In honor of the feast day of St. Thomas Becket, martyred in Canterbury Cathedral in 1170, I present these pages. As always, the published book handles the screenplay formatting efficiently. The blog post, not so much.
PRIORESS, an elderly nun surrounded by pampered doggies, nods at Alys. She is a Very Important Person who is always treated with deference. Feeding table scraps to her dogs is the NUN’S BOY.
ALYS
Mother Prioress, my pleasure. Another woman on the journey will be most welcome.
Prioress nods pleasantly.
ALYS (CONT’D)
And who is this young gentleman?
Nun’s Boy glances up at her and Alys smiles at him.
PRIORESS
He is in service at the monastery. Every young gentleman in training should see the shrine at Canterbury as part of his formation.
NUN’S BOY
(happy in his work)
And I keep the dogs from stepping in the road apples.
Prioress winces and shakes her head.
Host turns Alys toward a group of MEN drinking at a table.
HOST
Whom have we here? Miller, Cook …
At their names the men look up. MILLER is our fellow. His best qualities, and any notion of him as a romantic prospect, is not immediately apparent at this point.
MILLER
By Christ’s wounds, who’s this delicious basket of peaches?
COOK scratches at an oozing sore on his shin, then takes a bite of chicken leg and licks his fingers.
Alys, sniffing at her nosegay, raises an eyebrow at Harry Bailey.
ALYS
Did you say “Cook”?
HOST
Not for our pilgrimage, I assure you.
Miller, drunk, approaches Alys. Holding her hand, he lifts her wrist from her face and pulls out the bouquet, then tucks the flowers into his breast pocket.
MILLER
Plenty of room in my pocket for you, too, leman.
ALYS
I don’t think my husband would fit.
She lifts out her bouquet.
MILLER
If I’d known you would take it backI would have put it in a different pocket.
He adjusts his trouser flap. Alys looks down at his crotch.
ALYS
Plenty of room in there, too.
The crowd laughs. Miller scowls.