Original subtitles

For God's sake, Aulus. What are we doing here? Ripped By mstoll

Come on, Aulus. Let's go back.

This is all superstitious nonsense.

Look, I had that awful dream again last night.

I want to find out what it means.

You're not going to find out by having some witch doctor

examine the entrails of a goat.

Silence!

- What can you tell from that? - The goat's dead.

Describe your dream.

Well, I'm being pursued by this horrible thing.

It's a sort of hideous sort of blob.

Right, let's have a look, then. Blob, you say?

- Yeah. - OK. Here we go.

Blob. Blob. Blob.

No, no blob there. Blob, blob, blob.

- Blob? - No, no blob. No, no.

Blobbity, blobbity, blobbity, blobbity, blobbity, blobbity. Ah-ha!

- Yes? - A good week for romance, yeah.

And travel, see?

And a good week for doing all those little odd jobs around the house, yeah.

OK, guvnor, that'll be 50 dinari, thank you.

Hang on. What about my hideous blob?

Uh, no hideous blob here. Sorry.

- You call yourself a dream interpreter? - Don't blame me, mate.

Blame the goat. They're his entrails, aren't they?

I'm not paying good money for this sham! This is absolutely ridiculous!

I'll tell you what, all right? I'll throw in the kidneys for free.

Be lovely, lightly grilled, bit of tarragon. Here you go.

Really? I always use rosemary. Marinade a couple of hours in olive oil...

Just pay the man and let's go. He's just a vulgar con man.

Be very careful, friend. I could put a curse on you.

- Oh, yes? - Yeah.

May your genitals shrivel up like dried prunes.

I think you're too late, friend.

Yeah, I guessed as much. Cheers, thanks very much.

Have a nice day. Be lucky.

Look, Aulus, there is nothing to fear.

Hear that? The gods are angry with us.

What are they angry for? They're gods.

They don't do anything all day except for lounging around being divine.

Oh, very epicurean, Functio.

I tell you, we've definitely upset them.

How? We're forever giving them offerings and tributes,

sacrificing chickens, sheep, bulls, you name it.

Perhaps they've turned vegetarian.

We should be sacrificing carrots, for God's sake!

Functio, go and wake up my salad chef immediately.

Pull yourself together, Aulus.

- Ah, Grasientus. - I've got that information you wanted.

- Well, give it to me. - Bad news, I'm afraid.

All our troops are up north building Hadrian's Wall

and fighting off the Caledonians.

- The Caledonians? - A bunch of red-haired maniacs.

They think the wall's a giant urinal.

They keep dissolving the mortar.

So I'm totally unprotected? Marvellous.

The gods are angry with me, my dreams are full of ill portent...

I tell you, something terrible is going to happen here.

Something terrible.

I have an important message for Aulus Paulinus.

I...

- Is he dead? - No.

I just keep blacking out on account of this knife in me back.

It's perfectly normal.

You had a message for Aulus Paulinus. Give it to me.

Oh, that's nice, innit? I run 25 miles with a dagger in me back,

no breakfast, just to deliver your poxy message,

and not so much as an "hello, how are you, have a drink".

Yes, a drink for our friend. Now the message.

- Eh? - The message.

Oh. Ah, yeah. Uh, your husband has been run over by a cart.

I don't have a husband.

Oh, yeah, sorry, sorry. That was a message for Ena the washerwoman.

I've got a terrible memory. It's probably due to the loss of blood.

Look, just give me the message.

Go easy with him, Aulus. Is it painful?

Oh, not half. I've got terrible cramp in my foot.

I don't believe this.

- Who stabbed you in the back? - How the bleedin' hell do I know?

He was behind me.

Yes, but why would anyone want to stab you?

Well, it's the game I'm in, mate. It's the jungle, the messenger business.

Probably a rival courier service.

Really? I'd no idea it was so cut-throat, your game.

What? Dog eat dog, mate. The stories I could...

Could I just have the message, please?

All right, all right. Um...

- Aulus... - Paulinus.

Aulus Paulinus. Uh...

He's definitely gone this time.

Oh, charming. I even decanted it specially.

I told you something terrible was gonna happen here.

Out there is lurking something foul,

something vile, something unspeakable!

Evening, Aulus. Ah, cheers, Gras.

Badvoc! There is something evil out there.

Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I'll wipe it up later.

There's no time for your jokes, Badvoc.

I tell you, out there is something obscene, something grotesque!

Hello, Badvoc.

You ain't seen Mungo, have you?

- Behind you. - Oh, yeah.

What the hell do you two want?

We've just come to tell Badvoc that we nicked the wine out of your cellar

like he told us to.

That's a very funny joke, Blag.

Here, Mungo, you brought Blag out without his muzzle on again.

I'm sorry, Badvoc. I just fed him.

I had to take him out for a walk in case he wanted to do his...

- All right, all right. - I think we've found our hideous blob.

- Got a message from Gargamadua. - What?

Told me to tell you you're an insensitive, loathsome, stinking...

