All language subtitles for The.Shadow.of.the.Tower.S01E03.en

- What is your name?
- Lambert Simnel.

In the name of God, now!

Now, again, what is your name?

Edward Plantagenet, Prince.

- Title?
- Earl of Warwick.

- Who is your father?
- George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence.

- And where is he now?
- He died, in the Tower at London.

- When?
- In King Edward's time, my uncle.

- Have you any other uncles?
- No.

Oh... Richard, king of the blessed memory.
But he's dead, too.

How?

Henry the Tudor, Earl Richmond, slew
him at Bosworth field and took the crown.

Are there any others?

- Of my family?
- Yes.

They're all dead.
Uncles, brothers, cousins, all dead.

Not true. There are some left alive!

I have an aunt, in Flanders.

Duchess...

- Margaret!
- Duchess Margaret of Burgundy. My aunt.

- Cousins?
- No...

Yes! My cousin of Lincoln, John...

John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln.

But he's not of the male line.
I am, the first of my house.

- The Royal House of York.
- Which means?

Come on, come on! The most apparent answer!
Which means?

- The rightful king.
- Oh...!

I am the true and only king!

- King what?
- Failing all others of the male line

and others of the House of York,
Edward VI, by the grace of God,

King of England and France,
Lord of Ireland, Duke of...

That's better.

Who's that?!

Simnel! What in the name of God
are you doing here?

What the good brothers of Abingdon pay me
for - repairing of organs, Master Simmons.

You are also paid to keep out of the abbey
while the boy is here!

I'll see my son now and then.
Keep an eye on him, like.

He's not your son any more, Simnel.

I'm the Earl of Warwick now, Father.
Master Simmons told me.

He saved me from my enemies.

I'm going to be King of England!

They're going to make me.

Of course we are, Your Highness.
Of course we are.

"Your Highness"!

Simnel was spying, Father Abbot.

You were told to keep away from Abingdon.
You're a distraction to the boy.

- He is my son.
- Was! You were very well paid for him.

Now, get out and keep silence.

You'll fool a lot of folk, Father Abbot,
but you'll not fool me.

Princes, earls and the like.

There be a proper king,
Henry the Tudor, up in London.

You'll not fool him neither
if what they say on him's true.

Do you hear me, son?

Look at me!

You'll fool nobody in the end.

I like being a prince.

You're a pawn in a play.

Simnel, get out!

Was that wise? To let him go?

- He's not safe.
- He'll have to be taken care of.

Now, gentlemen. Before I forget.

Father Simmons,
this is Master Christopher Swan

and Master John Mayne,

redoubtable citizens of Abingdon and
loyal friends of our cause, eh, masters?

This is Father Simmons of Oxford.

A fine clerk, Simmons,
and if all goes well,

will be our Archbishop of Canterbury,
no less.

It will go well!

God has told me.

Father Simmons sleeps lightly
and dreams deeply.

The holy spirit has been
most communicative.

However, we can't always depend
upon heavenly manifestations,

no matter how divine they may appear to be,

so let us limit ourselves to the more
mundane aspects of our undertaking.

The situation is this.

You, boy. Go to the door and keep watch.

If Your Highness pleases.

The boy is to go to Ireland.

- So soon?
- The sooner the better!

The Irish Lords are prepared to meet
our protégé and if they approve of him,

will acknowledge him the true Earl of
Warwick and rightful heir to the throne.

The Irish will use any
stick to beat the English.

That boy is not "any stick"!

The man Simnel calls him "my son". Master
Simmons here calls him the Earl of Warwick.

- I know he is!
- Either way, he's a child.

He may not have the authority, it's true,

but he will have the prestige if
he's accepted and that he must be!

Do you have doubts, Master Mayne?

Henry Tudor is my quarrel,
and all his house.

'Gainst that, the cause of York is my cause
and in its service I follow any man or child.

So if yon boy can be what you say,
then let it be so.

And you, Master Swan?

I cannot tell.

There'll be many as hard to satisfy.

You, boy, go to my parlour
and prepare us some wine.

You know where it is.

Come, masters, I have something
will warm you and bend you perhaps.

Now are you content, Master Swan? There
are your captains, your leaders' names.

Lord Francis Lovell?
How do you know where he is?

