Original subtitles

Column, halt.

Corporal, send lookouts. Yes, Chef.

The battle seems to be over, Chef. Perhaps so, mon Commandant.

You two, over there, on the ridge.

You three, up there, on the high ground. Quick, on the double.

No shots of welcome, nothing moving.

They must have heard us by now, mon Commandant. They must have seen us?

They've been fighting for two days.

Still, they can't all be asleep.

Maybe the Arabs took the fort?

It could be a trap. Maybe they're in there waiting for us?

...having first slaughtered the garrison and put on their uniforms.

Those men on the walls aren't Arabs.

Then why don't they signal?

Dufour, you and I will ride to the gates.

Corporal, stay with the men and keep your eyes open.

Yes, Chef.

I don't understand it. Why don't they open the gates?

Can't all be deaf and blind? Shut your mouth, Rastignac.

Go around the back.

Why do you shoot at me?

I am Henri de Beaujolais,

Major of Spahis, I've come to relieve you.

Go and inform your commandant.

Have you of the Legion no manners?

Go at once and inform your commandant!

Hey, you fellow, take that pipe out of your mouth and step lively.

Do you hear?

Mon Dieu.

Forgive me mon ami, I did not realize.

They're all dead, Commandant, all the way around.

Someone fired that shot.

Call the bugler. Bugler!

Bugler, at the double.

You know, I met an old soldier in Marseille who'd served at Zinderneuf.

He said it was a place of devils.

The men called it the Outpost of Satan. Shut up, Rastignac.

Bugler, sound reveille.

Maybe they're all below,

too badly wounded to crawl from their beds.

We must get someone inside.

That should do it, mon Commandant.

Send for Rastignac.

Rastignac! Rastignac, move.

Let me go in, mon Commandant. No.

Commandant.

Rastignac, you are a rogue and a troublemaker.

But I'm giving you a chance to be useful. Climb in there and open the gate.

Not me, mon Commandant. I'll go to hell dead, not living.

You insolent pig. You will do as I command.

Climb in and open the gate.

No, mon Commandant, I won't do it.

I cannot intrude on dead men who stand to arms and keep watch.

For the last time, go.

Go yourself, Major. You can shoot me if you wish.

So I can.

Take his rifle and bayonet, Chef. The court martial will deal with him.

Corporal. Yes, Chef.

Take this man away.

You, take him with you.

Very well, bugler, you may show this coward the way.

He's been in there 13 minutes, mon Commandant.

I'll go in myself. Legionnaire, hold my horse.

I'll come with you, Commandant.

Even though you think it's a trap?

C'est la Legion.

The dead who did not die,

the fallen who did not fall.

It's if they're watching and listening.

Go below and look for the bugler.

No sign of him, mon Commandant.

This is extraordinary, Chef.

This letter mentions Lady Brandon of Brandon Abbas.

Commandant?

But I know Lady Brandon,

I was at Brandon Abbas myself seven, eight years ago.

What did you say?

No sign of him, mon Commandant. What?

The bugler, he's not there…mon Dieu!

Yes. That's a French bayonet.

He must have been murdered by one of his own men.

These were good soldiers.

They fought well and died bravely. I'm sure of that.

We must bury them with honor. I'll check below.

Make sure none of them is shamming dead.

And look for a scabbard without a bayonet.

Bugler?

Bugler!

You mark my words, there's a curse on that place.

Go in there, you will end up like them,

dead and lining the walls.

I better check on the sentry, Chef.

Get on with it then, Corporal. Yes, Chef.

Trouble about the burial party, mon Commandant.

Only three volunteers, two Americans and Macon, the Swiss.

The rest of the men are very uneasy about the whole business,

Rastignac's been talking.

Uneasy are they? There's a simple cure for that.

Forget about volunteers, detail a burial party.

But, Commandant. That's an order.

Dufour, wait.

Yes, Commandant.

That dead sergeant major,

the men must not see him with a French bayonet in his chest.

No, Commandant.

Now go remove it.

Make it look as if the Tuareg shot him.

Commandant, the men say it's ghosts and spirits.

Are you a Sergeant Major of the Legion

or are you a frightened schoolgirl?

I believe in the power of the devil, mon Commandant.

Superstitious rubbish. I wish it were.

Dead men keeping watch, someone who isn't there firing shots,

a disappearing bugler, bodies that vanish.

There is a rational explanation for it all.

You must believe that.

Now, put yourself together.

As soon as the grave is dug, the men will enter the fort.

Commandant, I beg you not to give the order, there'll be trouble.

Yes, there will indeed. And I am going to make it if I have any more nonsense.

Commandant, the Corporal says that the men say that…

Oh, he says that, she says that, you say that...

I shall be on parade outside those gates in 10 minutes

and if you and that bunch of gibbering chatterboxes are not there at attention...

Commandant, they won't do it, not at night. For God's sake, don't give the order.

They are rotten with cafard and Rastignac is their hero.

They will shoot you and desert en masse.

A night's rest will work wonders, and maybe in the morning...

Dufour, the dead will be laid to rest now.

Commandant, look.

Ghosts and spirits of the devil.

The garrison of dead men, the vanishing bugler,

bodies that disappear, a fort that bursts into flames,

and a letter that concerns Brandon Abbas?

Why?

Whenever my heart is sad, I have only to come here,

Brandon Abbas, to walk in these beautiful grounds

with you as my charming companion, and my joie de vivre is restored.

But you, I think, Patricia, are little sad.

