All language subtitles for The.Shadow.of.the.Tower.S01E04.en

Now the Earl of Lincoln has come to Dublin,
will we go to England, Simmons?

I daresay. It will be decided soon.

Is the Tower of London like Dublin Castle?

I should imagine it is.

You were there, weren't you?

I was a prisoner.

The Tower is a vile,
dark place for such as I.

Oh, I'll need the Tower, then,
if I am to be master of England.

Indeed. Any man would.

Look, they're leaving the ships!
My friends have come for me at last.

Henry the Welshman had better look out.

You'd think our English visitors
have come to the relief of Ireland.

They think that they have
but it's the reverse.

Ah, to be sure they come
in the name of the white rose.

That House of York could charm the devil
out of hell. They have the gift.

Their latest representative yonder
certainly hasn't.

Meath, will you ask the Earl of Warwick
to steady himself?

- He's the next king of England.
- Lord Bishop, look!

They're marching up the causeway.

Another turn and you'll be down
before you're up!

They're here, Kildare!

- Sir Thomas Fitzgerald!
- Who do you see, Meath?

Now that my friends from England have come,
the Earl of Kildare can give me a proper...

You'll be letting the Bishop answer
my question, won't you?

My Lord, the Prince has never seen
his peers before, it is understandable.

Not when I'm talking!

In the name of God, Meath!

The Earl of Lincoln I can see,
I know for sure.

There's, erm... Master Simmons.

Oh, the tall one is indeed, my Lord,

and the man on his right,
Lord Francis Lovell.

Ah! Viscount Lovell, that's so.

And him, bigger than the rest?

- That's a German for sure?
- Where?

- Schwartz, is it?
- Martin Schwartz.

A mercenary. Does he bring his soldiers?

Hundreds of them, thousands!

There'll be more Germans
than fleas in Dublin.

- Two thousand of them, to be precise.
- God help the Liffey ale houses.

God bless you and welcome!

Come down from that damn casement
and behave like a bloody prince!

Even if you're not one.

- Did you speak, brother?
- I did not.

Simmons should have better control.

We'll, erm... We'll go down to them.

If it please the Earl of Warwick,
he'd best be off to the cathedral.

Master Simmons will go with you.

Without too much of a fuss.

He is very popular, my Lords.

- His queen is.
- We did our work thoroughly, Simmons.

I wanted to see them
actually enter the gates.

- You'll see them soon enough.
- That's what they're here for.

- Come.
- Please, Simmons!

I am not the child you all think me!

Where is everybody?
The Earl of Warwick, the Fitzgeralds.

This is the sacristy, hm?
Then where is the Bishop of Meath?

I'm here, my Lord!
Hanging... on your every word.

- I've given thanks and I've said Te Deum.
- Ah, like the saint you are.

- Now, I want to talk business.
- Ah, to be sure you do.

Where in God's name is the Earl of
Kildare and Sir Thomas Fitzgerald,

and the Earl of Warwick?

Ah, that little Earl of Warwick,
God save him.

The white rose of York
has bloomed again, my Lord,

and Dublin has gone mad for a sight of it.

- Master Swan?
- My Lord.

Find Kildare and Sir Thomas and tell them
the Earl of Lincoln is waiting.

At once, my Lord.

- John Mayne?
- Yes, my Lord.

I wish to pay my respects to the
Earl of Warwick. Bring him here at once.

- Drag him in by the heels if you have to.
- My Lord.

And take Schwartz with you.

He has the taste for a roughhouse
and the style, haven't you?

- Lord Lovell...
- Oh, excusing me for a moment or two...

I have a little something to do.

These Irish Lords play me false,
they're procrastinating.

- You've only been in Ireland a moment.
- I fled England three months ago,

that's long enough for Henry Tudor to have
stirred up the country and be ready for us.

I doubt it. Tudor couldn't make a storm
in a mill pond.

He's got no money.
The country's unsure of him.

And he doesn't know where you'll strike
or where you'll show your power.

Neither does the country.
They'll bide until you do.

As for the Welshman's strength,
look about you.

Gold from Burgundy, an army of picked
German professionals, paid and ready.

And out there beyond the Dublin pale,
a nation of ruffians,

glad of any excuse to
cut an English throat.

- No, you'll give Henry Tudor short shrift.
- No...