Since the rising of the Staffords
last year, no one has seen him.

Lord Lovell's attainder after that affair
is good reason for him to lie low.

You will, however, find him in Lancashire
with Sir Thomas Broughton.

I'll find him?

Here are some letters which I trust
you will deliver to my Lord.

Yes, Master Swan?

Lord Lovell in Lancashire.

Master Mayne, you will have charge
of the boy into Ireland.

Here's your passports and some letters
to our friends in Dublin.

You will be sent
further instructions there.

My God, Father Abbot. I'm beginning
to smell the fruit before the bud.

Father Simmons is not happy.

My little prince will be taken from me.

In order to pursue the
end you promised him.

- The Earl of Lincoln?
- You are to sound him out in London.

John of Lincoln? He's not interested in us.
He was bought by Henry Tudor.

But not paid for.

Ingratitude destroys devotion.

In the Earl's case, Father Simmons
is to find out by how much,

is that not so, Father Simmons?

- If it will endorse our cause.
- Endorse it?!

If John of Lincoln will come out for us
we should need little else.

Now come, gentlemen,
drink up and let's about it.

Here are your orders.
Nothing remains now but the doing of it.

Quickly and without noise.

A moment, masters.

Before you auspicate this enterprise,

we would like to thank you
for your kind service in our cause.

Almighty God, who blessed us
with the name Plantagenet,

and preserved us in
our title Warwick the Earl,

and will regenerate our Royal House of York

and in due time, anoint us
England's lawful king.

That same God who will reward you
till I am able,

protect, guard and guide you.

Gentlemen, your hands.

You'll not forget your servant Simmons,
Highness.

Come, boy. There's work to be done.

Go with Master Mayne.

Simmons, wake up. Reality's for dreams.

You are to make shift for us in London.
The Earl of Lincoln, remember.

John Hoddlestone...

knight, 42 shillings.

Neil Thornborough...

Thomas Otter...

- My Lord of Lincoln.
- Your Grace?

There's wine, over there somewhere.
Bring it to me.

If you please.

Thomas Otter, six shillings eight pence.

Yes.

The post of King's Butler is an
honourable one, you know, John.

I consider it so, Highness.

Not as influential post as, er,
President of the Council of the North,

or Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.

Both of which were yours once,
were they not?

Thank you.

Do you miss them?

- Do have some with me.
- It's very late, your Grace.

Oh, come, sit, John, sit.
And take some wine.

Do you miss these honours?

I am about the King's business,
your Grace keeps me occupied.

You have been industrious on our behalf,
very true. I only wondered...

if time has been lying heavy on your hands.

Trying treason cases in London
and the Midlands.

Three commissions inquiring into felonious
practices in roughly the same area,

a council whenever you've commanded...

You make a great deal
of noise on our council.

- To little effect.
- Oh? How to little effect?

The oath of liveries and maintenance
which I am expected to administer.

- It was our...
- I'm not satisfied.

Oh?

The returns are inaccurate.
The receipt of fines small.

Who is to blame for that?

Perhaps the receipts are small because
you are in disagreement with our order.

With care and patience
I could come round to it, your Grace.

You have a deal of care and patience, then?

I shouldn't have thought
they sat easily on you.

It must be hard
for a man to lose his whole future

as well as his past, on the outcome
of one day's warring at Bosworth Field.

Live to see it all go.

I think I count Your Highness' trust
sufficient compensation.

You think you've got a bargain, then?

Are you sure that my trust is enough?

Can a subject want more
than the goodwill of his sovereign?

More wine, your Grace?

It's very late.

Thank you, my Lord.

The King's guard on business
to his Grace the Bishop of Exeter.

- What is it?
- I have something for my Lord Bishop.

Bring him in, Captain.

Well?

According to your instructions, my Lord,
I had him observed.

First in the kitchens where he took no food
but spoke with several persons

and later with the Earl of Lincoln's
servant, whom he sought out.

He would have nothing to do with him, but
this man followed him to my Lord's lodgings.

- Did he enter the Earl's lodgings?
- No, my Lord, the Earl was not there.

Where is the Earl of Lincoln?

Here in the palace, on the King's business.

Go on, Captain.

This man, my Lord, made several attempts
to speak to the Earl in his chambers.

