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(MARCHING DRUMBEAT)
(MISSILE WHISTLING)
-(EXPLOSION) -(MAN GASPING)
- TROWER (m DISTANCE): Whitehead! -(MAN GASPING)
(EXPLOSION)
TROWER: Where are you'? Whitehead!
-(GASPING) -(HORSE WHINNYING)
(EXPLOSION)
TROWER: I know you're there! You can't hide from me!
-(MEN SHOUTING) - Oh! Please, God!
Don't let him find me.
-(GUNSHOTS) -(HORSES WHINNYING)
TROWER: I can smell you!
(MEN SHOUTING)
(GUNSHOTS)
Fﬂend?
Hey, friend?
Your name?
Give me your name.
-(G U N S H OTS) -VVhitehead!
Where are you, man?
You simpering dwarf!
(MEN SHOUTING)
WHITEHEAD: Don't let him find me.
Whitehead! I know you're there!
Where are you?
Six months, to root out one Irishman!
-(MEN SHOUTING) -(WHINNYING)
Six months, Whitehead!
- Rid me of that pompous arse. - Instead, what do you find'? The enemy!
Please hear me.
TROWER: I care not what the master might say. No more mummery!
You're finished, scrivener!
- Hey, friend! - I'll hang you from the nearest tree!
I've got you! There you are, you coward!
This is the place, sir. I am certain this time.
- He is here! - Lies!
Astrology cannot be an exact business if the questions are ill-defined
or the person or individual is sort...
Damn your impudence, you obsequious little turd!
-(SCREAMS) - Oh, my god!
-(GROANS) -(EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE)
(GROANING)
(LOUD EXPLOSION)
Your privy parts are doomed, homunculus!
-(WHISPERS) Come here. -(GUN CLICKS)
No, thank you!
(SHUDDERS) Oh!
Bawd's bastard.
Looks like your prayer is answered.
(WHIMPERS)
(CHOKING)
What do you see, friend?
(GASPING)
Nothing, perhaps.
Only shadows.
-(MARCHING DRUMBEAT) -(MEN SHOUTING)
(GUNSHOT)
(WIND WHISTLING)
(MISSILE WHISTLING)
(EARS RINGING)
(MUFFLED EXPLOSIONS)
(EARS RINGING)
(MUFFLED SPEECH)
I cannot hear!
(EARS RINGING)
Oh!
(GROANING)
Please!
(CHANTING IN THE DISTANCE)
(GUNSHOTS IN THE DISTANCE)
(SIGHS)
Has he passed?
Shame.
Bit soft in the head but good with a pike.
We should pray.
- You got anything to eat? - Ah, no, sir.
(SIGHS) Last thing I ate was a stoat.
A Welsh one at that.
Oh, fuck it.
I ain't going back over.
- What about you? - Oh, my man is dead.
-(GUNSHOTS) - I'm my own man.
There is another I am beholden to, my master.
(SIGHS) There's always others, brother.
No doubt he'll find you.
They usually do.
Especially if they want their boots cleaned or the boils on their arses burst.
Fuck it.
This war's not been run to my liking. Too much fucking marching about.
Not enough grub.
I'd give anything for a... A good stew and a bellyful of beer.
I was stopped a ways into the field when I hear the commotion.
- You... - Oh! Oh!
- Easy, friend! - Ahhh!
- He was with the other lot! - I am not your enemy, sir!
4588s', now! -(GRUNTS)
I am not a soldier!
- What the fuck are you, then? - I am a coward, sir!
And what about you? What dispensation do you claim?
There are no sides here, friend.
Let's stop acting like a bunch of cunts.
And we shall forge an alliance at the alehouse I passed earlier.
What say you?
(GROANING)
(COUGHING)
Did someone mention ale?
(FARTS) Ugh.
(MARCHING DRUMBEAT)
(EXPLOSION)
I should go back, suffer the consequences of my failed mission.
What mission would that be, Mary? Pegging out the wash?
I am not at liberty to discuss my master's business.
Perhaps he's right. Perhaps we should all go back and suffer.
