All language subtitles for Shardlake.S01E02.1080p.WEB.H264-SuccessfulCrab

Slowly.

There.

- There you go.
- Ah, Brother Guy.

You are needed.

Rest well, Brother Mark.

Sleep.

Could this not have waited
till morning, Master Shardlake?

'Tis morning. I am wide awake.

Now, on the night you
discovered Singleton dead,

you came to the kitchen, why?

Alice and I were tending
to Brother August.

He was in some distress, and I
wanted to give him some warm milk.

I came to fetch it.

- And you entered from where?
- There is only the one way. This way.

One way in, and one way out.

- The door was open?
- Locked.

It is kept locked to prevent the monks
and servants from helping themselves.

These other doors are
cupboards and, uh, pantries.

I do not remember there
being a night lamp.

Ah, it was then that I slipped.

Just here.

I was standing in a
large pool of blood,

and there I saw
Master Singleton.

His head beside him.

Placed beside him?

That is a possibility.

The blood had not congealed?

No.

So the act was recent.

I have witnessed beheadings.

The killer too would have
been covered with blood.

Did you notice any other footprints?
Any mark in the passageway upon arrival?

I did not.

But, if, as you say,

there is only one way
in and the same way out,

there must have been a trail.

Unless the swordsman did
remain inside the kitchen.

That is a disturbing thought.

And there was no trail.

So once you found the
body, then what did you do?

I went to the abbot.

What, leaving the door unlocked?

Yes.

If I had locked the door, I
may have trapped the killer.

Well, if he was indeed inside.

- If he did not have a key.
- Mmm.

If you, Brother Guy, are
not the killer yourself.

I can tell you I am not.

Well, then he spared you

despite knowing that you
would raise the alarm.

Why was that?

The will of God.

Brother Gabriel.

Master Bugge. I assumed
you were in prayer.

Good morning.

Simon Whelplay is laying very
sickly inside the infirmary.

He did speak with Master
Shardlake, did ask for him.

I thought it best you know seeing
as you're so fond of the boy.

Fond?

That's what I said, Brother.

Be careful of your
words, Master Bugge.

Well, I think it's best we're all
careful in these times, Brother.

I do not wish to lose my livelihood or
home over another man's folly or fancy.

You will remember your position.

I think it's best you save your
advice for the novice Whelplay.

Before he talks any further.

Before we all find ourselves
starving in the street.

Master Barak!

Master Barak?

I have asked that the monks
gather with us in the courtyard.

There is work to be done.

Why'd you not wake me sooner?

I wish to speak to you.

And you shall.

Do not give him
what he wants, boy.

Master Shardlake, just here
will give you good sight

of the monastery buildings,
the infirmary, the chapel,

the refectory, and the
kitchens, of course.

I assume that's why
we are standing here.

Robin Singleton was
not welcome here.

Is that not true?

Let me be clear.

We welcome all visitors
sent by Lord Cromwell.

There are over 100 people
within these imposing walls.

Do you vouch for
each one of them?

I would vouch for my brethren.

Including the tormented Jerome?

Including the novice Whelplay?

Simon Whelplay is a boy.

Who is starved and beaten
and must wear a cap

marked with the letter
"M" for maleficium. Evil.

It is a cap. Nothing more.

Sir, with respect, you
have an imagination.

And you, Mortimus of Kelso,
have a wicked temper.

You were a soldier once?

I told you I was.

As was I.

We do not hide the fact.

You have killed men? Both?

In battle.

In battle, yes.

I still hear their
screams at night.

Good morning, one and all.

Your Holiness.

Please. Continue.

You have lost a
trinket, I believe.

Not a trinket.

A rare and holy relic.

The hand of the Penitent Thief
who suffered with Christ,

stolen on the night
of the murder.

It was housed in a gold casket.

My only concern is that
something of such holy power

- could now be in the hands of the devil.
- His followers.

What are you claiming exactly?

That these followers of Satan

came here specifically for
your relic and its casket?

And did murder Master
Singleton, yes.

Seems I'm not the only one
here with an imagination.

On the night he is slain, Master Singleton
left his room at what time, Dr Goodhap?

Well, it was a long
time after midnight.

The... The dead of night.

So he exits the abbot's house,

crosses this very ground, and
heads towards the kitchens.

You suggest he is killed right there
in the kitchens by followers of Satan.

Yes.

Who came from the church
some good distance that way.

They must have, yes.

So I am to believe that these devil men,
instead of escaping with their holy prize,

decided they must first
nibble upon a piece of bread.

This is not the time
for ill-judged humour.

No, it is not.

It is a time for
fact, Abbot Fabian.

It may be convenient
to link together

the theft of your relic
and this traitorous murder,

but that does not make it true.

It's a coincidence then.

Is it possible Master Singleton could have
arranged a meeting? Is it likely, even?