Will Kildare and his
Fitzgerald clan serve me?

It is essential that I
command this enterprise.

They loved your uncle, King Richard,

and they served the
House of York before that.

- They will again.
- What in God's name is holding them back?

The Earl of Kildare, my Lord.

- You're late!
- And you're too keen.

- So is our cause.
- Ah, sure enough.

Henry bites his nails in London,
waiting for the day when we'll rate him.

In the meantime, there's the question
of the raising of the Irish troops,

the ordering of the same in the Germans,

the allocation of funds and
the instruments setting forth

the Earl of Warwick's coronation.

He is to be crowned here first, then?

We march in the name of the white rose
of York, that boy crowned and sanctified...

or not at all.

Let him be crowned, then,
and let's act in God's name.

Prince Edward of York, Earl of Warwick.

The Dubliners detained us.

They don't often see a royal prince.

We are... overwhelmed.

That is my Lord of Lincoln,
your Highness.

Ah, the great John de la Pole.
I am the Earl of Warwick.

So it would seem.

I am. This is my first council.

Your sign manual.

The Lord wants your name.

Write it here.

Touch his great seal,
the rest of you make your marks.

- What was that?
- The proclamation for your coronation...

cousin.

He is to be crowned at last.

Get him ready, Simmons.

Presentio Eduardus Plantagenista,
comis de Warwick.

Presentio Eduardus Plantagenista,
comis de Warwick.

Presentio Eduardus Plantagenista,
comis de Warwick.

Presentio Eduardus Plantagenista,
comis de Warwick.

In nomine Patri et Spiritus Sanctus.

In nomine Patri et
Filii et Spiritus Sanctus.

In nomine Patri et
Filii et Spiritus Sanctus.

Praeditum Eduardus Sextus,

Rex Anglie, Francie,

Dominus Hybernie.

Vivat Rex!

Long live King Edward VI!

Long live King Edward VI!

Long live King Edward VI!

Long live King Edward VI!

Vivat! Vivat! Eduardus Sextus Rex!

So far so good.

Will me Lord of Lincoln
lead the oaths of faith?

If you will not serve him,
no one else will.

Cut all this junketing short.

Simmons, have him ready
by first light tomorrow.

We sail for England on the first tide.

I, John, Earl of Lincoln,

become your liege man of life and limb
and earthly worship

and faith and truth shall I bear unto you.

He is neither a king,
nor was he Earl of Warwick.

The Irish evidently believe he is.

Kildare is a traitor!

He's a proud man.

A shrewd Ireland will grab any chance
to ruin England.

Go on, Mortimer.

As soon as the Irish Lords were in accord,
with my Lord Lincoln, Lovell and the rest,

the pretender Lambert Simnel was crowned
with the name of Edward VI

in the cathedral at Dublin,

with a crown stolen from a figure
of the Holy Virgin.

It's monstrous!

My Lord of Oxford, come to rest somewhere.

- But it's blasphemy!
- I know. But stand still, my head aches.

So does mine, your Grace.

And my heart.

Blessed Virgin's crown!

It was a holy crown, no less valid.

It merely indicates haste.

So, while King Lambert Simnel braves it
in Dublin gathering men and approbation,

we kick our heels in Norfolk.

Mother of God, Oxford!

We came into East Anglia, as you well know,

because we thought that Lincoln was going
to enter England from Flanders.

He didn't. He won't.
The path of disaffection leads to Dublin

and he has taken it.

But from there, where?
Where will he strike?

Well?

Yes, think about that. Fox, forget
what's history and start making orders.

- The court will return to London.
- Where particularly, your Grace?

The Tower. I must be sure of London
and I can think better there.

As for you, you angry old bear,
go before us and summon

the shire levies wherever you can.

You didn't do so well here in the east.
Mother of God, with what shall I pay them?

Our blessed Lady of Walsingham
has a glorious diadem.

I'll not touch the Church.

There may be crown stealers
along the road,

but I'll not be one of them.

He must finish.
They're ready to embark.

Where do we sail for?

Lancashire,
if the wind doesn't play us false.

- Sir Thomas Broughton?
- At Furness.

So I go... to take my new kingdom.

When I was enjoying myself so much.

Brrr! It's a bitter spring.

Here. That'll warm you.

Ha'p'orth of sugar, too.

Aye, gradely.

