Sequence 1

The evening sun casts its glow over two women, intertwined on rumpled sheets. Sated intimacy. A small sparsely furnished room.

A finger traces a cheek. A soft lingering kiss.

One of the women reaches for something, presents it to the other, hidden in her cupped hands.

The other woman prises her hands open, like opening a flower. Inside, paper folded in the shape of a horse.

She takes teh gift, ‘gallops’ it up her lover’s arm towards her mouth, her lips following.

In the distance, a clock chimes. The woman about to be kissed leaps out of bed and hurriedly dons the maid’s uniform draped over a nearby chair, while her partner annoys her by throwing things at her. The maid kisses her partner, who is now pretending to sulk, and hurries out.

Her partner languidly stretches, contemplates getting up.

* * *

The maid hurries down a long corridor panelled with dark wood and enormous oil portraits of rich ancestors. Another maid emerges from a door carrying a bucket and a mop. A brief nod, a sceptical look.

She turns a corner, knocks on a door.

A commanding male voice from inside, ‘Come!’

* * *

She pushes the door open, enters deferentially.

A stately drawing room. A group of powerful men, sitting around a table covered in maps, and wooden horses, representing armies and battalions.

The youngest man sits at the head of the table. All the other men are subtly turned towards him, defer to him.

The maid carefully reaches between the men to gather the empty coffee cups and cake plates from the large table and puts them on a tray. The men carry on with their strategising, as if she’s invisible.

* * *

She pushes her way through a swinging kitchen door, carrying the tray of cups and plates.

A busy kitchen. Much shouting and bustling. We realise from the uniforms, the number of staff, and the types of kitchen equipment, that this is a large establishment in the early 1900s.

A formidable older woman in a uniform catches her eye, looks meaningfully at the clock on the wall.

The maid drops her eyes, hands her tray of used cups and plates to the washing-up team.

* * *

A very long table in a very formal dining room. Walls covered in portraits of powerful men and their horses.

Under the watchful eye of the chief butler, four maids, including our maid, are setting the table for an elaborate dinner. Beautiful, monogrammed silver cutlery, taken from a locked drawer, wiped and placed one by one in exactly the right place and order. Etched wine glasses.

An operation of skill and precision.

* * *

The kitchen clock chimes 7 o’clock.

On the last stroke, under the watchful eye of the head chef a long line of maids and footmen carrying soup tureens, serving platters covered with warm delicacies and shining silver cloches processes out of the kitchen, and up a long corridor towards an open door, from which floods light, laughter, and loud chat.

* * *

Our maid holds a tureen of soup so that an aging general in moustache and medals can spoon the consommé into his plate.

The golden light cast by the chandeliers suspended over the long table and its guests is refracted and reflected from silverware, glassware, diamonds and medals.

The general’s shaking hand splashes the thin broth onto the brocade tablecloth.

The maid lowers her gaze to save his pride, takes a cloth from her apron, and surreptitiously wipes the tablecloth.

Next, she turns to the young woman in formal regalia sitting at the head of the table.

The Queen. On the table in front of her, the origami horse.

Her lover.

Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second. A secret smile.

At the other end of the long table the young King rises to make a toast. It’s the man who was chairing the war planning committee in the stateroom.

THE KING

The Queen!

He gestures for her to stand. She rises gracefully.

THE KING (cont)

On her birthday!

ALL THE DINERS

(rising to their feet, glasses raised)

The Queen!

The Queen bows her head gracefully.

Along with all the other servants, the maid shrinks back into the shadows.

Sequence 2

While the maids polish all the silverware from the Queen’s birthday dinner, the head butler counts it and locks it away.

In the Queen’s bedroom, a chambermaid eases an extravagant emerald necklace from the Queen’s neck and puts it in its case.

The Queen stands in the middle of the floor with her arms stretched out, while three chambermaids undress her – hanging the clothes, putting away her jewellery.

She is down to petticoats when they are disturbed by a knock at the door.

Two of the chambermaids slip a nightgown over the petticoats; the other goes to the door and, with a nod from the Queen, opens it.

The King enters, carrying something behind his back.

The Queen gestures for the chambermaids to exit, wait outside.

The King waits for them to go, then kisses the Queen’s hand, produces a jewellery box from behind his back, and puts it in her hand.

She opens it. Two enormous diamond earrings.

‘My goodness. This is too much, sir!’

‘Please.’

He gestures for her to put them on.

She crosses to her dressing room table, sits, puts the earrings in. Looks at herself in the mirror.

Behind her, the King looks over her shoulder. He smiles.

She thanks him again. ‘They are exquisite.’

They are. As is she. She looks at herself again. Beautiful in the candlelight.