- Well, it's entirely possible.
- In the middle of the night?

If he had a promise
of information.

And if he did not? If this
meet is your own fabrication?

That he went to the kitchens in the
middle of the night is no fabrication.

Robin Singleton was
killed, not by chance,

nor by an outsider who did
float over marshland and walls.

Someone here.

Someone within St Donatus

did falsely arrange to meet
with King Henry's commissioner

and did cut him dead.

I will find you.

I will discover the truth,
and this house will close.

Ah, Dr Goodhap,
you're alive. Still.

Uh...

The danger is real.

And you are neither
amusing nor clever.

No, I'm both. Am I
not, Master Shardlake?

Why'd you not wake me sooner?

- Was that my role?
- Well, it's a shared investigation.

You'd do wise to
remember that fact.

Thank you.

Cromwell found you in
the gutter, I hear.

Plucked you from a cesspit.

Oh, do not be ashamed of your roots,
Master Barak. Now look at you.

Peacock proud.

Ooh. Scented and washed.

Uh, I hear you're
fond of a cup of wine

with the enemies of Cromwell.

That is a lie.

The Duke of Norfolk
himself, for example.

- No such event has ever occurred.
- That's what I hear.

- I would do no such thing.
- I say you would.

- Never.
- Ah.

And there the
bickering shall end.

Now, since I have imparted
all I know, as requested,

I assume I am no longer needed.

I will make my way to the town and
find the first ship back to London.

You will not.

Am I your hostage now?

You may return to London when
our work here is finished.

Our reputations intact.

Master Shardlake?

Then I shall return to
the haven of my room.

I bid you a good day.

Where in this place
might you find a sword?

- Master Barak?
- Huh?

It could be anywhere.

The sword's gone.

What of the casket that housed
the hand of the Penitent Thief?

It's ornate, be jewel
led. Is that gone too?

We find the casket,

their story of outsiders
is proven as false.

This drawing is from where?

The library.

I have asked Brother Edwig there to
hand over the monastery accounts.

Every book.

There's the sale of land
we must investigate.

A visit to the town's
justice is necessary.

You will not find the killer or the
casket in the town, nor in books.

Nevertheless, to the town
we shall go. Together.

I don't like how you look at me.

- Did not realise I was looking.
- Oh, is it my arse you want?

I do not sin.

You don't?

Well, what is it you do?

What is it any of you do, besides put
food into your mouth and shit it out?

We are men in service to
God. Nothing more. Good men.

You do not get to
say you are good men.

You do nothing. You have no
purpose. You have no power. None.

We have the power of
prayer, Master Barak.

The power of prayer?

Whilst you pray, children
outside these walls go hungry.

I've seen them starve.

You're hiding.

Yeah.

You're all hiding.

The only good that comes
from this place is the ale.

And even that tastes like piss.

You do not appear to be
in the best of moods.

I have some questions.

Why are we not searching
for the casket?

Why are we not at the boy's
bedside or speaking with Jerome?

Why are we hauling books
from monastery to village

when all we require is
one person to admit guilt?

One person to point a finger.

Singleton was
killed for a reason.

Well, of course he was
killed for a reason.

Yes, but for what reason?
Why? For what purpose?

Killing him was never
going to halt the closure.

It simply brought two
commissioners instead of one.

- It makes no sense.
- Open the gates!

Let 'em through.

We shall discover the
truth of what has happened.

Singleton did investigate
the monastery's accounts.

We shall do the same.

This was once a thriving port.

Gave people a decent life.

Well, when the monastery is closed,
there will be land and monies available.

For all.

I take these rooms to
avail myself to the people.

The inn is more convenient, less
intimidating than my own house.

Folk can speak more freely.

- Interesting.
- Thank you, Master Shardlake.

My person being here,
in amongst the people,

helps to ensure this town is loyal
to Lord Cromwell and the king.

You'll find no sectarians
here. There's no witchcraft.

A glass of wine,
gentlemen? French wine?

Any words of complaint from the
townsfolk, uh, regarding the reforms?

Well, the biggest complaint,
the only complaint,

is that of the abolition
of the saints' days.

Purely because they're holidays.
No hot gospellers. None.

If there were, I would know
of it. I have informers.

The only trouble with informers
is the lies they tell.

You're quite right,
Master Barak.

One must be careful. One must investigate
and separate the truth from hearsay.

There is smuggling, as ever was, but
the papists, they remain in France.

You are an example, Justice Copynger.
And Cromwell shall hear of it.

Thank you, sir. That is...

That is most thoughtful.

Your good health.

- And to that of the king.
- Yes. Good health to all.

Mm-hmm.

Now, Justice Copynger,

we require your urgent assistance
with our own investigation.

I'm ready.

These here are the books of
accounts from the monastery.

Brother Edwig's books. He'd have
the skin off a flea, that man.