St. Wilfrid into sea for you.

A Yorkshireman?

James Taite. Merchant of York city.

Well met.

Here, there be no plague there?

No, there be not. Not in York.

Good. Saunders, I'm called.

I'm my master's man. Him there.

We're going to York.

Come down from London.

They'll be your horses, then, in the yard.

Not all. Not rightly ours.

What news of London, then, friend?
How be the new king?

Which king?

Oh, the Welshman? King Harry Tiddor?

They come and go now.

No, the King's Grace be abroad...

as many another are.

In Norfolk when we last heard of him.

- Stirrings.
- Troubles?

Yet again.

The Earl of Lincoln
has fled from the King's Grace.

But he will come again and shake him.

By sea or by land?

He'll not need to go to sea
for he's friends enough on land.

Liken to who?

There's some to horses in the yard.
Well, that white horse.

I knew it! I rec...

The white horse.

Its saddlebags weighed down
with silver and gold. Full of it.

The white horse.

I knew it was the horse,
sir. My Lord of Lincoln had stabled

at my very house

when the King Harry had come north before.

At your house?

Meeting the man Saunders and his masters
and bringing the same horse here to York,

with the gold...
I foolishly spoke of this to friends.

This be a treasonable matter, Master Taite.

But I say no more than I was told
by the man Saunders.

Like telling me the Earl
of Lincoln would... what?

Give the King's Grace a breakfast?

I rebuked him for it!

As the rogue went on,
he said... "You'll see," he said...

"John of Lincoln
will give them all a breakfast."

For all that is
and owing no love or favours.

Did you not think to tell this Saunders
that good men of York'll not abide traitors

such as my Lord of Lincoln
and his upstarts and degenerates?

I thought if I gave him enough rope
he'd hang himself.

And you too, neighbour Taite.

The best I can say to you
is that you be well guarded

until his King's Grace hears of it.

We are loyal here in York,
though we be new to it,

and we be well thought of
in spite of your treasons, master Taite.

Best take him away.

See it's writ out fair
with plenty of flourish.

Commend us all heartily,
very heartily to the King.

And don't forget his secretary.
Be generous with regard to Bishop Fox.

Poor Taite. And there'll be
plenty more will go his way

if the wars be started up again.

Hmm. One day, these'll be useless.

Cannon - and what is it now, the firelock?
- will make them so.

Gunpowder and flint will deal out death.

I could wish that all
of it were superfluous.

Good morning, Master Secretary Fox.

You have missed two of today's
three Masses so far.

Letters, your Grace.

- The rebels?
- Partly. What news is not?

Creditors! Does no one speak of Lincoln?

- Has he sailed?
- But not landed yet.

Oh, the country is docile,
though I imagine it sniffs trouble.

- York is loyal.
- And so it ought to be!

One James Taite, among others,

has been apprehended for uttering seditious
matter in the houses of good men of York.

Good man himself, by all accounts.

Perhaps your Grace
will read the depositions.

I have a transcript.

The city fathers are elaborate.

Dear body of Christ!

I am bored with insurrection!

Surely to God this realm is too.

I have reconciled the roses, white and red.

Or thought I had.

- This rose is dead, isn't it?
- Needs pruning, my Lord.

A shoot here, one there.

Yes, it's dead wood.

We'll soon cut that out.

And if the bush had not
survived the winter...

Here.

There is the seed.
Plant it and your Grace will have another.

Your Grace...
Oh, an early summer, do you think?

- Yes, Morton, what is it?
- The Simnel insurrection.

- Lincoln is on the Irish Sea.
- We know so much.

- And the number of his force.
- Well?

Read that, your Grace.

Five thousand wild Irishmen,

under Sir Thomas Fitzgerald.

Nice governor of Ireland
he turned out to be!

"Captain Martin Schwartz commands
two thousand German mercenaries."

Two thousand!

A gift, no doubt, from that termagant
of Flanders, the Duchess Margaret.

Fox, summon the council immediately.

- My Lord.
- Yes.

Well, we'd better keep the two of them.

Clean 'em, sharpen 'em.

We shall need both!

They've landed, sir. They're coming up
Foundry Strand, same as you said.

- Right, then. Is the gate open?
- Aye, it is.

Let them in.

- Bring my Lords up here!
- Right.

The white rose is in flower again.

And now fire will follow.

