they call you William.

Is this so, Sir Ulrich?

Yes.

Yes, it is so.

Your name makes no matter to me.

Just so long as I can call you my own.

Oh, but, Jocelyn, I am your own.

Damn, girl.

You need a surgeon.

He's been. He says I will live, though it doesn't feel that way.

Oh, William. This pain is my doing.

Yes, it is.

Although...

my father...

he taught me to take the bad...

with the good.

This good you speak of...

Yes?

...it will be my doing as well.

How long since any of you have been back? I've only been gone six months.

Two years for me.

Three years for my eyes.

Five. Five long years.

William?

Twelve.

Twelve years.

He's to be an apprentice, then?

How long for?

Seven years.

Sir Ector?

I'm the thatcher. I spoke to you outside London Stadium.

Oh, yes. I remember.

Is this the boy?

Yeah.

Step forward, son. Let me look at you.

Careful with that, Roland!

Are you afraid of me, boy?

No?

Have you got most of your teeth?

Show me your arm. Got a strong arm?

Well, he's a half-starved, little scarecrow.

But he's got spirit.

I can show you a great wide world full of adventure...

and marvels that you do not yet dream of.

Can you pack my horse and lead it?

Come on. Say goodbye to your father. Let's get started.

He's a real knight, William. Watch and learn all you can.

It's all I can do for you, son.

Now go change your stars and live a better life than I have.

Roland, show the boy his duties.

- Father? I'm afraid. - Of what?

I won't know the way back home.

Don't be foolish, William. You just follow your feet.

London.

Give us a shout out, London!

Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!

I have news.

- Adhemar's here. He's entered. - Must have grown bored with war.

No, no. The Black Prince commanded it. He was forced to disband his army.

They were revelling the night, pillaging town after town.

Robbing and murdering and ransacking churches.

Committing the oldest sins in the newest ways.

At last we'll have a chance to face each other again, Sir Ulrich.

And at the World Championship.

And as I promised you before, Adhemar,

you will look up at me from the flat of your back.

Let the past die.

You've done well in my absence, on the field and off. So I'm told.

Winning trophies, horses, women.

You put them in that order?

Generally, with a few exceptions.

Beautiful, isn't she?

A real thoroughbred trophy, don't you think?

- You speak of Jocelyn like she's a target. - Isn't she?

No.

She is the arrow.

I've entered into negotiations with her father.

I'm to make her my bride.

Oh, she'll be saddled

and placed on my mantle.

Target or arrow, it makes no difference.

I will have her.

Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!

- How would you beat him? - With a stick, while he slept.

But on a horse? With a lance?

That man is unbeatable.

Tend to him.

My lord?

May I present Simon, a simple summoner?

Tell the count what you told me.

I'm afraid, my lord, that a sin has been committed.

A sin of deception.

A vulgar sin of pride.

God and the natural order have been denied.

Speak plainly, summoner.

Ulrich von Lichtenstein is not who he appears to be.

For a modest donation, he can be watched so you may learn the truth.

I think we should have our noble Ulrich followed.

Pick someone discreet.

- Chaucer! - What?

I don't believe this. How much did you lose?

- Lose what? - Gambling. Your clothes, even?

Not a penny. My clothes lie there.

I can't even think of anything to say.

Then why you running around naked?

Because she was hungry.

Who?

Phillipa, my wife.

- I'll do you for this. - Hey, now. Come on.

Oh, that must be Wat.

And you're Kate and Roland and Will.

I mean, Ulrich von Lichtenstein, whose mother's father was--

Shilhard von Rechberg, darling.

- Geoff's told me all about you. - Right.

Anyone like a bite?

Wat.

Sorry to barge in on you, Mrs Chaucer.

No, no.

We'll let you be.

- Good night. - Night.

- I thought you was a prostitute. - Get out.

Oh, right.

They seem more fun

than those boring pilgrims you hung out with last year.

What is it?

Paradise, my dear, stands formed

in your eyes.

Oh, Geoff, come to bed.

