THE JESTER'S DAUGHTER
A "reading" screenplay by
Peter D. Wilson
A greatly expanded treatment of the
story "Ernscar" in the author's collection
"Pebbles
from a Northern Shore"
Copyright Peter D. Wilson 2011
Peter D. Wilson asserts his right under the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
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Disclaimer
This script is a work of fiction, and any resemblance therein to persons in real life is coincidental.
Cover photograph: Lindisfarne Castle,
Northumberland, UK;
Copyright Peter D. Wilson 2011
CONTENTS
GEOFFREY: A retired businessman in his mid–fifties who after building up a successful engineering works from scratch has sold it for a good price and used the proceeds to buy Ernscar Castle; cultured and good–natured.
HELEN: His wife, the one conventionally religious member of the family; anxious for grandchildren – so long as they are conceived in wedlock.
JOHN: Geoffrey and Helen's son, about 30, with an unspecified professional job in a city some distance away. Single, would like to marry, but after an abortive near–engagement some years back is nervous of forcing the issue. Tends to flippancy if conversation becomes serious.
ANNE: His girl friend. An art gallery attendant, no oil painting herself but pleasant in appearance and manner.
BRIAN: An old friend of Geoffrey's, and John's godfather. After a wild youth he has astonished everyone by gaining a chair of theology at a respectable university. Ready as the occasion suggests to be either jocular or serious in treating the subject, though never portentous.
ROBERT: Fifteenth–century Lord Ernscar, intelligent, humane by the standards of his time, anxious for good government in a time of conflicting political interests under a weak and incompetent king.
JUSTIN: Bishop of the local diocese. Robert's oldest and closest friend, a partner in trying to keep some order in the political situation; glad to forget his ecclesiastical dignity when staying at Ernscar.
NICHOLAS: Justin's favourite page, first met as a child, later in his mid–teens; orphaned and treated almost as a son. More arty than chivalric, though no wimp.
ALISON: Daughter of Robert's Fool, much the same age as Nicholas and forming an instant rapport with him; pretty, cheerful and teasing.
Setting
Mostly in or around Ernscar Castle, somewhere in the north of England; a few interior scenes in mediaeval Bruges.
Time
The present day and the 1430s.
FADE UP TO THE STREET IN FRONT OF A FASHIONABLE ART GALLERY: PRESENT TIME
A Friday evening. John drives up, parks in front of the gallery and hoots. Anne emerges from it with a weekend case which after a quick kiss John puts in the boot. They drive away out of the town.
CUT TO A WINDING COUNTRY ROAD
As the car progresses the road ahead is seen through the windscreen from the rear seat. Views to the side are restricted by hedges and occasional trees. Opening credits may roll before the dialogue.
JOHN: Not far now. You're very quiet.
ANNE: A bit nervous.
JOHN: They'll love you, believe me.
ANNE: I'm just afraid of making some dreadful gaffe.
JOHN: Not you!. And if you did, they'd probably just laugh it off.
ANNE: I do want to make a good impression.
JOHN: Of course you do. And you will – you can't help it.
ANNE: I wish I could be so sure. Especially after being late getting away.
JOHN: They'll understand. Dad was an engineer, after all – he knows as well as anyone that you can't just drop a job when it needs to be finished.
Pause.
JOHN: Nearly there. You see that tall tree about half a mile ahead? With a couple of shorter ones beside it?
ANNE: Yes?
JOHN: Just round that bend you'll get the first view of the house.
ANNE: I've been imagining a country cottage with roses or clematis round the door. But it's probably nothing like that at all.
JOHN: Didn't I tell you?
ANNE: I don't think so.
JOHN: Then it'll be a surprise for you.
ANNE: Something special?
JOHN: It is, rather. But you'll see.
Pause. The car reaches the trees and rounds the corner. Ahead, perched on an outcrop of rock, is Ernscar Castle – much modified over the years, but still showing its early origins. The setting sun, dipping below a layer of cloud, casts a golden light on it.
ANNE: Wow! Is that it?
JOHN: It is.
ANNE: Stop a moment, will you?
John stops. Anne gazes for a while in appreciation.
ANNE: Hmm. Very impressive.
JOHN: Yes, though it's actually quite small, as castles go.
ANNE: Still not exactly a country cottage. Don't tell me that's your ancestral home!
JOHN (laughing): Hardly. Dad bought the place when he retired.
ANNE: It must have cost a packet.
JOHN: Actually the place had been neglected for ages and was going for – well, not a song, but a good deal less than an opera. It needed a lot doing to it.
ANNE: So the total bill must still have been pretty steep.
JOHN: Yes, but luckily he'd got a good price for the business, and Mum won a lottery jackpot about then too. So we do have all mod. con.
ANNE: Thank goodness for that! But come on, we'd better get a move on.
CUT TO THE CASTLE COURTYARD.
John and Anne arrive at the main door. Anne alights, John takes two cases from the boot. Geoffrey and Helen emerge and greet Anne.
HELEN: So here you are at last!
JOHN: Sorry we're late –
HELEN: No, I mean we've been waiting for months to meet Anne.
GEOFFREY: Yes, why have you kept her to yourself for so long? Welcome to Ernscar, Anne.
ANNE: Thank you, Mr. –
GEOFFREY: Oh, for goodness' sake, no formality. I'm Geoffrey, this is Helen. Now do come in.
CUT TO THE ENTRANCE HALL.
The group enters.
HELEN: Dinner's pretty nearly ready, so don't bother changing. I don't want to upset Mabel – a girl from the village who does most of our cooking. She can be a bit temperamental. But you'd probably like to freshen up.
ANNE: Yes, please.
HELEN: I've put you in a room overlooking the garden – I hope that's all right?
ANNE: Yes, of course, I'm sure it will be.
HELEN: I'll let John take you up – I must see how Mabel's getting on. Will a quarter of an hour be enough for you, Anne?
ANNE: Yes, thank you.
HELEN: Right.
FADE IN TO A 15th CENTURY TOWN STREET
The street is not immediately recognisable as mediaeval since a timber–framed house is burning fiercely and little else can be seen through the swirling smoke. Vague figures are scurrying around in ineffectual activity or stand gaping. The roof collapses in a burst of flame and sparks that engulf the remaining structure.
DISSOLVE TO THE SAME, SOME HOURS LATER.
Daylight and an outward zoom show more of the street. Justin is gazing at the smouldering ruin, attended by town officials including Hobbs, the constable.
JUSTIN: Terrible! What about the family?
HOBBS: All perished, my lord. Not a chance of getting out – the fire spread too fast.
JUSTIN: Do we know how it happened?
HOBBS: No mystery there. It was started deliberately. We've got the culprit.
JUSTIN: Already? Are you sure?
HOBBS: No doubt of it. He's confessed – swearing blind of course that he didn't mean to hurt anyone..
JUSTIN: How did you get to him?
HOBBS: He was in the alehouse last night, roaring drunk, cursing Will Palmer and swearing to get his own back. Dozens of people heard him. It was obvious.
JUSTIN: Getting his own back – for what?
HOBBS: That legal case against you that Will got dismissed last month.
JUSTIN: Oh, it was that Watkins fellow, was it?
HOBBS: Yes, that's him.
CUT TO THE TOWN GATE.
Nicholas, aged nine, and his uncle Matthew arrive on a single horse. Evidently unaware of the tragedy, they are tracked through the streets until they see the ruin, then stop in horror. Nicholas wails and bursts into tears.
CUT BACK TO JUSTIN AND HIS GROUP.
Justin spots the arrivals and goes to meet them. Matthew dismounts. Neither wastes time on formalities.
JUSTIN: Matthew! This is a terrible business.
MATTHEW: What happened?
JUSTIN: Arson, I'm afraid.
MATTHEW: Did anyone ...?
Justin shakes his head sadly.
JUSTIN: But I see one of the family is safe, thank God. It isn't quite as bad as we thought.
MATTHEW: Bad enough. But Nicholas has been staying with us for a few days.
JUSTIN: Lucky for him – as far as it goes. But what's going to happen to him now?
MATTHEW (doubtfully): Well, of course he'd be welcome to live with us – only it's a bit difficult ...
JUSTIN: There is another possibility. Would you mind if I took him into my household? He's been to the palace often enough with Will, he knows some of the people there ...
MATTHEW: Mind? I'd be delighted. It's very good of you, my lord ...
JUSTIN: Not at all. It's something I can do for Will. He did a good deal for me.
MATTHEW: Well, Nicholas, what do you think of that? Would you like to go and stay with the bishop?
Nicholas, in shock, nods dumbly, Matthew lifts him down, Justin puts an arm round his shoulder and they walk off together, Nicholas carrying his little pack of belongings. Matthew remains in discussion with Hobbs.
FADE IN TO THE APPROACH TO THE CASTLE IN THE PRESENT TIME.
John's car approaches as before. The action freezes at the first sight of the castle. A sequence of still shots at the same place in varying weather follows with Anne in different seasonal costumes. The last merges into continuing action, with cloud clearing from the west and an occasional rumble of thunder.
ANNE: Ah. It's almost like coming home.
JOHN: Good. And it looks as though we'll be spared a soaking.
ANNE: Thank goodness! I was a bit worried when we passed through that downpour.
JOHN: Think we'd get washed away?
ANNE: No, but I've only just had my hair done. Getting out of the car into anything like that would have ruined it in seconds.
JOHN: Just as well it's clearing, then.
CUT TO THE CASTLE COURTYARD.
The car drives up to the door. John takes luggage from the boot, Anne alights, Helen emerges and embraces her.
HELEN: Hello, dear. It's lovely to see you again.
ANNE: Lovely to be here. I'm so sorry to be late – again. I just couldn't get away.
HELEN: That's all right. Dinner isn't quite ready yet – though it's pretty close.
Geoffrey also comes out and takes one of the suitcases.
JOHN: I could manage, you know.
GEOFFREY: Afraid I'll expect a porter's tip?
JOHN: Where do you find a porter these days?
GEOFFREY: On a Miss Marple DVD, perhaps. Can't think of anywhere in real life.
HELEN: Well don't stand around arguing. Come inside.
CUT TO THE INTERIOR.
All enter.
GEOFFREY: By the way, John, Brian's here as well. Arrived half an hour ago but had to sort out some little problem.
JOHN: Oh? What brings him here?
GEOFFREY: Why, has he upset you?
JOHN: No, I didn't mean it that way – just that we don't see much of him these days.
GEOFFREY: No, I suppose not. Apparently things have been rather hectic for the past year. But when we spoke the other day I mentioned that you were bringing Anne and he said he’d like to meet her.
JOHN: Doing his godfatherly duty?
GEOFFREY: Maybe. More likely simple curiosity. Now don't keep Anne hanging about – get her case up to her room. We haven't all that much time if we're not to keep dinner waiting.
JOHN: Right–oh.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN TO THE DINING ROOM.
Geoffrey, Helen, Anne, John and Brian are finishing dinner with coffee. There is a murmur of casual conversation.
HELEN: More coffee, anyone?
There are no takers.
GEOFFREY: Shall we adjourn, then?
All rise and make their way slowly out of the room, chatting quietly.
CUT TO THE SITTING ROOM.
Helen and Geoffrey lead in the party from the dining room. All but Geoffrey immediately take their customary seats.
GEOFFREY: The usual, everyone?
Nods all round.
GEOFFREY: Right
He dispenses the habitual drinks, finishing with a malt whisky for himself and for Brian, and sits next to him. He keeps the decanter between them. The tone of conversation is lightly ironic, never solemn even when it gets on to a serious topic.
GEOFFREY: Right, everyone supplied? Help yourselves to refills. Splendid dinner, Helen, thank you.
HELEN: Thank Mabel. I had very little to do with it.
GEOFFREY: Maybe, but the planning is as important as the execution.
ANNE (half–rising): Talking of execution, I'd better make my peace with her for holding things up.
HELEN: Don't worry. I explained why. She'll understand you can't just leave a customer standing. She helps out in the village shop herself.
ANNE: But I don't suppose she gets people who can't make up their minds whether to purchase or not.
GEOFFREY: Don't you believe it. I've seen people dithering for ages, though it's usually over whether to take Granny Smiths or Cox's, or something of that sort.
ANNE: And he didn't take it in the end. A pity; we particularly wanted to shift that painting.
BRIAN: What's so special about it?
ANNE: Doubtful attribution. Could be early Flemish, but the provenance is dodgy, and it might be a clever forgery. Greg took a gamble in buying it, and now he's getting cold feet.
BRIAN: Might be worth taking a look.
GEOFFREY: I didn't know professors of theology could afford the kind of price that Greg charges.
BRIAN: I said taking a look, not writing a cheque. Purely out of interest.
JOHN: I don't suppose Greg would thank you for showing it wasn't even a van Meegeren, just a pastiche by Joe Bloggs of Huddersfield.
ANNE: I think Mr. Bloggs might resent that comment.
BRIAN: But fortunately he isn't here. Anyway, my opinion doesn't count. It's only an amateur interest.
GEOFFREY: But an unusually well–informed amateur interest.
ANNE: I wonder – Oh, never mind.
HELEN: No, go on, Anne. What is it?
ANNE: It's nothing, really. I was just thinking of that picture in my room – you know, the one supposed to be of the jester's daughter.
JOHN: What about it?
ANNE: That's it. I wondered if Brian could tell us anything about it.
BRIAN: Nothing that Greg couldn't, I'm sure. Presumably you've asked him?
ANNE: Never tried. I doubt if Greg would give it a second glance. It isn't the sort of thing he'd bother with – not exactly a collector's item.
GEOFFREY: Anne's being diplomatic. To call it third–rate would be flattering.
JOHN: Why do you keep it, then?
GEOFFREY: Well, it's apparently been here at least since the sixteenth century, and after it's hung on for so long it seems a pity to throw it out now.
ANNE: I didn't know you were so sentimental.
HELEN: Oh, he's an old softy really. Aren't you, dear?
GEOFFREY: Not quite how I'd put it. But someone in Tudor times evidently thought it worth keeping, and it might be interesting to hear what Brian thinks. Would you like to fetch it?
ANNE: Right. Shan't be long.
Exit
HELEN (urgently): John, I didn't have a chance to ask before. Any developments?
JOHN: If you mean, "Have I popped the question?", no.
HELEN: I didn't mean it quite as bluntly as that. But are there any signs of progress?
JOHN (with slightly strained patience): Mother, I know you mean well, but it doesn't help.
HELEN: But ...
JOHN: It's no use going at it like a bull at a gate. Remember what happened with Monica.
HELEN: Yes, but there's a difference between due caution and not moving at all. Isn't there, Geoffrey?
GEOFFREY: Leave me out of this, dear. "Strike while the iron is hot," maybe, but strike too early and you lose the fish.
BRIAN: I didn't know you went in for that sort of angling.
GEOFFREY: Best kept quiet. But from my enormous experience, I'd say you can't be too careful where women are concerned.
HELEN: I don't remember your being particularly backward when we were courting.
GEOFFREY: Ah, but I was young and foolish then. John's had time to learn a bit more sense.
HELEN: Oh, so it was lack of sense when you proposed to me, was it?
GEOFFREY: Utter folly –
HELEN: Really!
GEOFFREY: – and extraordinary good luck that you accepted.
HELEN: Well, perhaps John should trust his luck a bit more. What do you say, Brian? Or don't theologians believe in luck?
BRIAN: Of course we do. But we generally call it "Providence" to make it sound more respectable. Or else put it into Greek, like everything else when we want to impress and don't really know what we're talking about.
GEOFFREY: I never could get on with Greek. Managed Latin tolerably well, but not the other. Why on earth do you have to use such an awkward language?
BRIAN: It's rather like the old alchemists; "When we have spoken plainly, we have said nothing."
GEOFFREY: I might have guessed.
BRIAN: But to be serious, it's chiefly to avoid terms that change their meaning with common use. And Greek is the language of ideas; the Romans were more engineers than philosophers.
Anne returns carrying a small, wood–framed picture.
ANNE: What's all this about philosophy?
BRIAN: I was explaining why we use Greek technical terms. So that's the painting, is it?
ANNE: Yes. Be careful; the panel's in rather poor condition.
BRIAN: Better than we shall be at that age. Hmm, as you say, not particularly good.
HELEN: Condition or quality?
BRIAN: Both. It looks like the style of the Flemish school, say about fifteenth century, but pretty rough and ready.
ANNE: Could it be an amateur imitation, do you think?
BRIAN: I suppose it's possible. Or a student piece kept for sentimental reasons. Whether it's of the actual period I can't tell without proper tests, of course, but so far as I can see the materials look right. So does the craquelure, though that can be faked. But this can hardly be a deliberate fake; it isn't good enough.
GEOFFREY: So you think it might be genuine?
BRIAN: I see nothing to suggest otherwise – can't say more than that. (Passing it back to Anne) But you mentioned a Tudor interest.
GEOFFREY: Yes. Apparently there's a letter in the Bodleian collection from the then Lord Ernscar to his cousin, mostly about other matters which were why it was preserved. But as a footnote it mentions that this painting had come to light during renovations to the castle, that it was of no one important and in poor condition and he'd have thrown it out, only Lady Ernscar took a fancy to it so he was having it re–framed as a birthday present for her.
BRIAN: So he knew who the girl was?
GEOFFREY: There was a faint inscription on the back of the panel saying it was of Alison, daughter of Thomas Miller, who had been Fool at the castle in the 1400s.
BRIAN (making to reclaim the picture): I didn't notice that.
GEOFFREY: It was barely decipherable even then, the wood surface had deteriorated so much, and in the re–framing it was covered by a supporting panel.
BRIAN: Yes, I see.
GEOFFREY: The job must have cost umpteen times what the painting was worth. He evidently didn't stint things for his wife.
HELEN: Good for him!
GEOFFREY: That's probably what saved it. Later generations must have thought that anything so carefully preserved had to be valuable, despite appearances.
ANNE: Is anything else known about Alison?
GEOFFREY: Lady Ernscar evidently asked the same question. She had the parish register searched – it's disappeared since, of course – and found the baptism of an Alison Miller in 1421, but nothing about marriage or death.
JOHN: Is that significant?
BRIAN: Possibly not. The family could have moved away, though that was unusual. Or it might have been a different Alison Miller altogether who died in infancy, as would have been too commonplace to mention.
HELEN: I wonder why Lady Ernscar took such an interest.
GEOFFREY: Who knows? A distant relative, perhaps?
BRIAN: I doubt it. Remember it was a clearly stratified society. People of different classes might be on quite friendly terms, but they wouldn't intermarry. No one of Lady Ernscar's status was likely to be descended from a servant, not even a privileged servant like the Fool. Or if by some chance she were, to admit it.
ANNE: I wonder –
HELEN: Yes?
ANNE: No, I'm probably being silly.
JOHN: Perish the thought!
HELEN: Take no notice of him, dear. Let's have it.
ANNE: Well, there's something about that picture that draws me to it. Maybe Lady Ernscar felt the same.
HELEN: Draws you to it – in what way?
ANNE: Sometimes, depending on how the light falls, the face seems terribly sad. I get a feeling of longing for something she can't quite grasp.
JOHN: Sounds like a version of the usual frustration dream. I'd have thought it a good reason for getting rid of the thing.
ANNE: But that would be like kicking a lame dog out of the way. I feel I want to help, only I can't see how.
BRIAN: I suppose you could always try prayer.
GEOFFREY (teasing): Some people drag religion into everything.
BRIAN: In my profession you can hardly keep it out – despite some of the practitioners!
ANNE (thoughtfully): I don't think I could pray to the Christian God.
JOHN: You might try one of the others – Krishna, or Zeus even.
GEOFFREY: I shouldn't risk Zeus. Not to be trusted with any tolerably attractive woman.
BRIAN: But to be serious, Anne, what's your objection?
ANNE: The inconsistencies; I just can't believe in them. He's supposed to be the compassionate, the all–merciful –
JOHN: That's the Moslem one.
BRIAN: Same God, different name. Go on, Anne.
ANNE: – and yet you have him condemning people to eternal torment for mistakes committed in life.
During the following dialogue Brian takes fairly frequent and substantial absent–minded sips from his glass, and Geoffrey surreptitiously keeps it well topped up. Others of the party take refills as required, John offering them to Anne.
BRIAN: Ah yes, that old canard. It isn't God who condemns; it's the individual choice.
HELEN: How can that be?
BRIAN: It's standard theology that God wants to give his love to everyone and to have theirs in return. But it must be freely given. He won't thrust his love on those who, given a final irrevocable choice, won't accept it.
HELEN: But surely no one would refuse.
BRIAN: You probably wouldn't. But love – real love – is the hardest thing on earth to accept fully. It means abandoning the defences. Ultimately the whole lot, not just the outer earthworks that are the most we usually surrender in human relationships. It isn't lightly done. I couldn't do it, not yet, not without a lot of help.
GEOFFREY: I don't remember your having much difficulty when we were youngsters.
BRIAN: I said real love. Not lust; they're practically opposites – that's why by itself it can turn so easily into hatred. Nor dalliance, although it's a pale imitation of love and may lead to the real thing. Setting out to sea in the gentle breeze of a light flirtation and then running into a force nine gale can be quite terrifying – or exhilarating, for those with the guts to take it. Imagine what it must be to face the full hurricane. That needs a lot of guts.
HELEN: What was the quotation about tempering the wind to the shorn lamb?
BRIAN: I'm talking about completely mature sheep, capable at last of taking a fully informed, irrevocable decision. One way or the other. And the other, as I see it, is to be left to one's own devices.
JOHN: Not quite the conventional picture of Hell.
BRIAN: That's a metaphor – the only way we can speak of the divine, or the diabolical. You must be familiar with sexual frustration. That's torment enough, just in one specific function. Hell is the frustration of an entire being, intended for the company of God, yet refusing it.
ANNE (considering this): Unquiet spirits, perhaps? What do you think of ghost stories?
BRIAN: A literary convention. On a par with the house–party detective yarn. An acceptable excuse for telling a highly improbable but entertaining tale.
ANNE: No, I meant the ones that people take seriously.
BRIAN: Oh, sorry. The usual view in the churches is that as a rule we shouldn't. But they don't quite rule out the possibility that on occasion there may be something in them – a lingering presence of evil, perhaps. Anything of the sort lurking in your dungeons, Geoffrey?
GEOFFREY: Not that I know of. So far as I'm aware the only spirits down there are the kind you find in bottles – and I'm not thinking of Aladdin's lamp!
HELEN: Actually …
GEOFFREY: Yes?
HELEN: I was once talking to old Megan who had some tale about figures in mediaeval garb being seen around the place. But people said she was more or less barmy anyway.
GEOFFREY: And I suppose they were dimly seen in a half–light by people of doubtful sobriety and accompanied by a deathly chill around midnight.
HELEN: Something like that. Only there was no chill. If anything, a sense of warmth and comfort for people with particular anxieties.
GEOFFREY: Benign spirits, then. If spirits they were.
BRIAN: Actually, that's quite a thought. We've no real idea what the blessed may be up to in heaven. The conventional notion of performing some everlasting celestial cantata appals me.
GEOFFREY: From your efforts in last year's carol service, I'm not surprised.
BRIAN: Quite. I should certainly hope for something more constructive.
ANNE: Such as ?
BRIAN: Who knows? But it's conceivable that for those who have been particularly effective comforters of the grief-stricken on Earth, the task may be to continue the good work. After all, there's a long tradition of praying to the saints.
GEOFFREY: Usually just for them to put in a good word with the boss, surely?
BRIAN: Yes, but maybe they aren't always limited to mere intercession.
Pause.
HELEN (meditatively): One thing that bothers people is the idea of praying for the dead. Some disapprove of it, but others think it's worth while. What do you say?
BRIAN: I suppose it could give a helpful nudge to someone who's teetering on the edge, undecided in the last moments of consciousness whether to let go or not. Or it might ease the pain of doing so.
GEOFFREY: Pain?
BRIAN: If you come from an interior room into full sunlight, you can't stand the glare at once. And looking directly at the naked sun is positively dangerous. The full light of God must be infinitely harder to bear, and slipping back into the darkness a very attractive alternative. And then there's cutting the ties to things of earth – those that are good in a transitory way as well as the evil or merely harmless. Some people have cultivated detachment before the end; most don't, so far as I can see.
ANNE: All right, supposing for the sake of argument that prayer can help people who are dying, I still don't see what good it can do for those already dead.
BRIAN: Don't forget, these are matters of eternity. God isn't limited by time. It's all present to him. There's a story that Padre Pio was once found praying for a happy death for his father, who'd been gone for ten years.
JOHN: At that rate you might as well pray for the redemption of Adam – or Judas Iscariot.
BRIAN: You can't alter what's already happened in the temporal order, of course, but prayer at any time will have been a factor in determining it. Not changing God's mind – no one can do that, for all the anthropomorphism in a lot of the tales – but supporting the poor weak humans who are involved. Like the backing supporting the damaged panel with that picture. As for Adam, I don't see why not. It hadn't occurred to me, but it might not be a bad idea at that.
DISSOLVE TO THE VILLAGE WAR MEMORIAL.
During the following exchange, continued in voice-over, zoom in across a Remembrance Sunday gathering to focus on the list of names on the memorial.
Pause
HELEN: I was looking at the war memorial this morning, thinking of the Remembrance Day ceremony. All those names. Many of them the names of people I know in the village – their fathers, uncles, grandfathers. Does remembrance do any good?
BRIAN: It depends. Remembrance pure and simple is no more use than remembering you left the chip pan unattended after the house has burned down. It just depresses the living. But there must be many a mental prayer during the two minutes' silence. And C. S. Lewis said something about the courtesy of heaven being to take the best that men know as better than they know. When someone is remembered with affection and gratitude, even by an unbeliever, I'm sure it will be taken as a kind of prayer.
Pause.
DISSOLVE BACK TO THE SITTING ROOM
HELEN: That's quite a thought.
Brian double–takes the level of whisky in his glass.
BRIAN: Geoffrey, you old devil! You've been topping up my glass!
GEOFFREY: Someone had to; you were far too engrossed.
BRIAN: Cask strength, too. No wonder I've been rabbiting on, lecturing you like a class of undergraduates. I do apologise, everyone.
HELEN: No, it was fascinating. A lot better than anything on the telly!
ANNE: Yes, thank you, Brian. I'm not sure I'm convinced, but it's something to think about.
GEOFFREY: Refill, Anne?
ANNE: No, thanks. I've had quite enough already. Will you please excuse me? It's been a long day.
HELEN: Yes, of course. Have you everything you need?
ANNE: Everything, thank you. Good night.
Exit
HELEN: Is she all right?
JOHN: Just tired. Exhausted, in fact.
GEOFFREY: An unusual rush of business?
JOHN: Not particularly. But Judith's off on maternity leave, so Anne and Greg have had to cover for the past few weeks. Which means that it's mostly Anne who covers, because Greg still has to do all the buying and what not. (Yawns) Oh hell, I've started now. I think I'd better turn in as well. Good night.
Exit
HELEN: Oh dear. You don't think …
GEOFFREY: No, Helen, I do not think. It's none of our business.
HELEN: But ...
GEOFFREY: And if it were, after the way you've been going on about wanting grandchildren before you're too old to enjoy them, you could hardly blame him for taking some steps. What say you, Brian?
BRIAN: If anything of the sort were going on, it would hardly be for the sake of procreation. And Helen obviously wants the steps to start where they should, in church.
GEOFFREY: You disappoint me. I thought you'd come up with something more original than that.
HELEN: Yes, I know it's old fashioned, but –
GEOFFREY: She wants an excuse to lash out on a new hat.
HELEN: Well, it would be nice, it's true. But I don't like all this modern immorality.
GEOFFREY: You're just jealous.
BRIAN: In any case, if it's any comfort, there are far worse immoralities than fornication – what Dorothy Sayers (was it?) called one of the more generous sins. And she pointed out that those who are hardest on it tend to go for the meaner, grubbier ones. Oh lord, there I go again, lecturing. Time to call it a day. When do you want me down for breakfast, Helen?
HELEN: We usually have it ....
FADE OUT.
FADE IN TO A RURAL MILL, 1437.
A dozen peasants armed with sticks and clubs are arguing with the miller and his journeyman. The confrontation becomes violent, and damage is done. A party of mounted men–at–arms appears, led by Robert; the men dismount, separate the disputants, and some lead off those of the peasants who fail to escape. The rest of the troop continue on their way.
CUT TO A PARLOUR IN THE CASTLE.
Cedric, the elderly castle steward, ushers in Justin and Nicholas (now in his teens), who have recently arrived after a lengthy journey. A table is set with a jug of wine, goblets and a plate of cakes.
CEDRIC: I'm sorry His Lordship hasn't returned yet, but he said you're to make yourselves at home..
JUSTIN: As we shall – as usual.
CEDRIC: Do you need anything else, my lord?
JUSTIN: Not for the moment, thank you. I was glad simply to get my boots off. (Sampling one of the cakes) Ah, do I detect Mistress Alice's hand in this?
CEDRIC: Actually Alison's – my granddaughter's.
JUSTIN: Well, I'm glad she's being trained in the family tradition. Go on, Nicholas, tuck in.
NICHOLAS: Thank you, my lord.
He does, with teenage enthusiasm.
CEDRIC: Will you please excuse me now? There are things I must see to.
JUSTIN: Of course, Cedric. And thank you.
CEDRIC: A pleasure, my lord – you're always welcome here.
Exit.
JUSTIN: And it isn't everywhere that a bishop hears that.
Nicholas looks at him, smiles, and after a moment's indecision takes another cake.
JUSTIN: I think I'll join you. I can't absolve you in advance from the sin of gluttony, but ...
He also takes a cake.
CUT TO THE CASTLE COURTYARD
Robert's party arrives. All dismount. The men lead their horses off towards the stables; a groom takes Robert's. He enters the castle.
CUT TO THE PARLOUR.
Justin is seated while Nicholas pours wine for Justin and a little for himself as Robert enters hastily.
ROBERT: Ah, there you are, Justin. Sorry I wasn't here to greet you.
JUSTIN: No matter. Any problem?
ROBERT: A bit of trouble as I came by the mill. The constable couldn't cope by himself and called for help.
JUSTIN: Serious?
ROBERT: Not really. A bunch of peasants had accused the miller of cheating and turned up with clubs to make their point – if you can make a point with a blunt instrument, before you get in with one of your cracks.
JUSTIN: And was he?
ROBERT: Cheating? I very much doubt it. Old Jack would certainly be careful to take his due, but not a whit more if I know him.
JUSTIN: As I dare say you do – pretty well.
ROBERT: In any case clubs are no way to deal with that kind of issue. They'll be up in court for affray at the next sitting.
JUSTIN: And then a hanging or two?
ROBERT: Not likely. Not that I've any compunction when they're called for, as you know well enough, but there's no sense in being more severe than necessary.
JUSTIN: Of course.
ROBERT: In any case we've never fully recovered from the plague – don't want to lose any more hands than we must from the land.
JUSTIN: Keep them at their spades rather than their clubs?
GRADUALLY ZOOM IN ON NICHOLAS WHO IS GAZING ABSTRACTEDLY OUT OF THE WINDOW
ROBERT: Nice one. They'll have to make good the damage, and a good bit more for the trouble they've caused, then we can call it quits. Least ill feeling all round. But I'm neglecting my duties. I hope your accommodation is all right?
JUSTIN: Of course. Cedric saw to everything with his usual efficiency. You've a good man there.
ROBERT: I know. I've been very lucky with my staff generally.
JUSTIN: It isn't just luck. It takes a good lord to make a good servant.
ROBERT: Well, I try. But you can't do anything if the basic quality isn't there.
JUSTIN: True enough. Nicholas, what are you thinking of? Wine for his lordship.
Nicholas hastily swallows what remains of his cake and complies.
JUSTIN: You know, Robert, Ernscar's become almost a second home to me.
ROBERT: That's the best compliment you could pay to a host.
JUSTIN: In fact, in some ways it's better than my own home.
ROBERT: How so?
JUSTIN: I don't need to be on my dignity here. Right, Nicholas, I don't think we'll need you again for a while. You can go and play with your new toys for a couple of hours – I know you've been dying to.
NICHOLAS: Thank you, my lord. (To Robert) My lord.
He bows, remembers to finish his wine, and exits.
ROBERT: I gather that Nicholas hasn't quite caught the Ernscar informality.
JUSTIN: No need to take it to extremes. But you've no idea how wearisome it can be – the constant "Yes, my lord," "No, my lord," "As my lord bishop says," when you know very well that what he really means is "You're talking through the top of your head" – or some less dignified part of the anatomy.
ROBERT: Not Nicholas, surely?
JUSTIN: No, I mean any of the minor prelates and chaplains and goodness knows who else. Even the lesser gentry. All crawling. All about as sincere as the serpent himself.
ROBERT: All?
JUSTIN: Well, no, I exaggerate. There are a few honest men among them – probably more than a few, to be truthful. But oh for someone like your Tom Fool to give a straightforward opinion I can believe in.
ROBERT: Sorry, Justin, I'd do a lot for you but I'm not parting with Tom. He's far too valuable.
JUSTIN: I'm sure.
ROBERT: A Fool who's anything but a fool. His nose for treachery has saved me from quite a few nasty surprises. And you know something of his wit.
JUSTIN (chuckling): Yes, indeed.
ROBERT: You should have heard him with Lord Humbert last week; practically every remark was a double entendre at his expense. In the end I had to signal to him to lay off because I couldn't keep my face straight any longer – and then even an ass like Humbert might have twigged.
JUSTIN: Not the brightest of our nobility.
ROBERT: Nor the dimmest, worse luck.
CUT TO NICHOLAS'S QUARTERS.
He enters, rummages through his kit and takes out a small prepared panel and a box of artist's equipment. He walks through the castle to the hall, looks around for a suitable subject, spots an old chest with other furniture around it and settles down to sketch, marking in outlines with charcoal.
CUT BACK TO THE PARLOUR
ROBERT: But anyway, how was Rome?
JUSTIN: Oh, don't ask.
ROBERT: As bad as that?
JUSTIN: Worse. It still hasn't recovered from the schism – the city's in a mess, the cardinals are as bad as our English grandees, French squabbling with Italians and the Italians themselves at each other's throats.
ROBERT: Very depressing.
JUSTIN: Yes. That's why I stayed for a few weeks at Gilbert's monastery in Bruges to cheer myself up.
ROBERT: A place I've never visited. And now might not be the best time
JUSTIN: Definitely not. But you should, if you ever get a chance.. The architecture's splendid, the people hospitable. And the paintings! They've invented a new technique that gives really brilliant effects. Young Nicholas was in his element.
ROBERT: Nicholas? I didn't know he was interested.
JUSTIN: He dabbles. He's produced some quite pretty flower studies –
ROBERT: Better be careful. People are starting to take them as political symbols.
JUSTIN: Don't worry. I'm as keen as you are not to offend any of the factions unnecessarily.
ROBERT: Sorry, I interrupted.
JUSTIN: And before you jump in again, he's no pansy, either.
ROBERT: I'm glad to hear it. But go on.
CUT TO AN ANTEROOM IN THE DUCAL PALACE, BRUGES.
Justin is waiting with Nicholas, who is getting rather fidgety. Jan van Eyck enters from the audience chamber and introduces himself to Justin. After a few moments a servant beckons Justin in for audience. Van Eyck remains in unheard conversation with Nicholas. A dissolve indicates a skipped lapse of time. Justin emerges, van Eyck asks him a question and being answered favourably leaves with an evidently delighted Nicholas. Meanwhile the following conversation is heard in voice-over.
JUSTIN: Well, he was with me when I paid a courtesy visit to the duke who happened to be in residence at the time ...
ROBERT: A bit dodgy, wasn't it? When we're practically at war?
JUSTIN: I was there as a churchman, not an English legate. Though I must admit having thought there might be a chance to smooth things over a bit ...
ROBERT: Some hope!
JUSTIN (overriding) : ... until Gilbert put me right on that. I hadn't realised how bad the situation had become, but then I've never understood Burgundian politics.
ROBERT: I'm not surprised. Does anyone?
JUSTIN: Not over here, I imagine. Still, the civilities were fully observed. I gather that unless there's a very good reason Philip doesn't go looking for trouble with the church.
ROBERT: They say with so many mistresses he probably doesn't need to.
JUSTIN: Perhaps not. Anyway, all this is beside the point. A Master van Eyck was there – evidently the Duke uses him as both a painter and a diplomat and I'm not sure which capacity he was representing on that occasion – and Nicholas seemed to click with him.
ROBERT: A useful future contact?
JUSTIN: Maybe. Anyway, the upshot was that van Eyck offered to show Nicholas his workshop, I had nothing much for the lad to do, so off they went together, Nicholas like a cat with two tails.
ROBERT: Evidently a decent sort.
JUSTIN: I've usually found the Flemings obliging, and of course to meet an enthusiast for one's speciality is always pleasing. That evening Nicholas said that one of van Eyck's assistants was willing to teach him something of the new techniques if I'd permit it.
CUT TO VAN EYCK'S WORKSHOP.
Assistant painters are working on portions of a large panel. Justin enters with Nicholas, escorted by the foreman, looks at the panel and particularly at a corner where Nicholas has been working, then at some smaller completed pieces. The voice-over continues.
ROBERT: Extraordinary!
JUSTIN: Isn't it? You usually find craftsmen jealous of their secrets. I suspect he was fishing for a commission, but there was probably an element of sheer good nature.
ROBERT: Did you give him one?
JUSTIN: No, but I was obviously under some obligation, so I bought a couple of the workshop's stock paintings – they always keep some in hand for casual sales.
ROBERT: I suppose they can't always rely on private patrons.
JUSTIN: It's useful to have a regular trade as well. Rather more classy than the usual tat passed off to pilgrims or the like in transit. One tit–bit of information Nicholas picked up was that the guest–master at the monastery takes a small monthly retainer to point visitors in that direction. I'm not sure that Gilbert's aware of that, and I'm afraid I forgot to mention it to him.
ROBERT: How very remiss! – but convenient.
JUSTIN: Quite. I must show you these two pictures when we've unpacked. They're rather attractive – should impress visiting bigwigs. And copying them could be a good exercise for Nicholas.
ROBERT: Rather an unusual occupation for a page, isn't it?
JUSTIN: Yes, but considering what else he might get up to in an unfamiliar city, I was happy for him to be kept out of mischief. Better than the alehouse – or getting in the way around the monastery.
ROBERT: Not the ideal place for a young man of the world to find entertainment.
JUSTIN: Exactly. Anyway, for the rest of our stay he seemed to spend all his free time at the workshop. Not all tuition, of course, but sometimes helping to prepare the panels and colours, sometimes watching the other painters and how they did things. And trying a little piece or two of his own.
ROBERT: Really!
JUSTIN: More or less like one of their own apprentices, in fact – and that in itself could be useful experience – not many of our nobility seem to have much idea of how craftsmen's minds work or how to deal with them. They even let him loose on an odd corner of a big work in hand for one of the guilds.
ROBERT: Sounds risky.
JUSTIN: With careful instructions of course, and it would probably be retouched afterwards, but it pleased him no end.
ROBERT: I can imagine.
JUSTIN: Before we left I went along to see what he'd been up to. The foreman – a very kindly fellow – said that Nicholas would never be a great painter, but showed signs of a minor talent that it would do no harm to encourage, so I bought him a basic kit of equipment and materials at the same time as my own purchases.
CUT BACK TO ROBERT'S PARLOUR
ROBERT: Aha! The new toys you sent him off to play with.
JUSTIN: Yes. This is the first time we've been anywhere long enough to be worth unpacking them.
ROBERT: – and very good it is to have you here. But we can't spend all day chatting about your travels; we'd better get down to business. Things don't improve much, I'm afraid.
JUSTIN: Any particular developments?
ROBERT: Well, although the king's still under age they've declared him "capable of government," but he seems just as useless as under the regency council. The Beauforts have kept a lot more influence than I like, and Duke Humphrey, when he isn't squabbling with them, is preoccupied with the French war.
JUSTIN (with a respectable French pronunciation): Plus ça change …
ROBERT: Yes, c'est la même chose with a vengeance. But without the formal provisions we had under the regency. There's bound to be an overt power struggle, sooner or later. We need a strong monarchy – and as Henry obviously isn't going to provide it, I'm very much afraid someone else will try to.
JUSTIN: Fancy the job yourself?
ROBERT: Good lord, no! Running Ernscar is enough for me. I know my limitations, and thank goodness I've no connections with the royal line. Though I couldn't be worse than Henry. No one could.
JUSTIN: We might get someone positively malicious. But even the Pope said he'd be happier about our situation if the cardinal spent more time in church and the king a damn sight less.
ROBERT: Did he, indeed? I wonder who the informant is.
JUSTIN: Not the cardinal himself, presumably.
ROBERT: No. But we've our own little corner of the realm to keep in order. We need to sort out who's likely to be with us in that, and who would more likely be looking to their own advantage. It'll be useful to have a map handy – I've got one in my study. We should see it more easily there.
Exeunt
FADE OUT.
Nicholas is sitting at his sketch, reaching the stage of applying colour. Alison – a lively, open girl who bounces around with all the energy of youth – crosses unnoticed behind him on some errand, pauses to look over his shoulder, cocks her head appraisingly, then passes on. A minute or so later she returns, and again pauses behind him.
ALISON: You've drawn that chest wrong.
NICHOLAS: What?!
ALISON: Sorry, did I startle you?
NICHOLAS: You did, rather. (Taking a good look at her) But it was worth it.
ALISON (coquettishly): Thank you, kind sir. Quite the courtier, aren't you?
NICHOLAS: I'm practising.
ALISON: Being a courtier or a painter?
NICHOLAS: A bit of both, at the moment.
ALISON: You're Bishop Justin's page, aren't you?
NICHOLAS: That's right. Nicholas Palmer, at your service, ma'am. And you?
ALISON: Alison Miller. My father's the castle Fool.
NICHOLAS: Ah. The Bishop's told me about him. Says he's actually the most intelligent man in the castle, after Lord Robert himself. He didn't say what a lovely daughter he had, though.
ALISON: Don't overdo the flannel. Or I shan't believe anything you say.
NICHOLAS: Sorry.
ALISON: You're forgiven. I've known worse offences.
VOICE OFF: Alison! What are you dawdling about?
ALISON: Coming! See you later, Master Nicholas.
Exit. Nicholas gazes after her for a moment, then continues his sketching, evidently having trouble in seeing what is wrong with the image that Alison had criticised but trying to improve it. After a minute or two Alison reappears on another errand. Their subsequent banter is kept as light as possible.
NICHOLAS: That didn't take long.
ALISON: Disappointed?
NICHOLAS: Far from it. Can you stay a bit longer this time?
ALISON: Just a moment. I do have work to do, you know.
NICHOLAS: I don't want to get you into trouble.
ALISON (deliberately misinterpreting): You're very much mistaken if you think you'll get the chance.
NICHOLAS: I mean for neglecting your duties.
ALISON: They're not too desperately urgent.
NICHOLAS: Would you – er –
ALISON: I thought we'd settled that.
NICHOLAS: You've got a one–track mind!
ALISON: And your thoughts are all pure and flower–like?
NICHOLAS (grinning ruefully): Not always.
ALISON: Good. You had me worried for a moment. Now what was it you were going to ask?
NICHOLAS: Well, painting this bit of the hall is all good practice, but it isn't terribly interesting. I wondered if you'd let me paint you.
ALISON: This effort seems to be giving you quite enough trouble. How long would that take?
NICHOLAS: I suppose I could get enough down in an hour or two to work up later.
ALISON: Do you seriously suppose that I could stay here for one hour, let alone two, when there's all the laundry to sort out?
NICHOLAS: Not in one session, of course. But couldn't you sneak the odd five minutes every time you pass through? In your not desperately urgent duties?
ALISON: I don't spend all my time traipsing backwards and forwards through here. This is exceptional. And I'd better get on with it or there'll be the devil to pay. 'Bye.
Exit. Thwarted, Nicholas returns to his painting. It is not going well and after a while he throws down his brush in frustration, then realises that it has made a mess on the floor that he had better clean up.
NICHOLAS: Oh, damn!
Having done so he notices a splash on his hose and has to attend to that. His concentration is ruined and his attempts to adjust his picture make matters worse. While he is intent on them, muttering under his breath, Alison returns and again stands behind him without his noticing.
ALISON: It still looks wrong.
NICHOLAS: Eh?!!
He is startled into dropping his brush. This time it falls on his hose leaving a streak of colour before making another mess on the floor.
NICHOLAS: Oh, no!
ALISON: You don't seem so pleased to see me this time.
NICHOLAS: I'm sorry, Alison. Of course I'm pleased. But I've only just cleaned up one mess.
ALISON: Are you always as clumsy as this?
NICHOLAS: No, it must be the effect you have on me.
ALISON: That's right, blame the woman. The old story. Here, give me that rag, I'll clear up the splash on the floor.
NICHOLAS (indicating the stained hose): I'm really more concerned about this one.
ALISON (sharply): You can see to that yourself. (More gently) Good try, but too obvious. Get the worst off, then leave the hose out tonight and I'll see they're washed in the morning.
NICHOLAS: Thank you. Sorry I was ratty just now.
ALISON: Don't be silly. Anyone would be annoyed.
NICHOLAS: It's a good job they're just my travelling togs. But I thought you weren't coming back.
ALISON: So did I. I mentioned what you were thinking of to Gran –
NICHOLAS: You didn't!
ALISON: The painting, I mean, not the other. "Cheek!" she said. But Grandad said His Lordship had given instructions that the bishop's people were to have everything they wanted, so I'd better give you your hour or two, and Gran couldn't argue very much with that. She couldn't see his wink behind her back.
NICHOLAS (returning to normal good humour): How far does that instruction go?
ALISON (mock–severe): Not that far. I don't know, you're incorrigible. Now, how do you want me?
NICHOLAS: Need you ask?
ALISON: Nicholas! Behave yourself, or I'll tell Grandad you're trying to seduce me. Or tell Dad, which would be no joke at all. Where do you want me to sit?
NICHOLAS: Just there, in the light. Make yourself comfortable, and keep looking at something definite over my left shoulder. That's it. Now, can you hold that position?
ALISON: I think so. May I talk?
NICHOLAS: Can anyone stop you? But try to keep your head still, and the same expression as far as you can.
ALISON: Smiling? Solemn? Or what?
NICHOLAS: Try a few. (She does, including a few consciously comic or grotesque) Come on, be serious. No, I don't mean it must be a serious expression, just don't fool about.
ALISON: What do you expect of the Fool's daughter?
NICHOLAS: Something of the common sense he's supposed to have.
She goes rather stiffly through a range of rather more natural expressions
NICHOLAS: That's better. Now, more relaxed, and go through them slowly. That's it. No, the one before. That's it – lovely. Hold that.
He busies himself with a new panel, prepared earlier with primer and ground, and first sketches in the outline, then if time permits starts to add colour. For a minute or so there is silence.
NICHOLAS: I haven't seen your father about, this time.
ALISON: No, he's gone off to see Granpa Miller. Lord Robert said there'd been some trouble and he'd better make sure everything was sorted out.
NICHOLAS: Oh, that business at the mill.
ALISON: You know about it?
NICHOLAS: He wasn't here when we arrived, and explained that he'd been held up dealing with a shindig there. Apparently a row about the miller's cut that turned nasty.
ALISON: Oh dear. How nasty?
NICHOLAS: Don't worry, he said it wasn't serious. A case for fines and restitution rather than hanging. Is there no other help there?
ALISON: My two uncles and a journeyman. But they tend to argue about how to do anything out of the ordinary, rather than getting on with the job. Dad can usually organise them better.
NICHOLAS: He's the eldest brother?
ALISON: Actually the youngest. But being friendly with Lord Robert gives him a lot of clout.
Nicholas nods understanding, but has to concentrate on a tricky detail for a while in silence.
NICHOLAS: So Gran and Grandad are your mother's parents?
ALISON: Yes, they've more or less looked after me since my mother died.
NICHOLAS: Oh, I didn't know that. I'm sorry.
ALISON: How could you? Actually I never knew her – it was when I was born. Dad misses her badly, though. They say he was always a bit dour, but it made him worse. "Goes around like having one foot in the grave."
NICHOLAS: A dour jester. Now I've seen everything. Will I have met Grandad?
ALISON: I expect so. He's the castle steward.
NICHOLAS: Cedric! Of course I know him. Marvellous character.
ALISON: Yes, I think so. No one could have been kinder. And Gran's much the same. She tends to be a bit stricter with me, but to be honest it's always for a good reason.
Another pause for concentration.
ALISON: Painting's not a usual activity for a page, is it? Here it's all grammar, etiquette and military training when they're not on other duties.
NICHOLAS: I've had some lessons in swordsmanship from the captain of the bodyguard. But I was no good at it. I could probably defend myself against an ordinary footpad, but somehow I don't see myself ever shining in knightly exploits.
ALISON: So your amatory activities have all been in the day–time, have they?
NICHOLAS: I said knightly, not nightly. On a horse. With a K. Oh, sorry.
ALISON: For what?
NICHOLAS: I was forgetting. Girls don't usually get lessons in writing, do they?
ALISON: I'll let you into a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone.
NICHOLAS: Of course I promise.
ALISON: Dad taught me to read and write. On the quiet. Said you could never tell when it was going to be useful. But I shouldn't let on, or people would think I was getting above myself.
Another pause.
NICHOLAS: I've got a secret, too.
ALISON: What about?
NICHOLAS: My amatory history.
ALISON: I don't think I ought to hear this.
NICHOLAS: It's really shocking. (Leaning towards her; sotto voce) There isn't any.
ALISON (laughing, not displeased): I might have guessed. All talk and no action.
NICHOLAS: That's me. Big–mouth Nicholas. To be fair, there aren't all that many opportunities in a clerical household.
ALISON: Now you're just making excuses.
NICHOLAS: Guilty as charged. Er –
ALISON: Yes?
NICHOLAS: I was wondering. It's a bit cheeky, but do you have a boy friend?
ALISON: No.
NICHOLAS: None at all?
ALISON: Well, there are boys I'm friendly with. But just for dances and the like. They're good–hearted enough, but – well – they're a bit – uncouth, if you see what I mean.
NICHOLAS: Yes, I see. (After a pause) Alison …
ALISON: Yes?
NICHOLAS: We're only staying here a few days. But the Bishop wants to keep in closer touch with Lord Robert – they're worried about the political situation. If I got the courier to slip an occasional letter to you secretly, would you mind?
ALISON (simply): I think I'd rather like that.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN TO A CORRIDOR IN THE CASTLE, SOME MONTHS LATER
Alison is hurrying along, then reaching an alcove and looking around her, takes out a letter and starts to read it. She hears footsteps approaching, hastily puts the letter away and bustles off; too hastily, as the letter falls out. A young servant, Rob, comes from the opposite direction and notices the letter, picks it up and looking back sees Alison disappearing round a corner. He is about to call out, then remembers that he should not draw attention to himself and considers what to do. Going on his way he meets Tom Miller.
ROB: Excuse me, Master Thomas –
TOM: Yes?
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