Harvest (2024)

[bunniefuu]

It's okay,

sweetheart. It's okay.

It's okay, come on.

Willowjack!

Come on!

Thank God.

Thank you. Thank you, Walt.

Walt! Let's save

what we can! Move!

Why're you laughing?

What's wrong with you lads?

Water!

Have you lost your wits?

Yous are high.

Come on, here you go. That's it.

Go on, Walt!

You!

Is this your doing?

Playing with fire again?

'Shrooms.

Why are you standing there,

Master Kent? Come on!

It's your barn!

What sparked this fire?

There was no lightning

overnight, was there?

Was there?

Looks like someone was intending to

make off with the master's doves.

Christopher...

It's harvest end today.

Aye, why would

anyone steal a dove

when Master Kent's

promised us a calf tonight?

Could be no one.

No one among us.

I understand that

this is the moment

when I should raise my

own hand and say my piece.

Or at least take the boys aside

and nudge them in the ribs.

But I hold my tongue.

Besides,

my hand is too

damaged to be raised.

I'm okay.

Walt.

How's your hand?

It's okay.

I'm fine.

Does it hurt?

No?

No?

Everyone...

It's been a long night,

and you've done well, very well.

You alright?

Why don't you go home

and get some sleep, yes?

In any other place, arsonists

would be on hooks in common view.

But our fields are

far from anywhere.

Two days by post-horse,

three days by chariot,

before you find

the market square.

We have no magistrate

or constable,

and Master Kent is kind.

He's always taken care of us.

We've always taken care of him.

Maybe it is better for the

bachelors to hold their nerve,

and hope that everyone will take

the blaze to be an act of God.

Bad luck, in other words.

And not a soul to blame.

Let's have a look.

Let's see.

Let me do it.

Why's he finger-wagging?

He's counting.

What's he counting?

And what are his

scratchings for?

He's counting us.

-How is your hand today, Walt?

-Master Kent.

-It's healing, no concern.

-Let's see.

You don't want to look at it.

Philip. This is Walter Thirsk.

He was my childhood

friend and my manservant,

but then he fell in

love with a local lass

and he preferred to

attend to her furrows.

So you are a wise man, eh?

I don't know.

Look. I'm just recording and

marking the lie of the land.

So, you see these lines here?

These are your woods,

your fields, the loch.

And this is your village, and...

these small dots here,

these are your people.

What's that?

-This, this is the sea.

-The sea?

I've never been there before.

You must go.

What are these?

This is the compass rose.

Norte, sud.

That's the loch then?

-That is right.

-The oak wood?

Yes, so now you see it, eh?

What's that?

It is a smudge.

Imperfections.

Can be fixed.

It's magical.

Thank you. It's not finished.

It's a beginning.

Yes.

I'm still working on this part.

Maybe we can go there.

Is this what it feels

like to take wing?

I'd love to go there.

That'd be fantastic.

I hope you don't mind me

saying, I just think it's...

Master Kent?

...absolutely wonderful.

Master Kent.

The loch.

Oh, no.

Hello?

There seems to be a problem.

Everyone stay calm.

But I think there's

something down there.

See to the last of

the harvest, Walt.

Come on, hurry up!

Back off!

You f*cking want it? Yeah?

You f*cking mad?

f*ck you!

This is f*cked, man. We've

got a right to be here!

Who are you to come from

nowhere to our land?

-It's not your f*cking land!

-Technically, it's my land.

We know the custom and the law.

We put up walls and made a

fire. We're at liberty to stay!

f*cking walls? That was

sticks and twigs, mate.

f*ck off.

Let us go!

We haven't used that

pillory in years.

Get 'em over there.

You f*cking b*stards.

Get your f*cking hands off me.

f*cking c**t.

-Get your f*cking hands off me.

-We will accept your punishment.

Get down, get down!

Put her in the loch.

Get your hands off of her!

Get your hands off of her.

-How do you lock this thing?

-We'll take your punishment...

Let her go!

Back away! Away.

Let the women do it.

Come here.

Stop it.

You already have one gash,

naebody wants to

give you another.

Listen!

Listen! Eyes on me.

