A Knight's Tale Page #4

Twist and bend. Feel the movement.

- But eventually I will be struck.|- And then death.

Do you at least have the courage|to test it?

You okay?

I didn't feel a thing.

- Who's that knight?|- Piers Courtenay.

He's raised taxes on his land 3 times|this year to pay for tournament.

His people starve while|he sits at banquet.

It's probably true.

Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich! Ulrich!

Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

The Count Adhemar...

...son of Philippe de Vitry...

...son of Gilles...

...master of the free companies...

...defender of his enormous manhood...

...a shining example of chivalry...

...and champagne.

Nice work!

Bravo!

Watch every move Adhemar makes.|We'll find a weakness.

Well, Colville looks fit.

- -my liege...

...the second son of|Sir Wallace Percival.

It is my deepest honor--

My deepest honor to present to you....

It's Edward, my lord.|They're sure of it.

- -the illustrious Sir Thomas Colville!

Adhemar withdrew.

To withdraw like that means one thing.

Royalty.

I'll see what I can find out.

Prepare to drop the flag.

No, no. Not yet. Wait, listen.

Musicians, announce.

- I must speak with my lord.|- Then go.

See if you can beat the Second Coming.

Wait! Wait!

Colville is Edward, the Black|Prince, future king of England.

He's in disguise like me|so he can compete.

He's never met an enemy without|victory or town he couldn't defeat.

We're English! We know who he is!

- You must withdraw. Tell them, Geoff.|- Absolutely!

The lance.

Give me the lance.

Lance!

Oh, my giddy aunt.

The match is a draw.

You mad? You endanger|a royal family member.

He endangers himself.

Well fought, Sir Ulrich, as in Rouen.

You also, Prince Edward.

You knew me?

And still you rode?

- It's not in me to withdraw.|- No. Nor me.

Though it happens.

Yes, it does.

- Good luck to you.|- You also.

The winner of the mounted joust and|tournament champion...

...Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

- Melt it, sell it, do whatever you do.|- Yes, Your Majesty.

You're champion!

I'm not champion until|I defeat Adhemar. He withdrew.

Sir Ulrich.

- Tell me what you'll wear tonight.|- Nothing.

We'll cause a sensation,|for I'll dress to match.

Don't you get tired|of putting on clothes?

She's talking about taking them off.

A flower is only as good|as its petals, no?

A flower is good for nothing.

Really?

You can't eat a flower.|It doesn't keep you warm.

And a rose never knocked|a man off a horse either, did it?

You're just a silly girl, aren't you?

Better a silly girl with a flower than|a silly boy with a horse and stick.

Goodbye.

It's called a lance.

Hello.

- I have word.|- What?

Adhemar was called back|to the free companies.

First Jocelyn and now Adhemar.

Well done.

Yeah, well done.

The tournament results, my lord.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

Ulrich.

- Geoff.|- William.

I need to write a letter.

"Dear Jocelyn." No.|"My dearest Jocelyn."

Better.

"I miss you."

Was that wrong?

Well, it's up to you, really.|It's your funeral, I mean, letter.

- Say something about her breasts.|- You miss them.

Her breasts?

Yes, you could, but I would tend|to look above her breasts.

I miss her throat?

Still higher. Towards the heavens.

The moon. Her breasts|weren't that impressive.

The moon? The moon.

"It is strange to think...

...I have not seen you in a month.

I have seen the new moon, but not you.

I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but|nothing of your beautiful face."

That's very good.

I knew this girl once who....

She broke my heart.|I said the pieces--

"The pieces of my broken heart can|pass through the eye of a needle. "

He writes as though I had died.

Yes, madame. He dies as well.

She used to cook for the Duke of York.

I miss her like the sun|misses the flower.

"I miss you like the sun|misses the flower.

Like the sun misses the flower|in the depths of winter.

Instead of beauty to direct|its light to...

...the heart hardens like the frozen|world your absence has sent me to."

"I next compete in Paris.

I'll find it empty and cold|if you're not there."

I like it.

And now, to finish it.

With "hope."

Love should end with hope.

My husband, God rest him...

...said something I'll never forget.

"Hope guides me. lt--"

"It gets me through the day and|especially the night.

The hope that after you|leave my sight...

...it will not be the last time|I look upon you."

Finish it with:

"With all the love|that I possess...William."

You mean "Ulrich."

"With all the love I possess...

...I remain yours...

...the knight of your heart."

My master hoped you might have|something to send him in return.

Cock-a-doodle once! I shall not deny|him. Twice! I shall not. Thrice!

I deny him.

Thrice he denied him!

No Adhemar.

No Adhemar.

Wat.

Tell me, did you see her?|Did she read the letter?

Yes, and yes.

And?

She's coming to Paris!

Did she give you anything for me in|return? A letter? A token?

Did she give me a token? She did.

Uh, I mean, um....

Well, what is it? Give it to me.

Yes!

Hell, yes!

She-- Because she's--|That means she-- Yeah!

Cinquante.

That's a nice round number.

Excuse-moi.

They wager that a Frenchman, not|Sir Ulrich, will win the tournament.

But the amount is 50 florins.

- That's all we got.|- If we had 60, it would be that.

Ulrich against every Frenchman here?

He's won four tournaments in a row.|And Adhemar isn't here.

I check shields too.|John Beaumont's here.

Count Theobald, Philip of Burgundy--|all French champions.

Englishmen will not win...

...this French tournament.

English legs are unsteady|on French soil.

Shut your mouth, all right?!

Come on, Roland. It's a good bet.|Win and I can buy my own tavern.

- I could write full-time.|- A forge for me.

And because French wine|is too much for English bellies.

All I want is to go home, and I've|enough for that trip a hundred times.

And most importantly, because|the pope himself is French!

The pope may be French,|but Jesus is English. You're on.

He won't lose with the princess|watching him.

He's blond! He's pissed!

He'll see you in the lists!|Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein!

He's blond! He's tan!|He comes from Gelderland!

He comes from Gelderland!

Gelderland!

- You think he will come?|- As sure as the sun will rise.

You favor cathedrals.

I come for confession.

And the glass.

A riot of color in a dreary,|gray world.

Don't you think?

It's beautiful.

I feel the same about|the letter you sent.

Speak to me.

Speak those words.

I will win this tournament for you.

Excuse me?

I'll win this tournament in your name.|I'll defeat each knight for you.

Your beauty will be reflected in the|power of my arm and my horse's flanks.

Wow.

Really?

Really? Its flanks?

I wish to hear poetry, Ulrich.

Well, I'm not ready.

I am. Why must everything for|a woman be run on a man's schedule?

Well, a man's day is fuller, and...

...he has more demands on his time.

- Is that so?|- Yes.

Maybe.

No?

I demand poetry...

...and when I want it.|And I want it now.

Your breasts...

...they're below your throat....

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