Blackadder s01e03 Episode Script

Dying, My Lords? - Am I dying? - Never! - Never! - Yet, my son, to pass away the idle hours till your recovery Urgh-h! let us imagine you were to pass away.
To whom would you leave your lands? To me, of course! Ye-es.
To my beloved king.
May your filthy soul be prepared for Hell, my son.
- Hell? - Yes, Hell where Satan belches fire and enormous devils break wind both night and day.
And where the mind is never free from the torments of remorse, and your bottom never free from the pricking of little forks.
No! Spare me the little forks! What is this nonsense? Hell where the softest bits of your nether regions are everybody's favourite lunch.
Oh, Christ! Forgive me, sire.
I will change my will and leave my land to the Church.
What? Blessed be thy stainless soul! Ah, you will change your mind later.
I know it! Urgh-h! I think not! Now, Baldrick, what news? I'm told the Duchess of Gloucester has given birth to goblins.
No, about the Duke of Winchester.
- He's hanging on.
- Must be on his last legs.
How many sets of legs has that man got? I wish he'd make up his mind.
This shilly-shallying is so undignified.
My Lord, I come with tragic news.
Died at last, has he? - Who, My Lord? - Oh, I see! You ask me what the message is before you tell it to me.
Quite brilliant, I must say! I was referring to the Duke of Winchester.
Who, My Lord? Let's try to sort this out in words of one syllable, shall we? - Someone has died, yes? - Yes, My Lord.
Who is it that has died? The Archbishop of Canterbury, My Lord.
- Are you a cretin? - Yes, My Lord.
The Archbishop of Canterbury? Oh, no - the King has done it again.
That's the third this year! How did this one die? - 'Orribly, My Lord.
- Any details? 'Orribly is all I was given.
- There you are! - I come with tragic news.
I've heard it.
Will you go away? Edmund, the Archbishop of Canterbury has met with a most tragic accident.
I think I've fathomed out how it came about.
I've a pretty shrewd idea myself.
He was coming out of the Duke of Winchester's room.
Who had died, leaving his lands to the Church? Well, yes.
And so the King was after his blood.
I dare say, but then, round the corner came Sir Tavish Mortimer.
The King's hired killer? No, that tall fellow with no ears.
That's him.
He rushed towards the Archbishop, head bowed, in order to receive his blessing and, er, unfortunately killed him stone dead.
How? Mortimer was wearing a Turkish helmet.
Oh, one of those with a two-feet spike.
Normally used for butting enemies and killing them stone dead.
So presumably he'd "forgotten" he was wearing it? That's exactly what the poor fellow had done.
Tragic! Ah, yes, almost as tragic as Archbishop Bertram being struck by a falling gargoyle off Beachy Head.
Quite.
And nearly as tragic as poor Archbishop Wilfred falling backwards onto the spire of Norwich Cathedral.
Oh, Lord, you do work in mysterious ways.
I don't know how I'm going to break it to his catamite.
What a tragic accident, My Lord.
Accident, my codling! Who do you think will take over? One of the bishop fellows, I imagine.
They tend to go for religious types.
Rumour has it, My Lord, the King wants to choose Prince Harry.
Really? Prince Harry, archbishop, My Lord? Good Lord! Prince Harry, archbishop! And we all know what happens to archbishops, don't we? They go to Canterbury.
No, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, yes! Are you sure about your source? It was Jane Smart the one who told me about the chocolate chastity belt.
It was? Blimey! Well, with Harry gone - the Black Adder will be - King Next! Yes, today could be one of the most important days of my life.
Percy, I shall require splendid garments for the ceremony.
- Certainly.
Hat, My Lord? - Trojan, I think.
- Boots? - The Italian.
- And codpiece, My Lord? - Well, let's go for the Black Russian, shall we? It terrifies the clergy.
Any news, Baldrick? Apparently, Lord Wilders is keeping his sheep in his bedroom, but nothing on the appointment, no.
Fair enough.
- Why are you dressed like this? - Like what, sorry? Well, this enormous nonsense here.
Fingers crossed! Members of the court and, er clergy, I have at last after careful consultation with Lord God, his son, Jesus Christ, and his insubstantial friend, the Holy Ghost, decided upon the next archbishop.
