Original subtitles

Upon this seemingly peaceful desert, two savage crusades have been fought by

Christians against Muslims.

Palestine became a kingdom of the cross, but the tide of battle turned and the

crusaders lost their early gains.

Then, in 1191 Anno Domini, the knights of the Third Crusade rode towards

Jerusalem, led by King Richard I of England, Richard of the Lionheart.

A man whose past was filled with deeds of valor and who now was pledged by

religious vow to win back the Holy Land from Saladin.

Sultan of the thousand tribes of Araby.

Master of the arts of desert warfare.

Genius of the methods of swift entrapment.

Let's go.

Hail to King Richard! Hail to King Richard!

Hail to King Richard!

Hail to King Richard! Hail to King Richard!

Hail to King Richard!

Another victory, sire?

Aye, if such you can call a chasing of phantoms in bed robes. And their ghostly

little horses swift as eagles.

But Sir Giles and his castellanes prove that these Saracens aren't supernatural.

They left a good supper for the crows.

That's true.

Ever since the siege of Acre, I've had the highest esteem for Sir Giles and his

knights. My liege.

Hear this.

Hear ye all, princes, lords, and knights.

It is my decree, should the misfortunes of war lay me low, that Sir Giles Amory

command the military as my vice-regent.

I commend his rare gifts of generalship to you.

Your Highness, this is an honor of great measure.

A well-deserved one.

This infernal heat, Northmen won't fashion for it.

Sir Knight of the Leopard.

I, Your Highness, as the guard of my body, you deserve an audition.

Your Highness takes dangerous risks.

What?

God be with you, sire.

What is this manner of speech? Gaelic, sire.

You're a Scot.

I despise the breed.

Aye, they've refused to be conquered by England.

I'll wash the Isle of Britain with their blood as soon as I've destroyed the

Saracen.

But tell me...

Why do you so valiantly serve me, an enemy king?

I do not serve a king, but a man.

By St. George, here's a different loyalty.

I've watched you, sir knight.

I've beheld no greater courage than yours.

Are you listening to me?

With all my ears, sire.

Today you defended my flank, striking down Saracen's skirmishers.

Barbarian, don't speak to me in your uncouth tongue.

By St. George, there's no majesty here.

You are his king.

Roswell is my esquire.

The only retinue of an impoverished knight.

Loyalty. A higher virtue than majesty sometimes.

And seldom found where expected.

Loyalty. A word of thin meaning here, where allegiance to the leader was only

as strong as the leader's own strength.

The rulers of Europe, who at home had warred ceaselessly on each other, were

no brotherhood in this foreign land.

Each had his conviction as to who should command the loose union of the Third

Crusade.

Leopold, Duke of Austria, drank too much too often and jealously fancied himself

the peer of Richard.

And King Philip of France was a moody monarch who felt that Frenchmen should

fight only under the French banner.

Indeed, there was much intrigue designed to supplant the English lion.

Most of the schemers were cautious politicians, but there were some with

bolder plans.

In the name of the king, who goes there?

Sir Giles Emery, Grand Master of the Knights of the Castle Refuge.

Conrad, Count of Montferrat.

Guard our lion well, good fellow.

Yes, my lords. Pass.

There's your mark.

No.

A Saracen arrow.

Strike deep.

This is no ordinary man.

An assassin!

The king has been wounded!

An assassin!

Read a doctor!

Quickly!

Hurry with that position.

The

arrow

of a Saracen.

We are at your command now, Sir Giles, all men of all nations.

It was the wish of our beloved Richard.

Bid the Teutonic Knights ride west in search of Saracens. The Hospitallers

east. My Castellanes north and south.

Have men-at-arms and archers search every furlong of this encampment.

The arrow did not reach the heart.

He lives.

Who are you?

Kenneth of Huntington, sire.

My loyal Scot.

A Saracen arrow.

It tells nothing.

The finding of the bow would give the answer.

The king has been wounded.

Find the assassin.

It was a Saracen arrow.

It was a Saracen arrow.

Search the encampment.

Find the bowman.

Let us not remain bound to a dying leader.

throne of Richard of England to an arrogance that has raised the English

standard above all of yours even above my proud eagle of Austria

prepare

to bury your dead

and choose a new commander one with the power of the German Empire behind him

Kings princes

Soldiers of the cross, I submit that there is none more able and worthy than

he who now stands here before you, a whole man in the flower of health and

wisdom.

Right you are, your highness.

Thank you. Thank you, dear Leopold, for this royal honor.

Sir Richard has sent his jester to the council.

There must be much life left in him.

He's near death.

It was I who sent his fool to laugh Leopold out of the running.

What of King Philip?

Philip of France?

I have him right here.

You'll be confirmed as leader at once. Watch.

Misbegotten idiot!

Take him away!

Silence!

Silence for the King of France.

My brethren at arms.

I see but little difference here in absurdities.

A court idiot, anointing himself commander.

The Duke of Austria, presuming to such high ascension.

France cannot indulge in fantastic ambitions.

More fairer.

I advise this council to listen to the wise Venetian, whose gold pays for much

of this crusade.

Great leader of France, my lords and friends, let us remember the debt larger

than gold.

that we owe to King Richard of England.

His gratitude's so short of memory that we forget his decree, that Sir Giles,

Grand Master of the Castle Knights, shall lead us.

