All language subtitles for Black.Sails.S01E03.III

Urca de Lima,

the largest Spanish
treasure galleon in the Americas.

A page was torn from the log with
the Urca's course and schedule.

Take them into custody.

The schedule is here
on the island.

The thief who stole it
has offered to sell it to me.

5,000 pesos in pearls.

After I get payment,
we leave tonight.

Leave with me.

I've spent my life

trying to build something here.

And if you ever challenge me
again in front of my crew,

I might just forget
that I loved you once.

The page is gone.

Don't lie to me!

Where's the page?

You're looking at it.

I took drastic measures.

Your schedule is up here.

Ah!

You're dripping blood
across my floor.

Whoever tied this bandage
was either blind or drunk.

I think both.

Oh, my God.

You couldn't have told me
about this last night?

It's really not
as bad as it looks.

Is that really necessary?

One of my neighbours

must have witnessed
your arrival last night.

They've planted a spy
out by the scrub pine.

The crone with the crooked nose?

She passed.

Pastor Lambrick has a new
Chief of Intelligencers.

Mrs. Archer.

Eyes like saucers.

What is it?

I found it, Miranda.

Parrish's ship?

You found the schedule?

Ma'am.

She's gone.

She's gone?
Are you sure?

One of the whores
helped her past the guards.

She said Max had a boat waiting.

I went to check.

It's no longer there.

I told her
I would protect her.

Did she not believe me?

She chose this,

not me.

Something wrong?

You better be worth it.

When do you imagine
you'll sail?

We'll know for certain
once that thief

has transcribed
the page that he stole,

but, uh...

it'll be soon.

Which reminds me.

Found it in Parrish's cabin.

Middleton.

Thought you might like it.

I must admit,

given how long
it's taken to track him,

I had wondered
if it was a lost cause.

You seem disappointed.

Not at all.

I just...

well,

I was///

hoping to have you
all to myself.

About that.

Ma'am.

I need a favour.

You promised us a score.

That I did.

And now there's no score.

There would not
appear to be, no.

This ain't no joke, Jack.

5,000 pesos of our money is gone,

and someone's got
to answer for it.

I assure you all
what happened last night

was as disappointing to me
as it was to you.

But if you're quite certain
my value to this crew is exhausted,

then by all means elect yourselves
a new Quartermaster.

Make it right, Jack.

Quickly.

Where's the rest?

Beg pardon?

The Urca has a planned
stop to take on water

somewhere on the coast
of Florida.

That's the point where
they're most vulnerable to attack.

This

describes a course

that ends miles
short of the coast.

Where's the rest of the course?

Well,

I can't exactly
write that down, can I?

Why not?

Well, you all seem
rather angry with me.

Especially you.

And -- and if I were
to write it all down,

then what's to stop you
from killing me right here?

I say we bring Joji in here.

He'll have it out of him
in 10 minutes.

Torture won't help you.

You haven't seen Joji work.

No, I mean,

I have an exceptionally
low tolerance for pain.

I'd say anything
to make it stop.

But, there may be a more --

mutually beneficial solution
to all this.

What if...

I were to remain
with your crew?

It makes sense.

I forgo payment for the schedule

in exchange for my share
of the prize.

You proceed with your plan.

When the time comes for me
to reveal the last piece,

I will be right by your side.

If what I tell you
is in any way incorrect,

well, you can do with me
what you will.

And when the Urca's ours,

what's to stop me
from killing you anyway?

Well,

that's a few weeks
from now, isn't it?

We might be friends by then.

Good enough for you?

I guess it will have to be.

Wait,

we're moving ahead?

Mr Gates and I will begin
our search for a consort.

This is not a task
we'll be able to complete

without the assistance
of another ship.

Captain, can we
just discuss this?

Join me outside, Billy.

We'll need some additional items that
will exceed our normal demands.

You'll have it.

100 casks of powder.

1,000 rounds of shot.

New guns,

twelve pounders.

At least a dozen of them.

When we fire on the Urca,

we'll need to do more
than make a scratch

or we'll have no chance
of success.

As I said...

you'll have it.

Alright,

fire away.

Silver,

knows Singleton

wasn't a thief.

Am I the only one
that remembers this?

No,
you're not.

Our crew is less than a day
removed from a mutiny.

I don't care how much gold
you dangle in front of them,

that hatred
doesn't just disappear.

And Flint wants to put him
back on board?

What if he tells
the wrong person the truth?

I think we need to canvass.

Oh, Billy.

No, 'cause then we'll at least know
who to watch out for

and who to keep Silver
separated from on the watch.

