A Field in England Page #2

all of great rank and fortune.

I was often given leave of his library,

which holds many a closely guarded tome,

to educate myself.

My father's poverty

forced me to leave school early,

but the master saw something of a...

Of a student in me.

Oh, an astrologer, you say? Right.

Yes. Yes. The, er, celestial bodies.

Their movements.

Oh?

Prediction. Prophecy. Divination.

They hang above us.

The stars. The planets.

No, I don't... Sorry.

Have you never looked up?

- Sounds badly paid.

- Ah, well, well.

My master says that knowledge

is its own payment.

Yeah, well, the only knowledge I have is

that God controls my fate as he sees fit,

and I try to draw consolation from that,

though I would like to know which of my

many faults he's punishing me for now.

(GRUNTS)

My master says,

"Whilst we live in fear of hell,

we... We have it."

Right.

(WHISPERS) Here. They're coming back.

(WHISPERS)

- All right? All clear?

- Get up.

COOPER:

Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep

If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad

Thy moaning makes my heart full sad

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Lu-li-li-lu

O'er thee I'll keep my lonely watch

Intent thy lightest breath to catch

O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile

And thus my sorrow to beguile

Baloo, my boy...

You strike me as a man of the world.

What line of business you in, squire?

Buttons.

Baloo, my boy

lie still and sleep...

I'm going to have a sh*t.

It grieves me sore

to hear thee weep...

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

12 weary months have crept away

Since he, upon thy natal day

left thee and me

To seek afar

A bloody fate in doubtful war...

(GRUNTS)

Baloo, my boy

lie still and sleep...

(SIGHS)

It grieves me sore

to hear thee weep...

(SIGHS)

If thou'lt be silent

I'll be glad...

(GRUNTS)

Thy moaning

makes my heart full sad...

(GRUNTS)

I dreamed a dream but yesternight

Thy father slain in foreign fight

He, wounded, stood beside my bed

His blood ran down upon thy head

He spoke no word but looked on me

Bent low and gave a kiss to thee...

Mutton?

Baloo, baloo...

Where?

My darling boy

Thou 'rt now alone

Thy mother's joy

(GRUNTING)

(INHALES)

(GRUNTING)

- (CHUCKLES)

- (GRUNTING)

Sounds like hard work.

(GRUNTING)

(PANTING)

(GRUNTING)

(GRUNTING)

- (PANTING)

- Is it a boy or a girl?

- F*** off! Ugh.

- (GIGGLING)

F*** off!

- (LAUGHS)

- (GROANS) F***.

(GRUNTS)

F*** it!

(SCREAMS)

- (GIGGLING)

- Ah! F***ing nettles.

Yeah. You all right?

Ugh. You've got sh*t on you as well.

Help me up.

(GRUNTS)

(PANTING)

You never seen a man

have a sh*t before? Go on, f*** off.

(GIGGLING)

Ow...

Oh.

(SIGHS)

(RUMBLING IN THE DISTANCE)

Oh...

A merry band, are we not?

Formed merely

by the alchemy of circumstance.

- We would not otherwise associate.

- Many chums, have you, back home?

He has mostly been amongst books.

My balls scream like harpies.

Nevertheless,

'tis indeed a pleasure to find

like-minded company in such remote parts.

- Where am I?

- WHITEHEAD:
Monmouthshire.

- Oh. That near Essex, is it?

- (CHUCKLES) No.

Don't bother.

He hears the call and puts

one foot in front of the other.

Ain't that so, brother?

My master predicts that impending events

will stagger the monarch and kingdom.

After the alehouse,

I shall stagger southeast.

I believe I have distant relatives

at Gloucester. I might go there.

Perhaps they have a large linen cupboard

in which you could hide.

(CHUCKLES)

- No stoat in here, is there?

- None.

We give humble thanks for this,

thy special bounty,

beseeching thee to continue

thy loving kindness unto us,

that our land may yield us her fruits

of increase, divine glory and our comfort.

- Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

- Amen.

Long walk, that, Gloucester.

Better done on a full stomach.

(SIGHS)

- Sell a lot of them, do you?

- CUTLER:
What?

Buttons.

Yeah, loads.

- COOPER:
This rabbit?

- No.

Which end of this mysterious

beast do I have, then?

- The arse end.

- (CHUCKLING)

There is nothing like a gnawing hunger

to slow a man's pace.

Or fix a man's resolve.

Eat it, man. You don't have to marry it.

I cannot.

I'm set upon a particular fast.

Give it here, then, Mary.

- Bit sour, but passable.

- (LOW RUMBLING)

No more marching. No more orders.

(SIGHS) Any women at this alehouse?

(CHUCKLES)

What?

A pair of English tits

not good enough for you?

'Tis indeed a blessed relief

to have been forgotten.

CUTLER:
If I may ask a

favour of you boys...

I will not stand by like some gentleman

while you pull more than your fair share.

Sounds more like an order.

CUTLER:
I will take my weight

right along with you.

- What's at the end?

- Hang on, hang on.

Ah, rowan wood.

More important, what of the alehouse?

After.

You know, that's a fine stake

you've got there. I'll give you that.

I don't pull well on an empty pocket.

Every man has his price.

(HUFFS) My price ain't buttons.

Take your pick.

(SIGHS) Well, I'll be jiggered.

(RUMBLING)

Oh.

Mmm. Hmm.

Ah.

You won't eat?

I do not suffer the same hunger

as our friends.

I believe they would sell any religion

for a jug of beer.

You have an angel about you.

You've been touched for the king's evil.

What was it like to look upon His Majesty?

Curiosity fuels you, then, not food.

Let the King worry on his own magic.

God knows he needs it.

I, however, need yours.

- (GROANS)

- Pull, coward.

- Pull!

- I am!

(GRUNTING)

(GRUNTS) You f***!

Take the strain. Dig your heel in!

Dig your heel in!

COOPER:
All right!

Come on! Come on!

(GRUNTING)

One, two, three.

Heave!

One, two, three.

Heave!

- Pull!

- (GRUNTING)

- He's coming!

- Is that all?

A f***ing man?

A cripple perhaps?

Maybe he's uncommonly fat.

I once had to pull

my father-in-law from a bog.

You're in possession of a wife?

I can't believe that possible.

Perhaps, still, there was a misunderstanding,

before I left, concerning a small fire.

He's coming!

Get up, you lazy bastard!

Pull, damn you!

What beautiful colours.

(CREAKING)

(INAUDIBLE)

(CREAKING CONTINUES)

(CHIMING)

No more pulling!

(PANTING)

I have brought assistance.

- (THUMPING)

- Oh! Sir! Sir! No, sir!

(THUDDING)

We should intervene.

That is he.

Who?

O'Neil.

The man I was charged with locating.

Then I am vindicated.

(GRUNTING)

Right.

(SQUEALING)

Get up, you bastard!

- (GRUNTING)

- Easy now. Easy now.

Hold him tight, boys. Beg pardon.

- (MARCHING DRUMBEAT)

- (GRUNTS)

(GROANING)

You men will assist me in his detainment.

Mmm.

Like gossamer.

What is it with you and hands?

News is, Cromwell's men marched north

to meet the Engagers.

I heard he exacted terrible revenge

on the Welsh bastards at Pembroke, sir.

Indeed.

This Irish bastard requires his mirror.

CUTLER:
(WHISPERS) Sorry, sir.

Here?

What's that he holds?

A scrying mirror.

- A what? His what?

- WHITEHEAD:
An occult tool.

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