She notices the King in the mirror. Still standing behind her. Expectant.

[Moment 1 – beside, no longer behind.]

She stands, turns to him, takes his hands in hers, kisses them. But he wants more.

She crosses to her bed, bends over, pulls up her petticoat and nightgown, and supports herself with her hands on the end of the bed.

The new earrings swing backwards and forwards. In her head she counts – one, two, three….

The King finishes, wipes himself, fastens his pants.

‘erm…Thank you.’

He walks to the door, opens it, gestures for the maids to come back in.

‘Good night my dear. Happy birthday.’

He closes the door.

The maids help the Queen lie back on the bed. They lift her knees, place a pillow under her bum. They lift her legs, put her feet into straps hanging from the bedposts.

The Queen dismisses them. Lies there, her feet in the air, her eyes closed, stroking the earrings.

Sequence 3 (possible?)

About hiding in plain sight – how the Queen and the maid make time for being together without triggering suspicion.

The Queen is being taught to ride by Callum, a handsome stable boy/riding instructor. The maid has engineered to be on hand to help out, and then the Queen persuaded Callum to teach her as well.

Callum thinks/hopes that the maid is there for him, and she lets him think that. He’s a bit sweetly naïve. She likes him, and teases him.

If it came to that, if for some reason she had to marry, Callum would be OK.

But in the meantime, it’s mostly about the chance to ride together. And occasionally ride alone together.

Callum is flirting with Inga. She’s keeping him at a distance, without revealing her secret. He sees this as a challenge. More interesting than the swooning dairy maids.

‘For sure you have a very fine dingle dangle between your legs young Callum. Why don’t you show that new dairy maid? I’ve no doubt she has well-practiced fingers…’

We find out the maid’s name is Inga.

Sequence X

Expect this scene to be the midpoint of act 2 – i.e. about 45 minutes into the film. There have been rumblings of rebellion in the provinces, which have been summarily dealt with. But now the rebels have unified, adn marched on the palace.

In teh sequence that immediatley precedes this one, we see the King and army march out of the castle/city to do battle. Pomp and finery.

Closing image of preceding sequence – under his watchful eye, the King’s servants set up his luxurious tent. One of the generals approaches him with a question – he waves him away – later – can’t you see I’m busy?

[Moment 2 – with the Queen]

In her rooms in the castle, the Queen paces backwards and forwards, anxiously. She is visibly pregnant. One of her maids brings in the elderly general who spilled his soup.

He takes her hand. Reassures her. Come with me. He insists. They exit.

From the top of a stone tower looking out over fields and forests, towards the setting sun. In the middle distance a vast army is arrayed. Flags flutter. Fires blaze. Mounted cavalry wheel and turn. The distant sounds of preparation for battle.

The general explains the foolproof plans for battle.

The Queen looks between the general and the battlefield. She is not reassured.

Seeing that, the general takes her hand, leads her to a table covered with an enormous map, and various wooden symbols representing various units of the army. (See sequence 1)

The general begins to explain the upcoming battle, moving carved pieces across the map with a shaking hand.

She waves off the demonstration.

‘When?’

‘Ahh. Tomorrow morning. Shortly after breakfast.’

The Queen tries to take on the general’s untroubled confidence, only partially succeeds. One last look over the battlements at the army, and she turns to leave.

[Moment 3]

Wine is poured from a silver carafe into a crystal glass. The King swirls the wine around the glass, sniffs it, tastes it, sucks it through his teeth. Nods to the servant, who fills the glasses of the generals sitting around the King’s table.

An extravagant meal, exquisite table setting. The chef carries in two roasted ducks.

[Moment 4]

Dark figures move silently through the night. Splashes of light from lamps concealed under tentlike cloths. The jingle of weaponry. Glimpses of bows and arrows. Pots of tar.

In her chambers, the Queen sits at her dinner. Unhappy. Distracted. Moving her food around the plate. Inga approaches, gestures – have you finished, can I get you anything…?

Without acknowledging her, the Queen pushes her untouched plate at Inga, dismisses her with a curt wave.

[Moment 5]

Inga, more concerned than hurt, backs out of the room, carrying the Queen’s uneaten meal.

In the King’s tent, the detritus of an extravagant meal. Linen napkins wipe duck fat from moustaches. Discreet burps. A satisfied relaxation that speaks to the quality of the wine.

The King stands, raises his glass.

‘Gentlemen! Tomorrow!’

The generals stand.

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Victory!’

‘Victory!’

A flaming arrow pierces the tent, sticks into the table. The tablecloth catches fire. More arrows. Shouting, screaming, panic.