Hello... Keys? Right.

One week.

Yes? One week.

Yous two... must pay for

dining out last night

on fowl that don't

belong to you.

Look, look.

You burn my barn?

You burn my barn.

You ate my doves.

One week will help

you contemplate

better manners.

Better manners!

-You got her?

-Aye.

Hold still.

I've never seen a

woman like that before.

Okay, still. Still.

Why's she looking at us?

It's just not right,

it's just not right.

These f*cking sick magpies.

It's not right, what

happened. It's not right.

Oh, shut up.

Does it matter if

it's not right or not.

Well, I think she looked pretty.

I think all the men did too.

Well, that was obvious.

She could be anywhere, out

there. Anywhere. She should be...

We're too small, and

getting smaller, John.

What?

The crops. They're

quite pathetic.

Some more able hands would make

welcome help in the coming days.

We should let the men loose.

Why don't you say that a wee bit louder

so the whole village can hear you?

I'm only talking to you, John.

This lot...

suspicious of anyone who's not born

with local soil under their fingernails.

You know this.

Aye. But we do need help.

I know we need help.

It's just not right

what they're doing.

Why don't you ask

your pal? Kent?

It's not my place.

-You scared?

-No, I'm not scared.

-Your hogs. On the loose again?

-I know, I'll take care of it.

I don't think Gorge likes me.

That's George.

See, that one's Gorge,

and that one's George.

How can you tell?

There you go.

Everybody! Everybody!

Hey, hey, hey! Quiet.

To Master Kent!

-Thank you.

-Quiet!

Thank you very much.

Hope you are enjoying the food.

Now if I just may, I

may introduce my friend,

Mr Earle.

-Earle? I thought his name was Quill.

-Me too.

You'll see him about in my

employ, because he's making a map,

of all our common land.

Let the man speak.

Here's the dream that I've had.

Safe from vagabonds

and longbows,

you walk about your

fenced-in fields.

You sit in meadows

and you merely watch.

You're not freezing to the bone,

or tugging out weeds until your

backs are stiffer than a plank.

No. We are sitting warm at home,

weaving fortunes for

ourselves from yarn.

Now, somewhere,

too far away to name,

a man puts on a coat,

that we've shepherded,

and then woven with our hands.

A woman pulls a scarf

around her head, and smells

our heathers in its weave.

We start off

with the fleece on the

backs of our sheep,

and with your willing consent,

end up with garments on

the backs of noble folk!

It's a stirring

prospect. Isn't it?

What do you say?

Yes? I think so.

He means to throw a

halter around our lives.

Sheep! Sheep!

-I need a piss, John.

-Sheep! Sheep!

-Our lives.

-Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!

Sheep! Sheep! Sheep!

You are me and me is you.

Thank you all.

Thank you. Enjoy yourselves

tonight! Enjoy yourselves.

Right, everybody. Ready?

Bow!

One, two, three, four.

It's harvest day.

We can do it today.

People are watching, Kitty.

Does it matter? Just today.

Wee baby!

I only wish our wives

were here this night, eh?

You should have told me.

Master Kent has timed

his revelation well.

The veal is his.

The ale is his too.

We are no longer hungry.

We're certainly not sober.

At least for now.

We have become like animals.

Goat drunk and lecherous.

Dog drunk and barking mad.

We do not dare to say

we count ourselves beyond

the Kingdom of God.

But certainly, we do not press

too closely to His bosom.

Rather, we are at

His fingertips.

He touches us

but only just.

It's her.

Mistress 'Belle Dame'.

Beautiful Mistress Beldam.

Mistress Beldam?

Master Kent offers you

shelter for the night.

Mistress?

Don't be afraid.

Master Kent and I,

we want you to be

safe, Mistress.

Keep her safe, Walt.

I didn't do nothing.

I didn't do nothing at all.

I'm no rat.

My name is Walter...

Walter Thirsk.

Did you hear that, mate?

He says he's Walter Thirsk.

The f*cking fat

pig-f*cking f*ck face!

Walter Thirsk f*ck

little piggies!

I see you're struggling...

Do you want me to find you a stone

to stand on, to ease your night?

Is this c**t for real?