France

supports

the leadership of the Castellanes.

Let none hide his allegiance.

All those who stand for Sir Giles, move to his side.

Near death you said.

And save the king!

Dear traitors, it is still my odious

pleasure to command you.

Not traitor, sire!

No, no!

Your arrow was as poisonous as the hatred I smell here.

Not our arrow. It was a Saracen arrow. From a Frankish bow.

The search discovered no Saracens. They hide like foxes. Saladin's archers have

never dealt in poison.

And by our lady, I have a higher regard for him than for some of you.

Sir Giles Amory.

Your Highness.

Come forward.

If this be trouble.

Kneel.

As I stated yesterday, Sir Giles, I deem you the most worthy of my generals.

and so now I reward you in fact as well as in words.

I create you my vice-commander to lead the forces of Christendom during my

absence from the field.

Most gracious highness.

If there be any dissenters, speak now or forever hold your tongues.

In the name of unity, I extend this privilege to all knights and captains.

Not one dissenter?

Aye.

Here's one.

At your command, sire, I'll follow the leader of the castlers into battle.

But as a knight who keeps his vows, I pay no respect to one of broken vows.

The Highness, I plead to avenge this.

Silence.

By St. George, you're a reckless fool.

Not unlike myself, Scotsman. I beg permission to offer him combat.

I forbid it.

The Scot would crack your skull.

Now, what are these sins?

The persecution of defenseless Muslims who do not even bear arms.

I do not deny that in the past they were devoted to the protection of pilgrims,

but now corruption rules them.

Prisoners rot in that castle which they call a holy refuge.

They thrive on ransom and plunder.

Improbable. A castellane seeks no unarmed enemies or worldly goods.

Sir Giles, you pledge yourself by the cross of this sword to give chivalrous

treatment to the defenseless friend or foe?

I do, my liege.

Rise. Take your command at once.

It's done.

Not if Richard recovers.

Richard will die.

And by such time, you'll have your castlers in all important captaincies.

They'll drive these warriors to battle and Saladin's armies will fall.

We'll make our own terms of peace with the great Saladin.

Oh, my dear Giles, I've always fancied the oriental mode of living.

A kingdom of our own here, bought by the blood of crusaders.

But there is a flaw, isn't there?

I could render Philip and his kingdom of France bankrupt.

Yes. You have the power that rules rulers.

And yet it's the sad truth that one Scottish thistle in the broth could

choke us.

Scott won't trouble us again.

Every knight of my order will have him marked for riddance.

Bleeding is the cure.

But the knife excels the leech.

Herbs and stones, compounded with the liver of a toad, do miracles for all

sick.

Who is that wailing she-cat?

Your wife, sire.

Her Highness Queen Berengaria.

I deserved punishment for bringing such a following to war.

That remark, sire, ill befits your chivalrous heart.

The devil take my heart.

confine your attentions to my soul.

A heavy task.

Your life has been no saint's pattern.

Edith, have you no tears for your cousin Richard?

I weep only at funerals, my queen.

And there'll be none for Richard, not unless these stupid mediciners take his

life.

Be gone, you fake ears.

Your Highness.

Be gone, I say.

Good cousin Edith, she's right, always right.

Out with your leeches and your brew, jackals, bloodsuckers. May the

devils of Kurdistan seize you.

It's the wasting of blood that robs your strength.

Can we not empty this pavilion so he can rest? Sweep them out, Edith.

We're Plantagenets, you and I, named for the sprig of the broom.

Perengaria.

What is this I hear about some pilgrimage you're planning?

I leave with Lady Edith at sunrise, my lord, to pray for you at the convent of

Ingadi. But that's a dangerous journey across the desert.

We shall be quite safe.

As you've often remarked, Saladin is a man of chivalry.

Aye, that's true.

Saladin directs no attacks on shrines or pilgrims.

But there are lawless marauders.

The queen has arranged for castellanes to escort us.

Ah, then you'll be safe. There's no better warrior than a castler.

Except perhaps... Summon that renegade of Scotland.

I'll dispatch him an hour's distance ahead of your caravan. He'll warrant you

complete safety.

And now, show the queen to her pavilion.

And you, my good archbishop, go pray for the success of this pilgrimage.

He is not a renegade.

What? Who?

Sir Kenneth.

He is a most honorable knight.

Well, no slur was intended.

My dear little Edith.

She has become a woman.

I wonder sometimes what secrets are in this woman's heart of hers.

Dick Plantagenet is still its hero.

Truly?

What a fellow.

Have you... Have you heard somewhat of the feats of Sir Kenneth?

I saw him on horse 12 nights in the Drilljouse, as easily as playing a game

of bowls.

But not quite with the... Not precisely, shall we say, with the fine strokes

of... There is only one Richard Coeur de Lion.

A bison, George.

You know, I mention this matter because I intend someday to arrange a worthy

marriage for you.

Always remember that there is a divinity about a Plantagenet which must not be

soiled by any oath of lower house or race.

Of course.

Such as this Scottish swineherd.

If ever he approaches you arm's length, I'll have his head in a basket.

Absurd, isn't it?

Yes, isn't it?

Good night, dear Richard.

I must rest for the pilgrimage.

Good night, dear cousin. Good night.

Beloved. Oh, Ina.

Take care.

Take care. My cousin has great eyes and ears. And too great a vanity to suspect

you wear the ring of Scotland.

