A Man for All Seasons Page #13

It bounces, echoing, leaps and strikes the boat. A moment’s pause. A figure darts out and scuttles away ratlike into the darkness. MORE, horrified, confronts NORFOLK, who nods, grimly.

NORFOLK:

Thomas. You’re dangerous to know!

MORE Then don’t know me.

NORFOLK:
I do know you:

MORE I mean as a friend.

86

NORFOLK:

I am your friend! I wish I wasn’t but I am:

MORE What’s to be done, then?

NORFOLK:
Give in.

He puts a hand on MORE’s arm. Gently, MORE removes it.

MORE:

I can’t give in, Howard.

(smiles)

Our friendship’s more mutable than that.

NORFOLK:

Oh that’s immutable is it? The one fixed point in a world of turning friendship, is that Thomas More will not give in: MORE

(urgent to explain)

To me it has to be, for that’s myself: Affection goes as deep in me as you I think, but only God is love right through; Howard, and that’s my self. NORFOLK And who are you?

He walks away a few paces, and looks MORE up and down.

A lawyer:
And a lawyer’s son: We’re supposed to be the arrogant ones, the proud, splenetic ones—and we’ve all given in: Why must you stand out? Goddammit man, it’s disproportionate: (quick and quiet)

You’ll break my heart.

87 MORE is moved. He goes to NORFOLK and takes his hand.

MORE:

No-one’s safe Howard, and you have a son. We’ll end our friendship now. NORFOLK For friendship’s sake?

MORE Yes.

NORFOLK:
is tempted. But he throws away MORE’s hand and says gloomily: NORFOLK Daft!

MORE looks at him affectionately. Walks away, puts his hands behind his back and says loudly: MORE Norfolk you’re a fool!

The insult produces an automatic reflex. But then NORFOLK folds his arms, snorts. NORFOLK

You can’t place a quarrel Thomas, you haven’t the style.

MORE:

Hear me out. You and your class have given in—as you rightly call it—because the religion of this country means nothing to you one way or the other. NORFOLK

Well that’s a foolish saying for a start. The nobility of England—MORE

The nobility of England my lord would have snored through the Sermon on the Mount! But you’ll labour like scholars, at a bull-dog’s pedigree. NORFOLK begins to breathe hard, but:

88.

NORFOLK:

An artifical quarrel’s not a quarrel,

MORE:

We’ve had a quarrel since the day we met. Our friendship was mere sloth. NORFOLK

You can be cruel when you’ve a mind to be,

but I’ve always known that.

MORE:

What d’you value in your bulldogs? Gripping, is it not?

NORFOLK:
glowers, suspicious, not knowing where the conversation is going now. Sharply. jeering. Eh?

NORFOLK:
Yes!

MORE That’s their nature ?

NORFOLK:
Yes!

MORE:

And that s why you breed them?

NORFOLK:
Yes!

MORE:

It’s so with men I will not give in because I oppose it—not my pride, not my spleen, nor any other of my appetites but I do, I. He goes up to NORFOLK and begins prodding him offensively, and NORFOLK’s temper begins to go.. Is there nowhere in the midst of all this muscle, one single sinew which serves no appetite of Norfolk’s but is. just Norfolk? There is! Give that some exercise my lord! 89

NORFOLK:
(dangerous)

Thomas—

MORE:

For as you stand you’ll go before your Maker ill-conditioned: NORFOLK Now steady, Thomas—

MORE:

And he’ll think that somewhere back along your pedigree—

He pauses, glances apprehensively at his powerful friend, and says: a b*tch got over the wall: NORFOLK simply can’t take it in for a beat. Then galvanically lashes out. MORE ducks without dignity. They freeze thus, MORE down in the wet looking up fearfully at NORFOLK, enormous:.. and splendid. Then NORFOLK turns. We hear his receding footsteps, as MORE rises, shakily, looking sadly after him. Tarns, wrapping his cloak about him, sets off along the towpath. CUT 83 INT. HOUSE OF COMMONS NIGHT

CROMWELL walks swiftly along an obscure brick passage, still carrying the heavy paper, throwing off his rainsoaked cloak, thrusts open an unimportant looking door and is in: The House of Commons in session. An OLD MAN is on his feet, his thin voice, echoing under the vault. The Knights and Burgesses barely heed him, and in any case it is CROMWELL they are waiting for. His quiet entry draws attention, makes them sit up and whisper. OLD MAN falters to silence, thus: OLD MAN

(rhubarb speech as required,

partly audible)

... in consequence of which decay of Guilds, the rough wool coming out of my own County of Yorkshire is now notably amiss, to the great mislike of foreign merchants. The prosperity of England 90

He, last of all, sees CROMWELL, sitting nearby, all eyes on him, looking blankly at OLD MAN who: OLD MAN

... I will defer the rest of my matter till ...

And sits. CROMWELL looks to SPEAKER. SPEAKER nods. CROMWELL rises. CROMWELL

That the loyal Commons here assembled will speedily enact this Bill I doubt not, forasmuch as it concerns the King’s New Title and his marriage with Queen Anne. Both matters pleasing to a loyal subject. He looks up. Hasty murmur of approbation. He nods, infuses an undertone of stern indignation into his voice: But, my masters, we have among us a sort of hypocrite; a brood of paradoxical cheats; discreet traitors and—tOP** DISSOLVE back to MORE on towpath commences.

- as it were rebels in moderation. The which deceit the King can brook no longer: And we, his loyal huntsmen must now drive these subtle foxes from their cover ... 84 EXT. TOWPATH NEAR MORE’S HOUSE NIGHT

The rain has stopped. MORE steps doggedly along the towpath, country now, wet trees glistening about him, the banks grassy. MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT. Where the footpath runs at the river’s brink, the water swollen with rain, tide and current together, wrenches at the roots of the hazels, mines the soft clay banks. MORE plods on.

85 EXT. GARDEN GATE MORE’S HOUSE NIGHT

CLOSE TRACKING SHOT MARGARET leaves a garden gate set in a high wall, a hood over her head, emerging onto the same path. She looks along it. Her POV the footpath, empty.

She sets off, moving opposite on screen to MORE’s progression, 91

86 EXT. TOWPATH NEAR MORE’S HOUSE NIGHT

CLOSE TRACKING SHOT’, MORE He stops and listens. Looks:

His POV the path bends sharply a few feet in front of him. MAGARET comes round the bend. MORE

Margaret:
ä I couldn’t get a boat.

(frowns at her agitation)

What is it, Meg?

With which,’ he takes her arm and they walk on in tracking shot, the river running by their feet, its busy gurgle running under their talk. MARGARET

There’s a new Act going through Parliament. Giles Cooper’s ridden out to tell us. MORE Oh?

He is more interested than alarmed, puzzled by her pent-up concern. She nods. MARGARET

Father, by this Act they’re going to administer an oath; about the Marriage, MORE stops.

MORE:

(steadily)

On what compulsion is the oath?

MARGARET High Treason.

A heavy slice of clay bank falls with soft finality into the incessantly working river. MORE What’s the wording?

MARGARET:

Do the words master? We know what it will mean.

92

MORE:

It will mean what the words say, Meg. An oath is made of words, It may be possible to take it

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