Is he trying to say

I'm f*cking totty?

There's nae short-arse

up here, pal.

Did you find her, Walt?

Did you get her shelter, Walt?

Put your back into it, Walt.

Where is she, Walt?

Do you like her, Walt, eh?

Oh, for f*ck's sake.

Pathetic.

I'm sorry.

I'll come back at first

light and bring help, okay?

Some hero you are,

Walter Thirsk.

Hey, Walter.

Walter!

Walter Thirsk has got

a tick in his d*ck,

and a spoon up his a*s, 'cause

he f*ck little piggies!

Good night.

No one sleeps tonight!

No one gets to sleep tonight!

No one gets to sleep tonight!

-Wakey-wakey!

-Rise and shine!

-No one sleeps tonight!

-No one gets to sleep tonight!

I'm gonna party!

Party in the f*cking pillory!

John!

John.

Help me drag a stone

for twinkle-toes there.

-What?

-Bring a stone up to the wee man there.

You broke your cup

of hospitality, mate.

What does it cost you?

It's right there.

How much does it

cost you, f*ck?

What does it cost you, big man?

I know. They don't know

what they're saying.

You're not breaking bread

with them, Walt, are you?

Don't you look a

beggar for the day?

I'm supposed to be the

quill-carrier for the week.

I've got a quill for you 'ere.

Right in my scants.

Master Kent asked me personally

to show the gentleman around.

It's not like I want to.

We were thinking you'd make

the perfect Gleaning Queen.

And what a perfect

Gleaning Queen you'd make,

-eh, Walt?

-Have fun with your Mr Quill.

Are yous too blind to see that I'm

the only one f*cking helping you?

-He's trying to help us.

-What's this then?

Do you want this?

f*cking bunch of tadgers,

look at yous all!

The state of yous!

It's not working.

-Maybe just hold the string.

-I think that'll be fine.

Hello.

-f*ck off, princess.

-Fud.

I know, Willowjack, I know.

This... is a noble day.

Anything you glean

is yours to keep.

For your kitchen

pots, your stews,

or most likely I know, John...

your ales!

In keeping with tradition,

after you will come the

cattle, and then the geese...

Willowjack, come

on, now. Here we go.

As I was saying, after

you will come the cattle,

and then the geese

for fattening,

and finally... the hogs.

And the oxen next!

We'll need to plough soon,

Master Kent, or we'll starve.

Mr Earle! It would be

a pleasing courtesy,

if you were to choose

our Gleaning Queen.

Is Master Kent mad?

We count on you to be an

even-handed judge. Yes?

He's a stranger,

he doesn't know us.

You...

will be the Gleaning Queen.

Your crown, my queen.

Ready?

On we go.

There we go. Oops-a-daisy.

This here belonged to

my wife. Many years ago.

But now, I think it

needs a new home.

I think it should...

belong to you.

Thank you.

Our Gleaning Queen!

f*cking knob-ends.

-You okay?

-I'm f*cking f*cked.

I'm struggling.

Fine place for us to end up.

I'm f*cking sick

of these red roofs.

I wish we did burn

the f*cking barn.

Off, get off.

Look at this, man.

They're f*cking humiliating

us. Look at this!

Look at the state of my

boot. Look! f*cking hell!

These b*stards knew what they were

f*cking doing with the apples.

f*ck off, piggy!

Get tae f*ck!

-f*ck.

-f*ck off!

South field, west field,

east field.

Unimpressive.

We give directions to where

we need to go, Mr Earle.

The Oak Wood.

-The Loch.

-Yes.

The Marsh.

And the Moor.

-Better.

-Better?

Yes.

I have a pair of pigs

called George and Gorge.

I want to find better

names for everything.

We're plain folk, Mr Earle.

Meadowsweet.

-Meadowsweet.

-Good for heartburn.

Dock leaves.

Very good for nettle stings.

Have you had any yet?

I have.

-Here's rough hawk.

-Rough hawk.

Hawkbit.

-What's it for?

-Jaundice.

Okay.

Rushes.

Rushes.

We use them to weave

and make baskets.

You can also dip them in

oil, use them for candles.

-What do we call them?