But he does have suspicions. Then it is better that he knows at once that I

shall be his cousin too.

No. No, my dearly betrothed. He would set the headsman on your neck. He said

as much. Then kiss me quickly, my Bonnie, while these lips are still.

No. No.

No.

It's a pleasant madness.

A lunacy with which I would love to be afflicted till the end of my life.

And if Richard would take my life, I must live swiftly.

One kiss for every year he'd take away.

The Scots are quite long-lived.

So I've heard. They're well nigh immortal.

My grandfather sired my father at the age of 84.

Oh, Kenneth.

The guards.

What guards?

Tell cousin Richard.

Tell the king his humble servant awaits.

Your Highness, Sir Kenneth of Huntington.

I accept no heathen amity.

I give you your own proverb, infidel.

In the desert, no man meets a friend.

May the seven doves rest on your shoulders.

Doves or vultures, you slippery infidel.

You know our language.

In my poor way, I try to know all things.

Peace, peace.

This is a word which everyone should know in every tongue.

I am the Emir Ilderim of Kurdistan.

I am Sir Kenneth of Huntington, Knight Errant.

He of the sleeping leopard.

I have often considered how well your motto fits you.

I sleep.

Do not awake me.

You have too much knowledge.

We Saracens have ears in the boughs of trees.

You are a good and faithful warrior, but it would appear there are some not so

loyal in your camp.

Who else but a traitor would have struck down Richard the Lionheart?

What are you?

A spy?

No, I am a physician.

Physician-in-chief to the great Sultan Saladin.

My master so admires the Lionheart that he has sent me to save his life.

By our lady, this is chivalry from one enemy who has never seen the other.

This admiration is well shared.

My Richard holds your Saladin in equal esteem.

Then perhaps you will offer me the protection of your lance.

My journey leads through the valley of Zora, past the stronghold of the

Castellanes. I love them no more than you do. So we find one bond at least.

Come, I invite you to share the waters of the Oasis with me.

Wine? Ah, Allah forbids it. And wisely, no doubt.

You delicate creatures.

Share it with that fellow beast you ride.

Perhaps it will make him imagine he is a horse.

He's superior to any steed in Araby.

You may not believe this, but he has carried me across a lake as wide as the

Dead Sea without wetting a fetlock.

Oh, monstrous gabber.

There'd be ice on Loch Ness today.

Ice. I forgot.

You live in an inferno where even the stones melt.

Ice is a frozen water.

Frozen? A cold blue substance that makes a winter's lake glimmer to the stars.

Something you make in your crazy head.

What else can one expect from madmen who cross the world to fight for an empty

sepulcher?

The tomb of our savior.

The prince of peace.

Yet in his name you crusade with the sword.

Against you who live by the sword.

And yet, sometimes I think there should not be this strife.

The warriors of Saladin and the knights of Richard have a goodly creed in

common. Chivalry.

When I was younger, the crusaders came and conquered. And I was filled with

admiration for these enemies. These...

Shining ones who fought for some strange purity.

I studied their ways.

I learned to speak and think their language.

I became, at heart, a knight.

Lacking but one of your so-called ideals.

What is it?

Perhaps I can help you.

Impossible.

You could never teach me to be so mindless as to make goddesses of women.

You make slaves of women.

Ah, wives, slaves.

By the laws of Muhammad, the point is too thin to debate.

Do not bring that prophet of Mecca into any talk of womanhood.

Womanhood? I have seen not one of your straw-haired scarecrows I would have in

my harem.

What?

You demon of black magic.

I did not expect the Queen so soon.

Queen?

Her Highness, the Queen of England.

I'm the vanguard of her pilgrimage.

Merciful heavens, I cannot stand at arms like a plucked goose.

Come, I will help you with this Frankish corset.

And take care.

Remain hidden.

The caravan is escorted by Castellanes.

Who is he?

The pauper Scott of Huntington. A dashing knight indeed.

If I were not wed to dear sweet Richard.

A shame, Baron Garrier, to even think beneath your station.

Strike me mute if I ever say scarecrow.

I'm sure I saw the turban of a Saracen in the top of that date tree.

There's nobody in that tree.

There was.

We'll search the oasis.

Heathen beast.

He was hiding cleverly in that thicket. We'll find his master.

Sir Knight.

Yes, my lady?

I commend you for a duty well done.

On our return to the encampment, I shall more fully express the royal gratitude.

My humble thanks.

What delays our rearguard?

Some harmless Moslem. I saw him at the oasis.

By your leave, I'll... Yes, I command you, don't let the Castellanes put him

to the sword.

There he is. Look, there comes that defender of the Moslems.

Sir Giles himself couldn't have arranged a happier circumstance.

The Saracen monkey has run out of trees.

Spit him on the point of a lance. That will bait the leopard.

In the name of the king, we'll have to kill that Scot.

In honest defense.

I'll get the Moslem.

No. The Scot is our mark.

Right.

lion be any mightier than the leopard?

I wonder.

To his sovereign Lord Highness Richard the Lionhearted, King of England, Duke

of Normandy and Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, greetings from Saladin, King of

Kings, Sultan of Egypt and Syria, the light and refuge of the earth.

Let there be truce between us, while the Aemir Ilderim, who can save man from all

that is not written on his forehead, drives the death angel from the sick

room.