-(GUNSHOT) - I feel that is what I do best anyway.
Jesus Christ could be here any minute.
We wouldn't want him to find us running away.
We're not running away. We're going for beer, right?
Perhaps he is right. Beer has its own way of sorting things out, does it not?
Forwards is back. 'Tis all the same.
God will find all as easy over a card table as swinging from a tree.
(MEN SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE)
Allow me.
Ugh.
Sorry. (SPITS)
Er...
-(G U N S H OTS) -Sorry.
Got orders to catch this fella once.
-(GUNSHOT) -Stole a tablecloth.
There was no trees to hang him from, though, see.
We'd burnt 'em all for firewood.
Difficult business, hanging a man without a tree.
- You all right? - I am not a soldier!
I'm not accustomed to this trajectory.
Go fucking back, then. Go on. Piss off.
He must not go back!
Your man said you would hang, did he not?
Can you be certain all his loyal men are dead
and do not wait to wring your neck like a wet mop'?
You are as good as dead to them this side of the hedgerow.
Leave it to that, surely, friend.
Well, if God Almighty shall preserve my life,
I may hereafter add many great things and much light to my art!
What's he say?
He says the next time his master sends him on a job he won't fuck it up.
Good, good, good.
Say, I see nothing but shit and thistles all about.
- Where's this alehouse, exactly? - Across the field and beyond.
- And you are paying, you say? - CUTLER: You'll eat first, though.
I have fire, a pot,
and something in it I was working at before I heard that business at the lane.
If nothing else, it'll fill your stomachs.
COOPER: So, you'll not go back there?
I am not accustomed to making decisions,
but self-preservation fuels me, I admit.
We shall sample a better quality of suffering in this man's company,
I feel certain.
(MARCHING DRUMBEAT)
We shall stop for but a short time, though.
I may not be running, but I have no desire to linger in these parts.
I am only too aware
that the odds are presently against a man living his full span.
- Listen. -(SILENCE)
They have forgotten you already.
I wish the feeling were mutual.
The skirmish is moving elsewhere.
Fuck 'em, then, for being so flighty.
But surely someone will come after us.
We're only shadows here, remember?
It will not be the first time I have left a wake of indifference behind me.
(CHUCKLES)
(WHISPERS) Down, down, down now. Get down.
Get... Get down.
Get down! Down!
(WHISPERING) Down, down, down.
Stay here. Stay here.
- Where you going? - Stay here.
I'm not fucking staying here.
I was... I was a cooper at...
I was a cooper at Wickford in Essex before I joined.
Oh?
Have you ever been at Wickford?
- Ah, no. I never have. - Course you haven't.
Yeah, quite right too.
Yeah. You're a wise sort, you, ain't you?
I could tell by your hands, all clean and soft and that.
Yeah, yeah.
You think about a thing before you touch it. Am I right?
Is that not usual?
Not in Essex.
Yeah, recruiters came to the village,
singing a song about the glory of the battle.
You know?
Course, it isn't anything like that when you get your hands into...
To the business of fighting, yeah.
Still have that song, though. Yeah, yeah.
Yeah. What about you?
Ah, assistant to a gentleman at Norwich,
an eminent alchemist, physician and astrologer, amongst other things.
Right.
I was charged with the compilation of sundry details
for his almanacs and charts,
aid his prominent friends, patrons, politicians in their decisions,
all of great rank and fortune.
I was often given leave of his library, which holds many a closely guarded tome,
to educate myself.
My father's poverty forced me to leave school early,
but the master saw something of a... Of a student in me.
Oh, an astrologer, you say? Right.
Yes. Yes. The, er, celestial bodies.
Their movements.
Oh?
Prediction. Prophecy. Divination.
They hang above us.
The stars. The planets.
No, I don't... Sorry.
Have you never looked up?
- Sounds badly paid. - Ah, well, well.
My master says that knowledge is its own payment.
Yeah, well, the only knowledge I have is that God controls my fate as he sees fit,
and I try to draw consolation from that,
though I would like to know which of my many faults he's punishing me for now.