I am most interested
in the sale of lands.

Simple task, I would like you

to compare the bills of sale within
these books with your own records.

I can do that.

And with the receipts held by
the purchasers of the land sold.

Ah. That will take some time.

- How much time?
- A matter of days, with luck.

How many days?

Well, I shall have to visit each
buyer personally. They may be absent

- or not have the receipts to hand.
- How many days?

Five.

- Five days is too long.
- That is with luck, sir.

Five days is too long. The
king will not be pleased.

- King Henry?
- What, you serve another?

I do not.

We are the king's emissaries.
What does that imply?

- Urgency.
- Yes.

Five days is too long.

Soonest, Justice Copynger.

Most soonest, of course.

A good day to you, sir.

And to you, Master Shardlake.

Well, you were seeking an
account of his progress.

There you have it.

You will complete the task
in no more than three days.

You'll provide details of any and all
land sale anomalies to me directly.

- Is that proper? But what of the king...
- On the fifth day,

you may share this information
with Master Shardlake.

Understood?

Understood.

If these receipts are so important,
then why give the task to him?

We should visit each buyer

and ensure the receipts are written
exactly how we want them to be written.

It is the truth we require.

Justice is what we require.

And justice will be done with
the closing of the monastery.

Oh, it is a wicked practice.

The monks taking money from the poor
to pay for the forgiveness of sins.

In there with Copynger,

you drew Thomas Cromwell's name
like you would draw a sword

to get what you want.

Cromwell is your
strength, as he is mine.

Without him, you're a crook
back of no importance.

I shall return to St Donatus and
continue our search for the truth.

That is how I serve him, Jack.

I will speak with
Brother Jerome.

That's justice.

He's there as I
said he would be.

If you would, wait by the door.

Ah,

heretic.

- You came.
- You wish to speak with me?

These past days, I've been availing
myself with our precious books

before they are burned.

I am a cousin of the
now Queen Jane Seymour,

which is why he saw me lengthened
rather than murdered outright.

Who is this he you speak of?

Him.

Your master. Cromwell.

He did watch while I was racked.

Muscle torn.

Bones pulled from their socket.

Well, that is not true.

As the queen's cousin, I could
never be executed as a traitor.

But it was important that I
saw the error of my faith.

Important that I swore a new
oath to the king and his church.

Which you did. Freely.

Which I did.

He seemed to enjoy my agony.

Your master.

My screams became his music.

A further lie.

I understand, crook
back, you are afraid.

Without Cromwell's favour,

what are you?

I am a lawyer with reputation.

You are like one of those
birds from Peruland.

Cromwell speaks and you repeat.

Cromwell speaks and you repeat.

You waste my time.

Oh, and you are so important.

You are of no further interest.

He did murder Anne Boleyn.

The charge of adultery with
that poor boy was an invention.

- Cromwell's invention.
- No.

I did witness her death, and she was
accepting of the evidence and her fate.

Then she was a queen
until the very end.

Hear this, if nothing else.

I was held in the Tower.

In the very next cell to
mine was the musician.

The young boy Mark Smeaton.

Her supposed lover.

Did you witness his death too?

I heard he wept.

For Anne Boleyn, he wept,

but not because
he was her lover.

Like me, he had
suffered on the rack.

Like me, he did falsely confess
to the monster Cromwell.

And like me, he was full of regret
and remorse at his weakness.

People devise the most
elaborate stories.

I have written Master
Smeaton's story down.

Elaborate or otherwise.

In it, I describe not
his fear of death,

but of the purgatory he
imagined would follow.

He died believing he
had betrayed his queen

when the real traitors
are Cromwell and his king.

It is yours to burn

along with the books.

It is a concern that Dr
Goodhap did hear every lie.

You do as Jerome suggests.

Burn it.

It does not exist.

You know, I met him once.

Mark Smeaton.

Sweet-natured boy, I
thought at the time.

Burn it.

What if it is true?

My story?

What then?

My lies did kill her.

Pray for me.

Save my soul.

Please.

Pray for me, sir!

Save my soul!

Simon.

Simon.

- Simon, stop!
- Simon!

Stop him!

Simon!

Somebody hold him!

Wait!

Simon. Si-Simon. Simon.

Stand still.

Simon, it's Master Shardlake.

You wish to speak to me?

Simon. Simon!

Simon!

Halt, Simon!

Simon, wait!

Simon!

Hold him!

Simon, stop!

Simon!

Simon, no!

Simon!

Wait, Simon.

Simon. Simon.

Simon.

Simon.

I mean you no harm.

I'm here to help.

I'm here to listen.

We can speak now.

Just you and I.

You mock me, boy.

I must say you do it well.

- A-Allow me to help.
- No, keep away from me!

Stay back!

You are the devil's man.

- Jerome did say.
- Simon, no!