I'm concerned about the tenants. Hmm.

The stage of their cottages is truly dreadful.

Now there's been a case of diphtheria. Oh--

A child is dead.

I fear if something is not done soon to help them more will follow.

But, doesn't Sir Hector know this.

My husband is constantly abroad hunting.

I've written to him, but he ignores my letters.

I'm sorry.

It's my problem. And only I can solve it.

What are those children doing down there?

That's one of their favorite games.

It's called naval engagements.

One of the French's guns hasn't fired.

Seaman Geste couldn't have lit the fuse properly.

Fetch them in, Seaman Geste. Sorry, Captain.

You won't flog him, will you? Certainly not.

I, Queen Claudia, grant him a pardon.

You're pardoned, Seaman Geste.

Thank you, your Majesty.

Ah! Ah!

What have you done now? I'm shot.

Hanging would have suited you better.

Come in.

Thank you…

Don't worry, you'll be all right.

Careful.

Oh, there's blood coming out of it.

How does it feel, Johnny? Just like being shot.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Do it in the pond then.

You, Faithful Hound, run and get the scratch mark.

Are you going to cauterize the wound to prevent it turning sceptic?

No, it's naval surgery without anesthetic.

I'm going to cut out the cannonball. What?!

Well done, Captain. Shove it back in the gun, Dig.

Thank you, Faithful Hound. Is he all right?

Saved by naval surgery. Without an anesthetic.

Oh, you are brave, Johnny.

Queen Claudia is much impressed by your bravery.

Tell you what?

Let's give John a Viking's funeral to honor his courage.

That means sacrificing a boat.

Nevermind, he's earned it.

Here's the Viking Eorl John Geste laid on the funeral pyre.

We sprinkle some more wood around the bier.

His horse is slaughtered and laid at the head,

his dead dog at his feet.

We haven't got a dog.

Will this do? It's a sheep.

I suppose it'll have to. It's a sheep dog!

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, if God won't have you, the devil must.

That's what I call a funeral.

Compare that with being stuck 10 feet down in the cemetery for the worms to eat.

I intend to have one like that when my turn comes

and I'm going to write it in my will,

none of you dirty little dogs will get anything out of me,

unless you see it's properly done.

Right-o Beau old chap, I'll give you one, whenever you like.

So will I you, Dig, if you die first.

Rashid, your reign of terror is finished.

No more will you and your tribe plunder the caravan routes.

He threw his sword and rushed at me,

a wild cry on his lips.

I stepped aside and parried the blow.

We fought like demons.

First the one on top and then the other,

and then I slipped.

Oh, Rashid saw his chance.

His black eyes gleaming, he raised his sword for the killing blow.

Suddenly,

he groaned,

his body crumpled,

and he fell to the sand, like a broken puppet, dead.

One of your men had shot him just in time? Ah, no.

Knife was stuck in his back. No.

What happened?

I drew my revolver and shot him. Ahh!

Captain de Beaujolais has been telling us the most wonderful stories, Aunt,

all about serving with the Foreign Legion.

And, look Aunt, he's given us this. And this. I'm going to learn to play it.

And I'm going to join the Foreign Legion when I leave Eton.

So am I.

And me.

And I'm going as a camp follower.

And they're all going to come and visit me in their officer's uniforms,

and very smart they will look, I'm sure.

I see you've been conducting your recruiting campaign.

And you, Augustus, what are you going to do?

Well… Something well-paid and safe.

Aunt Patricia, may I show Capt. De Beaujolais the Blue Water?

Very well. Thank you.

C'est mervailleuse. Never have I seen such a jewel.

The way it sparkles, you would think it was alive.

It gives you a good feeling if you rub it against your nose.

Ignore him, Sir, he's mad.

It must be a great worry

having such a precious object in the house.

It's usually kept in a secret place in a Priest Hole.

Only Aunt Patricia knows where it is.

Uncle Hector knows.

And Uncle Hector. It's worth a million pounds.

Not quite as much as that, Augustus.

Yes, it is. Uncle Hector told me before he want to Africa.

May I ask, how it came to be in the possession of Sir Hector's family.

It was acquired by the second baronet in India in the 18th century.

He was a soldier of fortune in the army of the Prince of Mysore.

They called him Wicked Brandon.

Clearly a man to be reckoned with.

I do not think he came by this bauble as a gift.

I'm quite sure he didn't.

It's said to have a blood-stained history, sir.

Yes, it could tell a tale of strife and sorrow,

if it could only speak.

Well, let us hope it will cause no more strife and sorrow.

Now it is here at Brandon Abbas.

Thou art a knave, Digby of Brandon, a scurvy knave,

and I the mighty King feeds thy bread basket. Hold still, will you!

Shh! Shh!

Squire John, some knight approacheth the castle.

Go inquire if he be friend or foe. Yes, your Lordship.

What are they doing?

Is it the man-in-armor game? Yes, he's going to try to beat the record.

What record?

See how long he can stay in the armor without moving.

Listen everyone, it's Aunt Patricia, with an Indian.

Red Indian? No from India.

Sorry, Beau. Good luck.

Hope you beat your record.

You'll get caught this time.

Sorry Beau, I've got to go too.

If she finds me, she'll wonder where you are.

If you wouldn't mind waiting here for a moment?

Yes, of course.

Oh, please, do sit down. Thank you Lady Brandon.

Come along.

Come along, come along.

Be careful. There was no air in the box.

He must have suffocated.

Johnny. Johnny!

He's dead. Johnny!