- What?
- My Lords, sir. They're here.

Coming.

Thomas Broughton, my old friend.

I must have nodded off.

No time for that any more, Thomas.

Lord John, Sir Thomas Broughton.

We met in London.
I'm glad to see you again, Sir Thomas.

Is, er... Is that the boy?

The King.

Your Grace,
may I present Sir Thomas Broughton,

a loyal friend of the House of York.

I was sick and I'm tired.

Can he sleep somewhere, Thomas?

Yes, there's pallets made up ready.
His Grace can put his head down up there.

By God, he's like. So like!

Thomas, that boy is Warwick,
and we have crowned him.

He has to be Edward the King.
There is no other.

Look out there, Sir Thomas.
There's seven thousand there who follow him

and if the northern gentlemen
have any sense they'll join them.

Even I've come out for him.

Satisfied, Sir Thomas?

I was thinking of that other in the Tower.

I need meat and drink, Sir Thomas.

Yes, my Lord.

The Earl of Derby to see you.

With another.

On your feet, Edward of Warwick.

Not for you, Derby.

But perhaps for your sovereign.

Your highness!

I am not washed yet.

No matter.

Thank you, my Lord.

- Have you come to look at me?
- To talk to you.

- Hmm. Are you comfortable?
- No, it's wet and it smells.

When can I leave here?

I've not done any harm.

My Lord, I have enemies who will
do great hurt to me and to this realm.

And they will be doing it in your name.

I am not to blame.
They do it against my will.

I must arm myself against these traitors,
not only for my sake but for yours also.

Now do you understand that if they succeed
in their perniciousness,

your life will not be worth a groat?

Can I go into the city again?

What little it's worth now

has the crown's protection
as long as the crown stays on my head.

So it is important that you are
circumspect in speech,

and careful about those
you encourage about you.

Can I go to hear Mass
at St. Paul's like before?

You haven't listened to a word I've said.

I enjoyed all that.
What? Yes, sir. Really? Can I?

It's hard to believe that you are
the true and only Plantagenet!

Are you going to kill me?

Pie Jesu.

Listen.

You will remain Edward Earl of Warwick
for as long as I remain Henry the King.

As soon as the court
has left for the Midlands,

move him into better quarters.

The White Tower, perhaps.

But look to him well, Derby.
He's your charge. Keep him close.

Jailer.

Clean him up.

You know, my Lord, either way - whoever
comes out of these troubles best, that is -

my young Lord doesn't stand
much of a chance, does he?

Get on with your business. Talk less.

Here! You let it go cold!

Here, d'you want to go rat-hunting?

With the menagerie? Bit of a woof. Eh?

Fieri non potest,
ut filius istarum lacrimarum pereat.

Da mihi castitatem et continentiam,
sed noli modo...

I don't understand it, Simmons.
Tell it me in English.

What St. Augustine
says is that it is not

possible for the
son of these tears...

Oh, no more. They're been talking all day!

Councils of war.
Most important if you're to win battles.

Ooh! It has grown cold.
If your Grace pleases.

Well?

Nothing.

All day in the saddle and nothing.
Men are surly and will not join us.

Neither the district around
nor higher up in the fells.

They prefer the Tudor
to their rightful lord?

They want no truck with either of us.

"Clear off," they tell us,
"take your Irish rabble with you."

They're none too pleased with the Germans,
either - they frighten them.

Damn these Lancastrian cowards!

Ah, that's a terrible thing.

It'll not be safe, then,
to stay in Lancashire.

We're not staying here.
We leave at first light tomorrow.

For where, Swan?

We cross the Pennine Way
in full battle ardour for York city.

My Lord shall attempt
to headquarters there.

Your Grace had better retire now.

Master Mayne, Master Swan.
We've come a long way since Abingdon.

And there's far to go yet.

And this punishment
will be meted out to any,

be he English, Irishman or Fleming,

who disobeys our order.

Discipline and constraint
shall be preserved within our host.

No free man, householder,
private man or whatever

shall be harmed or his goods distrained
upon pain of death.

We, Edward the King, be a peaceable prince,

come to defeat our enemies
and claim our own,

not to rape our realm or harm our people.

The curse of Almighty God be on him
who shames us thus,

so be it understood.

Let the King's standard be struck.

Death to Henry Tudor
and the House Of Lancaster!