And there's a good chance
by doing that,

you're gonna cause
the very same suspicion

you're looking to ferret out.

You know that,

don't you?

Everything alright?

Aye.

Onward.

You,

come with me.

You heard him.

You sure he's alright?

Billy?

He'll be fine.

Randall!

Uh, Mr Silver here,

has, uh --
lost a wager to me.

Owes me the rest of the day
helping you peel.

Not supposed to wager
on the ship.

I know, but it was uh...

It was made over an ale
at Guthrie's.

It's all in good order.

Eh, would you do me a favour
and keep an eye on him?

Give me a yell
if he tries to wander off.

Peel.

That's what I'll do
if he should wander.

I haven't seen
a pair of twelve pound guns

on this island
in months.

He wants a dozen and
you tell him not to worry.

Bryson's due back in two days.

And?

He's armed himself with twelve pounders
since he joined my father's fleet.

But they are his guns.

You can't expect him
to give them to us.

I understand that.

And while we're on
the subject of Bryson,

once he arrives, if he arrives,

that is the last of your father's
supply ships we can expect.

We have to assume

that the others will
hear of your father's arrest at port.

In which case they won't
dare return here.

Look.

I can reach out to our
contacts in Port Harbour.

And there's also the sloop trade
in Havana and Santo Domingo.

But even so, we will only cover
roughly one-third of our costs

per ship per week,

which means
in less than four weeks...

The warehouse is empty.

Then he'll have to help us.

Who?

My father.

I can't help but notice that you
don't seem to like me very much.

Do you mind if I ask why?

I can cook.

I see.

You're upset because
they gave me your job.

In my own defence,

I'm still trying to figure out how
this whole place works, myself.

I mean, I came aboard
the ship two days ago --

and I hear Mr. Singleton

making what sounds to me

to be a lot of sense.

Then less than a day later,
he's dead,

Flint remains,
and --

everyone seems to have forgotten
that any of it ever happened.

What?

Do you know of people
who still harbour

some anger
towards the Captain?

Not supposed to talk about that.

Well, that's a shame.

If you knew someone like that,

I'd be very curious
as to what they had to say.

Hello, Father.

You lost a lot of blood.

May I have a towel?

I'm sorry this happened to you.

Flint wants you guarded.

To make certain you don't
interfere with his plan

to hunt
the Spanish galleon.

Father, I need your help.

If we're to stay in business here,
we need a new partner.

Someone with ships
and legitimacy.

Someone we can trust
not to cross you.

I know this is difficult,
but I need you to trust me.

I can do this.

Who the fuck are you kidding?

It's help me,
or flee to Boston.

Beg your father
and brothers for sanctuary.

Oh, they might save you
from the gallows,

but they won't
spare you their scorn.

You'll be right back
in the parlour room

listening through a crack
in the door

to where the real
business is being done.

Back to where you started,

before you brought Mother
and myself here

and we made you into the man

that you always insisted to them
that you were.

Think on that,

while you
sit here and pretend

that helping me isn't
the only choice you have.

Billy, I don't know
what you want me to say.

No... griping?

No...

grumbling over duties?

Everyone on the crew is content,
that's what you're saying?

Except for maybe this bastard.

There you go.

Hmm.

Oh, for fuck's sakes.

I just -- find it
hard to believe.

You know what I find
hard to believe?

What?

We've been on land two days,

and you still haven't
gotten yourself laid.

Now that's a fucking mystery
worth investigating.

I was right, wasn't I?

Billy's been asking
'round about us.

What do you think?
Does he know anything?

No.

And if we're smart,

it'll stay that way.

What's this?

You backing out?

You know Flint lied
about Singleton.

You know what he is.

Fuck you, then.

I've been talking
with our friend Randall,

about my suspicions
about our Captain.

He seems to think
we might have that in common.

You make me climb
those fucking stairs

just to see you again,

and my first order
of business will be tossing you

and that poxy chair
into the fucking ocean.

Philip,

do you know the provenance

of the chair in which
I currently sit?

The what?

This chair

once sat

in the Plymouth office
of one Sir Francis Drake.

I took this chair from a prize
off the coast of Boston.

I lost six men in that fight.

Ever since then,
this chair has resided here

atop my fort from which
I survey the harbour,

that I protect for the good
of an ungrateful island.

Philip,

if Mr Gates should
ever lay a hand on my chair,

you have my permission
to shoot him where he stands.

Yes, sir, Captain Hornigold.

How are you, Ben?

"How are you, Ben?"

Don't be pleasant with me.
I know why you're here.

The L'Urca de Lima.

