Original subtitles

THE GREAT HUNTSMAN

Well, my lord.

What news from Paris? Anything entertaining?

Some delightful things, Your Majesty.

Paris turned upside-down,

Sartine, lieutenant general of police, besieged in his hotel

with his life in peril, his agents massacred,

and rocks thrown at parliament

whose effects will be felt all the way to Versailles...

Very bad news, then.

I've a mission for you, my lord.

It requires determination and skill,

and I'm well aware you have both.

Count d'Allas,

who fought everywhere in service to the Crown

until he was no longer able,

returned to his lands in Aquitaine

where he has just suffered the loss of his youngest son.

The cause of his demise is suspicious.

You must go there to investigate,

one you will follow through to the end,

with strength and determination.

Mr. de Laborde will give you the details.

I must speak to you, your Highness.

Turnabout is fair play.

The years have been kind to you.

I almost regret leaving you so soon.

I'm not here as your former mistress, Conti,

but as a mother whose son is dying on the wheel.

On the wheel? Blast.

He's not mine, I hope.

- He's not yours. - So much the better.

What were you hoping for, my lady,

to justify intruding on me so late at night?

Just an act of mercy.

Mercy?

Langlois, explain.

The poor man's misery may be cut short by strangulation.

A strange form of mercy. But enough.

Haven't you thought of paying someone to do it?

The crowd is impatient,

and the guard's been reinforced.

Only the executioner can do it,

and even so an order of clemency is needed.

From whom?

Only the lieutenant general of police, Sartine himself,

can do it.

I should be able to mediate.

However, everything depends on you,

and the price you're willing to pay.

Price?

But I'm not rich.

No need to worry, my lady.

At the moment,

I'll content myself with your charms.

Don't even think about it.

That's an excellent cognac, but don't drink it

unless you have a cast-iron stomach.

Let me introduce the headless corpse of Charles d'Allas.

We'll have to examine and open him up

by order of the king.

He's come from Aquitaine. Despite the time and distance,

the alcohol will have kept him remarkably fresh.

The missing head was sliced off quite cleanly.

The body has many bites and lacerations,

some of which appear not to have bled.

They were therefore inflicted posthumously.

The leg bones were crushed in places, by a dog or wolf,

I don't know.

However, I can confirm this wound to the heart

was the cause of death.

A single, powerful stroke

with what appears to be a bayonet.

The organ's in good enough condition for us to take a cast.

Find the weapon,

and you'll find the murderer.

What's so special about this victim that His Majesty himself

wants us to investigate so far from Paris?

I don't know.

That's what worries me.

Worried?

No.

Just vexed

and displeased that some Marquis de Ranreuil be entrusted,

in the name of who-knows-what, to investigate who-knows-where

while the people are snarling at our gates.

The king seems to hold Count d'Allas in high esteem.

What does that matter? I am furious.

You've at least been provided with a decent travel stipend.

Count de Laborde gave me enough to raise an army, sir.

Good.

For my part, I'll arm you with these 2 lettres de cachet,

which His Majesty will surely ratify

if you feel you must use them.

Come back soon.

And please,

don't come back in a barrel of alcohol.

Goodbye, my friend.

Keep up the pace, I don't want to be slowed down.

Well, well, Nicolas. Heading off?

Someone told me you'd sent for your bags.

Catherine took care to provide you with underwear

as well as food,

whereas...

...I've supplied you with 2 sturdy pistols.

Here's a letter of introduction to Mr. de Fronsac,

first counselor for the Bordeaux parliament.

Introduce yourself on my behalf.

I'd wager he'll be able to enlighten you.

I'll pay gold to learn your destination.

I have the information you wanted.

Perfect.

Are you sure you want to do this?

My son is dead, captain. I paid with my body.

The commissioner will pay with his life.

He'll pay for having my son arrested.

He and all his team.

That delicate, subtle aroma...

...speaks of forest depths,

and the red beast hidden within.

Boars don't hide, Bourdeau.

They sleep in dry places,

in little hollows called

wallows.

I wasn't aware you knew so much about boars.

My sponsor, the Marquis de Ranreuil,

used to take me hunting with him...

Parry and change hands.

...as soon as I was old enough to ride a horse.

Blessed Catherine, supplier of such gastronomic delights...

How many slices of bread is that, Bourdeau?

My first. My one and only.

- Apple? - Yes.

You must follow Nicolas's example, Semacgus.

I have a penchant for grapes, Bourdeau, not pippins.

- Some wine, Nicolas? - No.

Come on.

They're coming.

Get into position. Go.

What?

That seems to be coming from up ahead.

Probably a hunt.

Concentrated gunfire like that suggests a military attack.

Draw your weapons.

Faster, coachman! Faster!

It's not them.

Retreat!

The coachman took a bullet to the head.

No one survived.

We barely escaped the same fate.

- This ambush was meant to kill. - Look.

The size and shape of this lead show it came from a musket.

I don't much like what I'm thinking.

- A gang, you say? - Yes.

