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Terrible Tudors, gorgeous Georgians, fighting Frenchmen, far victorious,

wars, ferocious fights, stingy cardinals, daring knights, horrors that

description, cutthroat, comfortable, Egyptian, smashing, sex, cruel, crime,

partners, and from ancient times, Romans, rotten, rank, and ruthless,

savage, fierce, and toothless, civil wars, brainy babies, mean and missing,

middle -aged, gory stories, we do that, and your host, the drumming rat, the

party's no longer a mystery, welcome to...

Horrible History Horrible

History presents Rotten Rulers Hello there, welcome to Rotten Rulers,

my selection of the most dastardly and tyrannical rulers we've seen in history.

Perfect timing really, you caught me preparing for global domination.

You see, my local rat nest is looking for a new ratty ruler, after the last

ate some rotten toothpaste and snuffed it.

Minty fresh corpse, though.

So, I'm off on the campaign trail. I want everyone to vote for me to be King

Rat. Yeah, mind you, as we'll see, when you're top of the tree, not everyone

likes you. Take Crooked King John in 1215.

He was a truly rotten ruler who annoyed his people so much they rebelled against

him and forced him to agree to a list of their demands called Magna Carta.

And Johnny Boy was not happy about that one bit.

Your Majesty, we, the noblemen of England, are worried about your

abuse of power. It threatens the future of the realm. So we're gathered here at

Runnymede. And we've written a list of grievances in this document here called

the Magna Carta.

Really ticked off, actually. Really ticked off. Big time.

Magnum cartos, whatever.

Got some grievances of my own, actually. I think you'll find our grievances more

serious. I think you'll find mine now. I don't think you will, actually.

I think I will, actually. I don't think you will, actually.

There's only one way to settle this.

I propose a grievance battle.

Where to start?

Which part? We've got so many grievances, we could fill a cart. Let's

some facts.

Like tax.

They're so heavy that they're going to break our backs. We can't pay. There's

chance. We lost all our money when you left France.

The northern bit, anyway.

Your Majesty, you got pwned. Drop some beats, player.

I'm confused.

Is this real? I thought I was the king. I'm holding his seal. Kneel to the king.

I'll see you grovel in the grime. I'll tax what I like. I'll even tax this

Barons don't grovel. It's time to get real.

Listen to me, dog, or you're going to feel some steel. This chart is tight. We

don't need to fight. Just hit it with your seal and give us our rights. Some

serious points. I ain't finished.

We want a council to represent rich people. We want a free church with a

steeple. We want you to stop stealing our sons and holding them hostage like

have done. There's vital stuff here that you've got to give up.

There's some stuff about fishing in the rivers. So stop!

Read what we plead. Agree the deed in running need.

Do what we ask or we're going to make you bleed.

Yeah, hear what you're saying. If I don't tread gently for my life, I will

praying soon. Tell me what to do. You're the boss.

They will have to do this later because I'm taking up the cross.

Interesting development.

I wonder... Shut up.

Hang on a minute. You must sit with Barney. While you're talking here,

hiring up an army. So how about this?

Let's barter. We'll stay loyal if you agree to Magna Carta. Boom!

Whatever, dog, I'll agree you're skanky scroll. I'm tired of this game and it's

time for me to roll. I ain't bothered it. Don't fool me with Thoreau. No one

will even remember this tomorrow. Plus, I'm better with the poop and he'll

ignore this ting. I do things my way because I'm John and I'm the king. Fool!

Fool!

Man, this king is fat.

Harsh.

Crikey, King John's subjects thought a lot of him.

Just a shame it was all bad.

People will love me, though, when I'm King Rat. I'm brave, brainy and

A bit like Cleopatra.

She was Queen of Egypt just over 2 ,000 years ago. She was a ruler who stood up

to all the men around her. Then again, they were sliding all over the place.

Caesar! Your brother's forces have been defeated.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

Your brother's soldiers have been defeated.

He has died, drowned in the Nile, weighed down by his suit of armor. No

touch you anymore. Consider yourself under the protection of mighty Rome.

I'm fine. I'll pay for that.

You're all right.

I'm fine. I'm fine.

I'm afraid the expensive marble floors of us... Palaces here in Alexandria were

not designed for your Roman hobnailed boots.

A Roman soldier can endure any hardship.

The polished floors of a palace hold no challenge to him.

We're fine.

You're once again queen of... Once again, you'll be... Once again.

Queen of Egypt. And with Rome's support, you will stay there.

There's nothing any of your family can do about it.

No one will be able to take the throne away from you again.

Caesar, how can I repay you?

There is one thing.

Whatever you wish, the wealth of Egypt is yours, even its queen.

Name your price.