-Rushes.

Very good, Mr Earle.

-And what is this?

-Rowan tree.

Wards off witches' spells,

protects our beasts from evil.

Also cleans your insides out.

Everything here will

either give you the shits,

or keep you from getting it.

Writing their names is

your way of knowing them?

Naming things is knowing them.

Good morrow, Mother Derby.

Good morrow, Walter.

Good morrow.

Tom.

Lauren.

Esme.

Sorley.

Today's the day we

walk the commons.

Bump the children's heads

against the boundary stones.

So they know where they belong.

But you needn't worry.

You don't belong.

Well, you look lovely in it.

Agnes!

Agnes.

Did he really try and touch

your wee lassie back there?

Aye!

So close.

How dare he take the liberty

to touch my daughter.

I would have snapped

his hand off.

I don't trust that man.

I don't trust Master Kent

for bringing that man in.

Don't trust him with

his charts and his pen.

And picking our Gleaning Queen?

That's not right.

Where are you taking me?

-The bottom.

-The bottom?

Hey-h*, is anyone there?

Walt.

Matthew, Liam.

Your world is humbling

in its beauty.

How shall I name this place?

The Turd and Turf?

The Blossom Marsh.

You make good company, Walt.

I can use an assistant.

Come up to the manor with me.

I haven't been there

for a long time.

Walter.

Mind your hand, eh.

It should be light enough for the

light of a candle to shine through.

But mind your hand.

Can I share something with you?

Okay, this...

is my true account.

Ah, see. You see circles

in the same way I do.

-You see eyes everywhere, like me.

-Yes.

Everything is made up

of circles, isn't it?

Yeah.

Or beautiful...

breasts.

I can see where your mind is.

-So, you like it?

-Very much.

It's a map of dreams.

I'm proud of this one.

Wow. A small frog.

Let me.

He is as snug and personal

with his colours...

as I have learned

to be with clouds.

I have my blues.

This blue betokens harvest days.

It will not rain.

And that one promises

a crack in the frost.

Another, darker,

reveals itself only silently

when the sun has withdrawn

into his bedchamber,

but the windows of his heavens

are not yet quite closed.

This is the blue

that says we're

free to finish work

and rest.

When I was greener

and less timid...

I used to eat them.

They are beyond

forgetting, Mr Earle.

Fairy caps.

Come on, Mr Earle!

So, how did you come to be here?

-You really want to know?

-Yes.

Master Kent.

My mother was his milk nurse.

We were playmates

almost of an age.

Sometimes he let me

borrow his books,

so I was led to read

and write and calculate.

I managed these less

clumsily than he, I dare say.

He brought me with him when Lucy

Jordan agreed to be his wife,

took charge of this estate.

I tumbled into love with

everything I saw this first season.

You know, I don't wish to beat a

drum, but there is something of myself

I see in you, Mr Earle.

Something that is being lost.

Each dawn was like a genesis, I

wanted to immerse myself in it.

I was more of an

angel than a beast.

Such... unexpected solace for a

man most used to market towns.

When I discovered my own wife,

my Cecily,

Master Kent was friend enough

to let me go from his

employment as his service man.

I confided in him

my love for her.

Her hearty laugh,

her sturdiness,

and for the very

crumble of this earth.

He said, 'Then you should

go plough this earth.'

And that is my history.

Not a product of these commons,

just a visitor who stayed.

And you had babies?

That chance was taken from us.

Snatched.

She died too soon.

Bee-stung.

I'm sorry, Walt.

Give me a slap, Mr Earle.

Excuse me?

Give me a slap, Mr Earle.

I, I don't want to slap you.

Please give me a slap, Mr Earle.

A proper slap. Come on.

-Harder.

-Walter.

I need to feel it.

Harder.

Walter.

This is her burial

ground. My Cecily's.

Shared with Mistress Lucy.

They were taken from us

that spring, same spring.

'Tis a sorrow we share,

Master Kent and I.

Don't forget to mark that

on your map, Mr Earle.

-Was all this hers?

-Her inheritance.

But we have the common

right to graze and glean,

to cut wood and

peat, to draw water,

and grow food.

This is our land.