God for Edward of York,
England and St. George!

God for Edward of York,
England and St. George!

We excommunicate,
curse and commit to the devil

all the aforesaid malefactors
and evildoers.

Excommunicate must they be,
cursed and given over to the devil.

Cursed be they in towns and fields,

in ways, in paths,

in houses and out of houses,

and in all other places.

You should be as concerned
for your immortal soul as you are

for your gouty old body, Oxford.

Oh, I am, your Grace.

There was a moment when I thought I'd be
making the journey to Coventry on my knees.

Lord... Jesus.
Your Grace, I'm just out of the saddle.

Careful, friend,
I can have you for blasphemy.

Begging your Grace's pardon.

I've near-on six thousand men out there
in my charge.

And more to come
from the Earls of Devon and Shrewsbury.

Derby's son has a company of knights
and a company of foot.

Good! Uncle Bedford will be pleased.

- Is your host lodged?
- Without Coventry walls.

- Our summons was well answered.
- Indeed, yes.

The levies are pouring in.

We'll scatter that rebel mob
like a flight of birds.

Rattle them away with their king like bees.

Morton is doing that now.

Cursed be they in the house,
cursed in the field,

cursed be their food and their fruit,

cursed be all they possess

from the dog that barks for them
to the cock that crows for them.

What are the candles for?

His Holiness the Pope has confirmed Morton
and his Archbishopric of Canterbury,

so who better to scatter Lincoln's puppet
and his friends

than our Primate of England?

Bell, book and candle.

In the name of Michael of Coventry
upon St. George's Day.

Let us quench their souls
in the pains of hell

as this candle is now quenched and put out.

Unless they return to amendment
and penitence.

Fiat, fiat, fiat!

And that is your final answer, Lord Mayor?

I already said more than I ought to.

- We are faithful Christians.
- So are we! And our cause is just.

The city of York
is loyal to King Henry's Grace

and the gates will be opened
to none but him.

We've had our fill of alarms.
We shall be content with peace for a bit.

- You owe Henry Tudor nothing!
- Enough!

King Edward reigns in London,
you'd better look to yourselves.

I know no Lord Edward, king or other.

Give him safe conduct out of the camp,
and then run for your bloody lives!

So much for your precious northern friends!

- The curse of Mother Church.
- Morton's curse.

It'll be enough to
turn the country from us.

There was never a
better ruling house

till the white rose,
nor a better prince to bear it than...

than the Lord Edward.

Damn them, damn the ingrates!

If the snowball does not gather as we go
then we must strike as we are, and swiftly.

We've nine thousand, that's enough.

With all haste we go south.

- Straight into King Henry's moor.
- Wherever that is.

Where is Henry?

We've sent men
scouring the country,

as far east as Lincoln
and Derby in the west.

And where are they?

Dancing at the rope's end,
I shouldn't wonder.

We march south until Henry shows himself.

At least until we gain a focal point,
a stronghold on which to concentrate.

- Which way do we go?
- Tadcaster, there.

- Towton Moor.
- Towton.

My grandfather, old York,
was murdered in the field there.

You'll avenge the savagery, then.

The old Roman road,
Ricknall Street along so...

- For Nottingham!
- No, Newark.

Nottingham later but first take Newark.
Here, see.

Room for the Earl Marshal!

The Duke of Bedford.

Make way!

My Lord of Bedford.

Oxford.

- Well, what have we here?
- Spies, my Lord.

A deposition?

Christopher Swan and John Mayne.

Hmm.

Well, you'll not see Oxfordshire again.

There's an ash tree by the Trent bridge,
t'other side Nottingham town.

Hang 'em on it!

Tell the picket there the
Duke of Bedford orders it,

I'll give you writing to that effect.

Hang the traitors!

To hell with Henry Tudor
and death to the red r... Aaargh!

You have your orders!

- My Lord of Bedford.
- Mm-hm?

Will the King grant me a command?

Oh, the King's Grace loves you too well,
Oxford, to see you undone in a field.

Listen - Kildare and his force
are making for Newark, this we know,

but now, see, these renegades inform us
they have held off at Southwell.

You. Get me a clerk and send him
to the King's chamber.

His Grace is at prayers.

Again?

To the chapel, then.

Southwell, is it?

That's close enough.

We shall engage soon.

Come on, Oxford.