Did he speak to the Earl?

No, my Lord. He tried to,
but the Earl was rather amazed at him

and ordered me to throw
him out of the palace.

Very sensible of the Earl.
Has he spoken to you, Captain?

Only to beg his freedom of me
and not without a bribe.

I found these on him, my Lord,
which I took from him.

Thank you, Captain. Leave him with me.

My Lord.

But stay within call.

Come.

You have not been unnoticed, Master...
What is your name?

Richard Simmons.

Who sent you, Simmons?

That hotbed of malcontents again.
The Abbot of Abingdon will never learn.

Captain, bring that man
to his Grace of Canterbury's chamber.

I am the Archbishop of Canterbury,
Master Simmons.

There is no provision in canon law
nor room in England for two.

Contrary to your heavenly expectations.

I'm also Lord Chancellor of this realm
so I have you on both counts,

religious and secular.

I'm afraid you'll have
to tell us a little more.

And you will.

Take him to Lambeth. He'll perhaps recall
the names of his friends in prison.

Full up, my Lord.
All the ecclesiastical prisons are.

Oh, dear. Then in my secular capacity,
I must put him on the King's payroll.

The Tower.

I am a priest!
You cannot send me to the Tower!

A king's Grace does not like conspiracy
or insurrection, Master Simmons.

And I do not like priests of that colour!

They give the Church a bad name.
Take him away.

How far is this gone, my Lord?

When the frogs croak, my dear Fox, do not
imagine that they alone inhabit the pond.

The pike, below the waterline,
silent, unseen,

is far more dangerous and harder to catch.

Lincoln.

No names, friend Fox.

But with a little care and the
right bait... that pike might be taken.

And Lovell. Have they
made contact with him?

If they found that traitor, and these
papers suggest they know of his whereabouts,

they know more than we do.

The devil will find his own.

True...

But the fact that no one has betrayed him,
not a man has come forward

with information concerning Lovell...

suggests that we are confronted
with hell itself.

We do possess a sovereign prince anointed
and approved of by the Church of God

in whose hand is the power of the law.

Lovell and his friends
would do well to remember that.

- Take me to Lord Lovell.
- What should I know of his whereabouts?

Oh, God.

This is Furness
and you are Sir Thomas Broughton.

- I have said so!
- Then take me to Lord Francis Lovell!

I have also told you I don't know
where Viscount Lovell is.

Oh, God in heaven, we waste time.
I know he is here!

Sir Thomas,
I have letters for him and news.

You have nothing to fear.

Who sent you?

I come from John Sante and his friends
in Oxfordshire.

Well, this is Lancashire!

What should I know of a priest in Abingdon?

I mentioned neither priest nor Abingdon.

Lovell is here.

My Lord!

Lord Francis Lovell!

Lord Lovell?

Abingdon Bridge is falling down!

Then the Guild of Holy Crafts
must build it up again.

I was with you, my Lord, at Bosworth.

I fought with you
for blessed Richard the King.

- And "Holy Cross" was our battle cry.
- And shall be so again.

Christopher Swan, my Lord, of Abingdon.

- My Lord Francis Viscount Lovell.
- I know.

I did my best, my Lord.

It is not easy harbouring an outlaw.

Well, having found the fugitive,
what have you for him?

From John Sante and his friends
in Oxfordshire, my Lord.

You'll find them to some purpose.

- Fresh stirrings?
- Aye, most potent.

But now urgent.

Before I left the Midlands, I heard that
one of our number has already been taken

and is now in the Tower.

- Which one?
- Richard Simmons.

God alone knows what he said,
how much the King or his council know,

or how far the usurper's arm has reached
to break the venture.

If I know Henry Tudor,
he will wait until he's sure.

He has a great capacity for patience.

- That must be used for our advantage.
- We must act speedily!

- This boy.
- Yes.

The Earl of Warwick.

Oh, come now.

He is, so. To the life.

Only if the real Earl is dead,
and who's seen him alive?

Since Bosworth,
Tudor keeps him in the Tower.

But Simmons rescued the Earl.
He saved him, proved his birth,

and showed him to us.
His claim is true, he is...

Whoever he is, if you say he is
the Earl of Warwick, Master Swan...

- Many do.
- Then he'll serve our turn.