Have you put some rugs down?

Possibly. Do what?

Oh, they've torn.

Feet, man!

Caesar eventually fell head over heels in love with Queen Cleo, but that too

proved a slippery road to his own death.

Cleopatra wasn't the only Rattan ruler who liked to be in charge at home. Great

French leader Napoleon, who became emperor in 1804, was a bit of a control

too, especially when it came to his wife, Josephine.

Josephine!

Oh, Josephine.

I have returned.

What is wrong with the door?

Wide open doors are dangerous.

It is obvious, no?

Sometimes it is hard to believe you are France's greatest general.

I know.

Isn't it great? I didn't expect you back so soon. Well, I mentioned it in my

letters. I wrote them to you every day.

Yes, of course, your letters. How I treasure them.

They are in the bin.

You have not read them?

Of course I have read them.

Which letter was your favorite?

It's hard to say.

There were so many, really.

So, so many.

And they were all really good.

Then you must have read them because they were all really good.

Okay. What has been happening since I have been away?

Not much.

Bought any new dresses?

No. You have. Show me.

No, you will eat them and then spill wine on them.

Why would I do that?

It is what you always do when you do not like what I am wearing. I have

literally no idea what you are talking about.

Fine.

Oh, yes, oui.

Oh, yeah, oui, oui.

Ah, no, that is lovely.

Oh, no.

I spilled wine all over it.

And it must look like I've done exactly what you said I would do on purpose.

But I totally didn't.

Show me another.

Oops.

And this one?

Oh, dear. You are out of wine.

Oh.

I must write an urgent letter.

Butterfingers.

And you know what? I really, really like that one. And that is from the heart.

Do you have any more?

Get out.

Get out right now.

I would, but the door is... Close it. Close it.

Where's my cheese?

Wee on your own feet!

Eat my fleas!

Oh, sorry, I've been practising my best angry voice. I need to take control,

like Napoleon.

If I'm going to be elected as the new ruler of my rat pack, I've got to get

of my nice guy image.

Clean my droppings! Scratch my scabs!

Rats off!

It's no use.

I'm too good -looking to be mean.

No such problem for our next ruler, though.

Horrible Oliver Cromwell.

Nah, he got rid of King Charles I in 1649 and became ruler of the whole

himself. He was a cruel, bossy leader with a face that had more warts than a

warty toad at a warts competition.

True. Greetings, Cromwell here.

Now, you might think I was happy to get rid of the annoying king we'd spent so

long fighting, but I really didn't want to execute him.

Unfortunately, something changed my mind.

What was it? A.

King Charles trying to escape.

B. A visit from a heavenly angel. Or C. The King of France told me to execute

him.

The answer is A.

Even though I had treated him with respect as a prisoner and given him

and paintings to enjoy, King Charles escaped from Hampton Court Palace.

When we caught him on the Isle of Wight... I realised the only way he

trusted to remain a prisoner for the rest of his life was if the rest of his

life was very short indeed.

It's me!

Now, King Charles I was forced to give up the throne by Cromwell, but I'm not

sure this is the kind of throne they were arguing about.

But no matter how comfy the big chair was, I'm sure I'd find it hard to sit

still if I was a ruler and had piles of problems to deal with.

Alfred the Great was king of the Anglo -Saxons in the 9th century and his big

problem was piles of actual piles.

It's a pain in the bum.

Arthur, my trusted advisor, what business have we today?

We have messages from all the great men of Europe, your majesty.

They mean to compliment us on our victory over the Vikings and the great

that we've built. We must be the talk of Europe. Yep.

Shall I put a cushion down, sir?

No, why should I have a cushion?

I told you not to mention my bottom problems.

I'm meant to be a great king. I don't want everyone talking about my backside.

You don't think they know, do you?

Oh, sire, you've had piles for 20 years now.

But, you know, I don't see how anyone could know.

Yes,

all right, all right.

They're not all talking about my bottom.

Then why all the cushions?

Oh, it's a coincidence, Your Majesty.

When I prayed to God to make me ill so I could focus on my work, I was not

expecting an attack from the rear.

Still,

as long as no -one's talking about it.

Approach. I bring word from Jerusalem.

The head of my church has taken a great interest in what is happening here in

Britain. I told you after.

Our schools, our new towns, our legal codes are the talk of Europe. I bring

herbs and spices.

It's a good one.

For your, how you say, runny body splats.

Right.

That's it. I've had enough.

No more talk about bottoms.

The next person who mentions backsides will be in a lot of trouble. Isn't that

clear?

Atta?

No, that's his name.

That's his name.

My mummy bum.

Despite his bottom problems, Alfred is remembered as a great hero who defeated

the Viking invaders.