(GRUNTS)
My master says,
"Whilst we live in fear of hell, we... We have it."
Right.
(WHISPERS) Here. They're coming back.
(WHISPERS)
- All right? All clear? - Get up.
COOPER: # Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
# If thou'It be silent, I'll be glad
# Thy moaning makes my heart full sad
# Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
# Thy father bred me great annoy
# Ba/oo, baloo Baloo, baloo
# Baloo, baloo
# Lu-Ii-li-lu
# O'er thee I'll keep my lonely watch
# Intent thy lightest breath to catch
# O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile
# And thus my sorrow to beguile Baloo, my boy...
You strike me as a man of the world.
What line of business you in, squire?
Buttons.
# Baloo, my boy lie still and sleep...
I'm going to have a shit.
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep...
(THUNDER RUMBLING)
# 12 weary months have crept away
# Since he, upon thy natal day left thee and me
# To seek afar
# A bloody fate in doubtful war...
(GRUNTS)
# Baloo, my boy lie still and sleep...
(SIGHS)
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep...
(SIGHS)
# If thou?!' be silent I'll be glad..-
(GRUNTS)
# Thy moaning makes my heart full sad.-.
(GRUNTS)
# I dreamed a dream but yesternight
# Thy father slain in foreign fight
# He, wounded, stood beside my bed
# His blood ran down upon thy head
# He spoke no word but looked on me
# Bent low and gave a kiss to thee...
Mutton?
# Baloo, baloo...
Where?
# My darling boy
# Thou'rt now alone Thy mother's joy #
(GRUNTING)
(INHALES)
(GRUNTING)
-(CHUCKLES) -(GRUNTING)
Sounds like hard work.
(GRUNTING)
(PANTING)
(GRUNTING)
-(PANTING) - Is it a boy or a girl?
- Fuck off! Ugh. -(GIGGLING)
Fuck off!
-(LAUGHS) -(GROANS) Fuck.
(GRUNTS)
Fuck it!
(SCREAMS)
-(GIGGLING) - Ah! Fucking nettles.
Yeah. You all right?
Ugh. You've got shit on you as well.
Help me up.
(GRUNTS)
(PANTING)
You never seen a man have a shit before'? Go on, fuck off.
(assume)
Ow...
Oh.
(SIGHS)
(RUMBLING IN THE DISTANCE)
Oh...
A merry band, are we not?
Formed merely by the alchemy of circumstance.
- We would not otherwise associate. - Many chums, have you, back home?
He has mostly been amongst books.
My balls scream like harpies.
Nevertheless,
'tis indeed a pleasure to find like-minded company in such remote parts.
- Where am I? - WHITEHEAD: Monmouthshire.
- Oh. That near Essex, is it? -(CHUCKLES) No.
Don't bother.
He hears the call and puts one foot in front of the other.
Ain't that so, brother?
My master predicts that impending events will stagger the monarch and kingdom.
After the alehouse, I shall stagger southeast.
I believe I have distant relatives at Gloucester. I might go there.
Perhaps they have a large linen cupboard in which you could hide.
(CHUCKLES)
- No stoat in here, is there? - None.
We give humble thanks for this, thy special bounty,
beseeching thee to continue thy loving kindness unto us,
that our land may yield us her fruits of increase, divine glory and our comfort.
- Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen. - Amen.
Long walk, that, Gloucester.
Better done on a full stomach.
(SIGHS)
- Sell a lot of them, do you? - CUTLER: What?
Buttons.
Yeah, loads.
- COOPER: This rabbit? - No.
Which end of this mysterious beast do I have, then?
- The arse end. -(CHUCKLING)
There is nothing like a gnawing hunger to slow a man's pace.
Or fix a man's resolve.
Eat it, man. You don't have to marry it.
I cannot.
I'm set upon a particular fast.
Give it here, then, Mary.
- Bit sour, but passable. -(LOW RUMBLING)
No more marching. No more orders.
(SIGHS) Any women at this alehouse?
(CHUCKLES)
What?