Every Captain
on the island is buzzing

about who will be
joining you on consort.

News travels fast.

Time was the thought
of taking on a --

treasure galleon
would have gotten you
laughed off a crew.

The world's changed, Ben.

Some risks nowadays,

it's more dangerous
not to take 'em.

Jesus,
now you're talking like him!

So I am to be Flint's
new consort, huh?

Is that what it is?

He couldn't come down here
and ask me himself?

He thinks you don't like him.

Then he's right. The man's
arrogant and presumptuous.

Be that as it may,

he doesn't want you
as the consort.

Then what does he want?

Your ship,

and your crew.

The offer is:

one share per man,
two for you personally --

in exchange for your support

in persuading the men
to vote in favour.

And who exactly is going to --
Captain my ship,

under these arrangements?

You?!

Oh, don't say it like that!

It's not such a crazy idea.

Isn't it?

Well, look, he doesn't want
somebody new.

He and I share
a kind of a --
shorthand.

Your ship is sound.

Your crew know and trust me.
It makes the most sense.

You assume too much.

I'm not even certain my men
trust me at this stage.

Any news from your friends
in Edinburgh?

The last I heard,
James fled to France.

Call him the Pretender now.

I promised my men that
if they stayed with me,

they'd be soldiers again,

that they'd be part
of a rebel navy

fighting a war to restore
a rightful King.

Now...

What --
they'd never desert you.

Who knows what they'll do?

They're coming to terms with
a very uncomfortable truth.

And what

is that?

That no matter how many lies
we tell ourselves

or no matter how many stories
we convince ourselves

we're part of,

we're all just thieves
awaiting a noose.

And what do I tell Flint?

That after

50 years at sea...

you're the only man
I've ever met

that's gotten dumber
with age.

Hello.

Salted meat,
cornbread, broth.

If you require
anything else, just ask.

Who are you?

My name is Mrs Barlow.

Who are you

to him?

"Marcus Aurelius."

Have you read it?

It's a personal favourite.

And at the risk
of sounding presumptuous,

I think you might
find it helpful.

Perhaps when you've finished,

we could discuss it together.

Hey!

What the hell are
you doing here?

Where's Randall?

Follow me.

There.
The, uh --

short-haired gentleman

who goes by Mr Turk,

Randall,

and the man in black.

They are what's left
of your mutiny.

How do you know?

Because I had a long
conversation with Mr Turk

about it this afternoon.

His resentment of the Captain
runs very, very deep.

And he's convinced
Flint lied about Singleton.

When I told him
I was of a like mind,

he happily opened up.

And now you're telling me why?

I want to live.

Earning your trust
seemed like a good start
toward that end.

Now,

would you like to know
what Mr Turk shared with me

about our beloved Captain?

Turk thinks
Flint is undead,

walks the Earth without a soul.

He believes there's a witch who lives
deep inside the island

who controls his every move.

More or less...

Yes.

Fucking numbskull's been
spreading those tales for years.

Randall is...

Randall.

But Morley...

Morley, I had no idea about.

He's got no one left
but the misfits.

How dangerous can he be?

Mind if I sit down?

I understand
congratulations are in order.

Captaining the Royal Lion
as consort to the Walrus.

It's your first command,
is it not?

Get up,

and walk away.

With all due respect,
Mr Gates,

this tone is beneath us.

As Quartermasters,

we serve our men best

when we rise above the fray
and see the truth

from an unobstructed vantage.

When we indulge in their...

I don't know what
you're after, Jack,

but you sound like one
desperate motherfucker to me.

Has this got anything to do
with that --

massive stash

of pearls

you lost

out by the wrecks, eh?

How long did they give you --

to make it right?

They weren't specific
about time frames.

Oh, usually in my experience,
that means about --

three days.

Perhaps, uh --
instead of pestering me,

you should be out there

looking for a boat.

It won't take much for you to lose
that new crew of yours.

You may have them
fooled now,

but at sea...

Perhaps you'll
oversleep the bells

and need to be roused.

Perhaps you'll be handed
the glass

and need help
with where to point it.

Perhaps you'll slip and fall

and that knee of yours will
finally give out.

Perhaps...

perhaps.

Perhaps...

no one
will say anything.

Of course, they respect
you too much for that.

But the moment
the Urca looms close,

and the first shot
is fired in anger,

you know exactly what every last man
in that crew will be thinking.

"Christ Almighty,
I wish we had a Captain

30 years younger."

What did we spend on stores?

Too much, sir.
We're bleeding money.

Just tell me how much it was.

- 105...
- Mr Dufresne.

Would you give us
a moment, please?

