(MAN READING)
- BLACKADDER: Baldrick!
- Yes, sir.
Oh! Get me some mulled ale,
will you? I'm freezing.
How's the King, sir?
Um, about as comfortable
as can be expected for a man
who's spending the winter
in a blackcurrant bush.
Do you think the Roundheads'll find him?
Certainly not. I've assured him
that he is as likely to be caught
as a fox being chased by a pack
of one-legged hunting tortoises.
- Is that true?
- Yes, of course it's true.
Have you ever known me
to lie to the King?
Yes.
- No.
- Exactly.
He's absolutely safe, as long
as you keep your fat mouth shut.
You can trust me, sir.
(CHUCKLES)
Right, Baldrick, I'm off
to answer the call of nature.
If by any freak chance Oliver Cromwell
drops in here for a cup of milk
in the next seconds,
remember, the King is not hiding here.
Yes, sir.
♪ Greensleeves... ♪
Good evening, citizen.
I am Oliver Cromwell.
My men have surrounded your house
and I am looking for royalist scum.
Is the king hiding here?
Um...
No.
On pain of death and damnation,
are you absolutely sure?
Yes, I am.
I see.
Well, then,
my proud beauty,
you won't mind if my men come in
from the cold, will you?
Men, come in from the cold, will you?
Now, we shall all have a cup
of milk by your fireside.
All right, but don't touch
the purple cup.
- Why not?
- That's the King's.
Thank you, citizen.
You may leave me alone
with King Charles.
(PRINCE CHARLES ACCENT) Ah, Mr Cromwell,
how delightful to see you again.
Don't get up, don't get up, tell me,
um, have you come far?
I have, sir.
From country squire
to law protector of England.
Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.
Um, tell me, uh, what exactly
does a law protector do?
- He spells your doom, sir.
- Spells my doom? Wonderful.
Well, that's particularly exciting
because so many people these days
can't spell at all.
Particularly, as you know,
in the inner cities,
which is my area of interest.
- How truly speaked, sir,
but all your fine words won't
save you from the scaffold.
Jolly good, fascinating, carry on.
A priest, sir,
to help you make your peace
with God before you die.
Oh, hello.
Your Majesty,
I can arrange for certain monies
to be paid to allow you to escape.
Blackadder! You're dressed as a priest.
How... How dangerous
and stupid and perverted.
It's just like school.
Look, sire, this is a matter
of life and death.
Nonsense, Blackadder. I don't
think there's a jury in England
that would bring in a verdict
of guilty against me.
- Your Majesty, the verdict of the jury.
- Thank you.
So, what does it say?
Guilty or not guilty?
I'll give you two guesses.
Not guilty.
One more guess.
Oh, damn.
One measly civil w*r
in the entire history of England
and I'm on the wrong bloody side.
Something wrong, sir?
Yes, Baldrick. Yes, there is.
Don't you realise if the king dies,
we royalists are doomed?
We will enter a hideous age
of Puritanism.
They'll close all the theatres,
lace handkerchiefs for men
will be illegal
and I won't be able to find
a friendly face to sit on
this side of Boulogne.
If they so much as suspect
our loyalties,
our property will be forfeit
and we'll be for the chop.
Ooh, I love chops.
Baldrick, your brain is like
the four-headed, man-eating
haddock fish beast of Aberdeen.
- In what way?
- It doesn't exist.
Oh, God, what are we going to do?
Don't despair, sir.
Something'll pop up.
Not under Puritanism it won't.
We must do something.
We must do something,
otherwise the Blackadders
are as doomed as that ant.
What ant?
That one.
So this is the day of
the execution of Charles I.
Absolutely not, Your Majesty.
Those Roundhead traitors have one final
hurdle that they will never straddle.
How fascinating.
And what is that, exactly?
They will never find
a man to behead you.
They'd have hundreds of volunteers
to cut Cromwell's head off,
he's such an ugly devil.
He's got so many warts on his face,
it's only when he sneezes
that you find out
which one is his nose.
But they will never find
a man to execute you.
Well, you see, I find
that absolutely tragic.
You know, there are so many young people
who would leap at a chance like this.
And you know, all they need
is the initiative somehow.
I suppose, in a sense, that's
what my award scheme is all about.
- Really?
- Yes.
On the other hand, of course,
I don't want my head cut off.
Uh, it's a question of balance,
isn't it, like so many things...
Shut up, with the greatest respect,
Your Majesty.
- Thank you.
- They will never find an executioner.
And if they do, may my conjugal dipstick
turn into a tennis racket.
- A message for the King.
- Ah, thank you.
Ah.
(TENNIS RETURN POPS)
♪ There's a tavern in the town ♪
In the town!
For God's sakes, stop that, Baldrick.
It's bad enough having one's life
in utter ruins without being serenaded
by a moron with all the entertainment
value of a tap-dancing oyster.
I'm sorry, sir. I can't help it.
See, I've just had a little windfall.
Baldrick, I've told you before,
if you're going to do that,
go into the garden.
I mean, I've come into some money.
Really? Family inheritance?
No, I ate that ages ago.
Oh, yes, of course, your thoughtful
father bequeathed you a turnip.
No, it was ã , actually.
It was delicious.
But this is just a little
something that fell in my lap.
Not the first time that there's been a
little something in your lap, Baldrick.
No, but this one is a job.
Really? I just don't understand it.
Where on Earth did they find a man
so utterly without heart and soul,
so low and degraded as to accept the
job of beheading the King of England?
- Baldrick?
- Yes.
That little job that
fell into your lap.
Yes?