When full strength returns to Richard, let the issues of this war be decided

between him and me alone.

Let there be blows struck between us on some neutral field of honor, and be it

pledged that...

To the better man goes total victory.

Noble adversary.

I'll convert him to holy church with such blows as he has seldom endured.

I accept these terms.

Dispatch messengers to Saladin with gifts.

The gold chalice I stole from... I won in the conquest of Cyprus by St. George.

I'll conquer Islam single-handed.

I'll enter the gate of David without losing another warrior.

Richard, Richard, don't trust this heathen physician.

No, no, sire. It's your life, sire, your life.

My life in your hands, it's nearly gone.

Out with you.

Show them out, fool.

They understand nothing of intelligence.

Right, sir.

Their heads rattle like seeds in an empty gourd.

How young you are to have acquired great learning.

I am still learning much.

I am learning why the Franks make goddesses of women.

Let us get on with the healing.

These strange pale-eyed Goths, they show their hearts like the bumps on a

pomegranate. So different from the Saracen, who would need be a spinning

dervish to bow down to all his loves.

We are not here to study philosophies.

Indeed, I begin to pity my brethren who seek treasures in quantity instead of

quality. Yea, verily.

Is not one perfect diamond more warming than a thousand semi-precious fragments?

Why, St. Andrew, is this a medicina or some Persian popinjay?

Ah, forgive me, I was not aware.

I am a physician.

Fear not. I will heal the lion.

Sir Kenneth.

Sire.

I bid you stand the late watch tonight.

If hope fades, summon the most reverend archbishop.

Let no others pass.

I've lost faith in nearly all.

Come on, Messiah.

Prepare a brazier. See that the cold, the hot.

Make haste, woman, or send me one who is more nimble.

For my cousin, I shall give your command to the scullery.

Oh, forgive me.

It is not easy in a wink of time to change the habits of a thousand years.

My lady.

I am not offended.

As the moon is not offended by the baying of a hound.

I shall heed the brazier.

Butcher of Huntington.

You slaughtered my good castlers.

They weren't good castlers, but they are now.

Peace, Sir Giles.

This is no time for an accounting.

We have come to protect His Highness from your Saracen.

It is being said that in his fever of mind, he is bargaining away victory with

a truce.

By all that's holy.

That would spoil your game, wouldn't it?

If he lives to make the peace, I command you pass us through.

I'm tempted to run you through. Take care, or you'll answer to the English

soldiers. They hold you responsible for the Saracen and his medicines.

What shall we tell them?

How goes the work of your heathen, Fekir?

Tell them it goes slowly.

If we knew the nature of the poison, he could adapt his cure.

The Castellane bowmen, aren't you?

Our camp has many bowmen.

This one's my body servant.

Armed with a dagger tonight instead of his longbow.

Is it a Saracen dagger?

Can you follow this stupid reasoning?

Your bowmen can.

Stay here.

Go to my tent.

Come here, Bowman.

Go.

I'll teach you obedience.

If his highness

dies, I shall be your court of trial.

Your sole commander and judge.

And if I find the proof I seek, you'll be a sorry-looking Solomon.

I doubt the soldier rabble will spare you long enough for trial, unless your

infidel performs a miracle on their beloved wretched.

The wound is seared.

The poultice.

A woman of Islam would have shown faint heart.

But not a Plantagenet.

Go now, little golden one. Go and rest.

No, stay, Edith.

You are my strength.

The blood of old William who conquered.

By St. George, this is fair company.

Roll the dice.

We'll match death throw for throw.

And we shall win.

The talisman has the power of heaven.

The talisman.

It is truly magic, yet powerless unless blessed by faith.

Put your hands upon the cup, my lady of starlight.

Do your work, little talisman, while two hearts warm you with two

faiths.

I was trying to say, there is no magic without a believing love.

Let him drink of the cup.

As you love his life, so shall he be healed.

Drink, drink, and dream of...

When paradise is in there

is no room for

The sun's fair diamond burns more bright alone

than twenty moons of topaz

on each hand.

The one true light is from the sea.

So, I fetched you a minstrel instead of a healer.

I have faith in his powers. What kind of powers?

To roll an eye and sing a quatrain?

He does it quite prettily. Aye, and you show yourself to him most prettily.

Perhaps you think I should be veiled, like an Arab woman. To hide nothing from

a harem master.

He knows the geography of a female like the palm of his hand.

How many wives do you imagine he has?

Oh, I'm awkward at numbers.

Beyond a hundred, I count poorly.

We must remember he's a creature of conditions.

He is not at fault for the sorry state of his soul.

That heathen has no soul.

That silky son of Satan he is bewitched. No, Kenneth, no.

It's this strange land, I think.

This land so different from our own.

I'm a Plantagenet.

Yet somehow here I feel less proud.

There weaves a spell here.

A spell of peace.

Starlight.

Bethlehem.

I'm beginning to despise war.

The dread. The wondering each time you ride away if you'll come back among the

living.

My Bonnie.

Bonnie Edith.

If I be so dear to you.

I'll wage war no more when this crusade is done.

Kenneth.

I'll live for you.

Years upon years. Oh, my dear, my sweet.

A hundred years, at least, you promise. Aye, aye.

And be a sire at 84.

Aye, as hardy as my grandfather.

84? And what would I be doing?

