William: Father, I am afraid, I won't know the way back home.
John Thatcher: Don't be foolish, William, you just follow your feet.
Wat: Say something about her breasts.
Roland: Yeah, you miss her breasts.
William: Her breasts.
Chaucer: Ye... yes, you... you could, umm... umm... but I... I would tend to look above her breasts, William.
William: Well I... I miss her throat.
Chaucer: Uh, still higher really, toward the heavens.
Kate: The moon at least, her breasts were not that impressive.
Chaucer: Are you mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family?
William: He knowingly endangers himself.
Chaucer: Very good.
William: Was she watching? Geoff.
William: Did she see me?
Chaucer: Yes, she saw you.
William: Did she see me take the hit?
Chaucer: Yes, she saw you take the hit.
William: Well, was she concerned?
Chaucer: It was dreadful, her eyes welled up, it was awful.
Roland: Well, that was different.
Chaucer: Well, it's time we celebrate our differences.
Roland: Just maybe not in public.
Chaucer: You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion!
Chaucer: Today... today, you find yourselves equals.
Chaucer: 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.
Chaucer: 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!
Chaucer: Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.
Adhemar: Your armor, sir.
William: What about it?
Adhemar: How stylish of you to joust in an antique. You'll start a new fashion if you win. My grandfather will be able to wear his in public again, and a shield, how quaint.
[William rides off]
Adhemar: Some of these poor country knights, little better then peasants.
Adhemar: And you are?
William: Well, I am, um.
Adhemar: You've forgotten, or your name is Sir Um?
William: Ulrich von Lichtenstein from Gelderland.
Adhemar: Well, I'd forget as well, what a mouthful.
William: Your name lady, I still need to hear it.
Jocelyn: Sir hunter, you persist.
William: Well perhaps angels have no names, only beautiful faces.
Chaucer: Yes, behold my lord Ulrich, the rock, the hard place, like a wind from Guilderland 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]
William: I'm Ulrich von Leichtenstein, from Guilderland, and these are my faithful squires.
[gestures to Roland]
William: Delves, of Dogington,
[gestures to Wat]
William: 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 large knife]
William: All right, hold your tongue sir, or lose it.
Chaucer: Now you see *that* I do believe, Sir Ulrich.
William: Oi sir, what are you doing?
Chaucer: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging?
Chaucer: 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.
William: Uhhh... were you robbed?
Chaucer: [laughs] Funny really, yes, but at the same time a huge resounding no. It's more of an... involuntary vow of poverty... really.