May he last longer in his post than his predecessors.
Fat chance! I appoint to the Holy See of Canterbury my own son Edwin, Duke of Edinburgh! Eeh-h! Archbishop, we salute thee! - Congratulations! - D-D-Down! Oh! Use both hands.
Very good, very good! - Well done, Harry! - Enter! Ah, Your Majesty! Ha! My Lord Archbishop! There were just a couple of points about my appointment, - before things are firmed up.
- Yes? - Firstly, could I? - No, you couldn't.
Fine.
And secondly Don't be mistaken about this appointment.
I've always despised you.
Well, you are my father, of course.
I mean, you're biased.
You, compared to your beloved brother Harry - ha-ha-ha! - are as excrement compared to cream.
Oh, My Lord, you flatter me! And me, also.
So when I've at last found a use for you, - don't try to get out of it.
- No, no.
Certainly not.
I just wondered whether another man equally weak-willed and feeble might do just as well.
Ha! There's no such man! No, of course not.
Silly me! I thought, though, perhaps, someone who believed in God? No, if I needed someone who believed in God, I'd have chosen Harry, not an embarrassing weed like you.
Oh, well, I think that's everything cleared up.
Goodness! It must be almost time for Evensong.
Must go.
Egbert! Come here.
A word of advice.
If you cross me now or ever I shall do unto you what God did unto the Sodomites.
I don't think that's a good idea! You understand? I shall make myself available for all eventualities.
Thank you so much.
Flee! We've got the thumbscrews, the foot-crusher, the nose-hooks, those long rods you r-ram - Where's the dwarf? - Here, My Lord.
Right, let's go.
- Archbishop! - Aah - H-Hail.
- Going somewhere? Um Yes.
Where? To C-Canterbury.
Oh, good! Harry here will accompany you.
I would hate to see you murdered before your investiture.
Fresh horses! My Lord, if we're to catch the boat for France, you'll have to hurry.
To France? Um, are you off to France, Percy? I thought we all were.
No, no.
Harry and I are off to Canterbury, aren't we, Harry? Oh, I see.
You've changed your plan.
N-No.
No, not really.
The only change is if you could go and put your face in some manure and follow me at a distance, that would be fine.
Harry? And another thing, Your Grace, suppose my right hand offends me and I cut it off, what if my left hand offends me too? What do I cut if off with? Ah, yes.
Yes, that is a knotty one.
Yes.
Here, who's that? I dunno, but that tall fellow, he had a face full of manure.
That's what I call style! Do you, Edmund, Duke of Edinburgh, believe in God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost? Um, yes.
I then name thee Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of all England.
A-choo! His investiture over, Edmund the Unwilling swiftly adopted the ways of the cloth.
But ever the shadow of his father's threat hung over him, until one day Tell me, exactly what did God do to the Sodomites? I dunno, My Lord.
I can't imagine it was worse than they used to do to each other.
Oh, my God, this is it! Baldrick, go and get My Lord Bishop of Ramsgate.
- Eh? - Get Percy! Get Percy! My life is hanging by a thread! And if I don't leave my lands to the Church, then what? Then, Lord Graveney, you will assuredly go to Hell.
Alas! Hell where the air is pungent with the aroma of roasted behinds.
No, no! I place my lands in the hands of the Church.
And so bid the world farewell! What? The Archbishop not yet arrived? Not yet, and even if he did arrive - Wait! - Too late! Out of my way! I'll kill the pair of you! I'll abolish the Church! My Lord! My Lord! Aa-ii-ee! I said, "Out!" Get out! Oh, My Lord, My Lord! Wake up, wake up Wake up! - Am I in Paradise? - No, no.
Not yet.
Then this must be Hell.
Alas! Spare my posterior! No, you're all right - it's England.
And you are not Satan? No, I'm the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Oh, Your Grace, I have left all my lands to the Church.
Am I to be saved? No, you treacherous swine! I'll kill you! Wait! Let's just take this through in stages, shall we? Um, you know, the Church doesn't really need your lands.