- Bastard? - No, that comes somewhere later.

Somewhere between useless and worm shagger.

Yeah, I think I get the general idea.

Look, I'm not interested in your petty squabbles.

I'm talking about some avenging harpy out there that's...

Badvoc, you're an insensitive, loathsome, stinking...

- Useless. - Bastard.

Worm shagger.

Very funny. Look at you all.

Pathetic. Call yourselves men?

Huh! I suppose you think it's clever to get stupidly drunk

and be totally embarrassing.

Well, Badvoc, you've thrown up in my fireplace once too often.

One day something really dreadful is going to happen to you,

and when it does, don't expect me to be there to hold your hand.

I despise the lot of you.

The whole lot of you put together wouldn't be a match for one woman.

- Drink, anyone? - I'll go and get me mug.

Hang on. Not you two.

You'd better go after her. She might do something childish.

- Like throw away my bag of conkers. - Come on, Blag.

Good night, everyone. Nice gaff.

Badvoc, I desperately need some men.

Yeah.

Yeah, OK, no problem.

You want some young boys?

No, no, no, I want some real men, some strong men.

Butch types.

No, no, I want some warriors.

Butch types dressed as warriors, plenty of leather, plenty of buckles.

I want real warriors. My life is in danger, you see.

So would you get a band of your men and bring them over here?

That's impossible, I'm afraid. They're on an all-night ransack in Hatfield.

- It's a regular fixture. - I see.

You, um... You wouldn't consider staying the night, would you?

Tongues'll wag, Aulus.

No, no, no. I meant we could all have a... have a party.

Functio, some of my best Falernian wine for my friend here.

- Yeah, go on, a quick one, then. - Good. Grasientus, sit down, sit down.

Here you are. I'll tell you a joke.

There's a Briton, a Caledonian and a Hibernian, right?

In an alehouse. Stop me if you've heard it.

And the Briton says, "You know what makes we British great?"

And the Hibernian says...

And then the Hibernian turns to the Briton

and he says, "How does it know?"

"How does it know?"

Course, humour's a very personal thing, isn't it?

Aulus. Aulus, you're mad. You're paranoid.

Who'd wanna kill you? Look. It's a beautiful day.

The sun is shining. The birds are singing.

The villa's surrounded by an army of female warriors.

Bloody hell.

It's no good, Aulus. The villa's completely deserted.

And we're besieged by an army of female warriors.

Shut up. I'll get rid of them.

Come on, clear off, you silly cows!

Haven't you got any washing-up to do, any floors to clean,

any husbands to be unfaithful to?

It's no use, Aulus. The soft approach isn't working.

- Let's get out there and kill 'em. - Now, now, Badvoc.

Delicate situations require delicate handling.

Watch and learn.

Fair ladies of Britain...

Piss off, you great Roman poof!

I am Aulus Paulinus!

Show us your willy!

Apparently they...

they want to see my... willy.

Grasientus, go round the villa, see if you can find one, will you?

I think they want to see your, um, mentulum.

Really?

Ladies, I admire your sense of humour.

Right, if that happens again...

I think you're right, the soft approach isn't working. Let's go and kill 'em.

There are thousands of them and only four of us.

Three, including Grasientus.

- What's this? - It's a willy.

- No, it's a woolly. - What's a willy, then?

- A polite word for what you are, you... - Now, look, it's simple.

We either parley or we fight.

Parley or fight? There's no debate, Aulus.

- Remember your history. - I was terrible at history.

- Now, geography, ask me any country. - Let us not forget Thermopylae.

When those brave Spartans, faced with hordes of Persians,

were given the choice of parley or fight, they fought.

When Horatius single-handedly held the bridge, did he parley or fight?

He fought.

And now we face that self same choice.

Four men against a horde of warring women.

Do we parley or do we fight?

We parley!

I am Blethyn!

Queen of the Silugae! You wish to parley?

Hello, love. Badvoc's the name. Take the weight off your... Park your...

- Drink? Got some very nice ale. - My God, it's the hideous blob.

Of course, from the dream.

Hello, Your Majesty. Please do come in.

I am Aulus. This is Functio. Functio, this is...

I come to avenge the wrong that was done to my three daughters.

Daughters!

Someone from this town did attempt to deflower my girls.

I can see why it was only an attempt.

Retribution must be brought upon this town.

I demand a male sacrifice to appease the wrath of the Silugae.

Yes, uh, wouldn't a written apology and a dozen oysters do just as well?

- We could... - A male sacrifice by sundown tomorrow.

And if we refuse?

We'll besiege your villa until you starve.

- Now, look here... - Sundown tomorrow.

Oi, hang on a minute. Come here, you. Come here.

Yes?

- You did say sundown? - Yes.

Good. I like sundown. Well chosen.

It is my favourite time of day, sundown, as it happens.

Well, I think you showed her who's boss, Badvoc.

Now, look, there's no cause for panic.

As soon as my troops don't get their weekly orders,

they'll assume something's wrong and come back to the rescue.

Those men are like brothers to me.