Simon, you must listen to me.

Simon, please, pl...

Simon!

You are here to
seek justice, sir?

I am.

Truth and justice
are my currency.

Simon, I can protect you.

You understand?

I can help you.

Oh, no. Oh, no. That's not good.

That's not good at all.

Help me!

Somebody help!

Help!

Help!

Help!

Help!

- Sir!
- Alice!

Take hold.

Take a strong hold now!

Keep hold.

Alice, God bless you.

I thought that was
my last breath.

Is that for me?

It's for Master Shardlake.

What is it you can offer
me, Alice Fewterer?

A smile?

Solitude, sir.

- Something to warm you, sir.
- Oh.

- An infusion.
- Thank you again.

I was fortunate, Alice,
that you came along.

I was most fortunate.

How was it you came to be there?

- On the marsh?
- Yes.

I like it.

I know it's bleak, but
there's a peace there.

Even like to catch a
glimpse of the lights.

Smugglers.

Imagine their ships
sail off to France.

And I imagine France.

What it must be like.

So there you have it all, sir.

I'm a mad woman.

Oh, no, no, no.

Not at all.

I was there for the
very same reason.

You know, the endless sky.

The cold.

Allows the mind to wander.

Helps one think clearly.

It does, sir.

I shall fetch you a fresh robe.

Uh, and, um, how was it that you
came to be here at St Donatus?

There is no family?

No swain?

Once upon a time, there was a
swain, sir, but no more sadly.

Forgive me.

No bother.

"It's better to have
loved", as they say.

May I ask you a question, sir?

Of course.

Do you know Lord Cromwell?

Have you met him?

I do, and I have.

I have worked for him
for some time now.

Is he as fearsome as they say?

Oh, he can be at times.

Master Singleton
would bark and shout.

I could see him working for Lord
Cromwell, but you, sir, you're different.

I've spoken out of turn.

N-No, no, never.

I knew Master
Singleton, of course.

And I am pleased to be thought
of as different to him.

May he rest in peace.

Amen.

And Simon, may he
too find peace.

Amen.

He was awake and sitting
for an hour or so.

Sitting quietly.

I gave him a thin
broth, some warm mead.

And his fever?

Had gone, I thought.

Visitors to his bedside?

He spoke with the abbot and
Prior Mortimus for a short while.

They prayed together.

Soon after, he complained
of feeling unwell.

Some further time later,
he became distressed.

Very distressed.

And he ran, as you saw.

As I saw.

Upon our return
from the village,

why were we not told that the
boy was awake and talking?

He was with the abbot.

I have other duties.

It was to Master Shardlake
that the boy wished to speak.

I cannot simply evict
the abbot nor the prior.

What, and now the boy
is conveniently dead?

This house is
rotten to the core.

We will do more
than just close it.

We will tear it down.

In the barn,

before he fell,

I did think that
he was mocking me.

His body bent, took on my shape.

It was as though he were
tormented, I would say.

He was not himself.

But there was no fever?

I was certain it had subsided.

Jerome, the abbot, the prior.

Who else did visit?

Brother Gabriel and
Edwig came to pray.

And Master Bugge.

So many people all came to visit

this unremarkable, clumsy,
insignificant novice.

Why?

Matthew.

What, the boy wishes to speak with
you? Before he's able, he's dead?

Convenient, as you say.

I admit, the boy
was of interest.

Thomas Cromwell is
not a patient man.

He's not a forgiving man.

Whisper it, but he is not a man who
cares much for truth unless it suits him.

So I shall remind you once more.

We are here to close this house and
turn over its wealth to the king.

How we do that, I,
for one, do not care.

Another one dead, I'm hearing!

How long must I be kept
here against my will?

You know, he too is a concern.

He's seen too much.
He's heard too much.

We are at the beginning still.

You know, I say if the truth is
being deliberately kept from us,

we must decide
upon our own truth.

Think on it.

And not for five days.

Oh, it's you.

You startled me.

I thought I would exercise
this beast before breakfast.

Your bags are packed.

And your head is full with
stories of murder and failure.

Never.

You'll speak of how I and Master
Shardlake did turn one death into two.

And how we're no closer
to winning a surrender.

You cannot do this to me.

Go back to your room.

I will not allow it.

Dr Goodhap.

I'm not your prisoner.

Do not test me nor my skill.

Master Shardlake has witnessed
your anger towards me.

- To your bed.
- Come no closer!

In fact, you will step away!

You stupid, foolish man!

Why could you not
go back to your bed?

Look what you have done!

Look what you have made me!

This was not me.

This was not my doing.

I didn't want this to happen.

Can't you save me?

You are dead, sir.

Your death will not be wasted.

I shall let them find you.

St Donatus must surrender

to a lie or to the truth.

It will no longer matter.

I shall have prayers
said on your behalf.