The name Warwick is enough,
no matter who bears it.

- And he's out of the country?
- Aye, safe in Ireland.

The Irish Lords to a man
have come out for him.

Good. John Mayne has already left Ireland
and is in Flanders.

If anyone were to espouse our cause,
it'll be the Duchess Margaret.

She'd wed the devil
to see the Welshman dead.

- Right. You've never met her, Swan?
- No.

Broughton has. A great charming widow.

The last of old York's brood, and as fierce
a fighter as ever her brothers were.

She sits in Mechlin keeping open house
for the enemies of the House of Lancaster

and her greatest enemy
is Henry Tudor himself.

Oh, it'll be good to see her again.

Will you come, Swan? Oxfordshire will not be
safe if they have Abbot John and his friends.

Safe or not, sir, I must tell Abbot John
your plans.

And I must receive further instructions.

Well, have a care. We shall need every man.

Some more wine, Sir Thomas.

Holy Cross. And the Earl of Warwick.

Holy Cross. And the Earl of Warwick.

An organ mender's son?

So...

..they will crown apes at last!

When will these arrogant fools
stop battering their heads together?

Opportunists and adventurers squabbling
over a prize that has already been won.

I won it.

It is not realized that diplomacy
has replaced brute force.

Power is politicians, not soldiery.

Power... may be using anything
we can lay our hands on.

To be sure,

when Almighty God
called me to this high office,

I never for a moment imagined
that I should sit secure.

Not, that is, until every man in this realm
was convinced of my right to its crown

and acknowledged the privilege and power
invested in me...

alone.

How long have men called me king?

- Two years, your Grace.
- Yet we're still fighting for what we won then.

We will wage war forever!

Till it dawns on Englishmen that Henry Tudor
is their master and means to remain so.

Rebels. One here,

two there...

and the Earl of Kildare
threatens a pretender?

Well, he shall learn to his hurt
that we are Lord of Ireland, too,

and not an Oxfordshire peasant.

- What has your Grace in mind?
- What?

Brain-picking? What is in your mind?

What is in the mind of Sir William Stanley?

And Suffolk and Lincoln?

Especially Lincoln.

It's time this administration, every
man jack of it, stood up and was counted.

I can trust no one.

- A council.
- Yes, Fox, a council.

Here in this palace of Sheen.

Summon every lord, knight and gentleman
who owes his bread to me.

If necessary, summon those who don't.

Summon especially the Earl of Lincoln.

Yes?

Is my Lord of Lincoln not still loyal?

Your Grace.

You will do nothing.

He is our devoted servant.

Thank you, my Lords.

I am doing my best to trust everyone.

The Duchess Margaret left early to hunt,
my Lord. She has been told you're here.

I have waited too long. Too long!

Patience, my Lord.
I've brought good news from Dublin.

The Irish Lords. Look.

Proclamations, even coins.

Why wasn't I informed?

High and mighty Princess Margaret,
Duchess of Burgundy.

Where is he? Oh, Francis!

On your feet, friend. I thought
that Tudor pirate had you by the heels.

It was getting hard
to find holes to hide in.

I can just see that face when he hears
you're away, that thin mouth tight with fury.

He'll be gnashing his teeth now.

I hope he breaks some! Come.

I wish I could break his thin, Welsh head.

Well, the opportunity
is about to present itself.

And not before time. Tell me.

We have produced an heir
to your brother's crown.

One Earl of Warwick?

The Irish have come out for him. Kildare, the
Butlers, the Archbishop, all recognize him.

And England. Oh, no.

It's bored with earls and princes.

England wants a king by right of blood,
not by force of bloodshed.

And you think you've got one?

Well, this boy. Has he the features
of my brother Edward

that drove women mad
and made every man follow him?

Or King Richard's ferocity? Oh, you should
have seen brother Richard in a rage.

I did.

Well, is he like?

Mayne has seen him. Have you, Lovell?

No.

But the Irish are not fools.

Look. Coins, minted at Dublin,
with the boy's head and his device.

Now, why should the Irish Lords
commit themselves so far

if they are not convinced
the lad is your nephew?

My nephew.

Poor, stupid, George's son.

Edward Plantagenet.

I was certain that
of all my father York's brood,

I was the last in whom the blood ran true.