A pair of English tits not good enough for you?
'Tis indeed a blessed relief to have been forgotten.
CUTLER: If I may ask a favour of you boys...
I will not stand by like some gentleman while you pull more than your fair share.
Sounds more like an order.
CUTLER: I will take my weight right along with you.
- What's at the end? - Hang on, hang on.
Ah, rowan wood.
More important, what of the alehouse?
After.
You know, that's a fine stake you've got there. I'll give you that.
I don't pull well on an empty pocket.
Every man has his price.
(HUFFS) My price ain't buttons.
Take your pick.
(SIGHS) Well, I'll be jiggered.
(RUMBLING)
Oh.
Mmm. Hmm.
Ah.
You won't eat?
I do not suffer the same hunger as our friends.
I believe they would sell any religion for a jug of beer.
You have an angel about you. You've been touched for the king's evil.
What was it like to look upon His Majesty?
Curiosity fuels you, then, not food.
Let the King worry on his own magic.
God knows he needs it.
I, however, need yours.
-(GROANS) - Pull, coward.
- Pull! - I am!
(GRUNTING)
(GRUNTS) You fuck!
Take the strain. Dig your heel in! Dig your heel in!
COOPER: All right!
Come on! Come on!
(GRUNTING)
One, two, three.
Heave!
One, two, three.
Heave!
- Pull! -(GRUNTING)
- He's coming! - Is that all?
A fucking man?
A cripple perhaps?
Maybe he's uncommonly fat.
I once had to pull my father-in-law from a bog.
You're in possession of a wife? I can't believe that possible.
Perhaps, still, there was a misunderstanding, before I left, concerning a small fire.
He' S c Q . “We!
Get up, you lazy bastard!
Pull, damn you!
What beautiful colours.
(CREAKING)
(INAUDIBLE)
(CREAKING CONTINUES)
(CHIMING)
No more pulling!
(PANTING)
I have brought assistance.
-(THUMPING) - Oh! Sir! Sir! No, sir!
(THUDDING)
We should intervene.
That is he.
Who?
O'Neil.
The man I was charged with locating.
Then I am vindicated.
(GRUNTING)
Right.
(SQUEALING)
Get up, you bastard!
-(GRUNTING) - Easy now. Easy now.
Hold him tight, boys. Beg pardon.
-(MARCHING DRUMBEAT) -(GRUNTS)
(GROANING)
You men will assist me in his detainment.
Mmm.
Like gossamer.
What is it with you and hands?
News is, Cromwell's men marched north to meet the Engagers.
I heard he exacted terrible revenge on the Welsh bastards at Pembroke, sir.
Indeed.
This Irish bastard requires his mirror.
CUTLER: (WHISPERS) Sorry, sir.
Here?
What's that he holds?
A scrying mirror.
- A what? His what? - WHITEHEAD: An occult tool.
A means for telling the past, present, perhaps even the future.
He must have utilised some diabolical method
to conceal his presence in the field.
That is why he was not visible.
You think he sees what an arsehole he looks,
standing there like the King himself?
No.
Wasn't sure which one he was at first. Cowardly type, though.
You should not have any trouble from him.
He was the one that would not eat mushrooms.
I know which one he is, Cutler.
Come on.
- Ugh. - Stand up!
What are you doing? Get up.
(SIGHS) I don't feel 'em.
- What? - My balls.
They've ceased screaming.
That is good, is it not? It means the nettle's sting has run its course.
Maybe I mislaid 'em when I was pulling the rope.
(CHORTLING)
Whitehead.
O'Neil.
I have my quarry, sir.
You were expected, sir.
Indeed?
A lot of time has passed since we shared company. Things have changed.
WHITEHEAD: In the absence of better-qualified men, sir,
I hereby place you under arrest
for the theft of certain documents from the private collection of my master.
What the fuck is this?
It's a shovel.
In the presence of Merciful God, I trust you will now surrender yourself
and return willingly to Norwich to face your accuser.
How is our master?
Well, I pray.
I believe he still has you doing a lot of that.
Praying, I mean.