Inga, feeding the Queen’s uneaten meal to the tied-up hunting dogs. Suddenly they begin to bark furiously. She hears what they hear – the beginning of a battle. She turns and runs.

[Moment 6]

Inga, running up a long stone staircase.

Arriving at the top of the tower. A lookout is blowing a trumpet, sounding the alarm.

She rushes to the battlements, looks out. Flames and chaos. Distant shouts, screams, the clash of weapons.

She hurries back down the stairs. Forced to huddle against the wall as a mass of courtiers, soldiers, and servants rush up the stairs. Barely contained hysteria.

In the midst of the crowd, the Queen pushes past. Inga holds her hand out towards the Queen, but is brushed aside.

She hesitates for a moment, then continues down the stairs.

She runs across the courtyard towards the stables.

[Moment 7]

In the stables, Callum, the handsome young stableman who has been wooing her, is trying to calm the horses, spooked by the dog’s cacophony outside. He turns to see Inga push the stable doors open and hurry towards him.

‘Two horses Callum. Bess and Aragon. Saddled and ready.’

‘I cannot. The King will have my head.’

‘Fool! None of us will have our heads tomorrow. Make it three and you can ride with us.’

‘Inga! No!’

She pushes him, catching him off balance. Throws him to the ground. He looks up at her. Fierce. Beautiful. She looks down at him, deciding.

The sound of an enormous explosion rocks the stables. The horses rear and whinny.

Panic at the top of the tower. People screaming. An enormous jam of people on the stairs – some pushing to the top of the tower to see, some pushing back trying to escape.

Inga’s feet, up those stairs again.

She pushes through the chaos, grabs the Queen’s arm, pulls her into a dark corner.

‘Come with me. Now. We must flee!’

‘Flee? I am the Queen. These are my people. I will not flee.’

‘Milady, tonight the crown is on your head. Tomorrow you will have neither head nor crown. Do you think the horde will shelter and nurture the young prince you carry in your belly, to rule over them? Come!’

She drags the reluctant Queen towards the stairs.

Hurries across the courtyard. In the distance, triumphant cries.

Pushes the stable doors open, leads the Queen in.

[Moment 8]

Callum, dead on the ground with a pitchfork through his chest.

‘Callum?’

‘Yes, milady, Callum. Now get on Bess here.”

The Queen kneels to touch Callum’s face.

‘Milady!’

The Queen stands, rocked to her core. Inga locks her fingers together, boosts the Queen into the saddle. The Queen looks around for the last time. Firelight plays across her face. A tear rolls down her cheek.

And then Inga hits Bess on the rump, and the Queen’s horse gallops towards the open stable doors.

In the darkness, silhouetted against raging fires, two women on horseback gallop across the screen.

Sequence X+1

The sun rises over a ridge. A dirt road winds between fields to the summit. Along it, a young boy is driving a flock of sheep to market.

Silhouetted against the rising sun, two women on horseback rise above the ridge, coming towards us. They push through the flock of sheep.

The young shepherd watches them pass, curious. Inga looks back to see him standing, staring. Suspicious. Behind him, on the horizon, an enormous pillar of smoke rises to the sky.

Inga smacks the Queen’s horse on the rump. Digs her heels into her mount’s ribs. They break into a half-hearted gallop.

Inga and the Queen go into hiding in a forest. Inga tells the Queen to stay hidden, takes the horses.

At noon, she rides into a village with a market. She sells the horses, exchanges the money for two old nags, and some nondescript clothes – but not without raising suspicion, and dealing with it. After all, a bargain’s a bargain, right? But it hasn’t gone away.

Back in the forest, Inga digs a hole to bury the Queens’ clothes, and most of her jewellery. But not without a power struggle. The Queen wants to keep as much as she can.

But this time Inga prevails (as she must). Echo a previous struggle between Inga and the Queen back at the castle, when the Queen was the powerful one, and won.

NOTE TO SELF: Would it be too on-the-nose if Inga allowed the Queen to keep one favourite piece of clothing, but only if Inga wears it, not the Queen?

‘You in that cloak – the Queen. Me in that cloak – not the Queen. But if they’re looking at me they won’t be looking at you.’

And so on, out of the Queen’s world and into Inga’s world. Albeit with a Prince or Princess in the Queen’s belly.

THOUGHTS ABOUT SEQUENCE 2.

Perhaps extend the gap between us realising what the King expects and the Queen realising, by having a single chamber maid still waiting on the Queen, and have the chambermaid realise before the Queen, and then have to cope with letting the Queen know, and making herself scarce.

Does this give too much importance to a minor character? Probably, unless she becomes significant later.

Should we make Inga the chambermaid? NO, makes their affair too easy.