No one knows for sure, madam.

Your ladyship understands these things
and feels them.

I know that we have a boy
who carries the name

and all it lacks is men, arms and money.

Well, let it be so.
I have the means to give him a kingdom,

but this boy will never have sufficient
strength nor courage nor style to take command.

Who will lead you?

A boy of 14, 15 years can never hope to
order such a force as you hope to muster.

There are many captains
who will join the standard.

Lead you, Master Mayne,
in heaven's name, a leader!

- Well, my Lord Lovell here.
- No. No, I am not great enough.

But there is one.
You have another nephew, Duchess.

- Your sister's son.
- No.

But her son is alive.

To me he is not.

The Earl of Lincoln is my nephew
but he is a minion of Henry Tudor's.

He's a traitor to me.

And for what cause? He might have had
the throne of England for himself.

What bought his hopes?

- Despair?
- Cowardice and lethargy.

Yet he is the one who can make
this insurrection good.

Lincoln must be roused.

There is blood in this.
Pride will not move him!

Then ambition and ingratitude must.

I don't think it will be long before John
de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, is on our side.

- But who'll bring him round?
- We have an ally who'll persuade him.

Who?

Henry Tudor himself.

We are on the verge of bankruptcy!
The exchequer is empty.

Are we expected to fill it?

- We will defend it.
- Most generous!

You'll fight blind for an empty treasury.

We're at Your Highness' disposal to fight.

For me, or against me?

Er, look, nephew,
if you prefer bullion to blood,

I have little of the one
and at my age, less of the other!

Mother of God,
we face a bloody insurrection!

Do you think you'll laugh
it out of the kingdom,

or would you all rather crawl
under the tyranny of the white rose,

serve Irish savages and brigands?

To be sure, there is no army nor fleet
to keep our shores.

Raise the levies, commandeer ships.

And pay them with what?

If your Grace pursued a friendly policy
abroad in Europe,

the city fathers would
welcome the expanding

trade and might
then be forthcoming.

And the crown would never be out of pawn.

So be it, as long as it stays on your head.

Where it rightfully belongs.

May I take your words, my Lord of Suffolk,
as a token of your good faith?

And do you speak for the whole country?

Who is disloyal here, then?

I wonder!

Derby.

This way, my Lord. I will announce you.

Don't bother. They all know who I am.

Even if the King's Grace doesn't.

The Earl of Lincoln!

So we see. My Lord.

You're late.

I was delayed, your Grace.
The roads have never been worse.

If we could maintain the peace,
we would mend them.

As we would mend your manners, Lincoln.

However, you are welcome. Take your place.

I was beginning to think you had business
more important than mine.

I'm not sure yet, Father.

Then have a care.

The King does not like secrets
and you look as though you have secrets.

- My Lord of Suffolk.
- Your Highness.

This threat from Ireland.

We shall be ready for them
when they choose to come.

So you said. Easier said than done
on an empty purse.

The country is loyal
and will come when needed.

They proclaim an upstart title
and many are convinced.

Pretenders and impostors
are declared excommunicate.

But still they rally to
this Lambert Simnel.

It seems that we too
are dazzled by his audacity.

There is but one true Earl of Warwick.

If Simnel is not he, then who is?

Where is the real one?

- He is in good hands.
- Whose?

Mine!

The Earl has apartments
in the Tower of London.

Where he will be safe, my Lord.

So, we do possess an Earl of Warwick.
Then let us see him, meet him.

That would create another
centre of dissention!

On the contrary, Oxford

eliminate doubt, let him be
seen and dispel the dissatisfaction.

It would spike the rebels' guns.

And spike my Lord of Lincoln's guns too!

- The Lady Elizabeth...
- Out of my way, you fool!

Here, Dorset, follow me.

Madam Mother-in-law, you are disturbing us.

And you have disturbed me, son Henry!

- My mother is distraught.
- Do be seated, my Lord.

Oh, yes! Do sit, do! Sit in judgment
like so many Solomons but without his wit!

Madam! What is the matter?

You know well enough.

I guess... that the matter has been decided
and agreed by our council.

You have our order. There is nothing more
for you to discuss here.

Then where if not here?

We expect redress.

I was once the queen in this realm.

