The Bastard Executioner

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I am devoted.

Your servant.

You have a destiny to claim.

Tell me...

heavenly one.

Tell me what you will have me do.

It is time to lay down the sword, Wilkin Brattle.

Your savior needs you

to live the life of a different man.

Yes.

I will.

I understand.

I will.

_

The dream?

You're my only dream.

Will you ever tell me what you see?

I see only my lovely Petra.

Oh, please.

How can you desire such a cow?

Oh, but a beautiful cow it is.

Oh, he kicks fierce

as his father this morning.

How do you know it's a he?

Annora insists

your firstborn will be an heir.

Ah, we're taking divine council

from the Slavic witch now, are we?

She's a healer, not a witch.

Her herbs help my weakness and sleep.

And the silent hooded one... does he offer

dirt scratch visions of our son's fate?

Yea.

Insists he'll be as pious

and mule-headed as his father.

I'm not mule-headed.

- I just devote to the thing at hand. - Good.

Get your breeches up

and devote to filling the barrels.

We're near out of water.

Think that would be a task for a strong cow.

Oh, no! Oh!

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I'm sure they're wasted seeds.

Like the rest.

God will bestow us with a child in his time, Erik.

Then let God waste his hours

chasing a barren hole with swollen meat.

Come.

Morning, Baroness.

Morning.

Should I draw a bath, milady?

I need more than a bath,

sweet Isabel.

So much more.

It is time.

Your pagan confidant awaits you.

As does your fur-covered squire.

I'm looking.

Calm yourself.

You're such an impatient ewe.

I'll sheer you raw,

throwing that in my face.

It was but one time.

Very dark.

She had familiar wool.

I am true.

And you're one to talk.

Yeah, I see you in the fields.

Your tartish play.

Catching a rub on every buck and ram.

Mutton troubles, my friend?

Good day, Wilk, Petra.

She's a bit of crankypox.

I know.

Perhaps Miriam needs a little rest.

That's all she does is sleep.

Sleep, eat and shit.

That's because it's a sheep.

Oh, wit.

Yeah.

And a beautiful one.

Yeah, I'm sorry, honeypot.

I know. My fault.

Love spreads like a sweet healing balm.

Yea.

How many troops with the tax collector?

Three knights of the familia, five horsemen.

All skilled.

These hooded thieves will meet a fierce surprise.

And if their hoods hide the faces of rebels?

They would ride in numbers with their wolf.

The Byth Encil wouldn't just steal

a mere piece of your bounty, my lord.

These attacks are an assertion of condition.

It's righteous peasants setting their own rule of tribute.

Then crush them, Milus.

They ignite the rabble.

If they steal from us again,

we'll have more aspiring outlaws than servants to wipe my shit.

Take care, fool.

You're not scrubbing a floor.

Mes plus sincères excuses, mon Leige.

Brother Wilk.

We've heard from our friends in Glen Darby Birch.

Ventris comes again. Collectors.

- Already? - More brutal than ever.

Doubled the tax, doubled the guards.

They'll be at our door by daybreak.

Our journey is longer traveling off the main trails.

We need to ride now if we want to catch them in darkness.

His troops will be ready for us.

The risk grows too great.

They'll take what little stock and harvest we have left.

A winter of starvation is the greater risk.

We can't do this without you.

Yea.

Gather supplies.

We'll need to ride before midday.

- I want to fight, Wilk. - No, Ash.

- You're of better use here. - But I'm of proper age.

It's a proper mind we're in need of.

I'm clever.

Please, I want to help.

If we need to make haste

off beaten paths, no one knows the woods

- better than our clever trapper. - Yeah. True.

I know every twig from here to the sea caverns.

- Please. - You can ride with us,

but you don't fight. And the sheep stays here.

I get a hood though, right?

Yea. I'll make you one out of sheepskin.

You can leave Miriam

in our pen; she'll be safe there.

You're a cruel one, Toran Prichard.

He's tupping mindless beasts, and I'm the cruel one?

Come on.

Come on there, boys.

I know that look.

You should.

I wear it often.

Ventris is sly and brutal.

It's only time and chance before you feel his blade.

You're not a rebel, Wilkin.

Let the band of Byth Encil

take their defiant vengeance to our baron.

This isn't about vengeance.

You heard your father.

We take this risk

to survive.

The baron's tax leech comes twice a season now.

We've barely stock and food to live.

You're the only stock I can't live without!

Good morning, farmer.

Fair dame.

And how is our gentle lytling doing today?

Very active.

A life eager

to begin a greater journey.

Yea.

You must cover this wound.

The spill layer of the river swims with sickness.

I'm fine.

And in three days' time,

you will be weak and fevered.

Boil these.

Soak the wound in the broth.

Yea.

Thank you.

The other man.

God has put him on our path.

Quarter rips for the other two quaints.

_

It's double shillings for that.

Finish the task.

Fair rate will follow.

Did you soak the rag in dumb paste?

I... I...

The pot wouldn't fit in the bags, Father.

But I can...

Stupid and weak.

Stupid and weak.

God, I hate when she does that.

Milady?

Lady Love?