No, what it needs is a damn good thrashing! But if I do not gain its blessing, I will surely go to Hell! - Hell, where tiny tweezers - Get out! Someone like you go to Hell? Never! Never! - I have committed many sins.
- Haven't we all? - I murdered my father.
- I know how you feel! - Alas! - Hurry up, Egbert! - I have committed adultery - Who hasn't? more than a thousand times Well, it is 1487.
- with my mother.
- What? You see, I will go to Hell.
Hell, where growths like turnips sprout out the nose Kill him! Um, well, let's take Hell.
Hell isn't as bad as it's cracked up to be.
- What? - No, no, no, no.
The thing about Heaven is that Heaven is for people who like the sort of things that go on in Heaven, like singing, talking to God, watering pot plants.
Whereas Hell, on the other hand, is for people who like the other sorts of things adultery, pillage, torture those areas.
Really? Mmm.
Once you're dead, you'll have the time of your life.
Adultery, pillage - through all eternity? Yep! Struck with large sticks against your tender portions Henry, it's your decision.
Very well.
I'll leave my lands to the Crown and my soul in the hands of the Lord.
May he treat me like the piece of refuse that I am and send me to Hell where I belong.
Amen! Amen.
You're a lucky man.
I wish I could come with you, but being Archbishop - I'm so sorry.
- It's OK.
Ah-h! - My son! - Father! - Father! - My son! Who's that? Looks like the kind of pair who would kill the Archbishop.
Typical! You Turkish dog! - You Turkish pig! - Father, it's me! Pax! Oh, yes.
Sorry, Harry.
You're improving.
Yes.
Well, thank you, Father.
Good night, Mother.
He's gaining on me! He's gaining on me! And how was Edmund? Oh, very well.
Chiswick! Fresh horse! And how are his dear little sheep? - Whose sheep? - Edmund's sheep.
What sheep? Well, the ones at Canterbury.
His flock that he was talking about.
Oh, my God! I can't understand it.
Edmund doesn't even like religion.
That's impossible.
He's the Archbishop of Canterbury! Yes, and the Archbishop is also a naughty boy, whose bottom I smacked for relieving himself in the pond.
That was a long time ago.
It was last Thursday.
Hell, the boy's turned out well.
A long and healthy life to him! Ha! I thank God that never again shall I have to say, "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" - What is that? - Something Henry II said when he was having trouble with Thomas a Becket.
He was sitting with two drunken knights and yelled, "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" What? Oh, God save us! I said, "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" Meaning who? The Archbishop of Canterbury, of course! They went off and killed him, of course! Right, let's get down to business.
Business? Baldrick's been looking at ways of making a bit of money on this job.
Basically, there appear to be four major profit areas.
Curses, pardons, relics and selling the sexual favours of the nuns.
Selling? Some people actually pay for them? Foreign business men, other nuns, yes.
Let's start with pardons.
Well, this is a fair selection.
You seem to get what you pay for.
They run from a pardon for talking with your mouth full signed by an apprentice curate.
How much is that? Two pebbles.
All the way up to this one, which is a pardon for anything: murder, adultery, dismemberment of a friend or relative.
- Who is that signed by? - Both Popes.
That's a good one.
Curses are much the same.
I got this for half an egg.
Curse.
"Dear Enemy, I curse you and hope that something unpleasant happens to you, like an onion falling on your head.
" That's the bottom end of the market.
They run to this one for four ducats.
"Dear Enemy, May the Lord hate you and all your kind.
" "May you be turned orange and may your head fall off at an awkward moment.
" - Does this work? - Yes.
- Really? - Yes! - Really? - No! Moving on to relics, we've got shrouds from Turin, wine from the wedding at Cana, splinters from the Cross and there's all the stuff made by Jesus in his days in the carpentry shop.
Pipe racks, coffee tables, cake stands, book ends crucifixes a nice cheeseboard, fruit bowls, waterproof sandals - I haven't finished this one yet.
- Disgraceful! - They're obviously fake! - Ha! Yes.
But how will people tell which are the real relics? They won't.
That's the point.
Well, you won't be able to fool everyone.
Look! I have here a true relic.
What is it? It is a bone from the finger of Our Lord.
It cost me 31 pieces of silver.