It wasn't by any chance
something to do with an axe,
a basket, a little black mask
and the King of England?
No.
- Go on.
- I couldn't find a basket.
-You very small, total bastard.
-Oh, please, sir. Don't k*ll me!
I have a cunning plan to save the King.
Forgive me if I don't do
a cartwheel of joy.
Your family's record in the
department of cunning planning
is about as impressive as Stumpy
O'Leg McNoleg's personal best
in the Market Harborough marathon.
All right, what's the plan?
A pumpkin is going to save the King?
Ah! But over here,
I have one that I prepared earlier.
I will balance it on the
King's head, like this,
then I will cover his real head
with a cloak
and then, when I execute him,
instead of cutting off his real head,
I will cut off the pumpkin,
and the King survives!
I'm not sure it's going
to work, Balders.
Why not?
Because once you've cut it off,
you have to hold it up
in front of the crowd and say,
"This is the head of a traitor."
At which point, they will shout back,
"No, it's not. It's a large pumpkin
with a pathetic moustache drawn on it."
I suppose it's not % convincing.
It's not % convincing, Baldrick.
However, I'm a busy man and I can't be
bothered to punch you at the moment.
Here is my fist, kindly run
towards it as fast as you can.
Yes, sir.
I just, I just don't understand it.
What possessed you to take the job?
Oh, I'm sorry, sir. It was
just a wild, silly, foolish plan.
I thought with the money I got
from executing the King,
I could sneak out and buy a brand
new king when no one was looking
and pop him back on the throne
without anyone noticing.
Your head is as empty
as a eunuch's underpants.
You'd do anything for pieces
of silver, wouldn't you?
It was a thousand pounds,
actually, sir. Plus tip.
Well, I suppose somebody's
got to do it, haven't they?
And if it's going to be done,
it's got to be done
in a single stroke by someone
who actually owns an axe.
We don't want you hacking
away at it all afternoon
with that cheap penknife of yours.
It'd be so embarrassing to have
King Charles staggering around
Hampton Court tomorrow morning with
his neck flapping like a fish's gills.
- Sir, you don't mean...
- Yep.
I'm doing it. Lend me your costume.
Then go meekly to the King
and inform him
that Sir Edmund Blackadder
cannot be with him tomorrow.
And make sure you think up
a bloody good excuse.
So that's why he can't be here. Sorry.
I see. I quite understand. Yes.
Sir! The moment has arrived.
Are you ready to meet your maker?
Well, I'm always absolutely
fascinated to meet people
from all walks of life, but yes,
particularly manufacturing industries.
Well, then, have a quick walk
and talk with your executioner
and let's get on with it.
- Right.
Well, I'm sorry, my friend,
I'm alone here today.
I had hoped that my good loyal
chum, Sir Edmund Blackadder,
would be here with me.
But unfortunately,
his wife's sister's puppy
fell into the strawberry patch.
So naturally, he can't be with us.
Aha.
All I can do is bid
you do your duty well.
Well, thank you, Your Majesty.
And may I say how much
I mourn for your lot
and bid you remember others
before you who have d*ed unjustly.
Thank you.
I take great solace from that.
Sir Thomas More, for instance,
a great, generous man to the last.
He apparently tipped
his executioner handsomely.
Oh, I'm so sorry,
I thought service was included.
I beg your pardon. Here you are.
Hmm.
- And then there was the Earl of Essex.
- Was there?
A truly great man.
They still sing his famous ballad
down the Chepstow Arms.
What ballad is that?
# The Earl,
he had a thousand sovereigns
# Hey nonny no
# Gave them all away
To the man with the axe
♪ Oh ♪
A thousand sovereigns!
Well, you can't take it with you,
Your Majesty.
Very true. Well, there you are.
Do keep the change.
Thank you, Your Majesty.
Right. Should we go?
Just a minute!
That voice has a
strangely familiar ring.
And so does that finger.
Blackadder!
Hello, Your Majesty.
You cunning swine!
- Yes, well, uh...
- Marvellous! Splendid!
You've duped Cromwell and
you've concocted a cunning plan
to help me and my infant
son escape to France.
Ah, yes. That's right. Yes.
So, let's put your cunning plan
into operation straight away.
Yes, let's.
- Well, you start the ball rolling.
- No, no. After you.
Right, yes.
Oh, yes. Yes, right.
And it's a very good plan.
It's a staggering,
bowel-shatteringly good plan.
- Is the King ready?
- He is. Come, Your Majesty.
(THUDDING)
(CROWD CHEERING)
(CROWD SIGHING, DISAPPOINTED)
BLACKADDER: This is
the head of a traitor!
CROWD: No, it's not!
It's a huge pumpkin
with a pathetic moustache drawn on it.
BLACKADDER: Oh yes, so it is.
Sorry. I'll try again.
(THUDDING)
(CROWD CHEERING)
Well, sir,
they can't say you didn't try.
Now the future of the British monarchy
lies fast asleep in your arms,
in the person of this infant prince.
And with the money you've earned,
you and he can escape to France.
Oh, quite.
On the other hand, you can stay
here and as a known loyalist,
the Roundheads will come
and cut your head off.
Exactly, Baldrick.
(POUNDING ON DOOR)
- Oh, my God!
- Come out of the house!
Oh no! We're surrounded! What'll we do?
Well, at times like this, Baldrick,
there is no choice for a man of honour.
He must stand and fight and die
in defence of his future sovereign.
(POUNDING CONTINUES)
But fortunately,
I am not a man of honour.
Thank God you've come!
Seize the royalist scum!