I guess having a good image goes a long, long way, which is why I'm about to

unveil my new poster for my campaign as Rat Leader.

I wonder what clever spin the marketing guys have put on this.

Vote for a dirty rat.

Genius!

Our next ruler, Mary, Queen of Scots, had some image problems too.

Her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I, thought she was plotting to kill her and steal

the English throne.

And although she was called Queen of Scots, she actually spent most of her

childhood growing up in France.

Oh, Mary.

Yes, my lady?

Not you, Mary, Mary, oh, Mary. You, Mary.

Yes, my lady. I was just thinking how happy I am here in France compared to

dreary old Scotland.

The weather is better. The fashion is better. The food.

It's so much better.

Yes, milady. Scotland is rubbish.

Shut your giggy. That's my pony with Scotland you're running down there.

But you're right. The day we arrived in France from Scotland was the happiest

day of my life.

Now, Marie?

Yes, milady?

You, Marie, fetch me my little doggie. Yes, milady.

Oh, look what I have ditched. I have made a new coat for my little doggy. Oh,

lovely. I am so happy.

But my lady, isn't King Francis still unwell? I hear he is bravely fighting

his life.

Oh, no, he's just being a sickly little softy as per usual.

He only has an earache. You cannot die of an earache.

King Francis has died of earache.

Apparently you can.

Oh, my darling son.

Hold on a minute.

If Francis is no longer king, does that mean that I am in charge?

No, I am.

And you, Mary, are going straight back to Scotland.

Oh. Um, which, um, Mary, is that? All of

you.

Jinx, that's a purely downer there.

So Mary was kicked out of France by her angry mother -in -law in 1561.

And when she returned to her native Scotland, she found her own Scottish

didn't think much of her either. The poor wee lassie. I am tall, beautiful,

intelligent. You might think that everyone loved me, but no. The

church man, John Knox, hated both me and my mother because he believed the Bible

said women should never rule over men.

When I met him to discuss this, what did he do?

A. Do a little dance. B.

Pretend someone else has written it. Or C.

Shout at me and make me cry.

The answer is C.

He shouted at me and made me cry.

He got very angry because my mother and I ruled Scotland and it was wrong to

him. But we showed him.

Mr Rattus, Mr Rattus, what do you say to rumours that you've been spreading

fleas, the bubonic plague and dysentery?

I would have to say, thank you.

No, no more questions, no more questions.

They say a great king needs to think on his feet, but what if his feet fall out

from under him?

If there's anyone who knows the answer to that question, it's our next ruler,

William the Conqueror.

He invaded England in 1066, but his arrival didn't quite go to plan.

Call the police, there's a badger at bananas.

So check it.

A lot of time, history is written down by the people who have killed all the

other people who might have written it down.

So it's no surprise that they tend to come out looking pretty good. Let me

you, yeah, no fool is perfect.

William the Conqueror.

He's just arrived in England, ready to kick some sacks and bark.

He wants to make a fierce first impression, yeah?

Jamie fell over like a massive clumsy fool. William the Clown, more like.

Hey, see how easily I grab arrows' lands.

Pull the other one, Willie. You didn't mean to do that.

Ha -ha!

Idiot. Mind this thing here.

Hardly anyone remembers that little stumble.

But I do.

Crazy fools think they can hide in history. But they better wake up and

apologise. I never forget. I'm like an efferlin.

Until next time, stay away from stupid y 'all.

Jed, it's a bath.

Get some oil and some salt.

If you please.

Now. If history is anything to go by, it seems like lots of rulers were just a

little bit crazy.

Crazy? I can do.

Allow me to introduce you to my chief advisor, Mr.

Fwubblegubble III.

Yes, yes, yes, you're absolutely right, Mr. Fwubblegubble.

200 years ago, King George III was suffering badly from madness and was

pretty popular with his people.

Good work, Mr. Fwubblegubble.

Hello! George III here.

Now, I have reigned for a long time, and my memory isn't what it used to be.

Or my hearing, or my sight. But I'll never forget my coronation. I bet you

guess what happened.

Was it A, a sheep escaped and ran into the church, B, a pigeon pooed on the

archbishop's head, or C, a horse entered Westminster Hall backwards?

The answer is...

See, Lord Talbot had trained his horse to walk backwards, because it's rude to

turn your back on the king. But then the horse refused to go anywhere facing the

right way, so Talbot had to ride it backwards all day long.

He looked a right foal, which is a joke, because a foal is a young horse.

Oh, oh, you get it.

Marvellous.

Very funny, Your Majesty.

Now, no selection of rotten rulers would be complete without the biggest, most

rotten of them all. Of course, it's King Henry VIII who went through wives and

advisors like most people go through underwear.