This is our land.

Walter, there is a gentleman who is

making a claim upon your freehold.

But she died during stillbirth.

Her parents produced no sons.

Master Kent is Mistress

Lucy's single heir.

By law, the husband

is not blood.

There is a cousin.

Edmund Jordan.

The changes Master Kent

employed for me to make,

they are not his own.

The sheep, the charts...

They are demanded by the cousin.

And he will arrive soon

to claim his entitlement.

Master Kent is keen that

I share this with you,

and with no other.

You cannot think it

is he who wishes them.

We don't even have a name

for all this, Mr Earle.

It's just the village

surrounded by the land.

Come on, then. Take a good look!

Look at what you've

done, look at him!

-We pray for sinners, for Your mercy...

-You stupid f*cking imbeciles.

He did nothing to you!

...not only for the living, but also

for the dead. We pray for Your mercy...

We pray for sinners,

for Your mercy...

Look at him. What did we do?

Let's help!

No, no, no. You get away.

You and your f*cking pigs!

You could have saved him!

He's dead because of

you and your hogs!

-The keys, Charles!

-Keys, keys.

You did this!

You and your f*cking hogs.

Mr Earle!

You Walt, this is you!

Shut up!

This is your fault!

Oh, the leg.

-Here we go.

-Lift!

John!

John! John!

Charles!

-It was the pigs...

-What?

Is he gone?

Mind his leg!

Come on, be gentle.

-Quickly, hide him! Hide him.

-Don't just stand there.

-Why?

-Hide him where?

I've got it. I've got it.

The poor man!

-Gently, gently! Careful now.

-Hey! What's going on?

Can't hurt him any more.

He's coming. He's coming.

I'm sorry.

Hello, cousin.

Hello, cousin.

Well,

as you can see, we've

had quite the week.

We didn't expect you

today, to be honest. So...

What are you wearing?

Ah, that's better.

-Charles?

-Yes.

How has my cousin

Lucy's fine manor house

ended up as shabby and as

threadbare as a beggar's sack?

Please forgive the

neglect, cousin.

After my wife's passing, I...

I simplified life.

It is my judgement, that you...

make problems for yourself

by being too lenient.

A fire-setter should expect

to have his ears chopped off!

And then be hoisted

to the gibbet.

And the younger man must

still serve out his sentence.

I will personally see to the

burial of this wretched man.

My men will see to his

disposal. Cousin, sit.

I'm a little bit concerned

about your role

in the community.

Well, I like to think of

it as, as one big family.

And every one of us has a role to

play... for the good of the whole.

Yes, yes. It's not by design this

land has fallen into my hands.

I have no desire to

be a country mouse.

Also, agriculture

without profit is absurd.

Personally, I much prefer

to live in my house in town,

and simply check the figures.

What wool has arrived

to my warehouse,

what cloths my hired women

have woven in their looms,

what profits have

been made and lost

to middlemen.

You, sir. Cousin

Charles's friend.

Finish your map-making

before the week is out.

This gentleman, Mr Baynham, is

adept at preparing land for sheep.

This is not the first community

to benefit from his stewardship.

He will be guided

by your charts.

Before the first fall of snow, we

will be structuring everywhere.

Fences, d*kes, walls.

-Reclaiming forestry.

-Yes.

Because how can it profit us,

that there are trees, producing...

shade?

We will be requiring a grid map.

You are familiar with

the latest styles?

Oh, certainly.

A record of the land, notated,

quite independent

of anything alive.

Excellent.

The commons will be cleared

and privately enclosed.

These lands are pasture now, they

will never need another plough.

Cousin, about that.

There's about 50 souls

to feed, thereabouts.

So, they can't, they

gotta eat something...

-They can't just eat grass.

-Yes.

There will be a place for a

few shearers and sheep boys.

Mr Baynham will employ

what hands he needs,

but we will sadly need to

make... cuts on lab our.

Forgive me.

It's Mr Earle, I think,

who should be grateful that he has

no duties other than with maps.

It's a little late to

begin to grow a conscience

about the land that you have

already drawn out of existence.

Don't you think?

No?