The master is of advanced years, as you know.
Your outrageous pillage has greatly aggravated his dropsy.
CUTLER: Move.
COOPER: What kind of merry band is this?
O'NEIL: I'm sure he would have come himself.
But instead he sends you.
The faithful servant.
O'NEIL: Come, walk.
You need no invitation.
This is your country, is it not?
Although I've claimed a small corner which I'm intent on raping a little.
'Tis only fair that I take something in return for my countrymen's troubles.
Cutler has you marked as a coward.
It's comforting to know that things haven't changed greatly in my absence.
'Tis true I hid in a bush as Mr Trower and his men were set upon.
Ah, Trower.
The dunderhead mercenary. How is he?
Dead.
Then your arrest is academic, is it not?
Unless you will comply freely, as a Christian man.
(CHUCKLES)
it would seem the master has kept you a veritable virgin
as to the workings of the world.
'Tis true I have been mostly amongst books.
I find pages easier to turn than people.
Although I confess I have acquired one new skill in your absence.
Indeed?
Er, lacemaking.
Only in my spare time, which is limited,
because of my increased duties in your absence,
but, um, of the highest quality, I'm told.
He has not only kept you a stranger to the world but to yourself, it seems.
I do not follow.
O'NEIL: You will.
Unfortunately, my constitution was not suited to the master's pious regiment.
I am forced to branch out on me own.
I owe money everywhere.
To so many I lose track.
Perhaps even to God himself.
We shall venture to Continental Europe when the opportunity arises.
I have had little success in applying the master's arts,
in looking for anything of great worth.
Which is why I have conjured you.
This place holds a great treasure.
I am certain of it.
I merely require a keener eye to pinpoint the particular location.
And as much as I detest you personally, Whitehead,
I acknowledge that your gifts are stronger in certain areas.
But you are now my divining rod.
I have little of my master's art in divination.
You are confused, sir.
It is I who am capturing you, not the other way around.
(CHUCKLES)
Do not concern yourself with bravery now, Whitehead.
'Tis official.
You are my prisoner.
Now, you will find the treasure in this field
and they will dig it up
and I will claim it.
I will not assist you in such an ungodly scheme, sir.
(CHUCKLES)
Hmm.
Oh, you will, Whitehead. You will.
The world is turned upside-down, Whitehead, and so is its pockets.
Yes, make a note of that, Cutler, for my, er, memoirs and recollections.
I fear he has passed all bounds of Christianity.
He dresses well, though.
(BURPS)
- You are sick? -(GRUNTS) No.
(PANTING) Yeah.
My feet are like lead.
I feel like I walk yet make no progress,
and there's a terrible burning like the fires of hell upon me.
I have some knowledge of physic. I will attend you as soon as circumstance allows.
Fuck off.
Say, friend.
(SHOUTS) Friend!
My business with your man is concluded.
If 'tis all the same, I might bob off now.
I confess I feel peaky.
Could do with a few hours' kip.
(GROANS)
Do not address me as "friend", and do not speak to me directly again.
Otherwise I'll turn you into a frog.
(coueus)
it does not surprise me that the Devil is an Irishman,
though I thought perhaps a little taller.
Tell me.
I am curious.
How did an idiot like you come to stay alive so long?
Commanding officer says I have fresh air between my ears.
Fresh air is good for a man's constitution, is it not?
You may make a note of that.
(INAUDIBLE)
(WHITEHEAD SCREAMING)
(WHITEHEAD CONTIN U ES SCREAMING)
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
- If wishes were horses... - Take courage.
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride!
(CHANTING) (WHITEHEAD SCREAMING)
(SOBBING) If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
- If wishes were horses, beggars would ride! -(WHITEHEAD SCREAMING)
What this party lacks is the civilising influence of women.
(WHITEHEAD SCREAMING)
(WHITEHEAD SOBBING)
(WHISTLE PLAYS Ring A Ring O' Roses)
(PANTING)
He seems like a nice enough fellow.
Why do we chase him like a nag to the glue pot'? No matter!
