A Knight's Tale

Adhemar:
You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. In what world could you possibly beat me?

Prince Edward:
Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough.

Roland:
God love you, William. So do I.

Chaucer:
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 the gambling is a sin.

Jocelyn:
Damn your pride, William. It is you and only you that will not see you run.

William:
My pride is the only thing that they can't take from me.

Jocelyn:
They can take it away from you, they can and they will. Oh, they will. But love they cannot take.

Jocelyn:
Run and I will run with you.

William:
I cannot run!

Jocelyn:
I love you. There is nothing else to do. Run and I will run with you.

William:
It is strange to think, I haven't seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to. I next compete in the city of Paris, I will find it empty and in the winter if you are not there. Hope guides me, that is what gets me through the day and the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight, it will not be the last time that I look upon you.

William:
I will not lose.

Jocelyn:
Then you do not love me.

Jocelyn:
Do not shush me, and spare him. Be gone! Go!

Prince Edward:
If I may repay the kindness you once showed me. Take a knee...

Chaucer:
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.

Chaucer:
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!

William:
Where will we live? In my hovel? With the pigs inside during the winter so they won't freeze?

Jocelyn:
Yes, William. With the pigs.

Roland:
God love you, William.

William:
I know, I know. 'Cause no one else will.

Jocelyn:
Better a silly girl with a flower than a silly boy with a horse and a stick.

Wat:
It's called a lance. Hello?

William:
Love has given me wings so I must fly.

William:
If I could ask God one thing, it would be to stop the moon. Stop the moon and make this night and your beauty last forever.

Wat:
We're the sons of peasants. Glory, and riches, and stars are beyond our grasps. But a full stomach, that dream can come true.

Wat:
I think he's getting worse.

Roland:
He is getting worse.

William:
I'm Ulrich von Lichtenstein, from Gelderland, and these are my faithful squires.

William:
Delves, of Dogington,

William:
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:
All right, hold your tongue sir, or lose it.

Chaucer:
Now you see that I do believe, Sir Ulrich.

Wat:
Uh, betray us, and I will fong you, until your insides are out, your outsides are in, your entrails will become your extrails I will w-rip... all the p... ung. Pain, lots of pain.

Chaucer:
Yes, behold my lord Ulrich, the rock, the hard place, like a wind from Gelderland he sweeps by blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honor, we walk in the garden of his turbulence.

Roland:
Yeah.

William:
Your name lady, I still need to hear it.

Jocelyn:
Sir hunter, you persist.

William:
Well perhaps angels have no names, only beautiful faces.

Adhemar:
And you are?

William:
Well, I am, um.

Adhemar:
You've forgotten, or your name is Sir Um?

William:
Ulrich von Lichenstein from Gelderland.

Adhemar:
Well I'd forget as well, what a mouthful.

Adhemar:
Your armor, sir.

William:
What about it?

Adhemar:
How stylish of you to joust in an antique. You'll start a new fashion if you win. My grandfather will be able to wear his in public again, and a shield, how quaint.

Adhemar:
Some of these poor country knights, little better then peasants.

Chaucer:
You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion!

Chaucer:
Today... today, you find yourselves equals.

Chaucer:
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.

Chaucer:
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 Lichenstein.

Chaucer:
Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.

Roland:
Well, that was different.

Chaucer:
Well, it's time we celebrate our differences.

Roland:
Just maybe not in public.

Chaucer:
Yes, master Falhurst, I'm well aware a good fonging is on the way.

Chaucer:
Now I got their attention, you go and win their hearts.

Chaucer:
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 painful, her eyes welled up, it was awful.

Chaucer:
Are you mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family?

William:
He knowingly endangers himself.

Wat:
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.

Chaucer:
It's a small target Will, but aim for his heart.

Jocelyn:
Call me a fox, Sir Hunter, for that is all I am to you.

William:
A fox? Well then a fox you shall be until I find your name, my foxy lady.

William:
Father, I am afraid, I won't know the way back home.

John Thatcher:
Don't be foolish, William, you just follow your feet.

John Thatcher:
Change your stars and live a better life than I have.

Roland:
Well, Master Nude, having failed the test, have you any more to say?

Chaucer:
Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer.

Wat:
A what?

Chaucer:
A wha- a what? A writer. You know, I write, with ink and parchment. For a penny I'll scribble anything you want from summonses, decrees, edicts, warrants, patents of nobility. I've even been known to jot down a poem or two, if the muse descends. Probably read my book, book of the Duchess? Fine, well, it was allegorical.

Roland:
Well, we won't hold that against you, that's for each man to decide for himself.

Wat:
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.

Kate:
It is romantic though.

Roland:
Are you a girl or a blacksmith?

Kate:
Sometimes I'm both.

William:
I'll ride in his place.

Roland:
What? What's your name? I'm asking you William Thatcher, what's your name? It's not lord, or earl, or duke or prince... and it's definitely not King William.

William:
A detail.

Roland:
If they find out there'll be the devil to pay.

William:
Then pray that they don't.

