Leftist middle ages

Title Card: LEFTIST MIDDLE AGES

CHARACTERS:

    THE PRINCE (40s-50s): Statuesque, in ornate armor with a massive great sword. Speaks with booming, almost practiced solemnity.

    THE SENTRY (20s-30s): A common soldier, dusty, exhausted. Pragmatic and grounded.

    COURTIERS, SOLDIERS, TOWNSPEOPLE, MIGRANTS.

EXT. MEDIEVAL CITY - NIGHT

TIME: Dead, silent night.

Before us lies a classical medieval fortress city. Massive stone walls, high towers with arrow slits, and heavy, iron-clad GATES guarded by sentries.

In the crushing silence, a shrill, terror-filled CRY rips from the main tower:

VOICE (O.S.)
Enemy!!!

A split second of stunned silence, then the city explodes. The main WATCH BELL begins a rapid, panicked toll.

Torches flare everywhere. Chaos erupts: MEN, buckling belts and grabbing spears on the run, dash toward the walls. WOMEN, clutching frightened, weeping CHILDREN to their chests, hurriedly lead them deep into narrow alleyways. Soldiers and militia take their positions along the crenelated walls.

EXT. CITY WALL - CONTINUOUS

On the wall, at the main arrow slit, stands THE PRINCE. He wears ornate, polished armor and holds a massive two-handed GREAT SWORD. He is surrounded by terrified COURTIERS in silk robes and SOLDIERS with readied bows. They all stare out into the impenetrable darkness beyond the walls.

THE SENTRY, breathless, dashes up the wall stairs.

SENTRY
Prince! They’re approaching! There are... there are so many of them! An army like I’ve never seen!

The Prince frowns, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter.

PRINCE
(through his teeth)
Prepare for battle. Cannoneers—light the fuses. When they come within bowshot—volley on my command.

Out in the darkness, movement begins to take shape. A rumble of voices, the shuffling of thousands of feet. The enemy is near.

Torchlight from the wall catches the first rows. It is a mob of poorly dressed people. Rags instead of armor, no weapons in their hands, only satchels and bundles. Faces emaciated, covered in grime.

One of the Courtiers gasps.

COURTIER
My God... Who are they?

The Prince raises his hand, halting the soldiers ready to release their arrows.

PRINCE
(with disgust)
Hold fire! Stop the cannons! The cowards... what villainy!

He turns to the Courtiers, his face full of noble indignation.

PRINCE (CONT'D)
They are driving thralls before their army! They want us to waste all our arrows and shot on them. What barbarism!

The rumble from the crowd outside the wall becomes deafening. People are simply standing at the base of the wall, looking up.

The Sentry, who has not taken his eyes off the mob, slowly turns to the Prince. Absolute bewilderment is written all over his face.

SENTRY
Prince... permission to report. Something... something very strange is happening there.

The Prince snaps toward him.

PRINCE
Speak!

SENTRY
There is no army... there is no army at all. I looked with all my might. Only these... mobs of people. And they... they are nothing like us. Not their clothes, not their faces... nothing. They are just standing there.



His strained face suddenly relaxes. The massive great sword hits the stone floor with a loud CLANG. The Prince makes a deep, relieved sigh, and a wide, almost joyous smile spreads across his face.

PRINCE
(with profound relief)
A-ha! Now I understand!

He turns to the stunned soldiers and Courtiers, throwing his arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

PRINCE (CONT'D)
(loudly, to the whole city)
They are migrants!

A beat. Silence falls over the city. The bell stops tolling. Everyone stares at the Prince, not understanding.

PRINCE (CONT'D)
(commands)
Open the gates! Now! Let them all in! Every last one!

The Sentry looks at the Prince as if he has lost his mind.

SENTRY
Forgive me, Prince... but... there are so many of them. Just a dark sea! And they look... they look frightening. Those are not good looks they’re giving us.

The Prince straightens up, his face taking on a solemn, histrionic expression. He looks over the heads of the soldiers, into eternity.

PRINCE
(loftily)
Helping migrants is our moral duty! It is the highest virtue! Now they will live in our city. And we... we will feed them. This is our cross to bear, and we shall bear it with pride!

The Courtiers begin to glance uncertainly at each other, then some begin to nod and weakly applaud. The soldiers stand with lowered weapons, completely bewildered.

The Sentry sighs deeply. Realizes arguing is pointless. He turns and slowly walks down the stone stairs, toward the city gates.

EXT. CITY GATES - CONTINUOUS

The Sentry approaches the heavy bolts. The sentries at the gate stare at him in horror, waiting for the command to fight.

SENTRY
(tiredly)
Open up. The Prince's order. Let them all in.

The sentries hesitate. The Sentry himself grabs the heavy oak bolt.

SENTRY (CONT'D)
(muttering to himself, with bitterness)
Moral duty... To conquer a city, you don't even need an army anymore! All you have to do is show up.

With a heavy CREAK, the massive city gates begin to slowly open.

The dark, thousands-strong mass of people outside the wall moves and floods through the opening, filling the city.

END OF SCENE

 
Logline. A medieval prince, mistaking a mass of refugees for an invading army, opens his city gates and declares their aid a moral duty, to the horror of his soldiers.