I like it, whatever it is! (LAUGHS)
(assume)
(WHISTLE MUSIC CONTINUES)
(GIGGLING CONTINUES)
(MUSIC SPEEDS UP)
(BELL CHIMES)
Here! Here!
(LAUGHS) There? There!
What would you have us do now, Devil?
Shut your buggering mouth.
- Dig! - You must be thirsty. Ha?
Cutler tells me that you declined his hospitality,
but you will do me the honour, sir.
You may break me, sir, but I will not break my oath!
Ah! Open up and let the Devil in!
-(CHOKING) - Open up and let the Devil in, my boy!
- Open up and let the Devil in! -(COUGHING)
(RETCHING)
(GROANS)
(SPITS)
Well, I have no recollection of consuming anything of the remotest sort.
A man can hold a great deal inside that he does not comprehend.
I am not familiar with these symbols, though.
Nor I.
I feel... Suddenly empty.
(GRUNTING)
Then maybe you should keep your mouth shut
unless something else should rush in while you're not paying attention,
because you are apparently nothing more than an envelope.
- I need to consult my documents. - The master's, you mean!
- Of course, you need to be punished. -(SOBS) I have located your treasure, sir.
Release me!
Please, I beg.
Do not be ridiculous, Whitehead.
All you've given me is a place to make a hole.
Nothing more.
So, maybe you should fashion it one of your pretty lace doilies...
(SOBS)
...while we try and find out what's at the bottom of it.
(GRUNTING)
(SNIGGERS)
Hmm.
- What? - Nothing, Mary.
I think I have worked out what God is punishing us for.
Everything.
(GASPS FOR AIR)
O'Neil!
This man is sick!
He has bewitched me.
Attend him. But have that hole dug all the faster.
Once I get my wind back, I'm gonna smash every one of you bastards' teeth.
(GROANS)
(GRUNTS) Up-
WHITEHEAD: Help!
WH ITEH EADI Say, "Ah".
Ahhh.
WHITEHEAD: Cough.
(coueus)
Am I bewitched?
No.
Sir, you merely suffer a disease in the private parts,
occasioned by too much venereal sport.
'Tis all?
Well, I also deduce gout, bloody flux, apostem of the mouth,
the pissing disease, St Anthony's fire, iliac passion,
haemorrhoids and palsy brought on by drink.
Then, I'm not going to turn into a frog?
'Tis the one complaint you do not suffer, uh, besides plague.
CUTLER: Back to work!
All I can do is administer a poultice to your yard, to soothe.
Thank you.
# Baloo, my boy lie still and sleep... #
(HUMMING TUNE)
(SILENCE)
(SNIFFS)
(SIGHS)
Thank you.
I am my own man.
I am my own man. I am my own man.
I am my own man.
I am my own man. I am my own man.
I am my own man!
I am my own man.
- Please, God. - I am my own man!
Save and deliver us, from the hands of your enemies, abate their pride,
assuage their malice, confound their devices, that we, being armed with thy defence,
shall be preserved from all perils, to glorify thee, giver of all victory
through the merit of thy son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
I am my own man! I am my own man.
I am my own man!
I am my own man. I am my own man.
I am my own man.
Well, this is a fine hole we've dug here.
- I do bless they give us that. - You dumb bastard!
(SHOUTS)
(GROANS)
Girding your loins?
(GROANS)
You are a slave!
(GROANS)
(SCREAMS)
- You... - And I'll be a better slave than you!
(GROANING)
If you do not cease, we may be blasted by an ill planet.
(GRUNTS)
- This is what a yard looks like, friend! - Argh!
(GROANS)
(GASPS)
Fﬂend?
Friend? Friend?
There, see?
The word sounds good on your lips.
That other fella uses it like a poking stick, does he not?
What have you done, Cutler?
Can you do something?
I never had so many friends as I do in this field.
Remember my song.
Ugh.
(GASPS)
When you get to the alehouse,
see a way to get a message to my wife.
Anything, friend. Anything.
Tell her...
Tell her I hate her.