Listen, beloved.

We live on the highlands, tallest place.

And I'll never cross the moat.

When you grow old, I promise I'll be old.

I'll wear a shawl and play the pipes for you.

And I'll bake your bread and cook your porridge.

And we'll look down on all the little kings and queens.

His Highness is alive!

It's alive!

If he's alive, let us see him! For three days we've heard that!

Be

this

my funeral?

No, no, Richard. You're back from the dead.

Three days and three nights in... In warish paradise, dear wife.

My good archbishop, you'd be astonished.

Sleep mends what men cannot.

No more fever of poison. The wound is healing.

Baron de Vaux, bring a thousand gold besants for this wondrous Saracen. No,

my prince, I accept no gold for Allah's wisdom.

Well, then, how can I reward you?

Name any boon.

that is within my power to grant.

It is a wise man who asketh not for sun or moon.

I will think of some small token. Give me time to consider.

Show us the living king!

We'll burn you both!

St.

George for Mary England!

Bless you, good watchdogs.

It still flies higher than any.

A whole English company has guarded it, sire.

We fear that Duke Leopold might send his men to tear it down. You flatter that

wine belly by keeping a whole company at duty.

I know one solitary knight who could guard it against him and all his pot

bellies.

Scotsman.

What would you say if I offered you the guardianship of England's banner?

I would be speechless, your highness.

And then what?

I would say England's banner.

Very well, then. Call it Dick Plantagenet's banner and serve me a

friend.

So great an honor has never come to me before.

Then by St. George you accept it.

Not by St. George, sire.

by saint andrew a good scottish saint

once

more the game of chess is drawn and i know better now how to play it king

against a knight and a knight against a king

My painful teacher is known as the Quintin. It trains our squires for

knighthood.

Yes, Sir Genneth.

Ready, sire?

Pay heed.

Observe the proper gait and the couching of the lance.

What a fine joust it would be, you and I.

The lion against the leopard.

What say you, Kenneth? A friendly joust.

Some men have God's honor.

I'll strike no blow against mine.

Nobody but I could beat you, not even the great Giles Amory.

I've been seeking a certain bowman of his, the one I suspect of having

launched that arrow at your highness.

I've combed the entire camp searching for him, but he seems to have vanished.

Giles Avery could have had a powerful commandership if Ilderim had not saved

me.

Time will tell, Sir Kenneth, whether I've trusted a traitor or whether you

are an overzealous friend.

Beware of Giles Avery.

I may not always be near to remind you, sire.

What?

I love a maid of Blood Royal.

The outcome might not make me welcome hereabouts.

Not my cousin Edith.

No, of course not.

A Plantagenet.

Knowing you as I now do, dear Kenneth, I realize you would not aspire that high.

By Jehovah, there's but one other royal spinster with this expedition.

The Duke Leopold's niece, Rhodes.

What would you do if you were I, sire?

I'd steal her.

Devil take the consequences.

I'll help you. Come, we'll match our lances once more. And then a pot of ale.

I'll instruct you how to make a jackass out of Leopold.

You may tell your Sultan Saladin that I'm now ready to do combat with him.

His head will look quite regal on the point of this lance.

The message, dear Prince, is as good as delivered.

The sun's fair diamond burns more bright alone

than twenty moons of topaz on

each hand.

The one true light is from the sea.

The Statue of Liberty!

Don't come here!

Don't come here!

Are there really magic lamps in Bukhara?

I carry one among my amulets

And what of magic carpets? My prayer rug has the powers of Gossamer and Zephyr.

It could sail you to the wonders of the palace of Saladin.

A Christian slave.

Oh, a Christian inspiration.

Even to the great Saladin.

Verily, you could sway the Saldan's beliefs as easily as you have

captured mine.

A Christian world from Britain to China.

A world, at least, where beliefs can meet in understanding.

A world not made of fleeting truces, nor Saladins and Richards hurling steel at

one another.

This world of killing, it will never change.

It can be changed.

But only by spirit.

The spirit of the heart at peace.

That is a dream.

Not if the gates of the heart are open.

Not unless love is locked out.

Love?

The love of a Saracen for a Christian.

I swear in the name of Allah, with you at my side at the court of Saladin, I

could bring eternal peace to East and West.

Soon I journey homeward.

Shall Saladin fight Richard?

Shall there be brotherhood or war?

Think, my lady Edith.

Think with your Nazarene conscience.

Edith.

You left your guard post. The banner is safe enough.

Safer than that lovestruck Saracen. If I catch him mooning at you... Please go

back. Now listen to me.

Tomorrow I'll find a chapel and post the marriage bands.

Let anyone challenge.

I'll defend the issue by force of arms.

Against Richard?

It was he who told me what to do.

An enemy of England.

And I was fool enough to trust you.

Enjoy this shame, Edith, with all my enemies.

Kenneth.

Remain here.

Guard her ladyship.

I can save the animal from death, but not you from your stupidity.

Restore the banner.

Call on the Duke Leopold. See what guilt you can discover. And send me the master

of heraldry of this encampment. Here's the Count of Montferrat, Your Highness.

It's quite clear now that you were sent here by the Scottish barbarians to

plague me.

Aye, even to turn me against my valued general, Sir Giles Amory.

You. Cannot believe that. It's not beyond possibility that you had the

banner toppled. And put a Saracen arrow in you. It smacks of Highland methods.

