Original subtitles

Spring, two more crocuses since yesterday.

Our German spring is a wonderful time.

Spring is always wonderful.

I remember only one bad spring, 1945.

It was beautiful that year.

Exactly.

The perfect weather meant the allies will begin

their final drive along the western front.

Well that year I cursed the birds as

they sang in the trees and wished I

could hold back the blossoms with my hands.

But the snow melted and the tanks rumbled

on.

They had to come.

Hitler was finished and all the people close

to him, including the ones that we knew

at Heidelberg.

Do you remember von Baden?

How could I forget?

I was with the White Corps.

I fought with them, drilled with them, drank

with them.

Rudolf Kassan was president of the White Corps,

wasn't he?

Yes, he was also a bully and a

brute.

Most hated student at all Heidelberg.

You fought a duel for him, didn't you?

For Kassan of all people.

None of us ever really heard the truth

of that storey, did we?

No.

I became president in my final year but

my record could never match Kassan's.

He fought 10 times in his first year,

although freshmen weren't obliged to fight at all.

It was not until the end of your

second year that you needed to have your

scar.

He fought 30 times in his second year

and doubtless he would have fought many more

if his career hadn't ended so, so abruptly.

You know that curious English poem, The Jabberwock,

struck down by a vorpal blade?

On guard!

Light!

On guard!

Light!

On guard!

Light!

He was a wizard with a blade.

And with women.

There was one woman he loved, but at

least when he was with her, he seemed

a different person.

Eva.

She worked below, in a bar in the

beer hall.

He'd even spent a weekend with her, on

a raft trip down the river.

Light!

Now, stop!

A woman!

I knew it!

Leave her alone!

She must pay the penalty!

No!

What do you mean, no?

She must strip or be stripped!

Put your hands to yourself or fight me,

now!

But it's the rule, Kassan!

Get out!

Come in.

The Red Corps is rubbish!

No!

Kassan!

Kassan!

Kassan!

So you were there that night, bombardment?

I was Kassan's second, but I hadn't fought

yet.

As for Eva, she was the only person

who could bring out the tender, human side

of Kassan's nature.

But she was also, let us say, generous

with her favours.

Oh, no.

This term, you fight, boy, you must.

That's our only purpose.

We didn't take you into the White Corps

just to drink and have a good time.

I'll fight when I'm ready.

You're ready now, von Barden.

You'll fight next week.

It's time you tasted blood, your own, if

necessary.

Not so soon, no.

I'm your president, boy, and when I say

fight, you fight, or leave the White Corps

in disgrace.

Hey, that is the first, Rudolph.

What is this, Eva?

While the cat's away, his mouse likes to

play.

No, Bernard.

Stay where you are.

No, it doesn't mean anything.

Rudolph, I was waiting for you.

Please.

Yeah, she waits for anyone in trousers.

Get up.

No.

We've never fought Kassan, and I think perhaps

it's time.

I wouldn't dirty my blade with you.

Young von Barden will uphold the honour of

the White Corps.

Tuesday night, this will lose another of your

mice.

I'll slice off his nose and I'll come

after you, Kassan.

You think so?

Any member of the White Corps can take

you, Maka.

That will be the final indignity, to see

you grovel in defeat before this boy.

LAUGHTER So you had three days to prepare

to fight for your life.

And one, two, three, four, five.

At speed.

Free play.

I could have cut him there, von Barden.

Continue.

Parry, cut, parry, cut.

Use the wrist, not the arm.

Continue.

No, no, no, no.

Maka will murder you, boy.

You left yourself wide open.

Keep the arm up, protecting the right cheek.

Keep the point down at the parrys.

Come at me.

Come on.

Ah!

Dead boy, dead.

I could have opened every vein in your

head.

I'm sorry.

The White Corps never apologise.

The White Corps win.

Come in.

Well?

The new boy's rubbish.

With Kassan training him.

There isn't time to make anything of him.

Today, tomorrow, Tuesday you fight.

You needn't lose any sleep, Gunner.

I may.

I already have.

That isn't.

But of course.

Who else?

No!

No!

What do you mean, you like it here,

Ava?

You said so.

Sorry I interrupted.

No, we were just resting between rounds.

Spread the word, Joseph.

We'll meet again tomorrow morning, at eight o

'clock.

Get to bed early.

And have an early breakfast, not later than

seven, so that you have time to digest

it.

If you think you've sweated today, boy, just

wait until tomorrow.

I did my best to obey him.

I went to bed early.

But I didn't sleep for hours.

When at last I did sleep, I dreamt,

I reported the whole business to the police,

asked them to stop the duel.

But they laughed at me.

Said, Oh, we know duelling is forbidden, but

look at our eyes.

And I looked, and the police were blind.

It was always like that.

The law was never enforced.

No.

I knew there was no getting out of

the duel, not without disgrace.

But you were really going to fight for

another man's honour, weren't you?

Yes.

Whether I liked it or not, Kassan's honour

had now become mine, too.

But Kassan was a bully and a tyrant.

That was why I slept so badly.

Yes!

Good, better!

Whoa!

You've smelt blood at last.

Good.

Bring out the swords.

Take your sword from Barden.

So far it's been child's play, hasn't it?

Right, on guard.

But we aren't dressed!

On guard!

Attack!