When I first started calling

at the Widow Gosse's cottage,

she and I would hardly

look each other in the eye.

Truly, I can only guess

what she sees in me.

And I suppose it is

the same for her.

She finds me inexplicable.

It's not finished yet, but.

I've been too

schooled, she says.

I made this for you.

I'm not even sure if

she and I are friends.

That is the state of widowhood.

We have no idea.

No scratch of wool

next to your skin.

Willowjack's dead.

Right.

That's it, show's over.

I mean you, Abel. Go.

Have your breakfasts.

Show some respect.

Everything's going...

and I don't know

how to stop this.

Walter Thirsk.

Cousin Charles's serviceman.

And closest friend, apparently.

My name's Edmund.

I'm here to make

improvements on our estate.

It's tragic, isn't it, what

happened to Cousin Lucy's mare?

Do you know who did it?

Well, then we must find out.

Charles seems to trust you.

Would you help me ease his pain?

Fantastic.

Horses have enormous,

pumping hearts.

So, blood would

have fountained...

from the animal's head,

the minute that

blade... went in.

So, whoever's responsible

has not escaped dry.

None of you shall stray a step

beyond the threshing barn today,

while my men, accompanied

by one of your own,

search for the spoiled garments.

And one of you cannot expect

to walk these lanes tomorrow,

but will be dragged,

by his heels,

to join the carcass...

Willowjack.

The carcass of...

Willowjack, the horse,

that he k*lled.

And his brother scoundrel,

who thought he could set

fire to his master's doves.

It's that woman.

Sorry, Charles.

Had to be done, you understand.

Let's have a drink.

And whose is this?

Kitty Gosse.

Never seen a pig do that before.

I'm so tired. Cannae

even keep my eyes open.

He better not be lying.

How could he help pull

our cottages apart?

Even yours.

He was caught between

a nettle and a thorn.

Quit defending him.

He's spineless.

That sorceress is behind it all.

She's put a curse onto our land.

See that fancy shawl

she had? She's a thief.

-Should have never let her go.

-You don't even know her!

And can you blame her?

Did you see our

men gawking at her,

each with a lock of her

hair in their lusty pockets?

We are all fair game.

The freehold of our fathers,

then our husbands, then our sons.

No.

The curse started with that

chart-maker, that gentleman.

Walter! Go soft, eh?

You'll rip it.

Remove the skin for me, please.

This one is the grid map

Master Jordan demanded.

As you can see, I have

plaited in the boundary line.

You may as well have

painted the yellow teeth

of a thousand sheep

surrounding us, Mr Earle.

I have walked this

thousands of times.

It's easy going

till you get up to

this ridge here.

This field has a slope,

so it drains well,

but the soil keeps.

You have to use the

cow track there,

at the ridge,

all the way over here...

until you get to here,

which is an open gap.

As you pass along

the lane of thorns,

into the field, where

on a normal harvest day,

you'd find our cattle

gleaning grain.

See this point? This is

when you're too closed in.

Have to climb a tree

for that or be a hawk.

Your account of our land is

not as honest as you'd hoped.

You've flattened us.

Your land is effortless.

A lie.

And yet, I can tell you

exactly where we are upon it.

But not where we will

be in the days to come.

Excuse me.

Have I offended you?

Mr Earle?

Have I said something

to hurt your feelings?

Mr Earle?

You know those people.

-The ones you call 'Beldam'?

-Aye.

Yes, yeah...

Three or four maps ago.

They are from a village

not unlike your own.

A village that you flattened.

Walter.

I am a chart-maker.

But I am not a fool.

I ply my trade, I make my living

and when my job is

complete, I move on.

How do you sleep?

How do you silence your demons?

Hello.

Hi.

So where did you

find that shawl?

Whose version of events

should I believe?

-Hey! Hey!

-Hey!

Lizzie Carr was bound to be

noticed by Master Jordan's men,

sporting such a fine

cloth upon her shoulders.

You're making it

up as you go along.

Anne Rogers is the fiery sort.

And Kitty is mulish

when she wants to be.

Wait. We're coming!

We're coming.

With Lizzie.

I can't imagine

them standing aside.

We're done for.