And these gentlemen,
who had their life and liberty of me,

are now persuaded that I must lose mine
and you, son-in-law,

subscribe to my close confinement!

Our order specifies an
honourable retirement

to your convent
home in Bermondsey.

Honourable retirement!

You've imprisoned me!

It is not worthy, my Lords.

The dowager queen may not be aware
of the imminent dangers facing the country.

- Disturbances of the gravest nature.
- They are nothing to do with me.

Nor will they be, madam, if you are
with the good monks of Bermondsey

- for your own safety.
- For my own safety?

I know of others who are immured
for their own safety, and where?

That vile and bloody hole of hell,
the Tower!

You are not going to the Tower.

No, but you can see it from Bermondsey!

My royal sons...

Or have you all forgotten?

..were sent to that
place for their own safety.

My babies a blessed memory,

they went to the Tower
and they never came out, not even dead!

That's enough, woman!

You have played, madam, and lost,
in the royal game

and you have no stake to bid further.

You have sons born when you were common.

Marquis Dorset there is one. There
is no royalty in him but he is your son.

Get comfort if you can from him.

It is our wish that you go to your
convent home in Bermondsey as we decreed.

Marquis Dorset, conduct your mother
to her barge. Good day, madam.

Crowns are dear in England, son-in-law.

But heads are cheap that wear them.

She may be the Queen's mother
but she's an intolerable woman.

I wonder, has Edward Earl of Warwick
suffered the fate of that lady's bastards?

Lincoln!

We were discussing the Earl of Warwick,
weren't we?

Your Highness, I must apologize for my son.

My Lord of Lincoln.

Too many people are under the impression

that we have been overzealous
in disposing of our enemies.

Though I'm thinking that in some cases
we have been too lenient.

However,

if you think that the Earl of Warwick
has been destroyed -

this Irish impersonation appears
to be based on that assumption -

then you must be made to change your mind.

It seems a wise course,
as well as an expedient one,

to produce the Earl
and set all minds at rest.

We are able to do so.

The convocation of our Holy Church
convenes next month at St. Paul's.

If it please your Grace, the person of the
Earl of Warwick may attend a session or two.

It does please us.

Let it be recorded that Edward Plantagenet,
known as the Earl of Warwick,

shall be present at Paul's
and there shown to the people.

Publish it,
and let's have no more impostors.

Or thoughts of impostors.

- Well?
- Simmons has made his statement.

- Himself?
- He read his confession.

- In full?
- Loudly and clearly.

- And?
- The lords shuffled a bit,

the Lord Mayor was satisfied
and the citizens of London were delighted.

And grateful, I hope, for the experience.

Bring forth Master Simmons
and let him face the Earl of Warwick.

We will wait.

Lambert!

Oh... Oh, they have you too?

Oh, you look splendid, Lambert,

in your finery.

This, Master Simmons,
is the Earl of Warwick,

whom you would supplant.

Really?

Greet the Earl of Warwick.

Oh, they've done us proudly.

You look well, Lambert. Very well.

My name's Edward.

Who are you?

Very good. Keep it up.

And when we have done,

I am your Archbishop of Canterbury.

You promised.

When they have kinged you,
don't forget your friend Simmons.

Lambert, don't forget.

- Enough.
- Turn him loose and let him go.

Who was that and what does he mean?
Lambert?

- A fool.
- And a failure, Prince.

Don't bother your head with him.

Come, you must be presented to your peers.

My Lord of Derby, lead on.

Edward, Earl of Warwick.

- I'll take my oath on it.
- Oh, he's Clarence's son all right.

No doubt about it.

I hardly knew the Earl of Warwick.
This one certainly has an air about him.

True, of vacuous stupidity.

My Lords, not surprising
considering he comes of York stock.

The priest's confession
was convincing enough.

It was wrung out of him.

The King would never
touch an anointed priest.

No, Father, but Morton would.

- What's the matter with him?
- Something is gnawing at my son's brain.

I pray God for your sake, my Lord Suffolk,
it be not the canker of treachery.

- Cousin, you have a fine white horse.
- A gelding, yes.

I remember. Bring him to the Tower
that I may ride him.

There's very little room in that place for
riding and he doesn't like to be confined.

I don't either.

Neither I think does my Lord of Lincoln.