Organized like soldiers,

with weapons normally found on battlefields.

It's a strange, though not incredible, event.

However, there have hardly been any robberies lately.

We left the corpses

at a nearby abbey for burial.

A search of the bodies in the carriage

provided some clues to the victims' identities.

I'll let you notify their relatives?

Commissioner, the skill and expertise

of His Majesty's police are clear.

However...

...your king, and mine too,

is hardly looked upon kindly here.

He confiscated the vineyards of Graves,

which is almost unforgivable,

and broke up the Bordeaux parliament,

which won't be forgotten.

Without this letter from my old friend, Mr. de Noblecourt,

I wouldn't have received you.

I appreciate your brutal honesty, Mr. de Fronsac.

I'll accept yours in exchange. What, pray tell,

brings you to our lands?

The beast.

- Is that it? - The beast?

The scourge of God.

Don't believe the nonsense spread by the clergy

to dull the wits of their flocks.

There is no beast. Not at Sarlat or anywhere else.

Sir.

It's like we're in a foreign country.

We can expect nothing from the Bordeaux parliament.

Did you think otherwise, sir?

We also hadn't been informed of the scope of our mission.

- Really? - According to Mr. de Fronsac,

our mission is not to wake the beast.

- The beast? - Yes.

What beast?

Georges.

Stable the horses, and stay at an inn

- where we can reach you. - Yes, sir.

Onward!

We need to take more precautions.

We'll continue on horse.

On horse?

Are you afraid of horses?

No, not at all.

Foul nag.

Gee up!

Welcome, gentlemen.

And you, too, my lady.

A messenger from Versailles informed me of your arrival.

My remaining son Renaud, soon to be Count d'Allas.

- I... - Martin.

Since our people found my poor brother's remains,

the count often suffers lapses of memory

unusual in a former soldier.

Please follow me, gentlemen. And lady.

Fine wine after a fine journey!

You can count me in for supper tonight.

Could your brother have been killed by wolves?

No, sir.

So what, then?

Show him in, Roussart.

Here he is.

Spruced up, rubbed down, fur brushed.

The specimen is strong and in good health.

And hung like a donkey.

That will be all.

Come closer.

- Don't you like me? - That's not it, my lady.

I can't.

- What do you mean? - It would be a sin. I'm married.

Married?

Look.

Your equipment doesn't seem married.

Are you waiting for an excuse to stuff me?

I can't.

Have mercy, my lady. I can't.

I'll show you "can't."

Up, you rascal.

Rascal.

That's not in the rules.

You've deprived me of my pleasure.

What does it matter?

I've been deprived of mine as well.

Who are they?

The Countess and Count of Rhodes.

A gentleman from a lofty background.

His ancestors are a younger branch

of the sovereign counts of Rhodes,

a junior branch of the powerful house of the counts of Toulouse.

May you rest in peace. More peacefully than your death.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

We are nothing without the hand of the Lord.

May the Lord welcome you into His house, Charles d'Allas,

and unconcerned by your sins,

may He draw you to him benevolently.

The beast must be destroyed, my lord!

The beast killed your son and did away with mine.

Justice, my lord.

- The beast roams the forest. - We'll put an end to it.

Mrs. Mairet was my wet-nurse. She raised me as her own.

The boy next to her is her youngest son Thomas,

and my milk brother.

The poor family was cruelly tested.

The father was killed in a hunt while running down a deer,

then Vincent, the eldest, died at the fangs of the beast.

Taking advantage of the fact that she was alone at his vigil,

his widow Isabeau, mad with grief,

seized his corpse and fled with it.

There's been no trace of her since.

Since then, she's haunted the woods.

Tomorrow, gentlemen,

we'll proceed to a hunt on our lands,

where Thomas, as Wolfcatcher Royal,

will lead the hunt. I want as many guns as possible.

I have around 60,

all excellent hunters, and I can easily put together

2 packs of powerful dogs.

Let's meet at the château

to coordinate our positions and movements.

Please join us, my lord,

and you, my dear surgeon.

I'd wager we need all the help we can get with the beast.

Father, you should obviously be there to bless our weapons.

I questioned the household while you were gone.

It's rather discouraging.

You know Mr. Sartine's theory that for any crime,

your first suspect is the help.

But no. Everyone here is in mourning.

Everyone is sorry the young count died.

Nothing suggests the origin of this crime is at home.

Perfect. At least you managed to prove that dumb theory wrong.

Father?

Father?

Well, my dear policeman.

What burdensome crime are you dying to confess?

So much erudition is astounding.

If you profess to know God,

you must know about nature and mankind,

because we're supposedly made in his image.

I see several treatises on algebra.

Didn't Galileo claim that all creation is a matter of numbers?

But I doubt you're here to talk metaphysics.

No, actually.

So, as you're not here to confess, sir,

what is this about?

One of your duties is to keep

the parish register of births and deaths.

The ones that are reported, yes. But first, follow me.