Didn't you hear? We're rained off. You're gonna have to win tomorrow.

Oh, well. I'm going riding.

- In this? - In this.

- Head. - Thank you.

Food.

Hello there.

You're... You're Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

Yes.

You're my favourite knight. When we joust, I always say I'm you.

What are you doing in Cheapside? There's no parade today.

Can you keep a secret?

I was born in Cheapside, just around the corner there.

- Truly, Sir Ulrich? - Truly.

I only live just there.

Well, how old are you?

- Nine and one half. - Nine and one half.

I wonder if you remember a man,

though he may have died before you were born.

He was as tall as a knight. His name was John Thatcher.

- Of course I remember him. - You do?

Well, yeah. He lives there still.

Sometimes we see him sitting at the window, but no one knows why.

What do you mean?

He's blind, sir.

Is someone there?

If you're here for the net, I'm haven't finished yet.

Come back tomorrow.

Who are you?

A knight.

My name... is Ulrich.

Ulrich? I hear that name being chanted from the stadium.

What business have you here?

I have word, Master Thatcher.

Word of your son.

Of my William? Well, come in, sir.

What word?

Does he live?

Aye. He lives.

He is very well.

He wanted you to know...

that he changed his stars after all.

And has he followed his feet?

Has he found his way home at last?

Yes.

Father.

Oh, William. Oh, my boy.

I should like to meet this Wat. And Roland as well.

You will, Father. You will.

And what of women? Is there a certain one or many?

There is a certain one.

I should like to meet her as well.

This leak won't do, Father.

- Not in the chamber of a thatcher. - For a blind thatcher, it's quite fitting.

Well, a thatcher I am.

I'll fix it for you.

Alive. Can you imagine?

I thought he was dead, which is mad,

'cause he was also so strong. Very strong.

I remember--

Geoff. Jocelyn.

This day just gets better and better.

Somebody die?

Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

What?

Adhemar...

followed you last night.

To Cheapside.

He says he saw your father.

Will, they asked me for your patents.

They're waiting for you in the lists, they're gonna arrest you.

A dozen royal guards.

They'll put you in the stocks.

But I face Adhemar in five minutes' time.

No, you forfeit. They've already marked it down.

Saddle the horses. They can arrest your baggage, not you.

Halt.

So, what do you think...

now that you know what I am?

To know what you are, William, would take a lifetime.

One I am most willing to give. But right now you've got to run.

There is nothing left to do. Run and I will run with you.

Jocelyn, I cannot run.

I am a knight, and I will put myself to the hazard!

A knight in your heart but not on paper. And paper's all that matters to them!

William, I love you.

I love you. You.

And I'm sorry, but I won't see you bound for the stocks.

Oh, but you will see me run? No!

Damn your pride, William.

It is you and only you that will not see you run.

My pride is the one thing they can't take from me!

But they can take it from you. They can and they will.

Oh, they will.

But love they cannot take.

And... And where will we live?

In--? In my hovel?

With the pigs inside, in winter, so they won't freeze?

Yes, William, with the pigs.

With the pigs.

The poor can marry for love.

Oh, Jocelyn, you speak of what you do not know!

William, I beg you.

Please.

Run. Do it for love.

Roland, you would see me run?

And you, Geoff?

Yes, I wish it too, with all the pieces of my heart.

Wat? You and I? We aren't runners.

Yes.

William, today we are.

Run, William.

No!

I will not run!

I am a knight.

Well, boys,

all good things must come to an end.

Let's end them together.

You will remove yourself from this position of honour.

I am here to compete.

You are here to be arrested.

All right!

He that strives to touch a star...

oft stumbles...

at a simple straw.

You have been weighed.

You have been measured.

And you have been found wanting.

It's one loss or another... William.

In what world could you have ever beaten me?

Leave, Roland.

Let them have me.

God love you, William.

So do I.

Go! Disperse!

Or I will fong you!

As Jesus Christ the Nazarene and his holy mother, the Virgin Mary,

are my witnesses, I will fong you!