It's a pity the snowball
did not gather as it went.

If they won't fight, hang them.

Most disturbing to be sure.

It's from Martin Schwartz,

indicating the disposition
of his battle lines.

With such an order,
the baggage must stay where it is.

Otherwise it'll crowd us on the ridge.

We've become an army of clerks!

In the name of Holy Patrick,
steady yourself, John.

Have yourself some ale.

It's as though Tudor were in my very heart.
He knows every hour what I do.

Our tents are thick with spies
but that settles nothing.

We'll only do that when we come
face to face with him over a lance.

The sooner this matter is resolved,
the sooner my soul will rest.

He watches, he knows me and he sucks up
my nerve which few can know of.

Drink up, John.

The King! The King!
Edward, by the grace of God! King!

Kildare? You are the Captain General
of my army.

I wish to leave my knights in the fight.

Ah, your Grace,

the field of war is no place
for a prince of the blood.

- I am not afraid.
- I know that.

We can't fight for you unless we're sure
that you're safe somewhere.

Simmons, get him out.

They will fight better
if they are led by their King!

- Get out!
- I am the King, I command it!

Edward the King!

Christ, you little upstart,
you are nothing like a king!

If any, I am king by my right,
my blood and my audacity!

My soul depends on it!

You are an organ-mender's son,
I am a prince of the blood

and I will prove it with or without
your deception against a thousand Tudors!

The crown is mine and I shall have it!

Meath. Go with Simmons.

Conduct his Grace's... baggage to the line.

And, er... he will remain there,

until all is concluded.

To the mayor and burgesses of Leicester,
a grant of 20 pounds per year.

Pay, pay, pay.

Two thousand on account,

another two on my debt of
six thousand pounds to the city.

Buy precious stones.

Pay first the debts and come again.

Be solvent. Be solvent.

Be solvent.

Then perhaps, Holy Mother,

I will build a temple worthy of you.

Yes?

The rebels are crossing the Trent
from Southwell.

- At what point?
- Three miles below Newark.

The van already marches along the road.

Show me. Come.

Yes, here.

Now, draw it, Uncle.

Ah... Well, um...

Erm, the Trent.

- Mm.
- Here.

Er, the Fosse Way, to Newark.

Er, Newark.

Now, the rebels'
main force are crossing here

and will march thus.

- High ground?
- Yes. Er...

Well, at right angles to the road
as far as the river. A ridge, by your foot.

Yes. Then we'll march from Nottingham,
this way

and intercept them along the ridge, there.

- Mm.
- We'll march in three divisions.

Uncle, you command the rear,
Lord Strange the main group in my name...

My Lord...

You... You, my Lord Oxford,

will have the van.

The foreward?

God bless your Grace.

Well, Uncle, assemble your hells

and declare to our enemies that
the Earl Marshal is ready to do battle.

What's the name
of the field below the ridge?

- Stoke village is nearby.
- Stoke?

Stoke Field, then.

God and His Holy Mother go with you.

And with my cause.

London's in a ferment.

They've locked the city
gates, and they've opened the Tower doors.

I shouldn't run for it,
they'll tear you to pieces.

They say Henry the Tudor's lost the day.
Dead, perhaps, and you'll be for it.

I'm thinking my Lord of Lincoln
will have you away in no time.

♪ Martin Schwartz and his men ♪

♪ Soddle-dom, soddle-dom, dom ♪

♪ Martin Schwartz and his men, ♪
♪ soddle-dom, bell... ♪

- How long have we watched, Simmons?
- Some three hours, your Grace.

We're for it now! Flee if you can.
't is all over, Kildare is dead.

- And my Lord of Lincoln?
- The ditches are running blood.

Master Simmons, help me get the lad away!

Stay where you are!

Take these men away.

And the boy.

A York! Stoke Field is taken! A rescue!

Take your puterie to the devil!

I'm tired of your warring.
We're wary of strife!

Alive! By Our Lady, alive, I said!

- The soldiers were excited.
- On my orders, alive!

That excited blunder has cost me
this traitor's testimony.

The field is yours, nephew,
what more do you want?

There'll be more and more,
an eternity of bloody battlefields,

unless I can stamp out
revolt within this realm.

Lincoln, here, living,
was essential for that.

Who advised him, befriended him,
who his accomplices were.