We're almost done.
Just another minute.

Dufresne,

get the fuck out.

I think I have a better idea
for the consort

than the one
we discussed.

Another crew for you
to Captain?

No, different Captain.

Comes with his own crew.

Really?

Who?

Charles Vane.

Yeah.

Yes, let's do that.

That wasn't a joke,
was it?

Are you ill?!

Not that I'm aware of.

Then why would you even think...

Because the Ranger
is twice the ship the Lion is.

More men, more guns.

More importantly,
the Captain is strong in a fight,

second only to you.

Where's this coming from?

You said it yourself.

Without the Urca,
we have nothing.

From where I'm sitting,
without --

Vane,

we don't have the Urca.

Even if I was

willing
to consider this,

and I am absolutely not
willing to consider this,

what makes you even think
he would do it?

Fuck you, Jack.

I understand your feelings,

but humbly, I'm not certain
this is entirely your choice.

You already told the crew.

They have a right to know.

And if Mr Gates succeeds
in bringing Flint to the table,

they may wish to move forward
with or without your endorsement.

They were ready
to bury you this morning.

You're looking to dig
the hole even deeper.

They need to yell
every now and then.

It's good
for their self-esteem.

And besides,
you haven't even asked me
what's in it for you.

You said --
five million pieces of eight.

That's what's in it
for the crew.

Do you really think
I'd bring you something

like this with just money
to offer in return?

See the bigger picture.

What are you talking about?

If we swallow our pride
and help Flint land the Urca,

who else on this island
stands to benefit?

Who else might see you
in a different light?

What did you have to
threaten him with
to get him to agree to this?

This was his idea.

Here we go.

Shall we begin?

First off, let me
express my appreciation

to everyone seated
at this table.

Given recent events,
it's encouraging to know

that we can still rise
above our differences

in the spirit of mutual...

I want to talk about Mosiah.

Gain.

What about him?

He's dead.

And before we rise
above anything,

I want to hear your cowardly
fuck of a Captain

apologize for it.

I'd like a moment

to confer with my colleague.

Outside.

That was my fault.
Entirely my fault.

I should have been clearer when
I prepared you for this meeting.

When I said we would need
to keep our tempers in check

if we were going to make
this meeting happen,

I should have specified
we'd need to do so --

for the duration
of the meeting as well.

Not to worry.
A simple setback.

Now we have clarity
and a unity of vision.

I feel good.

You?

Alrighty, then.

What Captain Flint meant to say,

is that we have a crew
to answer to.

And whether we can reach
an agreement

around this table
is meaningless,

if we can't sell it to our men.

Having lost a valued,
and respected brother,

they will want to know
what's been done about it.

Without accepting responsibility

for your loss,

I can see a small
allowance being made

for goodwill.

How much did you have in mind?

�10,000.

That's for Mosiah.

Now let's talk about
his man that you killed.

No, that's alright.
We can wait.

Well, at this rate,
the Urca will get to Cadiz

and back again before
we resolve anything.

I'm gonna take a piss.

Be honest.

Are you as surprised as I am...

that I'm the only one here
behaving myself?

A share per man,

two for the Captain,

two additional
for use of the ship,

and five set aside in a fund
to offset injury payments.

Share and a half
for the Captain,

one for the ship.

Injuries come out of your end.

But your men get priority on...

unique items.

Ooh.

Done.

Oh, just one more thing.

Don't push your luck,
Jack.

No, the terms are agreeable.

My concern is
who will enforce them?

What the fuck
are you talking about?

Your role in propping up
Captain Flint was made clear

when you assaulted my Captain
the other night.

What's to stop you from
altering the terms of the deal --
after the fact,

to see it suit
a more favoured party?

I'd feel much better

if our deal had a more
impartial guarantor.

And who did you have in mind?

The only person around here
that isn't beholden

to Miss Guthrie
for their livelihood.

Her father.

Are you fucking
kidding me?

What have we been
doing here all day

if you're planning
on pulling this shit?!

Certainly he can be persuaded
to come down off the mountain,

as it were,
and bless our little
arrangement.

Unless I'm missing something.

My father doesn't know
about this.

I see.

But you have my word

these terms shall be honoured.

Perhaps it would be wise
to revisit our terms

to account
for this added risk.

No one's revisiting shit.

- We had a fucking deal.
- Just wait a minute.

I've heard enough.

The terms are fine.

Her word's good enough for me.

And it's good enough
for you, too.

Well...

Can we...

consider this a deal?

I was getting somewhere.

You're too clever
for your own good, Jack.

Regardless, our fortunes appear
to be on the rise.