We've marched through Gaul together, we've broken bread,

we've slept rough under the stars.

Yes, they'll come back to rescue.

Granted, perhaps, not by sundown tomorrow.

But by the end of the week, you mark my words.

Those lazy, unreliable bastards!

- Where the hell are they? - I've got an idea.

We send word by pigeon.

Of course, to our nearest garrison at Verulamium.

Yes, it's so simple. It's brilliant.

- Functio! - Yes?

- We need a pigeon. - There's one in here.

Well, bring it in here.

It's the last one.

How about this?

I'll get on me horse after dark, gallop through their ranks

and return before sunrise with the troops.

- Good idea. There's just one problem. - What?

- Your horse. - What about it?

Last Sunday's lunch.

Now, look,

we mustn't let the isolation and the hunger

affect our reason.

- Grasientus, what's that in your hand? - Nothing.

- What is it? - It's, um... It's a candle.

- You were eating it, weren't you? - Just a nibble.

Are you off your head, ye gods?!

That's my candle! I was saving it for later!

- Give it to me! - Shan't!

This is pathetic! Grown men arguing over a candle. I'll take it.

I haven't had one yet.

Food.

I can smell food.

Oh, my God! It's the women!

They're cooking a sumptuous meal and wafting the aroma in this direction.

What's that they're singing?

♪ Take a juicy leg of lamb

♪ And a sprig of rosemary

It's the recipe.

- They're chanting out recipes. - Oh, no!

Catchy tune, isn't it?

It's no good. We're all going to die.

There is one solution. We could eat each other.

Yes, Functio's right.

One of us will have to give his life, sacrifice himself to save the others.

Grasientus, lie down.

Why me? You can't sacrifice me. I'm your wife's brother.

I don't need any encouragement, Grasientus.

No, not me. I'm oily, slimy, greasy.

I'm poisonous! You said so yourselves. I'm a venomous lump of shit.

He's got a point.

I'm gutless and spineless.

Yes, well, it would make carving easier.

No! No...

- Badvoc, then. - You can't eat me.

I'm too tough. I'm too hard. I'd stick in your throat.

You ask Gargamadua.

I'm certainly not eating a Briton.

Well, it looks like... you, then, Functio.

Not me. I'm the chef. I know you can't cook, Aulus.

And I'm sure you wouldn't trust either of these two

to make a decent job of it, eh?

- We could have you raw. - With salad. Very healthy.

- There's no other way, Functio. - There's always you, Aulus.

- What? - Yeah.

I quite fancy an Italian.

I'd do you proud, Aulus.

Not just boiled with two veg.

I'd braise you with onions, stuff you with garlic

and garnish you with a symphony of edible flowers and herbs.

No!

It's unthinkable even to contemplate eating one's fellow man.

It's quite repugnant.

Breast or leg?

I haven't done the stuffing yet.

- Bit of everything for me, Aulus. - Stop!

For God's sake, Aulus, think.

You are being defeated by a handful of women.

Gargamadua's right. You're all a bunch of cowards.

Aulus Paulinus will be the laughing stock of Rome. He will...

He's right. We must fight.

We'll defend by attacking, and if we die, we die with glory.

- Quite right. - Well said.

- But first let's eat. - No!

No, no. We'd better untie him. We'll need all the help we can get.

He might come in handy.

We could always sharpen his head and stick him in a longbow.

Good idea. We must take them by surprise.

We must move at sunrise. No, no, it's too light then.

- We'll move at first light. - No, before then.

About half an hour before first light, just after the moon has set.

Agreed?

Agreed.

- Right, men, we all have weapons? - Yes.

- I haven't. - Well, go and find something.

Right, now, the way I see it,

we storm out, swords aloft, screaming a terrible war cry.

So what did you have in mind?

Well, we Trinovantes usually go...

Yes, well, that says war cry to me.

Yes, yes, it does. It's a little... informal, isn't it?

- A little, uh... - Earthy?

Earthy, yes, yes, yes.

It's naive in many ways, although that's not a bad thing necessarily.

Well, what do you suggest?

Well, how about, uh... I thought,

dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

- It's my favourite. - What?

- It is sweet and meet... - And meet...

To die for one's fatherland.

I can't charge out shouting that in front of a bunch of women.

- They'd laugh at me. - Whatever you feel comfortable with.

Ready.

- Right. - Aulus...

Listen, I know we've had our ups and downs in the past.

We've had our differences.

But just in case anything should happen out there tonight, there's...

there's one thing I want you to know.

What's that?

I hate this git.

So do we.

- To victory. - To victory.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria...

mori.

They've gone.

Good job too. Lucky for them.

Bloody women. You can't rely on them.

Look. They've left a note.

"Sorry. Wrong town.

Yours, Blethyn Silugarum."

Well, really!

Mind you, you know old Tacitus.

When he'd had a few, full of bullshit.

And if we're talking bullshit, what about Suetonius?

Fields of it once he got going, all this stuff

about statues walking around... Ripped By mstoll