Geoffrey Chaucer You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion! [crowd roars] Today... today, you find yourselves equals. [crowd roars] For you are all equally blessed. For I have the pride, the privilege, nay, the pleasure of introducing to you to a knight, sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishing of her dreadful Turkish uncle. [crowd, boo] In Greece he spent a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper. And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Ulllrrrich von Lichtenstein! [crowd roars] Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.
Geoffrey Chaucer Good people, I missed my introduction! But please... Please I pray you, hear it now, for I would lay rest the grace in my tongue and speak plainly. Days like these are far too rare to cheapen with heavy handed words, and so, I'm afraid without any ado whatsoever... Excuse me My Lord... Here he is, one of your own, born a stone's throw from this very stadium, and here before you now, the son of John Thatcher... Sir Wiiiiiilliam Thatcheeer!
Oi sir, what are you doing?
Chaucer Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? [pause] To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.
Chaucer [laughs]
Funny really, yes, but at the same time a huge resounding no. It's more of an... involuntary vow of poverty... really.
Chaucer I'm a writer.
Chaucer A wha- a what? A writer. I write, with ink and parchment. Geoffrey Chaucer's the name, writing's the game. You've read my book? the Book of the Duchess? No? Well, it was allegorical.
Well, we won't hold that against you, that's for every man to decide for himself.
I'm Ulrich von Leichtenstein, from Gelderland, and these are my faithful squires. [gestures to Roland] Delves, of Dodgington, [gestures to Wat] and Falhurst, of Crew.
Chaucer I'm Richard the Lionheart. Pleased to meet you. No, wait a minute, I'm Charlemagne. No, I'm Saint John the Baptist!
[William draws a dagger]
All right, hold your tongue sir, or lose it.
Chaucer Now, you see, that I do believe...Sir Ulrich.
You were never robbed, were you?
Chaucer Look, I have a gambling problem. I can't help myself. And these people will - quite literally - take off clothes of your back.
What are you expecting us to do about it?
Peter The Pardoner of Rouen He assured us that you, his liege, would pay us.
Peter The Pardoner of Rouen Peter, a humble pardoner and purveyor of religious relics.
How much does he owe you?
Simon The Summoner of Rouen Ten gold florins.
You lanky git! :[attacks Chaucer]
Hey! Hey, Wat - let him go! [Pulls Wat off him]
Chaucer [Holding injured hand]
OW!
What would you do to him, if I was to refuse?
Simon The Summoner of Rouen We, on behalf of the lord God, would take it out of his flesh, so that he may understand that gambling is a sin.
Chaucer :[pleading] Oh, come on, please, Will...
Chaucer [Summoner is piqued at this slip of the tongue; Chaucer recovers]
...please, will you help me, Sir Ulrich? I promise you won't regret it.
[Chaucer's face falls]
Release him. For God's sake, give him back his clothes, and you'll get it.
Simon The Summoner of Rouen Done.
Chaucer Yes, behold my lord Ulrich, the rock, the hard place, like a wind from Gelderland he sweeps by blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honor, we walk in the garden of his turbulence.
[crowd is silent, cricket noise]
...Yeah.
I've come to see what you'll wear to banquet tonight.
Well, then we'll cause a sensation, for I'll dress to match.
Don't you ever get tired of putting on clothes?
Chaucer [mutters to William]
Um, I believe she's talking about taking them off, my lord.
A flower is only as good as its petals. Don't you think?
A flower is good for nothing.
You can't eat a flower, a flower can't keep your warm...
And a rose never knocked a man off a horse either.
You're just a silly girl, aren't you?
Better a silly girl with a flower, than a silly boy with a horse and a stick... [walks away]
It's called a lance... hello... ?
Say something about her breasts.
Yeah, you miss her breasts.
Chaucer Ye... yes, you... you could, umm... umm... but I... I would tend to look above her breasts, William.
Chaucer Uh, still higher really, toward the heavens.
The moon at least, her breasts were not that impressive.
[William and his friends first meet Geoffrey Chaucer, walking naked down the road]
Oi, sir! What are you doing?
Chaucer Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? [pause] To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.
Chaucer [laughs]
Uh, interesting question actually. Yes, and then at the same time a huge, resounding no. It's more a sort of involuntary vow of poverty... really. But you know, on the brighter side, trudging does represent pride. Pride, resolve and faith in the [unhappily] Good Lord Almighty, please, Christ, rescue me from my current tribula-- OW! ...lations. [picks a stone out of his foot with his teeth]