Can you tell me the number of people

who passed away in circumstances similar to Charles d'Allas?

Offhand, I'd say 12.

Twelve?

Twelve men.

- Whose heads were missing? - No.

The case of the young count is rather novel in that way.

Twelve strong young men attacked within a few years.

I couldn't help but be intrigued

because according to the records, this is unheard of.

Not in the parish or anywhere around here.

What do you know about Isabeau Mairet?

Just what's public gossip:

that she went mad with grief,

stole her husband's remains and buried him heaven-knows-where.

I found tracks! Keep the horses back.

The animal's been driven out into the open.

Draw your weapons, gentlemen.

Two good-sized animals.

The dogs have cornered them. We just have to finish them off.

I hit one.

There's deviltry at work here.

Several of us struck home, but the animals fled

- without bleeding. - Are they wolves at least?

Looked like.

Though their pelts bear odd dark stripes

normally seen on a boar's back.

My lord.

Do you really think it's a hunting accident?

I have my doubts.

The facts compel us not to be satisfied by hasty conclusions.

Your father's resting, sir,

thanks to an opiate I had to give him

so I could operate. He has a concussion and heavy blood loss,

but there's still hope.

May I speak to him?

He's sleeping. But you may see him.

Where are my manners? Are your quarters suitable?

Perfectly.

I haven't seen the Duchess of Langremont today.

She must be worn out from the trip.

Assuming she's not suffering from some feminine ailment.

Well, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen.

Look, Nicolas.

I'd wager you'd recognize this.

We'll need to consult a gunsmith.

May I?

- Quite effective. - They're my late mother's.

Let me see.

Both bullets are the same weight.

That suggests they came from the same mold.

You'll also note that by lining them up one after the other,

that they're of the same caliber,

and that the metal bears certain striations

that also match.

Certain striations...

We sometimes receive muskets

from Prussia made of forged steel with grooves

designed to improve the bullet's accuracy

by causing it to rotate in flight,

thus increasing its reliability.

We'd have to melt it to guess what the alloy is composed of.

I'd say it's lead mixed with something else.

I'm afraid we'll have to do without melting them.

We must keep these bullets as evidence.

Please.

Thank you.

So this is where Charles d'Allas's body was found?

And my brother's, sir.

Can you think of a reason they would be left here?

Not one.

Perhaps because animals are known to pass through here.

Boars, wolves, sometimes deer...

I saw something resembling a blade.

The water's disturbed, and now I can't see a thing.

Look.

That's it. The young count's blade.

Broken. He must have tried to fight.

Isabeau.

Well, my lady.

You seem upset.

The wild woman is prowling about again.

Perhaps it would be nice...

Her madness is so profound, she poses no danger.

And I'm not unmoved by the sound of her unending wailing

filling the woods, like that of some wounded beast.

The little marquis is working hard.

They were at the scene this afternoon.

The little marquis is also a policeman, darling.

This morning I received a note from Mr. de Fronsac.

I do business with him, and he keeps me informed.

"Hunt the beast"?

That's all?

Yes, my lady.

That's all.

You have a very healthy appetite, my lady.

I'm glad.

One's quite enough, thank you.

It's quite possible that bullet wasn't meant for your father.

Then for whom?

I didn't notice at the time,

but the bullet went through my jacket before hitting him.

Everything suggests this isn't

the first time you were attacked.

I'd appreciate your lending me your Wolfcatcher Royal,

so he can help me with an important mission.

You may have him. What's this about?

A hunt to which he seems to have a strong aversion.

I know what this must cost you.

Finding the poor woman probably won't be that difficult for him.

I heard he used to give her supplies regularly.

Finding the grave won't be so easy.

The woods around us are vast and occasionally impenetrable.

Come on. We must lie in wait.

Are you feeling ill, my lady?

Likely the result of last night's feast.

- We do eat well at the count's. - And drink well, too.

No, thank you, Father.

I see you're neither an ascetic nor a teetotaller.

I leave such excesses to the Jansenists.

As for me, having served in the old count's armies,

I'm far too aware of the precariousness of human life.

The blood of Christ.

It's a wine Mr. de Fronsac left me

as he was passing through.

- Mr. de Fronsac? - Mr. de Fronsac.

As supplier of the king's armies,

he has business contacts in the region.

He often stays with the Count of Rhodes.

He's one of the few who are welcome.

What can you tell me about the Count of Rhodes?

Three years ago, just before Easter,

as he was running down a colossal deer,

the animal knocked him off his horse.

It started attacking him so violently

we thought he'd die.

The count survived.

After much suffering, he managed to move again

and get back on his horse.

The countess, who worships her husband,

was a great help during his long and terrible recovery.

His ordeal was terribly cruel.

Shortly after his recovery,

the beast began sowing death throughout the region.

These suspicions you've just shared

are quite serious.

Indeed.

But although suspicions may fit the circumstances,

they're nothing without proof.

I don't believe in wolves with boar's markings.

To be continued...

Translation: Elise Pineda TV5 Québec Canada