Good Lord! Is it real? It is, My Lord.
Baldrick, you stand amazed.
I am.
I thought they only came in boxes of ten.
I could've given you one of mine.
Yeah, fingers are really big now.
But for a quick sale, you can't beat a nose.
This is the Sacred Appendage Compendium Party Pack.
Jesus's nose St Peter's nose St Francis's nose Oh, no.
They're Joan of Arc's.
Bastard verger! I'll show him! I'll show him! Oh! - Hello.
- Good evening.
And what can I do for you? Well, we're here to murder the Archbishop of Canterbury 's various enemies.
- We fear he may be in danger.
- Really? How? Let me see.
Perhaps good King Richard, - angry with the Archbishop - Don't know why.
might well send two drunken knights fresh from the Crusades on a mission to wreak vengeance on him.
Good point.
It has happened before.
Sorry, I didn't quite catch your names.
- George de Boef.
- How do you do? Justin de Boinod.
Two drunken knights fresh from the Crusades and here on a mission for King Richard, bless him! And your mission? We're here to kill a bit of time before our next Crusade.
Oh, right, yes.
Well, I'll just go and get him.
Ah, Baldrick, a couple of knights to see the Archbishop.
Oh, my God! Monks! My Lord, I've something to tell you.
If it's about the nuns at Uppingham and the candelabra, I've heard it.
No, there's two men outside who've come to kill you.
What? I-I'm terribly sorry about this.
I'll just see what the delay is.
Feel free.
Look, what's going on? Those two men have come to kill us! Oh, just because they've a bit of class, you assume they're killers! Oh, my God, there's no way out! Help! Help! Oh, my God, help us! They've dropped off! - Ya-ah-h! - Ya-a-ah! Damn! They must have gone down the secret passage to the nunnery.
Ya-a-ah-h! Sisters, three men came in.
Which way did they go? Oh, I think they went that way.
God bless you! Wait! They'll be watching out for us dressed like this.
Quick! In here! Pray, Sister, have you seen two burly knights pass this way? Er, no, Sister.
More's the pity! Why don't you try that way? - Thanks.
- You're welcome.
And yet, Mother Superior, does not St.
Paul say in The Ephesians, "A woman is like a bat "often heard but never seen.
"? No, I don't think so, Sara.
Shall we check the dormitory? Oh, yes, Mother Superior.
Good idea! Girls! Girls! Girls! I've told you a thousand times, fighting in the dormitories is forbidden! Who is the ringleader? You! Yes, you, the plain girl! Oh, my God! It's the Archbishop of Canterbury! And a man! Ooh-h! Er, I think I can explain.
And that, sweet lady, is the whole story.
Let's go over the facts again.
Once appointed Archbishop, you found all your interests lay in beautiful vestments.
Ah, the fine embroidery! Unable to resist the slide into depravity, you began to dress up like a nun.
The irresistible texture of the hessian underthings! I can understand that.
Then you forced the Bishop of Ramsgate and Brother Baldrick to do so also.
Oh, may I be cursed for it! Finally, you got two knights drunk and invited them to wrestle with you inside the nunnery - in a heathen orgy.
- That's it, yes.
It bears the ring of truth and I must therefore tell you that I have written to all Popes recommending your excommunication.
Never more may you be Archbishop of Canterbury! Oh, dear! Enough, Sister Sara.
I think he's learnt his lesson.
Sorry? Oh.
Ow! Ow! Go, sirrah, and meet thy doom! Quick! The nunnery's on fire! The sound of hoofbeats cross the glade Good folk, lock up your son and daughter Beware the deadly flashing blade Unless you want to end up shorter Black Adder, Black Adder He rides a pitch-black steed Black Adder, Black Adder He's very bad indeed Black his gloves of finest mole Black his codpiece made of metal His horse is blacker than a vole His pot is blacker than his kettle Black Adder, Black Adder With many a cunning plan Black Adder, Black Adder, You horrid little man! Alas! The corruption of the world! Yes, alas! I'm tired and weary.
You may leave.
- Very well.
- Alas.
Presumably you won't be needing the unicorn tonight? No.
No, not tonight, Sara.