I will rip you, fist and pain...

Stick my fist and break you! Pain! Lots of pain!

We're in trouble.

Listen to me!

Listen to me!

Listen! Listen!

You're cut from the same cloth, you and he.

Mother?

Is my mother here? I'd recognise this cooking anywhere.

Mother, please, you at least go home.

I'll tell you tonight how it turns out.

Filthy coward!

I hope it is good news, Mum.

I hope I can tell you that I managed to convince these good people

to leave my lord William unharmed.

For I have never seen

a heart like the one that beats inside this man.

Great, it is.

Swollen with all the virtues risen of pride,

forthright, free, courageous, constant,

and most of all...

filled with hope.

At least until today.

What fills it now...

I know not.

I ask you:

What makes a man noble?

His lineage or his heart?

His heart.

Good heart.

My lord,

it's true, was born poor in Cheapside, London,

and so what?

For he is as true as steel.

No, truer.

For he is like gold...

to me.

He is like gold, and you and I...

are merely iron.

And yet you people...

you would come to see him rust.

For shame.

Shame on you.

Leave him.

Go home.

It's the prince.

What a pair we make, huh?

Both trying to hide who we are.

Both unable to do so.

Your men love you.

If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough.

But you also tilt when you should withdraw.

And that is knightly too.

Release him.

He may appear to be of humble origins,

but my personal historians have discovered

that he is descended from an ancient royal line.

This is my word.

And as such, is beyond contestation.

Now...

if I may repay the kindness you once showed me.

Take a knee.

By the power vested in me by my father, King Edward,

and by all the witnesses here,

I dub thee...

Sir William.

Arise... Sir William.

Can you joust?

- What? - There's my tournament to finish.

Now, are you fit to compete, or shall the forfeit stand?

No, I'm fit.

I shall have your opponent informed of it. You look for his shield on the lists.

At once.

Thank you, my lord.

All hail Prince Edward!

My lords, my ladies,

and all you other people.

I give you the son of Philippe de Vitry, son of Gilles...

- Are you sure? - Yes.

It's nothing but spun sugar and boot black.

It's a small target, Will,

but aim for his heart.

...doer of daring deeds,

conqueror of countless kingdoms,

Count Adhemar!

Adhemar! Adhemar! Adhemar!

Oh, God. I'll fetch the surgeon, Will.

Roland! You're the surgeon now.

Come on.

He's tipped it.

Kate, get me back to one.

Back to one or we forfeit.

Dirty son of a bitch!

Kate, I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

As I said, thatcher.

In what world could you have ever beaten me?

Such a place does not exist.

She's here, William.

And so is your father.

Change your stars.

Let's dance, you and I.

It's two lances to none.

You must unhorse him or kill him. It's the only way to win.

- You need more padding. - No, leave it off.

I can't breathe with it on.

Lance.

No.

I can barely grip it.

Damn.

Lash it to my arm.

Wat...

lash it to me arm.

Do as he says.

Good people!

I missed my introduction!

But please,

please, I pray you,

hear it now.

For I would lay rest

the grace in my tongue and speak plain.

Days like these

are far too rare to cheapen with heavy-handed words.

And so, I'm afraid, without any ado whatsoever--

Excuse me, my lord.

Here he is! One of your own!

Born a stone's throw from this very stadium

and here before you now.

The son of John Thatcher,

Sir William Thatcher!

That's your name, Will.

Sir William Thatcher.

Your father heard that.

William! William! William!

Godspeed, William.

William!

You have been weighed.

You have been measured.

And you absolutely...

Have been found wanting.

Welcome to the new world.

And God save you, if it is right that he should do so.

William!

Yes! Yes!

He's won! He's won!

William! William! William!

You beat him, Will!

Oh, William.

I'm gonna have to write some of this story down.

The part about the prince and the knights?

No, no, no. All of it.

All human activity lies within the artist's scope.

Maybe not yours.

Hey, hey.

- Your round. - Your round.