All language subtitles for Shardlake.S01E02.2160p.DSNP.WEB-DL.HDR.DDP5.1.Atmos.H265-BEN.THE.MEN_track3_[eng]

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, bejewelled. 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 crookback 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, crookback, 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.

I was curious.

I could not understand
how the novice had shifted

from fever and weakness
to what we both witnessed.

And then you mentioned
how you believed he had mocked you.

Hmm.

His body bent.

I thought of what might cause
such a thing.

It was necessary to open his gut.

The spasms are characteristic.

Of what?

Belladonna.

The deadly nightshade,
as it is called in your country.

He was poisoned?

He was.

It was the fall that killed him,
but his death was inevitable.

Belladonna has a faint
but distinctive smell.

I know it.

It was in Simon's gut

and in the remain of his cup
at his bedside.

When was this done?

It had to have been this morning.

The onset of symptoms is rapid.

Tell no one.

Not the abbot, the prior,
not even Master Barak.

I cannot guess at
how he would react to such news.

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.