World Without End

- Hello, Bill. - Here, have an apple on me.

Oh, thank you.

Caris. Caris.

Have you spoke to your father?

- About what? - Is it true?

Has the old king been murdered?

There's a rumour around the market.

I don't want to believe it, but if I heard it

from the head of the guild...

Father doesn't trade in rumours much. Sorry.

- Mattie. - Caris!

Mother's got her headaches again.

Oh, don't worry. I'll make her yarrow tea.

Can you make it stronger this time?

They keep coming back.

I'll add some chokecherry bark.

- And some dried bergamot. - You've been paying attention.

I hear the old king's dead.

Murdered in prison, Father said.

God save us. Come.

Yah!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

That hurt?

- No. - Good.

- Yes. - Oh! Ah!

That was unfair.

But you're dead.

Again. Get up!

- Oh! - Aw!

Ahhh!

Ahhhhh!

Hey, hey, hey, hey! Hey, we have no fight with you.

- Who are you? - I'm Merthin Fitzgerald and this is my brother, Ralph.

Our father's Sir Gerald, the Earl of Shiring.

Who fought for the king in the late civil war?

Yes. God save His Majesty's soul.

Whose side were you on?

It no longer matters.

I was making for Kingsbridge Priory.

Can you help me?

Before I bleed to death.

Is it love, or passing fancy?

Greetings, Mother Cecilia.

I was just admiring the Lord God's gifts.

Oh, really?

And I thought that it was merchants' gifts bought

with merchants' tithes. Thank you.

Good day, Mother Cecilia. It's freezing in here. Build up the fire

for Mother Cecilia.

Goose?

Well, no reason why our weekly meetings shouldn't be tasty.

Godwyn, when you've done, pour some hot cider for our Mother Prioress.

Gladly, Uncle.

Are we celebrating?

Today is my nephew's birthday. He turns 21.

Congratulations, Godwyn.

- Thank you, Mother Cecilia. - Has your uncle

blessed you with a birthday gift?

He's sending me to Oxford to study medicine.

How very generous.

How on earth will you afford that?

You want me to pay for his education.

- Well, since the nuns hold the priory purse strings... - Because the widows are

generous in their wills and we are thrifty.

But there's a fine line between thrifty and miserly,

- Mother Cecilia. - Is that supposed to charm me?

Prior Anthony.

Excuse me, Mother. There's a knight,

he's in the kitchen, he's badly wounded.

There's nothing a good

purging won't heal. Hold still.

Ahhhh! Blood of Christ!

Ahhhhh!

What is this? What's this commotion?

Your physician is trying to bleed me out.

It needs to bleed to balance the humours.

And who are you, Sir Knight?

Sir Thomas Langley, knight to Queen Isabella.

Joseph, do something. He's the queen's man.

Oh, well, perhaps

a poultice of dung to reconnect the body to the earth.

- You need to stop the bleeding! - What are you doing here?

You're not a physician. Get out!

I sent for her, Brother Joseph.

Caris, take that towel. Come on, now, tie it around his arm!

- Above the wound. - That towel is used

- for communion! - All the better then. Tight,

draw it tight! You, give her a hand.

This is outrageous. Stop it!

Mattie Wise, I think it's best you leave. Brother Joseph knows what he's doing.

You don't belong here! You're-you're-you're only

- a barber's daughter! - He was also a surgeon. Wine!

We need wine to wash the wound.

Wine will imbalance the body's humours!

Dung will clot the wound and help it heal!

- Don't worry about the blood, Caris. Pull it tight! - It's stopping.

The bleeding's stopping.

Good. Needle and thread.

We have to make sure all the feathers are pulled from the wound.

Keep it clean.

Brother Godwyn, perhaps you should avoid a degree

in medicine if the sight of blood disturbs you so.

No, I'll get accustomed in time.

Oh. Well, tell me, then,

which is correct: dung, or wine?

If I agree... I'll sponsor you at Oxford.

Wine certainly has its place...

but dung is always to be preferred.

Ah.

A considered choice.

But not, in my opinion, the correct one.

Prior.

Prior, may I have a word with you alone?

- You wish to make your confession? - I...

I wish to become a monk.

The priory is far too poor, Sir Thomas, to take on another member.

Unless you can pay the costs, which are considerable.

I have a sponsor.

- (man): Amen. - (a few men): Amen.

We herewith lay to rest

the body of Edward II,

King of England.

- The queen? - Yes.

Seems she owes him a favour.

How fortunate for us that he chose to come here.

Not fortunate at all, I fancy.

Why?

With the king recently dead and talk that he was murdered?

The death was an accident. The king fell in prison and broke his neck.

- You mean he was hanged. - Shh!

- You mustn't say that. - There are darker rumours too--

red hot poker up his rear. - But none of this is our affair.

His death--however he died-- was God's judgement.

With that knight here? I wish I could be so sure.

Vous êtes la bijou dans le couronne d'England, Majesté.

I much prefer English to your hideous French,

Sir Roland. What is it you want?

I merely wish to express how honoured I feel

to have played a small role in your glorious victory.

Of course.

The only man from Kingsbridge to have fought in your favour.

Really?

Oh, I'm sure there were many of Kingsbridge who we with you in spirit...

but who were simply too busy making money, feeding the king's army.

- Kingsbridge? - Yes. The home of Sir Gerald,

the Earl of Shiring. Is he here?

I haven't seen him.

Are you suggesting

that he conspires against me, Sir Roland?

In Kingsbridge, not just him, but many others.

I have compiled a list.

It would seem that I need new blood in Kingsbridge.

Are you equal to the task, Sir Roland?

I seek only to serve, Your Majesty.

Merci, mon Queen chérie, merci.

What a toad.

Toads also have their uses.

: Ugh!

Honestly, Godwyn!

What were you thinking with Mother Cecilia?

- I don't like blood! - Apparently!

Dear God.

If you want to advance beyond being Prior Anthony's lackey,

you must learn never to show your weaknesses in public.

How was I to know the kitchen would be running with gore? (She sighs.)

Obviously we can forget about medicine,

but you still need an Oxford education, and it's up to me to secure it.

But you've no money, Mother.

I'll sell this house,

- crumbling though it may be. - Where would you live?

Why, with you, of course, in Oxford.

No, I'll move in with my brother.

He'll have to take me.

But Uncle Edmund has no room for you.

Then the good Lord must provide.

Lord Almighty, give me strength.

Sorry that took so long, Father.

Come here. I want your opinion.

Which one would you buy?

- Where did you get them? - Never you mind that.

Just tell me which one you favour.

Um...

the red one; much softer.

Well, I was afraid you'd say that.

Wrong choice?

The blue one is Kingsbridge wool.

The red is from Penzance by way of Shiring.

- Oh. And what's in it? - Angora, perhaps.

All I know is we need to make our wools soft or see Kingsbridge ruined.

Father, you're always exaggerating.

Possibly. But as head of the guild, it is my duty to engage in such problems.

You'll find a way. How's Mother?

Resting.

It will take weeks for your letter to reach the queen and hear if she will

- even accept your offer. - She will.

And where is your home, by the way?

In case we need to... notify.

This is my home now.