(GRUNTING LAUGH)
Tell her I did burn her father's barn.
'Twas payment for forcing our marriage.
(GRUNTING)
(GROANS)
Tell her I loved her sister.
(GRUNTS) Who I had.
Many times.
From behind. Like a beautiful...prize...sow.
(GASPS)
if I'd have known that, I would have paid you more respect, brother.
And...
- Yes?
- Hey? Yeah? - And lo...
...'twas good.
(SOBS)
WHITEHEAD: I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.
-(SOBS) -(WHITEHEAD CONTIN U ES PRAYING)
(SOBBING)
He has dug his grave,
but he'll not lay there until that treasure's out.
(SOBS)
Deposit the corpse elsewhere for now.
He shall have a Christian burial.
(SOBS)
WHITEHEAD: No one will molest his bones.
(SOBBING)
He did it to himself.
Down is the only way out for you, Cutler.
Sooner I get back to fucking London, the fucking better.
A new fucking coat.
Fucking doors that fucking shut!
And citizens that pay small fucking reckoning to astrology!
I would rather die of the fucking plague in the fucking fleet
than spend another fucking minute in the countryside!
(GRUNTS)
(SOBBING)
I'll deliver that message, friend, if it's the last thing I do.
# Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
# If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad
# Thy moaning makes my heart full sad
# Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
# Thy father bred me great annoy
# Ba/oo, baloo Baloo, baloo
# Baloo, baloo
# Lu-Ii-li-lu #
(EERIE CLANG)
(RINGING)
(RUMBLING)
CUTLER: Sir!
Sir!
Christ in heaven, Cutler! Where are they all?
CUTLER: We have it, sir!
We have the treasure!
Can we go to that alehouse first, sir?
There was no alehouse!
It was just a figment of your imagination.
It was just to entice that dimwit drunk and that grinning idiot.
Was it, sir?
I can have him divining treasure for me all over this land.
I must capture him before he starts thinking for himself.
Well, dig, Cutler! Dig!
(LOW RUMBLING)
(RINGING)
(CYMBAL CLASH)
O'NEIL: Come to your master, Whitehead!
Whitehead, show yourself!
I am my own master.
O'NEILI Whitehead!
Whitehead!
You shall have as many books or lace bobbins as you like!
(PANTING)
O'NEIL: Show yourself, Whitehead, you fucking coward!
(PANTING)
O'NEIL: You cannot escape the field, Whitehead!
(SHOUTS) Then I shall become it!
I shall consume all the ill fortune which you are set to unleash!
I shall chew up all the selfish scheming
and ill intentions that men like you force upon men like me
and bury it in the stomach of this place!
We are brothers now!
Open up, you stubborn bastard.
(PANTING)
O'NEIL: Two halves of the same man!
This country is at the edge of something, Whitehead!
Fuck this.
O'NEIL: Sever your conscience from your art and you will profit!
(LOW RUMBLING)
(RUMBLING BUILDS)
(LOW RUMBLING)
(RUMBLING)
(CLANG)
(RINGING)
(LOW RUMBLING)
(RUMBLING)
(CHIMING)
(CREAKING)
(POP)
(CHIMING)
Get down, you fool.
I have come back to rescue you, you great dunderhead.
No, friend, it is I who will rescue you.
Look. An angel, mounting guard over the field's treasure.
Hey.
Whitehead?
Come, friend. I will protect you from yourself as best I can.
And, after that, I shall pray for more legs and arms,
to greater appreciate
the many natural intrigues and wonders that play out below us.
Arses.
Maybe I shall pen a book on the subject.
We've less than no chance now they're together.
What say you to this for a title?
A Field In England, or The Myriad Particulars of the Common Weevil.
Catchy.
There is no gold, sir.
Whitehead's a lying bastard, just like his man Trower said.
Just like I thought.
Nothing in that hole but dirt and old bones.
You put your money on the wrong man.
(LAUGHING)
He is more of a charlatan and a fraud than you.
That is, I mean to say, uh...
(WHISPERED INCANTATION)
I... I mean to say that you...