We'll, think about it, little cousin.

See you do, cousin, see you do.

Satisfied with him, my Lord?

- Most authentic, a splendid performance.
- Good.

- Sir Thomas.
- The same, my Lord.

- Where are my horses?
- At the inn as arranged.

- Swan will take you there.
- Wait for us in Lancashire, Broughton.

Without fail. When
you are good and ready.

We'll be that.

Cousin, can I ask you?
You knew my uncle of Gloucester well.

King Richard was my friend and my patron,
yes.

Was he the devil? Everyone says so.

I believe him to be the devil. Was he?

Begging your Lordship's pardon.
For my Lord of Lincoln.

It is urgent, my Lord.

You will excuse me, my Lords, I must go.
It is the King's business.

I'd swear there was nothing on that paper.

Mother of God, we have been too mild!

He's gone!

The Earl of Lincoln has betrayed us and
we shall see to it that he feels our pain.

And any of you proud men with gall enough
to try your strength against mine

shall see how we stomach treason!

Dear heaven! If a beast you'd have me,

then a beast I'll be!

Why? Why?

- He missed his best prospects.
- He had none.

- He had ambitions.
- Which of you has not?

- You're all stiff with them.
- His were thwarted.

He had our trust and goodwill.

Evidently that wasn't enough for him.

The Earl of Lincoln priced his allegiance
higher than we thought

by aligning himself with
the Simnel conspiracy,

for that is surely
what he has done.

He now demands his payment
and with interest.

He should have suffered the full rigour
of the law after Bosworth.

He was a bad risk! We all knew it.

- Your Grace knew it.
- It's not my way, Uncle.

If it possible for a man to submit
to another's rule,

he must be given the opportunity to do so.

Holy Mother, if I destroyed
every man I did not trust,

who feared to see me King,

there'd be nobody left to rule.

Let him be.

Well?

Your Highness,
I can find no trace of my son.

His people have reported nothing,
his departure was obviously well planned.

We did not expect to see you again
either, Suffolk.

I am your Grace's man.
I gave my oath at your crowning.

I am shamed enough by what my son has done.

You abuse me the more
if you think me disloyal too.

Well, well.

Your Grace.

What, then, is to be done?

Prepare to levy war.

Those malcontents and rebels
we are certain of must be arrested,

and the full punishment for treason
meted out to them.

No, we then drive those
we are not sure of into the rebels' camp.

No, no, no.

We will proclaim a full pardon for all
offences, even that of high treason,

to those who submit themselves now.

- A pardon?
- It's madness!

We are not strong enough to punish them.

But if we can't effect outright action

we can at least detach the waverers
from Lincoln's side.

Where is that wretched man?

Presenting his credentials
to the player king.

- Not to Ireland yet.
- His aunt in Flanders, more like.

Yes, that termagant.

She'd sell her shrivelled soul
to see me hanged.

In that case she'll move heaven and earth

to ensure that the Earl has an army
large enough to invade us.

And soon. Now then, if this host is to
come on us, as we think, from Flanders,

we must look to our defences in the east.

Lord Derby, issue our Commission of Array
to the eastern counties.

And in spite of the pardon,
more traitors follow Lincoln into Flanders.

Then those forces keeping the invaders out
must keep the rebels from leaving.

Warwick must be helped out of the Tower
again. Show him to the people.

A public mass through St. Paul's?
Something like that.

Uncle,
see that the beacons along the coast

are kept in constant
repair and ready for us.

Your Highness.

We are busy.

I'm badly used, your Grace,
and I'm quite innocent.

What does the idiot want?

His Grace is in council, Lord Dorset.

I know, discussing me.

There is no truth in all these rumours.

I have done nothing.

What cause have I to offend the King?
None have I? Tell me.

You're offending him now.

Slander says I'm about to ruin the King,
bring down his government.

- And are you, Dorset?
- I? Oh, I'd sooner ruin myself.

Perhaps you have,
as there seems to be some doubt.

Perhaps you'd better
make sure in the Tower.

Take him away.

No! Not to the Tower!

You'll be safe from slander there, Dorset,

and I will know where to find you
when rumour makes up its mind.

- Oxford, he's your charge. See to it.
- As you please, my Lord.