So...

perhaps it's time you finished
cleaning up last night's mess

before someone finds out.

And everything we've achieved here
goes up in smoke.

She's all yours, Captain.

You do understand

I had no choice.

What you did,

it required an answer.

I've been meaning to ask you.

Our mutual...

friend,

she put guards at your door,

tried to protect you.

Yet

you left anyway.

Why?

You really have to ask?

How did you feel...

when she threw you aside?

When she's ready,

get her on a boat.

Captain,

this isn't what I meant
by cleaning up.

What if she comes back?

She won't.

Do it after dark.

And do it quietly.

Mrs Barlow.

I'm sorry. You're
expecting company.

I can return another time.

Pastor Lambrick,

you have happened by here

every Wednesday
for months now.

I've grown tired
of acting surprised,

so I have instead
decided this Wednesday --

to receive you properly.

I beg your pardon.
I'm afraid I've become a burden.

Far from it.

I look forward
to our conversations.

Please,

sit?

This week's sermon?

Your thoughts
are always enlightening.

Ahem.

Easter.

Is it Easter already?

"It is Christ's love of sinners
that gave him the strength

to endure his agony.

This, the truest form of love,

love through suffering..."

Do you believe this?

It's not to be believed
or disbelieved.

It's God's gospel truth,
is it not?

"Thy navel is like
a round goblet,

which wanteth not liquor.

Thy belly,

is like a heap of wheat

set about with lilies.

Thy breasts are like two fawns,

twins of a gazelle.

Thy stature is like
that of a palm tree

and thy breasts like
clusters of grapes.

I will go up the palm tree,

and take hold
of its fruits."

God wrote that, too.

True love shouldn't
require suffering.

And you don't have
to take my word for it.

More tea?

I must confess
there is an ulterior motive
for my visit today,

beyond the content of my sermon.

Is that so?

There are whispers
among my flock

that a ship of the Royal Navy

docked in Harbour Island
recently.

The Scarborough.

They say the King means to --

reassert colonial rule here.

Perhaps soon.

Judgment in this world,

not the next.

For those who are
a part of my flock

when that judgment arrives,

their righteousness will almost
certainly go beyond doubt.

It's not quite
that simple for me.

Is he keeping you here?

Good day, Pastor.

Ah!

AH!

Mmn...

Hello, Jack.

Gentlemen.

The Captain might
have brought her here...

but it's up to us

when we're done with her.

Help!

Help... !

He-elp!

Captain, the men.

I need you --
now.

Oh, shit.

Help, help me!

Help me!

Eleanor, wait.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck you -- !

You did this.

Listen to me very carefully.

You are,

all of you,

this whole crew,

as of right now --

finished!

You will not sell anything.
You will not buy anything.

You will not eat anything!

Eleanor.

Unless...

unless you decide

right now

to elect yourselves
a new Captain.

Unless --

you decide to join
the crew of Captain Flint.

You will join his crew,

and you will grant him disposal
of your ship.

So what will it be?

Beggars
under an old Captain?

Or rich men
under a new one?

Where are you going?

You move,

you die.

Get the fuck away from her!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry he did this to you.

Let me take care of you.

We could have left.

We could have been free.

He didn't do this to me.

You did.

My actions cost you your pearls.

Until the debt is paid,

I am yours.

What the hell just happened?

It looks like she just
gave us a ship.

A ship with no Captain.

Billy.

Is my watch up?

So,

what now?

You here to threaten me?

What the Captain wants
to accomplish here,

our survival hangs
in the balance.

And I need to know we're all pulling
in the same direction.

I've got a right

to think what I think.

Well, then say it.

Singleton was no thief.

He had his warts,

but thieving
wasn't one of them.

Singleton stole the page.

Saw it with my own eyes.

You calling me a liar?

Oh, fuck!

I may be wrong about Singleton,

but I'm not wrong about Flint.

What's that supposed to mean?

To him,

we're all disposable.

Chits to be used
for his own purposes.

I don't believe that.

That's because you don't know

about Mrs Barlow.

You were right.

This is a...

remarkable book.

May I?

The emperor writes,

"How should you be?

You should be like
a rocky promontory

against which the restless surf

continually pounds.

It stands fast
while the churning sea

is lulled to sleep
at its feet.

I hear you say,

"How unlucky,

that this should
happen to me."

But not at all.

Perhaps say instead,

"How lucky I am,

that I am not broken
by what has happened,

and I'm not afraid

of what is about to happen."

For the same blow

might have struck anyone,

but not many who would
have absorbed it,

without capitulation...

or complaint."