(WHISPERS)
O'NEIL: Open up and let the Devil in.
Open up and let the Devil in.
(GUNSHOT) (CHIMING)
(INHALES)
He's the king of cold-hearted bastards, I'll give him that.
Could do with more like him in the ranks.
O'NEILI Whitehead?
You all right, brother?
(THUNDER RUMBLING)
Come.
(THUNDER RUMBLING)
Not much left. Here!
I have no knowledge of weapons.
(CHUCKLING) it comes alive, does it not, in your hand?
That's a fine-looking load you got rammed down there, and no mistake.
- Almighty God! -(LAUGHING) Friend!
(ECHOING) They are over here, Devil!
(MARCHING DRUMBEAT)
(MARCHING DRUMBEAT CONTINUES)
(GROANS)
(COOPER'S SPEECH MUFFLED)
(GROANS)
(CRUNCH)
(MOANS)
(THUNDER RUMBLES)
- Perhaps Almighty God -(GROANS)
has charged me as your personal physician.
I will attend you presently, if this maniac will hold his tongue!
-(G ROANS) - Attend that!
Do not utter a word, or...
He'll turn you into a weevil.
I will say but one thing. I have missed you both.
You will die unless I apply pressure presently.
Perhaps 'tis this bastard's turn to learn a lesson from me.
He has risen more times than fucking Lazarus!
(GROANS)
Watch carefully as I die, and take note how I do it!
I should deliver that message to your wife on the end of my cock!
O'NEIL: You chose to associate with a low sort, Whitehead!
He's injured. He lies some 70-odd yards or so yonder.
- Is that to say we are still friends? - No! We're not!
(GUNSHOT)
You may still catch your quarry single-handed.
There, now you're a soldier.
I am no soldier.
Will he find you running away?
He will not, sir.
Not this time.
You think there was... You think there was treasure in this field?
The treasure is here between us, is it not, friend?
Huh!
A pretty sentiment.
But you will no doubt starve on your own.
(GRUNTS)
(GASPS)
(GUNSHOT)
(PANTING)
(GUNSHOT)
(PANTING)
(WHIMPERING) I would like to have shared that ale with him.
- COOPER: So, he is your better friend now. -(GRUNTS)
You two are as peas in a pod,
and I am but to pick up the scraps of your affection.
Do not speak.
The message was clear.
Well, I shall prove my worth as a better friend to you yet.
-(MOANS) - See if I don't.
(PANTING)
Oh. Shit and thistles.
O'NEIL: O'er thee I keep my lonely watch, intent to
(GRUNTS) catch it. Damn it.
Intent thy lightest breath to catch...
Damn. What is the rest of that song?
The coward is here.
(MOANING)
(CHIMING)
(EXPLOSIONS)
(MEN SHOUTING)
(GUNSHOTS)
(MUSIC PLAYS)
# Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
# If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad
# Thy moaning makes my heart full sad
# Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
# Thy father bred me great annoy
# Baloo, baloo
# Ba/oo, baloo Baloo, baloo
# Lu-Ii-li-lu
# O'er thee I keep my lonely watch
# Intent thy lightest breath to catch
# O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile
# And thus my sorrow to beguile
# Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy
# Thy father bred me great annoy
# Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
# Twelve weary months have crept away
# Since he upon thy natal day left thee and me
# To seek afar a bloody fate in doubtful war
# Baloo, my boy, lie still and sleep
# It grieves me sore to hear thee weep
# If thou'It be silent, I'll be glad
# Thy moaning makes my heart full sad
# I dreamed a dream but yesternight
# Thy father slain in foreign fight
# He, wounded, stood beside my bed
# His blood ran down upon thy head
# He spoke no word but looked on me
# Bent low and gave a kiss to thee
# Baloo, baloo, my darling boy
# Thou'n' now alone thy mother's joy #
(LOW RINGING)
(MEN SHOUTING)
(GUNSHOTS)
(HORSE WHINNYING)
(SHOUTING)
(GUNSHOTS)
(HORSE WHINNYING)
(GUNSHOTS)