He could have told me,

and those excited soldiers
have closed his mouth.

Well, I'll swear they'll hang for it!

You will never rout out rebellion.

The greater the man,
the greater the opposition to him.

Take it as a measure of your power

and position that the
devil will still assail you.

Come on, Harry, bach.

It's been a long, hot day. It's time to
count the gains and discount the losses.

Lincoln has left behind a party sufficient
to glean discovery of this day's evil.

You've known my mother too long, Uncle.

You're beginning to talk like her.

My Lord Chancellor of Ireland.

And my Lord Governor.

I blush for shame

that you should be alive to face me here!

Fine servitors you proved to be.

How much blood must be shed
to pay the price of your treachery?

Get them out of my sight, they sicken me.

Uncle, take them to your tent
until I know what's best for them.

Come on, men.

And have this removed.

God is on our side.

We are His servants...

not you.

You were a fool, Lincoln...

and I was a fool.

And my trust...
shall be buried with your carcass.

Find a priest to bury him. Go on.

- So much for Lincoln.
- Aye.

Come on, you brave old bear,
sit down and have something to drink.

I praise God He preserved you.

We lost many.

Fewer than they, and I didn't lose you,
or my crown.

Look at me. Not a mark on me, untouched.

You're the King.

Wouldn't do.

After today,
I'm beginning to think that I am.

Not Bosworth but Stoke Field.

The King.

Lincoln dead.

- Sir Thomas Broughton...
- Lovell?

Drowned in the Trent.

The rest you may hang.

Ah! Damn, I've just brought them here.

The day's prize.

Bring 'em in here!

There.

God and His Holy Mother preserve me.

The Bishop of Meath prays for your soul.

God save the King.

You're a traitor and a knave.

But a bishop, your Grace.

A miserable shepherd
lost along with his sheep.

Are you fit to say litany?

Anything. Anything!

Let him get his vestments.

You will sing Te Deum here. For us!

Get out, shepherd.

The priest Simmons, your Grace.

And the begetter of all
our pain and slaughter.

They told you
you would make yourself archbishop.

Your see is in hell...

and you will find it there.

Take him to my Lord Archbishop of
Canterbury. He'll know what to do with him.

No man must ever see or hear of him again.

My Lord Oxford, if you're refreshed,
bring those Irish reprobates here,

- and thank you.
- My Lord.

Come here, boy.

Yes, very like.

Did you know? You're like one that I know.

What's your name?

My name is...

They call...

I am...

You stole another's name and title.

That is a great sin.

- I didn't mean to, sir.
- So great a crime...

that you must die for it.

You see this?

Your rebels, dead.
Some four thousand, it is claimed.

And on this, two thousand who died for me.

Six thousand men who would be living
but for today.

Dead on your account.

And the cost to faithful men
who are sick of war

but who still must pay
for your presumption...

Well, you'll repay God for that.

But you will repay me for treason.

For what you've perpetrated here today
is treason.

So you'll be taken from here...

and drawn in a hurdle
through men's hatred and disgust

and hanged by the neck.

But even then the
law will not be satisfied.

You will be cut down, still alive,
and your head severed from your body,

your limbs quartered
and displayed on city walls.

Is that a fair bargain for the horror
and discomfort you've caused this day?

Well?

Sir, I'm sorry,
I never meant it...

Yes, yes, you're very young.

Too young to be a martyr

in a hopeless cause.

Would you think so?

I think so, sir.

Tell me, what's it like...

being a king?

Oh...

Oh, did you not take to it?

Not very much, sir.

What, you want someone else to be king?

I think so.

Did you have anybody in mind?

Well, him whose right it is!

Like me, perhaps?

What, you'd like me to be king?

Yes.

You're sure?

What did you say your name was?

I've been told so many things,
I don't know what to call myself.

Ah.

Here are your Irish friends,
and mine too, I suppose.

Kings must make do, mustn't they?

Can you serve wine?

Yes, sir.

Then serve these gentlemen,
false and true, wine.

There's the stoop and there's the cups.

If you serve them well, you might serve me.

So, my masters of Ireland...

you would crown apes at last!

Well, then, drink. Come, your toasts.

I give you Lambert Simnel, my new servant.

King...

Lambert Simnel.

King... Lambert Simnel.

- King Lambert Simnel.
- King Lambert Simnel.