The Prince and the Pauper Page #4

- Did I select you for something?

- Yes, Your Majesty.

Henceforth, it is I, not Norfolk,

in whom you will confide and trust.

Who's Norfolk?

You can't recall him? That's a pity.

Such a little time remains

to make his acquaintance.

I bid you good day, sire.

Please, my lord.

You said I was to confide in you.

Mayn't I do it now?

Wait outside.

His Majesty has some affairs of state

which he wishes to discuss.

Yes, milord.

Now, Edward, what is it?

Please, won't you believe

that I'm just me and not the Prince?

You're no longer the Prince, Your Majesty.

You're the King.

I'm Tom Canty, I tell you,

and I went to sleep in the palace garden.

His Highness brought me in because...

I imagine he was sorry that

the Captain of the Guard bashed me.

And what became of the Prince, pray?

I don't know. That kind of worries me.

People won't believe him, either,

because he was wearing my clothes...

and didn't look at all like a prince.

He looked so much like me,

that it made us laugh.

I suppose it wasn't so very funny, though.

You don't believe me?

I believe that you've been studying

too hard, Your Majesty.

You won't even ask the Captain

about what I said?

If you wish it.

I do, because if he doesn't

say the same thing...

then I must be out of my wits.

What did the boy look like?

Just another street urchin, milord.

The size and age of His Majesty.

Are you sure it wasn't His Majesty?

Of course. This boy was dirty, in tatters.

Then he was the King.

I don't know.

He said he was,

and I thought it was impudence.

But he might have been?

He might have been.

There is either a mad prince

or a beggar boy on the throne.

Now, I must know which.

That will be easy to tell, milord.

I pray the crime won't be on my head.

- How?

- His dog.

The brute will not suffer anyone

to touch him except His Majesty.

Milord, should it not be,

use your influence in my defense.

If you can only save me for the present...

If I save you, Captain,

it shan't be for the present...

but for the future,

in which I may find you useful.

I've brought you a playmate, Edward.

- A dog. Mine?

- Yours.

He didn't like me.

No, my little Potentate of Poverty,

he didn't like you.

- Then, you know who I am?

- Yes.

- When can I go?

- Never.

Never?

- But, if I'm not the King...

- You are the King.

The only way to lose the crown now

is to lose your head with it.

- But I told the truth.

- And committed treason.

Do you know what that means?

You don't want that pretty little head

of yours chopped off, do you?

Nor to have your mother

see the crows tearing tufts...

from a skull on London Bridge...

and know that it's her son's hair

in which they will nest?

Then never forget

that you are Edward VI of England.

And that to ever again

become Tom Canty...

is to die.

Yes, sir.

- Your men will miss you, Captain.

- No.

I'm sending you away

to execute a little mission for both of us.

Yes, milord?

It seems you expelled a king.

Then it was he.

Your syntax is poor, Captain.

"Was" is in the past tense.

It is he.

When he returns, he'll have my blood.

I remember that threat.

And should he return...

Norfolk would be appointed

Lord High Protector in my stead.

- I cannot defend you from a dungeon.

- What's to be done?

Our difficulties would be resolved

by His Majesty's permanent absence.

But, milord...

that would be murder.

His life or yours, Captain.

He'll be fairly easy to locate.

Your leave starts tonight.

The passing bell.

In good faith, they toll for Henry...

little knowing they're sounding

the knell of the House of Tudor.

Let us kneel to ask comfort and solace

from Almighty God...

when the burden of sorrow

is upon us, my people.

Comfort us, O Lord...

for we are as a child without a father...

or as a ship without a rudder,

or as a body without a head.

We mourn him whose statesmanship...

and wisdom in counsel...

have been as a bulwark

against the enemies of England.

Thy will, not ours, be done, O Lord.

But strengthen us in this, our time of grief.

Thy people's sorrow

and their destiny perish...

for Henry, our King, is dead.

And a child sits upon

the throne of England.

Imbue him with thy wisdom...

thy strength, and thy mercy, O Lord.

Amen.

Father.

Long live the King.

All I hopes is this King ain't...

the drunken fool the last was.

What was that scurrilous remark

you made about my father?

You deny that you insulted

the late King, my father?

Get away, or I'll fetch you one

on the side of the head.

I'll have you drawn and quartered for this.

Do you realize

you're addressing your King?

The King, are you? Look what's the King.

This ha'penny worth of cat's meat

is none other than His Majesty.

Ho there! Lay off!

Didn't you hear me? I said lay off the lad.

Do you know what happens when you

stick your nose where it ain't wanted?

Yes, this.

Back, my good people.

- Why don't we consider this situation?

- You'll all rot in chains for this.

Make way for the King's messenger!

Time for us to leave, I think.

- Where does Your Majesty deign to reside?

- In the palace, of course.

- Charboy?

- King.

Let's not play that game anymore.

It's too strenuous.

You dare disclaim me?

No, Your Majesty, only...

it'll be a lot easier if you could be

something a trifle more sedentary.

Like the Archbishop of Canterbury.

I tell you I am the King.

As you'll learn much to your regret

if you don't keep a civil tone.

Very good, sire.

You're a bit done in after that joust.

You need some sleep

to straighten you out.

You're too familiar, my man.

I will honor your hospitality tonight.

In the morning, you shall return

to the palace with me for your reward.

Thank you, sire.

A drear hovel.

Yes, but then Windsor is so drafty.

I'm hungry.

What have you to tempt my appetite?

That depends on

what didn't tempt the mices.

- Mice?

- Yes. I had to fatten them all up.

You see, the cat threatened to leave.

You're making a joke.

The humor of being short of rations,

my friend, has always escaped me.

Then, you're poor?

Would you believe it? I am.

Who are you, fellow?

Miles Hendon, Your Majesty.

The name is not familiar.

What is your trade?

- Soldiering, sire.

- In my service?

In the service of anyone

who can afford enemies.

Soldier of fortune. Strange profession.

Of the three open to a gentleman

without means, it's the most amusing.

Cheating at cards

means associating with dull people.

Preaching the gospel

means wearing funny hats.

- Better eat, lad.

- Lad?

I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.

I hope you don't think

this is a leg of mutton.

A sheep walked around on it

for some time under that impression.

Would you sit

in the presence of your King?

- See here...

- I will no longer tolerate your manner.

I ask your pardon, Your Majesty.

But after that chase we led them,

it would be good to sit down.

Perhaps.

No, custom must be preserved.

You will stand.

I was very hungry.

- I feel better now.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote