Will

The theatre... you must go, now.

Let it burn! Let it burn! It's over!

It's imperative you find Southwell's manuscript.

Seize him! I've never seen them before, sir. We haven't lived here...

Ohh!

You must see God's larger plan in all this.

Or is it only about your plan? Your glory? Your fame?

- Is hell real? - Very.

Then show me the Devil.

For the lives of my family... all my knowledge is yours.

I see nothing!

Shakespeare saw.

You tore out my heart, and I hate you!

If you ever need to talk, I'm a very good listener.

Do not consider these vermin human!

Southwell's manuscript. Where is it?

You are going to write me a play.

The Devil onstage?

It is the greatest part thou will ever play.

Pope: Padre Robert Southwell, Londra.

Dio sia con te.

- Girl: Excuse me? - Man: Yes?

What's the way to London? It's right this way. Just follow that road.

Good people of England!

Witness the fate

of those who dare challenge the word of God!

Man: Traitor!

Topcliffe: Our wondrous Queen has decreed that

we shall not tolerate

those who conspire to corrupt England and her Church!

The false church of Rome plots through terror

to lead you on its fetid path to eternal damnation!

Topcliffe: When we stand before the Lord,

we must say that we have done all in our power

to defend God and England!

Thus, Jerome Gregorius Neemes,

you are condemned to death for your treason!

Man: Burn in hell, Catholic!

Traitor!

Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentum,

Creatorem caeli et terrae.

Descendit ad infernos.

Tertia die resurrexit a mortius,

ascendit ad caelos.

Southwell: I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the Holy Catholic Church...

the resurrection of the body,

the communion of the saints, the forgiveness of sins,

and life everlasting.

Benedicto te.

Amen.

Lamb's best on Sunday.

Though I eat it when I can, and happy for it.

I would pay a groat for that one.

Were it a shilling, you would own it.

I've come to beg your assistance.

I promised Presto vengeance, but now I must write a play

for the very monster I must defeat.

How may I help?

Urge Hunsdon to have the Queen remove Topcliffe.

If Her Majesty knew the true extent

of the man's depravities...

No.

With these words, I trust you with my life.

Sir Francis Walsingham is gravely ill.

Hunsdon will champion Topcliffe to replace him

as the Queen's spymaster.

Why would he do that?

Greed.

Without Walsingham to restrain him,

Topcliffe will wreak havoc.

Blood will run through the streets.

This cannot happen!

It will happen.

Oh, how this spurs on my dull revenge.

You can only do what you can, Will.

Some fight with a sword. You fight with a pen.

Pathetic.

We must all be the hero we were born to be.

What did you say?

I only meant...

Yes.

Thank you.

It's all about you.

Me?

I explicitly stated I desired a play

to discredit Robert Southwell.

And so it shall,

because you will defeat him.

The hero of this story shall be you.

I need to know everything about you.

"My horse! My horse!

"My fortune for a horse!" I cried.

I rode at breakneck speed through the city

and lead the charge through the door.

Had you no fear?

Fear?

The cause is too great to allow for timidity.

Neemes... huge beast. Fought like the devil.

I bested him man-to-man.

My son was there.

He was quite proud.

Yes. He must've been.

And then, using your techniques...

you broke him.

Yes.

Made him cower, weep,

beg for his life?

For his death.

That must be quite... a feeling.

Well, I hope you do not suggest I enjoy the work

that I carry out in our Queen's name.

All that I do is for God and our reverent Majesty.

Of course.

But to have the ability,

the license to uncover men's secrets,

is something we mortals can only dream of.

I should one day like to have that...

Godly experience.

Mm. Godly.

Yes, for God.

As God.

His instrument.

It must quicken the blood.

Quicken?

Mm, yes, it does.

Tell me.

Mm, they often soil themselves.

They know who their master is.

Hmm. 'Tis I.

Filthy Catholics.

By my troth! You are the spitting image!

No!

Fact! You are the goddess Isis incarnate.

You lie to undress me.

I do, yes, and that's a compliment,

as I am a professional liar

and normally get paid for the service.

Meg, time.

Why so soon?

To avoid regret. Come, Meg. The Watch will be out.

Nay, it's an hour off.

Regret or the Watch?

My friend is enamored of dark, angry ones.

Stay but a moment?

Friend!

There is a beauty asking after you.

You see? She likes you.

I'm content. Thank you, Richard.

Content? We must live fast, die young.

All right! Only if you promise to shut up.

The dark one is yours.

- Nay, you said... - I'm back. Did you miss me?

- Yeah. - A little bit?

Come on...

Good evening. Best not begin what must inevitably fail.

Shameless as these Catholics are,

they think to shield themselves with the weaker

will weaken my resolve,

that I am too full of the milk of human kindness

to prosecute my duty.

But the weaker my object,

the stronger I must be.

Object.

Not human, but... other.

What are you saying?

Merely that...

you are a special kind of human, sir,

one that must be truly and closely studied.

What?

- Impossible. - I know. You made that clear.

Were you attempting a Bohemian Waxwing?

Shite! Yes.

Shite is right. You're a horrible bird caller.

The Bohemian Waxwing's my fourth favorite bird.

R-really?

What's your third favorite?

The Mistle Thrush.

Have you stashed the little fellow in your throat?

Teach me.

Go on.

Erm, okay.

Push your lips forward.

Like this...

Sort... sort... sort of...

Hmm?

"The weaker the object,

the stronger my resolve."

Bastard.

I supped with Topcliffe.

And live to tell.

I feel...

soiled.

Take off your clothes.

Pardon?

Do as I say.

Terror, in the service of God.

The hypocrite.

He smiles and smiles and talks of God and Queen and country.