And I'm sure our arsonists judged

this the moment to pack up and go

before their foolish

secret was uncovered.

-Kitty! What's going on?

-Deirdre.

Hey. Here. Take her.

-Very pretty, aren't you?

-Who are you?

Let's have some fun. Come on.

Get off me, you creep!

Get off!

Let me go!

No, no.

-Not you, horse-man!

-Excuse me...

What's all this ruckus about?

What's going on

here? Who's in there?

I cannot condemn my

neighbours for closing ranks.

Gervase? Agnes?

-What's happened?

-Who wants to know?

You're not the man we trusted.

Not one of us after all.

-Excuse me?

-Helping them.

Traitor.

If you've kept

secrets from us...

I don't keep secrets.

Some want to march to the manor

house like maddened geese.

But they are only honking.

Others say let the

evening run its course.

Open the door, please!

The master's bound to intercede.

Get Cousin!

This is my house, g*dd*mn it!

This is my house!

Comfy?

Yes, thank you.

Have you seen Lizzie?

Is Lizzie okay?

We've had enough of this!

Who k*lled the horse?

We haven't done anything.

-Is she the ringleader?

-Ringleader of what?

Who are the witches?

-Are you the witches?

-What are you talking about?

We're witches?

The girl... Is

she the sorceress?

-Is she the one to blame?

-Come on, ladies!

No, no, no! It's that woman...

Gentleman! It's that gentleman.

Which gentleman?

That chart-maker.

Tell him, little girl. Tell him.

About the chart-maker.

He was the one

that made me queen.

So he gave you the shawl?

Knew it.

Alchemy.

Do you play chess?

No.

I'll teach you.

-Lizzie!

-Master Kent!

The queen is the most powerful.

Master Kent!

We've come to see Master Kent.

He's unavailable.

Is he hiding?

Master Jordan, then.

Master Jordan is

also... unavailable.

We've come to fetch our women!

-First, the names of all complicit.

-Complicit?

-I hear there's witchery about.

-What!

That's a charge we don't even

let our children to make!

Listen. We believe

it to be coincidence

that f*cking

chart-maker turns up,

and then those couple of c**ts

in the pillory at the same time?

Aye, him and Walter Thirsk.

They've been in each

other's pockets.

Aye, they're as

thick as thieves.

And he's not even

here with us now.

Why's that? When his own

sweeting is in there?

They have to take

care of their own.

It's no surprise.

I'm not included in 'our own'.

I almost welcome it.

And I, the

chart-maker's assistant,

his vellum-maker,

I can be of no use to him now.

Show them to us.

-Go home.

-What?

No way.

Bring us the girls.

If you go home, everyone will

be safe, including the women.

-Let's see them first.

-Aye.

-Why did you take them?

-Show them in a window.

You seem like a reasonable man.

What are you gonna do?

Storm your master's house?

I wouldn't advise it.

Take them home.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow what?

Tomorrow.

You have my word.

-How good is your word?

-Aye, how good is your word?

As good as my handshake.

...if that was me in there...

Tomorrow.

He gave us his word.

Brother, I brought

you some water.

Listen...

I'm sorry about your friend.

-We trust him, John?

-Tonight?

Let's go. They've

got until tomorrow.

Let's go, Agnes. Come on.

-Let's go.

-Tomorrow!

Master Jordan must think there's

none more pitiful than us.

None more meek.

He's not wrong.

He will replace us

with nobler stock.

Not one of our people

came to help us.

Not even Walt.

We both know he was never

going to come anyway.

Wait!

Wait!

You're never gonna catch her.

Wait!

Don't be scared.

Wait, eh!

You destroyed our village.

Tomorrow this village is gone.

Your maps,

they ruin lives.

Mr Quill.

Mr 'Pity.'

Pity for what?

You don't feel

sorry for anything.

You think it is easier

to invent names for things,

when you know they

are already gone?

-What?

-Philip Earle?

Walter.

-Walter.

-Walter.

Walter.

Charles.

He...

He means to shear us all.

Master Jordan?

Well, stop it then, Charles.

He dressed me.

You going somewhere?

No.

I fear that... the women have...

endured a night of punishment.