I could have opened the flap on your

cheek there, boy.

So could Macca.

Right, get him dressed.

All that day we practised with the swords.

And on Tuesday...

Did you sleep better that Monday night?

Oh, much better.

You see, I had obtained some chloral hydrate,

which I mixed with a glass of schnapps.

An old-fashioned cure for insomnia.

Those days were old-fashioned.

The first

duel tonight is between Carl von Barden, upholding

the honour of the White Court...

Hooray!

...and Gunnar Macca of the Red Court.

Hooray!

Hooray!

Which, as we all know, is totally lacking

in honour and therefore fittingly represented by Macca.

You.

Come here.

No.

Come here.

Gentlemen of the White Court, we have an

intruder.

Shall she pay the penalty?

Ascent!

No!

When she was yours, Cassandre, you spared her.

Now she's mine.

And you spare her?

You?

She'll watch me win, Cassandre.

No, Macca.

No.

Ava shall watch you lose.

Sit there.

No one touch her!

Von Barden.

Get out of that suit.

I'll fight Macca myself.

You cannot, Cassandre.

It's against our code.

Von Barden fights.

Now who's sweating?

Gentlemen.

En garde.

Play.

It's nothing.

Even so.

It's a scratch.

Bring me another sword.

That's enough, Doctor.

It's not his blade.

His blade hasn't touched me yet.

Right.

En garde.

Distance, gentlemen.

En garde.

Play.

Aye!

Who's your champion now?

En garde.

Play.

Stay down!

I've marked him twice.

Never.

En garde.

Play.

Stop!

It's enough.

Stop now.

With honour.

No.

No, Doctor.

Come on, Macca.

Come on.

Enough!

Out!

Doctor.

He's dead.

And that was all?

All?

Isn't that enough?

No.

From your account, Cassandre lost in a fair

fight.

Yet he was the best, far superior to

Macca.

And there were storeys, rumours, were there not?

Some even claimed that Macca killed him with

a poisoned sword.

That that was the only way it could

have happened.

Yes.

Some said that.

I heard the storeys too.

We all did.

Murderer.

No, Ephraim.

Don't.

Don't.

But it's true.

True.

He poisoned him.

The post-mortem said.

The coroner said.

Murderer.

Come on.

Come on.

Come away.

I beg you.

You inherited Ava.

Ours was a sad love.

But yes, Cassandre was poisoned.

That much was proven.

But by that time, it was too late

to check Macca's sword.

He must have poisoned his sword.

No sense of honour at all.

I shouldn't care to have his conscience.

I'd like some service, please.

For the rest of his college days, he

lived in disgrace.

Shortly after he left Heidelberg, he was killed

by a train.

So he was guilty.

Now, think it through.

Would a man who had poisoned the blade

of his sword before a duel lose much

sleep about it afterwards?

He would have had to think it out,

plan it.

Poisoning is a premeditated crime.

Yes.

And of course, until the last moment, Macca

thought he was fighting you.

Exactly.

Surely the best evidence of all for his

innocence.

And after Cassandre stepped in and took my

place, Macca never left the centre of the

room.

He had no chance to poison the blade.

Could the swords have been switched when they

were dropped?

Impossible.

The hilts were white and red, the core

colours.

So no one could have poisoned Macca's sword

after Cassandre entered the duel?

Not with all those eyes watching.

The woman, Eva?

How?

When?

No.

The poison was meant for you.

For me?

Macca had nothing to fear from me.

Then who?

Of course I should have realised.

The doctor.

He applied the poison while he swabbed the

wounds on Cassandre's face?

No.

He had no motive.

He was really Eva's father, avenging his daughter's

honour.

He wasn't Eva's father.

And I'm sure as a doctor he could

have chosen a far safer and less spectacular

method of murder, if that had been his

intention.

Or at the very least, a slower acting

poison.

No.

Not the doctor.

Then where are we left?

You?

Fear can be a terrible thing.

But how?

How did you poison Macca's sword?

I didn't.

Then what?

It'll be a pleasure to tell the truth

now.

After so many years, the truth.

Eventually I did fight.

I fought bravely and well for the White

Corps and for Hitler.

I collected my medals and my ribbons.

Men killed for love, for revenge, and in

anger.

But fear, fear, my dear Winterlook, is the

greatest motive for murder.

Well, at least I think so.

After all, wasn't it fear that drove us?

We acted under orders.

You mean we feared to disobey them?

No.

Yes.

Now listen.

I was afraid to fight Macca.

Afraid for my face, my life, my honour.

Afraid.

I was terrified.

I coated the blade of my sword with

poison, got from the chemistry laboratory at the

same time as I took the chloral hydrate

I needed to make me sleep.

I knew that I could never beat Macca

in fair fight.

I had to kill him or at least

sicken him so that I could win.

And then Kassem took my sword and in

the first exchange it broke.

In the end, flew back and scratched his

forehead.

He said it was nothing.

But it killed him.

My God.

A foolish thing.

A senseless thing.

Like I said, a vorpal blade.

Exercise is over.

I shall be glad to be alone in

myself.

It is ironic.

We are here because they call us war

criminals.

We are not.

We are here because we lost.

Think of their crimes.

Let us face the truth at last.

We are war criminals.

And yet...

And yet I killed this man because I

was afraid to fight.