In 1540, Henry got ready to marry his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves. Do you

it went well?

No, neither do I.

It's my big fat Tudor wedding. And this week, big fat Tudor Henry is getting

married again after the death of his third wife, Jane Seymour. If Chief

Thomas Cromwell can talk him into it. Her name's Anne of Cleves. She's a nice

Protestant girl.

Oh, I don't know, Cromwell.

I've only just lost my third wife, Jane Seymour.

And now I've got the male heir I want.

I'd need a pretty good reason to marry someone else.

Well, how about to secure an alliance against the Pope and to ensure the

survival of the Church of England?

No, I mean, you know, she'd have to be well fit.

Well... She hasn't got a younger sister, has she?

Um, yeah.

All right, I'll have that one.

Good choice, sir.

With the portrait of Anne having done the trick, it's time for Henry to meet

bride. Now, remember, she's German, so quite straight -laced.

Don't worry. I've done this before.

Ready, boys?

Oh, yeah.

No, no, no, please. The entire English Reformation depends upon this marriage,

sire.

And... Room raid, room raid, room raid, room raid, room raid.

It's me, your new husband.

Oh. Oh.

Anne's not impressed.

And neither is Henry. But the wedding plans are well underway.

She looks nothing like her portrait.

Well, to be fair, sire, neither do you.

I mean, your legs are thinner, your belly is much fatter now, and your... Do

like your head where it is, Cromus?

Yes.

Good.

Unable to wiggle out of the wedding, Henry says, I do.

Congratulations, sire.

England is changed.

Yes, unlike your head. What?

Oh, no, please.

Anne, there's something I wanted to say.

The thing is... It's not you, it's me.

Hang on, I was going to say that. I guess I'm just nods of marrying sort.

I mean, you're clearly a nice person.

I was going to say that, too.

So great.

How about a quick divorce?

Perfect. I'll get my people under it.

Crikey. Who's that?

Hello.

Next week, my big fat tutor wedding. Henry gets married again to Anne's

lady -in -waiting, Catherine Howard.

And the week after that, he'll probably marry someone else.

Again.

Bad news for Catherine.

True to form, Henry had her executed and married his sixth wife, Catherine Parr.

But good news for her, she managed to outlive Henry.

Result! And there's good news for me too. You'll be pleased to hear I am the

ratty ruler.

Yes, yes.

So, what have I got to look forward to being a ruler?

Treacherous underlings, backstabbing family members, assassination attempts,

invasions, rebellions, untimely deaths.

Crikey. Being a ruler definitely doesn't rule.

I mean, just look at Winston Churchill.

He led us to victory in the Second World War, and then we kicked him out.

Take it away, Winston.

In 44.

We turned the war.

D -Day made sure the foe retreated.

In 45, our troops survive.

But in the vote, I am defeated.

The masses spoke, though victory's mine.

Chose some old bloke, ungrateful swine. There goes my power.

What should have been my finest hour?

Back in 36, I tried to fix the

mad idea.

Hitler was charming.

Then in 38, though I'd gained weight, so

did my case for...

re -arming in my modest way told all I was right but lacked support had to

sit tight till 39 justice was mine

there by the star world though

often feared that we might lose I kept my

faith

Words well I'd choose,

time to bear and endure.

Never surrender, blood, toil, tears and sweat.

We'll go on to the end.

What's never so much, owed to so few.

Their finest hour.

I brought us through.

Expected you would thank me too and show affection.

But victory and love for me did not

extend to the election.

Defeating Hitler, we had to fight.

Defeating me, ballot box sufficed. That's what we killed for.

What blood was spilled for your finest hour?

I won the war, but lost the peace.

I can't complain.

My life did not cease.

The only cross was one you wrote.

Your brothers died.

So...

Welcome to my election victory party.

Help yourself to drinks and nibbles.

Yes, wily old Winston was one of the truly great leaders.

But even he lost the boat after he led us to victory.

Well, there's ratitude for you.

Maybe this ruling lark isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sounds like sooner or

later someone always turns against you. And you certainly can't please all of

the rats all of the time.

Especially mine, Rat Pack.

Turn your back for a second and they'd steal all your best biscuits.

Oh, come on, you rotten lot!

Do you know what?

I quit.

I'm not cut out for running a whole rat nest, especially this thieving lot.

This dog's still got my rattenberg cake.

See,

I told you.

Goodbye.

Oi, you lot, come back in.

Tall tale, unconscious act, we gave you all the bits and facts, the ugly truth,

no glamour glitz, we stowed you all a juicy bit.

Gory, ghastly, mean and cruel, stuff they don't teach you at school. The past

no longer a mystery, hope you enjoyed Horrible History.