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: Look, I have a gambling problem. I can't help myself. And these people will - quite literally - take off clothes of your back. William
: What are you expecting us to do about it? Peter The Pardoner of Rouen
: He assured us that you, his liege, would pay us. William
: And who are you? Peter The Pardoner of Rouen
: Peter, a humble pardoner and purveyor of religious relics. William
: How much does he owe you? Simon The Summoner of Rouen
: Ten gold florins. William
: What would you do to him, if I was to refuse? Simon The Summoner of Rouen
: We, on behalf of the Lord God, would take him of his flesh, so that he may understand that gambling is a sin.
[Keeping beat for a dance lesson
: And one and two and three and four and your hands should be light like a birdie on a branch. And one and two and three and four and Wat doesn't lead he follows like a girl.
[Wat punches him. Scene changes, and Chaucer now has a tissue stuck up one nostril
: And one and two and twirlie twirlie twirlie! And one and two and you're still getting it wrong! And one and two and three and four you can hit me all day cause you punch like a... what? Roland
: A girl!
: Sir Ulrick. What are you wearing to the ball tonight? William
: Er... nothing... Jocelyn
: Well, we shall cause a sensation, for I'll dress to match. William
] Don't you ever get tired of putting on clothes? Chaucer
] I believe she was talking about taking them off, sir. Jocelyn
: A flower is only as good as its petals. Don't you think? William
: A flower is good for nothing. You can't eat a flower, a flower can't keep you warm... Jocelyn
: And a rose never knocked a man off a horse either, did it? William
: You're just a silly girl aren't you. Jocelyn
: Better a silly girl with a flower, than a silly boy with a horse and a stick...
[she walks away
: It's called a lance. Heellooo?
: Oi sir, what are you doing? Chaucer
: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging?
: To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on. William
: Uhhh... were you robbed? Chaucer
] Funny really, yes, but at the same time a huge resounding no. It's more of an... involuntary vow of poverty... really.
: I'm Ulrich von Leichtenstein, from Guilderland, and these are my faithful squires.
[gestures to Roland
: Delves, of Dogington,
[gestures to Wat
: and Falhurst, of Crew. Chaucer
: I'm Richard the Lionheart. Pleased to meet you. No, wait a minute, I'm Charlemagne. No, I'm Saint John the Baptist!
[William draws a large knife
: All right, hold your tongue sir, or lose it. Chaucer
: Now you see *that* I do believe, Sir Ulrich.
: Yes, behold my lord Ulrich, the rock, the hard place, like a wind from Guilderland he sweeps by blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honor, we walk... in the garden of his turbulence!
[crowd is silent, cricket noise
: Yeah. Crowd
: You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion!
: Today... today, you find yourselves equals.
: For you are all equally blessed. For I have the pride, the privilege, nay, the pleasure of introducing to you to a knight, sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishing of her dreadful Turkish uncle.
: In Greece he spent a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper. And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Ulllrrrich von Lichtenstein!
: Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.
: Well, that was different. Chaucer
: Well, it's time we celebrate our differences. Roland
: Just maybe not in public.
: Yes, Master Falhurst, I'm well aware a good fawning is on the way.
: Now I got their attention, you go and win their hearts.
: Very good. William
: Was she watching? Geoff. Chaucer
: What? William
: Did she see me? Chaucer
: Yes, she saw you. William
: Did she see me take the hit? Chaucer
: Yes, she saw you take the hit. William
: Well, was she concerned? Chaucer
: It was dreadful, her eyes welled up, it was awful.
: Are you mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family? William
: He knowingly endangers himself.
: Say something about her breasts. Roland
: Yeah, you miss her breasts. William
: Her breasts. Chaucer
: Ye... yes, you... you could, umm... umm... but I... I would tend to look above her breasts, William. William
: Well I... I miss her throat. Chaucer
: Uh, still higher really, toward the heavens. Kate
: The moon at least, her breasts were not that impressive.
: It's a small target Will, but aim for his heart.
: Geoffrey Chaucer's the name, writing's the game.
[Turns away, turns back
: Chaucer? Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer? Chaucer
: A what? Chaucer
: A wha- a what? A writer. You know, I write, with ink and parchment. For a penny, I'll scribble you anything you want. From summons, decrees, edicts, warrants, patents of nobility. I've even been know to jot down a poem or two, if the muse descends. You've probably read my book? the Book of the Duchess?
[They look at each other, shake their heads
: Fine. Well, it was allegorical. Roland
: Well, we won't hold that against you, that's for every man to decide for himself.
: You have been weighed. Roland
: You have been measured. Kate
: And you have absolutely... Chaucer
: Been found wanting. William
: Welcome to New World. God save you, if it is right that he should do so.
] He's blond, he's pissed, he'll see you in the lists, Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein! He's blond, he's tanned, he comes from Gelderland, he comes from Gelderland! Gelderland, Gelderland, Gelderland... Gelderland, Gelderland, Gelderland...
: I don't understand women. Chaucer
: Nor do I. But they understand us. Well, maybe not you.
: There she is, William. The embodiment of love. Your Venus. William
: And how I hate her.
: I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.
: I give the truth, scope!
] He's quick, he's funny, he makes me lots of money, Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein!
: We regret to inform your lady that my lord will not be attending... William
: Herald, do not answer questions you do not know the answer to! Chaucer
: Absolutely, my lord.
: Good people, I missed my introduction. But please... Please I pray you, hear it now, for I would lay rest the grace in my tongue and speak plainly. Days like these are far too rare to cheapen with heavy handed words, and so, I'm afraid without any ado whatsoever... Excuse me My Lord... Here he is, one of your own, born a stone's throw from this very stadium, and here before you now, the son of John Thatcher... Sir Wiiiiiilliam Thatcheeer.
: Your round!
[Watching Joscelyn enter William's tent at night
: Guinevere comes to Lancelot.
[Turns away, smiling
: Bed him well, my lady. Bed him well.
: Oh my giddy aunt.
: A bit higher. More toward the heavens. Kate
: The moon at least. Her breasts aren't that impressive.
: All human activity lies within the artist's scope.
[looks at Wat, pauses
: Maybe not yours...