And your reasoning smacks of childishness.

By St. George, I'll carve you without the courtesy of the headsman. My liege,

you summoned me?

You are a scholar of the histories of noble houses.

Can I send this man to the block, or must I offer him the combat of

gentlemen? I would have to consult the scrolls.

However, I do have some recollection of the leopard cushion.

He would likely be the youngest son of the Earl of Huntington.

That is true.

Of royal kinship?

Quite so, my liege.

By the laws of chivalry, any king who held guilt against him would have to

give him trial by combat. How can I soil the listing field with the blood of such

a scoundrel? It would only add to the rumor, your highness, if you did not

observe the institutions.

What rumor?

That King Richard would have no taste for a passage of hours with this

champion.

Oh, ridiculous, of course, but you know how these little acorns grow.

Take up the gauntlet.

You'll be only a passing exercise for my meeting with Saladin.

You may find the exercise a bit strenuous.

I've broken better knights than you with blunted lance.

But there'll be no such niceties this time.

The combat shall be at sunrise under the rules of Jus de l'Outrance.

To the death?

So, you're afraid.

Like all cowards who prowl the dark, thieving and wenching, I shall command

the Lady Edith to watch you bleed tomorrow.

That shall be her punishment.

Watch him well.

You promised me trouble, didn't you?

You and that master Castellan.

You made your own bed of thorns. With your help, I vow,

I'll try you someday for your crimes.

But first you must slay King Richard, mustn't you?

Ah, yes, you must.

Or be slain.

And do you avouch the justice of your cause and take oath that your fate will

be according to the truth or falsehood of what you have sworn?

I do.

And you do avouch the justice of your cause.

And take oath that your fate will be according to the truth or falsehood of

what you have sworn?

I do.

Here rides a knight accused by King Richard of foul dishonours.

Victory or defeat must prove his guilt or innocence.

No!

Whereas it is decreed by His Highness that any and all weapons may be used in

any fashion, he who is unhorsed may be struck to death.

At no cost to gallantry!

Laissez-les aller!

Laissez-les aller!

Laissez-les aller!

Richard!

I'll marshal the armies.

We'll break the truce with Saladin at once.

Not unless the Scot, that numbskull...

Remount your horse.

That is not my right.

Then it is my right to dismount.

You're a fool if you do.

I give you your life with the compliments of Scotland.

Strike or lose your own life.

Confess your dishonor and I'll spare you.

The dishonor is yours.

They know I beat you.

You fool!

You forced me to kill you!

Your Highness!

Your Highness, you once offered to grant me whatsoever boon I desired.

That is true, Saracen.

I have chosen that you give me that man's life in return for your life,

which I saved.

I grant your plea.

But mind you, his defeat has fixed his guilt.

He shall be stripped of knighthood, his sword broken, his spurs cast away.

You've won a poor victory, cousin.

I give him to you as your bondservant.

He has forfeited his place in Christendom.

Take him away from here. Take him to the camps of his land.

Our journey will not be far, dear prince.

We shall be your neighbors.

What is this?

While you war among each other, the host of Saladin make their encampment in the

valley of Zora.

Her name is Sarub.

She is the Begum of your Harim.

She was, until recently, a mine.

Where am I?

In that Moorish paradise of which King Richard spoke.

But with you, it is no dream.

It must be.

These garments.

Who put them on me?

She did.

You are no longer a Frankish lobster.

but a noble in the camp of the Saracens. By St. Andrew!

This is against my vows.

What vows?

You are no longer a knight.

Your spurs have been removed.

You have been banished from the world of the Franks.

He is still faint. Let us not weaken him with too much sudden pleasure.

I was given to you.

A bond slave.

But be of good comfort.

Was not Joseph sold to a king by his brothers and treated like a brother by

that king?

Edith. You will be happier if you forget her.

It is better to be the servant of a kind master than the slave of an impossible

desire.

You're a scheming fox.

No, merely a poor Saracen.

Not poor in goods.

but lacking the one bright possession of the heart.

For Ilderim the man, she would be a possession of paradise.

For Saladin the sultan,

a pentagonist at court might unlock new realms of power in Europe.

You dare to imagine her as your wife?

I dare imagine myself possessing none other.

Strange, is it not? I, a Moslem, abandoning the ways of my fathers,

whilst you, a Nazarene, are engulfed in those ways. If you think I'll remain in

this gilded swamp!

The talisman.

You've even tried magic to steal away my senses.

Magic? No.

That is but a pad of sleeping powder.

I know little of healing except what a warrior should know, that sleep gives

man the strength to conquer his ills.

A warrior.

So you did come to spy on our camp.

I saw the power of the lion crumble.

I saw him as a man, not wise, though brave.

A ruler who could not even rule his own passions.

You saw our disunity.

You'll advise Saladin to break the truce and attack?

No. The sword of Islam will not endanger the Lady Edith or the Plantagenets.

But there is a danger.

Come with me.

There you see the fortress of the Castellanes.

Today, our foragers found one of their prisoners who had burrowed beneath the

moat and escaped the dungeon.

I believe you are now well enough to see him.

He was near death, but trying to make his way to the camp of the Crusaders.

To you.

Me?

I don't know him.

But... Yes.

He does bear a resemblance to...

You are

Giles Amory's bowman.

Talk, man.