Adhemar:
You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. Come back when you're worthy.

Wat:
I don't understand women.

Chaucer:
Nor do I. But they understand us. Well, maybe not you.

Chaucer:
There she is, William. The embodiment of love. Your Venus.

William:
And how I hate her.

William:
I've waited my whole life for this moment.

Wat:
You've waited your whole life for Sir Ector to shite himself to death?

Adhemar:
Why didn't Ulrich finished him?

Jocelyn:
He shows mercy.

Adhemar:
Then he shows his weakness - that is what mercy is.

Jocelyn:
Your name makes no matter to me, so long as I may call you my own.

William:
Oh, but I am your own, Jocelyn.

Jocelyn:
I dream of poetry, speak poetry to me.

William:
Your breasts... are beneath your throat.

Kate:
With hope, love should end with hope

Chaucer:
I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.

Chaucer:
All human activity lies within the artist's scope.

Chaucer:
Maybe not yours.

Chaucer:
I give the truth scope!

Wat:
What do you mean, dead?

Roland:
The spark of his life is smothered in shite. His spirit is gone but his stench remains. Does that answer your question?

William:
I can't explain it. She makes me feel like a poet.

Roland:
Well you may feel like a poet, but you sound like an idiot. You don't even know her name.

Chaucer:
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.

William:
For that I say my rosary to her and no-one else.

Wat:
William, that's blasphemous.

[William and his friends first meet Geoffrey Chaucer, walking naked down the road]

William:
Oi, sir! What are you doing?

Geoffrey :
Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? [pause] 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?

Geoffrey :
[laughs] Uh, interesting question actually. Yes, and then at the same time a huge, resounding no. It's more a sort of involuntary vow of poverty... really. But you know, on the brighter side, trudging does represent pride. Pride, resolve and faith in the [unhappily] Good Lord Almighty, please, Christ, rescue me from my current tribula-- OW! ...lations. [picks a stone out of his foot with his teeth]

William:
I'll ride in his place.

Roland:
What's your name, William? I'm asking you, William Thatcher, to answer me with your name. It's not Sir William. It's not Count, or Duke or Earl William. It's certainly not King William.

William:
I'm aware of that.

Roland:
You have to be of noble birth to compete!

William:
A detail. The landscape is food. Do you want to eat or don't you?

Roland:
If the nobles find out who you are there'll be the devil to pay.

William:
Then pray that they don't.

Old Bishop:
[after William rides into the cathedral on a horse to woo Jocelyn] Does this not shock you, ladies?

Jocelyn:
Certainly, my lord, I just, I only laugh just to keep from weeping.

Old Bishop:
[Understandingly] Beauty is such a curse. Pray your years come swiftly for you, pray your beauty fades that you may better serve God.

Jocelyn:
Oh, and I do, my lord. I pray for it all the time. Why, God, did you curse me with this face?

Old Bishop:
God's will has a purpose, but we may not know it. [Extends his hand so that she may kiss his ring]

Jocelyn:
[goes to kiss hand, but instead admires the costly ring on his finger] Oh, that is lovely... [laughs as the bishop briefly sputters before singing a hymn]

French Squire 1:
An Englishman will not win this French tournament. English legs are unsteady on French soil.

French Squire 2:
And because French wine is too much for English bellies.

French Squire 3:
And most importantly, because the Pope himself is French.

Roland:
Well, the Pope may be French, but Jesus is English! You're on!

Jocelyn:
I've come to see what you'll wear to banquet tonight.

William:
Nothing.

Jocelyn:
Well, then we'll cause a sensation, for I'll dress to match.

William:
Don't you ever get tired of putting on clothes?

Chaucer:
[mutters to William] Um, I believe she's talking about taking them off, my lord.

Jocelyn:
A flower is only as good as its petals. Don't you think?

William:
A flower is good for nothing.

Jocelyn:
Really?

William:
You can't eat a flower, a flower can't keep your warm...

Jocelyn:
And a rose never knocked a man off a horse either.

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... [walks away]

Wat:
It's called a lance... hello... ?

Prince Edward:
[sighs] What a pair we make, huh? Both trying to hide who we are, both unable to do so. Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough. But you also tilt when you should withdraw... and that is knightly, too. [to guards] Release him. [Edward turns to the crowd] He may appear to be of humble origins, but my personal historians have discovered that he is descended from an ancient royal line. [crowd murmuring] This is my word... and, as such, is beyond contestation. [turns to William] Now, if I may repay the kindness you once showed me... take a knee. [draws his sword] By the power vested in me by my father, King Edward, and by all the witnesses here, I dub thee Sir William. [crowd cheers] Arise... Sir William. Can you joust?

William:
What?

Prince Edward:
There's my tournament to finish. Now, are you fit to compete, or shall the forfeit stand?

William:
No, I'm fit.

Prince Edward:
I shall have your opponent informed of it. You look for his shield in the lists... at once.

William:
Thank you, my lord.

Geoffrey Chaucer:
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...[passes in front of Prince Edward] 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!