You will answer for this at Judgment Day,
Lord King.

The Queen my mother you shamed with prison
and for being my mother's son...

You have no cause to love us.

I am your Grace's brother!

In law. All the more reason
why you should be under lock and key.

- Get out!
- No! Not to the Tower! I'm innocent!

Imbecile.

Derby, those Commissions
are to be published immediately.

Fox, make order for the court to move.
I'll go into East Anglia myself -

that is imperative.

And let us pray to God and His Holy Mother

that the Irish keep King Lambert in Dublin,

at least until matters
are sorted out in Flanders.

Item, a cart of John Ferret.

Item two, bill hooks and sundry parts
of mail armour of Martin Coton.

Item, a yoke of oxen and a short sword
of Hugh Whitney.

- That appears to be all for now.
- A creditable list.

The men of Berkshire will give Henry Tudor
reason enough to remember us.

I thank you, Brother.

Simmons.

I never thought we'd see you again.

- They let me go.
- Why?

I came here... Where else was I to go?

- Alone?
- Yes.

You're sure you weren't followed?

I didn't look behind.

Now, what do they know?

What did you tell them?

Hm?

Everything.

Oh, dear God in heaven.

My nails, Father Abbot.

Where are they?

My fingernails!

Oh, it was no great matter to me.

They have our boy, Lambert.

They've dressed him up
and made him into a prince.

Oh, he looked splendid.

It would have been martyrdom to have died
then and there, seeing how fine he looked.

No, Simmons. Dear, good Simmons,

that was not the truth you saw,
that was some play-actor they gave you,

a dressed-up nobody to betray you...
and us.

It'll be the end of us.

Brother Simmons,
you must rest with the Brothers.

You can't stay here long.
As soon as you are well, you must leave.

You'd like to see the
Earl of Warwick again?

I saw him.

In Ireland, Simmons,
for that's where he is.

Yes, the Prince is safe in Dublin.

As soon as may be, you will travel there.
Be with him, be his mentor, as you were.

You'll not fail him. He needs you.

These are my notes of hand
for the merchants of Bruges.

And these are bills of exchange
for those in Amsterdam.

Ah, yes.

Two thousand German mercenaries,

which I will pay for under
one Martin Schwartz.

The jewels will be assayed
and you shall have an inventory.

- I'd prefer cash.
- You shall have that too.

I am glad you speak plain at last.

You have pondered long enough.

I fled England, I'm here.

You saw a boy at London, at Paul's.

He was named the Earl of Warwick.

If that boy now lodged in the Tower
is my nephew...

Oh, there's no question, I saw him.

Then why have you come out
for the other in Ireland?

On a crooked road,
a fit ass is better than a sick horse.

Oh. You'll not mind how you ride, then.

It'll bear me well enough.

Common consent is cause and power enough.

The general belief is that Warwick is

in Ireland and that's
where our success lies,

not with another, languishing in the Tower.

And after, when that boy in Ireland
has served your turn?

Served my turn?
I will make him King Edward at Westminster.

I don't see it's in your interest
to pull one master down to set up another.

- I protest, madam, my interest...
- No, no, don't.

You're right. A false claim in time
will fall away of itself.

This is your chance, John.
You're Richard's heir, so be it.

Take the heritage you missed before
by what means you will.

A way is open for you
to assume the crown of England. Take it.

It makes no difference to me.

All I ask is that you
topple this Tudor upstart.

Destroy him!

Send me his head if you like.

You have the spirit of a man...

but the malice of a woman.

And the hopes of both.

And fear.

Fear for that child in the Tower.

Perhaps he's a player king too,

but if he's of my blood
his life will not be worth a fig.

The Tower is the quickest way
out of this world I know.

God help him.

I've never been in this room before,
you know.

What's usually served here?

It was nice to go out,
and for a whole week.

I'd not been out of the Tower for so long.
Quite a long time, really, for me.

I saw the great Earl of Lincoln, though.
He has a fine white horse.

He's promised to bring it here to the Tower
for me to ride.

It'll make a change from hunting rats,
riding on Lincoln's horse.

You're to follow me. This isn't my chamber!
I don't live here!

I'm the Earl of Warwick! Let me out!

I'm the Earl of Warwick! Let me out!
Let me out! Let me out!