Tell me. He cannot talk. He has no tongue.

But they could not cut out his conscience.

My scribe has helped him to set down his story in Lingua Franca, your language of

the West.

Giles Amory, Grand Master of the Castellanes, planned to kill the king,

gain command of the armies, conquer Saladin, and enslave the Syrian people.

I must take this man to King Richard at once. He would not survive the journey.

Neither would you, according to your terms of banishment.

Then you'll go.

The prospect makes my heart dance, that lady of sunbeams.

But no, it would violate the trust of a million Muslims if I risked myself again

there. Why? How could it?

I will show you.

Fall ye down before the light of the world.

The hand of the holy prophet on earth.

Bow ye, bow ye to Saladin, the king of kings.

that's all here is my manifesto i withdraw my forces from this misdirected

campaign and i withdraw my support of the bloated ambitions of richard of

england go home and squat on your

alps good riddance england and france will reap the glory alone

dear richard This

glory is a fantasy of yours.

Our forces are diminished.

Civil discords tear us apart.

Our camp is now encircled by the armies of Saladin. Saladin will keep his

promise of single combat.

And you, good Philip, you shall share in my victory.

I have troubles at home too long neglected.

And who should know that better than you?

It is no secret, Richard, that your brother John enjoys your absence from

England. Aye, my brother is a usurper.

I must return to England soon, and shall.

I promise you that within a fortnight I'll have Saladin's seal on a glorious

treaty. Couriers have brought word that his emissary will arrive here today to

discuss arrangements.

I see I must speak bluntly.

France will not countenance any decision reached by you and Saladin on a neutral

field of honor.

You prefer endless war?

I prefer a common cause to the glory of any solitary man, king or peasant.

And to that end, I demand a new leader.

The Count of Montferrat withdraws financial aid until Sir Giles Emery is

given active command.

Your Highness, the Saracen ambassador arrives.

He must not see this disunity.

I'll receive him in my quarters.

This council has given no ruler the right to negotiate in private.

Malik, I pledge myself to defend your rights.

Show these cavaliers to the quarters prepared for them.

Let them not be disturbed till their evening prayer is done.

Your Saracen Excellency will be entertained in His Highness' pavilion.

Welcome. May joy bless thy name.

El Hadji, your magnificence. Hadji.

That means pilgrim.

A perfect name for such an instrument of peace.

All glory to thy tribe, El Hadji.

El Huntington.

El what?

Your visit, dear envoy, is timely.

My brethren and allies are a tight, loyal band eager to do battle for me.

Only my prospect of single combat with Saladin has restrained their willing

hands. Ay, Lord King.

Their loving hands.

Loving?

Ah, Roswell.

Mojarras' genius.

New king of scoundrels.

Never trust a Scot.

By the Saints, this is Providence.

I've never needed you more than now, Sir Kenneth.

Sir Kenneth, His Highness forgets that I'm no longer a Knight of the Cross, but

a Saracen.

Nonsense. I've forgiven you a thousand times.

Indeed. But still I must dress like a Turk on parade to run the gauntlet of

your pikes and bows.

Hear me kindly, friend.

I need your strength as never before.

I am beset with rebellions and treacheries both here and in England.

My whole wretched fate rested on the hope that Saladin would send an

ambassador to arrange terms. And that he did.

I am his ambassador.

No. It is true, sire.

And I'm obliged to give you his message that you forfeited his offer of combat

by coddling traitors who would break any honorable peace.

Such a joust now could resolve nothing of any consequence.

I bring a new offer from Saladin, an offer of quite a different sort.

Believe me, I bargained shamefully for permission to come to you.

And this is the bargain, that I must present the plea of Saladin for the Lady

Edith to become his wife.

If she chooses him to wed, he will give you a most honorable treaty.

An alliance of Islam and Christendom against all powers of ambitious greed.

By St. George.

Ilderim must have given the Sultan a wondrous account of our dear Edith.

There was no Ilderim.

No Saracen physician.

The man was Saladin.

Saladin?

Not Saladin.

And I'm unabound to tell you, he breaks with many Saracen traditions.

If the lady goes to him, it must be of her own free choice.

She will retain her own religion and be his one and only wife.

Edith.

Edith, I... You.

You fetching his proposal to me. It was the price I had to pay for this visit.

I had faith that you would quickly spurn his offer. The decision will be made by

the crown and not by her ladyship. Then the Sultan will not accept it.

That is why I am his messenger.

He wants no choice that is not of the heart.

He knew that in my presence your heart must speak the truth.

So say it swiftly, my darling.

Say no to him and my honor will have been served. Don't talk of honor, you

evil renegade.

An alliance, the Plantagenets with the might of the Saracens. Edith, listen to

me. Oh, what manhood springs from Scotland?

A race of petty bargainers. Silence, let me think. This is not so bitter a fruit

to swallow.

Has not the flower of Spain been wed with cavaliers of the East?

And not with such a pleasing gentleman as this one either, cousin.

I could think of a worse ornament for a bedchamber.

Upon my soul, Edith, you could change the world to the shape of a lion. By St.

Andrew, you'll hear my plea or I'll... Settle the matter with more, Bloodshed.

That's all you know.

As Queen of Islam, I could bring peace to half the world while you blaze

through the other half flailing with your sword.

Edith!

You drink the blood of a body that serves you.