Surely you defended them?

I mean, they locked

me in my room.

I was, I was confined.

I was left toothless.

What could I do, you know?

You did nothing?

I did nothing.

And you did nothing, too.

I don't deserve her, do I?

Probably not.

And what do we do now?

I don't know.

And Mr Earle?

Well, he was named ringleader.

My cousin's men are

looking for him just now.

Who's that man?

-What's he even doing here?

-I don't like him.

I don't know, ignore him.

What's he doing here?

Ripe as apples, you are.

Move!

Creep.

Feisty.

Where do you suppose that chart-maker

might've found some secret refuge?

Where's my daughter,

you son of a b*tch?

It's Lizzie Carr I'm talking of.

You've seen her, haven't ya?

She's just a wee twig of a girl.

Your master has her

up at the big hoose.

She owned up to

all her wickedness.

And if she's just a twig,

she'll burn nicely like

those other she-devils.

We'll have a bit of

charcoal from her yet.

You pig!

What have you done?

You touch her, I will k*ll you!

f*cking pig!

Creepy b*stard!

Look at him now.

May God forgive me.

He's bringing soldiers.

There's no misunderstanding now.

We're done for.

I'm dead.

The world outside the village cannot be

as frightening as Master Kent claims it.

But no matter what

it will be new for us.

I want to see this world.

-Ready?

-Ready.

Here.

Thank you!

Liam!

Liam!

Where are you going?

Nobody knows.

John!

What about Kitty, huh?

Anne Rogers?

Your wee niece Lizzie Carr?

You're gonna leave 'em behind?

Our staying won't save them.

And little Lizzie?

At best she'll be orphaned.

Her mum and dad

set upon that man.

They cannae expect to live.

Nor can any Carr.

You backed a broken horse.

Your names will be

forgotten in towns,

your faces won't

ring a bell, John.

Better than being hunted down,

and left to clog up the rivers.

Save yourself, Walt.

Take care of yourself.

Ah, just the man

I'm looking for.

Come in, help yourself.

What happened to

your face, Walt?

You cannae have gotten

much sleep last night, eh?

And counting sheep

is not the remedy.

So, firstly, since you

still have your tongue,

an account of what happened

in the village this morning.

Has anyone remained?

No one has stayed

who's born here.

Did they speak of their return?

No.

What frightened mice

your neighbours are.

Well. We leave today, also.

With Cousin Charles

in our good company.

So you are leaving?

-Yes.

-Yes.

Yours has been a

village of enough.

Soon, it will be a

settlement of plenty.

Wouldn't that be nice, Walt?

My steward Baynham

has already ridden off

to organise the

purchase of the sheep.

So, in the coming months, you can

expect the arrival of hired hands,

who will lodge in

your empty cottages,

while trees are cut

and stalls are built.

And then, when the autumn

comes, the shepherds will arrive

and they will carry with

them coins for your wage.

So you want me to stay, Charles?

Unfortunately, you can

rely only upon yourself

for company, in the beginning.

Yourself and Mr Pillory.

To my reckoning, the man has

three more days to serve,

so don't show him lenience, otherwise

you really will be on your own.

I have your word?

Set him free only when

the hour lets him free?

I'll need the keys.

Keys.

I... I spoke to Cousin,

and I promise you, Walt,

the women, they will be released

when we reach our new home.

It's my demand to see

Kitty, Anne and Lizzie,

to see them walk

freely on the streets.

I promise you.

-Do you remember this game?

-Aye.

What about this game?

Yes!

Yes! Yes!

I win!

You win, Charles.

You're very short,

Charles, aren't you.

Such a small creature.

Very snappy, very quick.

You'd look handsome

tall, Charles.

Ah, to be back in town!

You must be very glad to

be leaving this place.

Stinks of sh*t.

There's no one left except me.

You can walk among our cottages

and help yourselves

to whatever you want.

What's your name?

That's mine to keep.

Ploughing is our sacrament.

Our solemn oath.

And not to mark our future in the

soil, before the winter comes,

is to say there's

no next spring.

Master Jordan said,

'You'll never need

the plough again.'

To this I say,

I will defend the coming spring.