Becket Page #2

- But this has never been spoken of before.

- I've never been this poor before.

No. I've made up my mind,

and I'm passing around the plate.

Just drop in the money.

Ooh. My backside's sore.

- Is that all? Count your blessings, sire.

- (belches)

I don't know about you, but I'm starving.

Have them bring us something to eat.

A layman who shirks his duty

and fails to supply his king with arms

should pay the tax.

- Nobody will question that.

- Least of all the clergy.

On the other hand, a priest's duty

is to assist his king with his prayers

for godliness and peace.

He cannot maintain men at arms

without violating the very essence

of that sacred function.

Therefore, he cannot be held

liable for the tax.

Your priests fought well enough

in the days of a conquest

when there was booty to be had.

Sword in fist, rumps in the saddle.

Death to Saxon scum.

It's God's will, it's God's will.

Those violent days are over.

The priest is back in his sanctuary.

- It is peacetime now.

- But not for long.

Pay up. I don't intend to budge.

Come on, Chancellor, say something.

Has your new title made you tongue-tied?

May I respectfully draw to My Lord

Archbishop's attention one small point?

Respectfully but firmly.

You're Chancellor now.

England is a ship.

The king is the captain of the ship.

That's neat. I like that.

My Lord Chancellor, in point of fact,

there is also a saying,

the captain is sole master after God.

After God!

Nobody's questioning God's authority,

Archbishop.

Most certainly God protects the ship

by inspiring the captain,

but I've never heard that he

determines the wages of the crew,

nor instructs the paymaster

in his duties.

God has more important business.

Our young deacon's ambition

has carried him away from the church.

But he cannot have forgotten

that what is important

is revealed to man

only through his church

in the person of our Holy Father in Rome,

his bishops and his priests.

Or does the chancellor think

otherwise?

True, there is a priest on board

every ship.

He gives God's blessings.

But neither God nor the church ask him

to take the wheel from the helmsman.

My Reverend Lord, the Bishop of London,

who I understand is the son of a sailor,

surely cannot have forgotten that.

I will not allow personal insinuation

to compromise the integrity

and honor of the church.

Please, Bishop, no long words.

All that's at stake here is its money.

I need money to fight the French.

Will the church give it to me?

Yes or no?

My Lord, your illustrious ancestor

William the Conqueror

granted these tax exemptions

to the church.

May he rest in peace.

Where he is now, he doesn't need money.

I'm still on Earth, and I do.

This is not primarily

a question of money, Your Highness.

This is a question of principle.

I need troops, Bishop.

I've sent for 3,000 Swiss

to help me fight the king of France

and no one has ever paid the Swiss

with principles.

- My Lord Chancellor...

- It is pointless to continue this discussion.

The law has given us

the means of coercion.

We will use it.

You - you owe everything

to Holy Mother Church.

Would you dare plunge a dagger

into her bosom?

My Lord and King,

who rules by the grace of God,

has given me his seal

with the three lions to protect.

My mother is England now.

Traitor! Saxon!

My reverend friend, I strongly suggest

that you respect my Chancellor,

or else I'll call my guards.

Ahh, here they are now.

Oh, no.

It's only my snack.

Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me,

at this hour in the morning

I need sustenance,

or else I tend to feel weak.

And a king must never weaken.

I'm sure you will agree.

I'll have it in my chapel.

Then I can pray directly afterwards.

Come on, Thomas, keep me company.

He means it's time for the hunt.

Not until we have eaten,

my dear Bishop.

(horn blowing)

- Race?

- Right.

Hyah!

(laughing)

Get!

(horn blowing)

- The king's hunt.

- Eh?

- Oh, inside, quick.

- (woman gasps)

Let's get under cover

before we're drowned.

We've lost the barons.

Oh, they'll find us.

Here. Hold this.

(shivers)

Oh, I'm cold, my pretty.

Go on, sit on there. That's a good girl.

Go on, get on there.

I'm freezing. Get the fire going.

- There'll be no wood in this house.

- In the middle of the forest?

These people are entitled to

two measures of deadwood a year.

One branch more, and they hang.

- My edict?

- Your edict.

(horses neighing)

Come here, old man.

We need firewood. Don't be afraid.

Thomas!

Thomas, come here!

Look at this.

She stinks a bit,

but we could wash her.

What would you think of it,

clean her up a little?

She's a child.

What would it be like

when it's a woman?

How old would you say it was, 16, 17?

It can speak, My Lord.

How old are you?

Eh?

Of course it can speak.

How old's your daughter, dog?

Odd, the number of dumb people I meet

when I set foot out of my palace.

- I rule over a kingdom of mutes.

- They're afraid.

Quite right, too. Don't stand there.

Put the wood on the fire.

Hello, pretty.

(laughs)

Look at it.

The odd thing is, it's so ugly,

yet it makes such pretty daughters.

You're a member of the family.

Explain that.

At 20, before he lost his teeth and took on

that ageless look common people have,

he may have been handsome.

He may have had one night of love,

one moment when he was a king

and shed his fear.

Afterwards, his pauper's life

went on eternally the same.

The moment faded, and he forgot it all,

but the seed was sown.

- Will she grow ugly, too?

- Surely.

If we made her a whore

and kept her at the palace,

- would she stay pretty?

- Perhaps.

Then we'd be doing her a service,

wouldn't we?

- No doubt.

- Ooh.

Look at it.

It understands every word.

Stop staring at me, dog!

Get me something to drink!

- I have some drink in my saddle.

- What's the matter, Thomas?

Nothing.

I'm getting you a drink.

- Thank you, Thomas.

- (horn blowing)

Our escort. Want some?

- What's the matter? You hurt?

- It's nothing.

Show me.

Now, you know you can't stand

the sight of blood.

My horse bit me.

(laughing)

That is too funny.

My Lord here makes us all look silly

at the jousts with his fancy horsemanship.

He goes to his saddlebags

and gets bitten like a groom.

You look quite shaken, little Saxon.

Funny, I can't bear

to think of you in pain.

All this just to get me a drink.

Wounded in the service of the king.

This deserves a gift.

What would you like?

This girl.

I fancy her.

That's very tiresome of you.

I fancy her myself.

And where that subject's concerned,

friendship goes by the boar.

All right, she's yours.

Thank you, My Prince.

But you will return the favor

equally one day.

At your pleasure.

Equally. Favor for favor.

You give me your word as a gentleman?

I do.

Right. She's yours.

Shall we take her with us,

or shall we have her sent?

No, no, no.

The soldiers can bring her.

(dogs barking/horn blowing)

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