Peace, be quiet.

She loves you.

Skin a lynx and you'll find a wench. The deeper they claw, the more they love.

What is this? The confession of a Castellan bowman.

The one I told you I suspected.

Ride to the fortress.

Call out the full company to protect the Zora Road for me.

You'd best come now, Sir Giles.

Not yet.

There's a prize in this camp for which both Saladin and Richard might pay a

kingdom.

Go on.

Prudence, you rake-hole.

Whatever the scut has dragged in, I'll prove it a fraud.

You blow a great wind, Montferrat, and nothing comes out of the horn.

Guard! Bring me the master of the castellanes. Very good, sire.

The Count of Montferrat petitions an audience with His Highness, conveying

information as to Sir Giles Emery. Pass, my Lord.

Sire.

Would you believe in the honesty of this animal if he accused the molester of

your banner?

I would.

I vowed once I'd try you for your guilt.

You have been judged.

Lady Edith Plantagenet? Yes.

We come bearing gifts from the Sultan Saladin to the Lady of Light.

My gratitude to your master.

He shall always be a friend to remember.

But he cannot, in good chivalry, present gifts to me.

Return to him with this message, that I can never love any man but Kenneth of

Huntington.

Professor Cyrus and Horses, we'll meet you at the rear of this pavilion.

Very good, Sir Charles.

Mary, help me. Can't I even trust the Norman guards?

I told you to find Giles Amory. We're not abating the search, your highness.

Then go, continue it.

Be good, sire.

Kenneth of Huntingdon, so shall you receive this blade of a knighthood more

glorious than that which you have lost, to be used in defense of the cross and

of the king, and never in human weakness against any man unjustly.

His highness will now give you the accolade.

With a sword, sire, with a sword.

Oh.

I dub you a chevalier of the House of Plantagenet.

Arise, Sir Kenneth, my brave and faithful warrior.

Here are your spurs.

Now, go to her in pride.

Bring her to heel and don't let her make a mush head out of you.

had talk of peace on earth without the aid of the sword.

My lord, the Saracen nobles have departed the camp, and the Lady Edith is

nowhere to be found.

One report has it that they were seen entering her tent with gifts, another

that they were crossing the valley homeward. That dog of darkness.

Who?

The Sultan of Araby, the same trickster we knew as the Aemir Ilderim.

Sir Kenneth.

Where are you going? To Saladin.

He'll need a wide moat to make him a happy bridegroom.

But this will ruin our chances for the treaty, sire.

Aye, it will.

Never trust a Scot.

I think I'll have a look at the Saracen tent.

before the light of the world.

By my father's beard, a Frank makes a poor ambassador.

Umu?

What have you done with her?

Who? Oh, commander of the faithful, this lunatic fancies that some Frankish woman

was stolen by men of Islam.

Your Saracens carried her away.

The Lady Edith? Impossible.

They have not returned here.

Perhaps they come now.

Those are the heralds of King Richard.

This is a full honor.

Sound the welcome.

Ilderim, my friend, great Saladin, I bring you shameful news.

Your cavaliers were murdered in my encampment by Castellanes, I'm certain.

They were stripped of their robes.

How else could Giles Amory and his knights have eluded my search?

And carried away your kinswoman, sire?

To their fortress.

She'd be a precious hostage.

No, you could not overtake them before they reached the castle.

Wait, I have a method of turning them back.

Send my command to the tribe of Hassam to harry the Zora road with all their

might. The fortress will send out its full force to protect the road. All the

better.

Take your company up the Zora Road until you meet Sir Giles. But the castle will

be un-garrisoned, except for a few pikes and bows.

I don't

know.

Thank you.

Where are you, sluggard?

Keep a pace.

Remove those Harrison robes, or we'll be prey to our own castellans.

There are Saracens ahead.

We must turn back and try to gain the high roads of the castle.

No, Sir Giles. Our only hope is through the woodlands.

And that is destiny.

You rode through your life, a little storm so soon to be forgotten.

My love, my queen, you shall soon be in our palace in Damascus.

No, Ilderim. Ilderim could not aspire to possess the moon, but Saladin can.

These are my horizons, and the moon is my banner.

The great Lord Saladin would never take what isn't his.

Everything upon this land of mine is mine.

And yet there is that chivalry which I have tried to learn from robbers who

came to steal an empire from me.

Yes, you shall have your moment, dearest one, to bid farewell to your barbarians.

down the scotch!

Identify us for the portraits.

We can waste no time at the moat.

He appears to have saved himself.

Raise the bridge!

Give them Giles Amory. I'll negotiate for us.

Thank you.

You have bowmen. Put an arrow in the castellane.

I have no bowmen. Cut down the castellane.

I beg of you.

Command your archers.

You want him to die.

It is in the hands of Allah, each man's destiny.

It is a wise man who does not spread too much wisdom.

and an even wiser man who knows what is not his.

But I have learned so much.

I have learned that I am a Saracen, completely and forever.

Your days of war done, Kenneth.

Take me to your highlands. In full sail, my Bonnie.

No, you don't.

He goes with me to England to fight for my throne.

War, war, that's all you think of, Dick Plantagenet.

You burner, you pillager.

You poisoner of character.

Kenneth, I'll give you lands, titles. I'll even give you this castle.

So far from home.

By St. George.

By St. Andrew.

Never trust a Scot.