The Stone of Scone: A Fable.
This is bloody heavy!
Stop your whining, man. You sound like a horse in heat.
You're being paid well enough. You, hurry along there.
Pull yourself together.
51, 52, 53, 54, 55,
56, 57, 58, 59, 60.
Right. We'll dig in through here. Then we'll go straight up.
I don't know. If we ever get caught...
You've been paid well enough to do what you're told. Now, dig!
Wait! What?
You stay right here.
I'll take care of whoever it is. Hmm?
I'll deal with this.
Deal with what?
- You! - What the devil are you doing here?
- I might ask you the same question. - Well, I asked first.
I'm here to steal the Stone of Scone from Westminster Abbey...
and return it to its rightful place in Scotland.
- Stone of Scone? - Aye, the Stone of Scone!
- Ah, forget it. - Your turn.
I'm here to blow that pompous ass George off the throne of England...
and bring this abbey down around his ears.
Not before I have the stone, you don't.
But if you steal the stone, I'll never get in here!
They'll seal the place up so tight, not even a mouse will be able to get in!
But, Fitzcairn, the stone is what is important.
- To who? - To the people of Scotland!
But what about the people of England?
Well, to hell with them. They're thieving bastards. They're what?
- They're thieving bastards! - I'll take you on!
What do you mean, "uh-oh"?
Run! Run away! Run away!
Run! Fitzcairn!
He is Duncan MacLeod,
the Highlander.
Born in 1592, in the Highlands of Scotland,
and he is still alive.
He is immortal.
For 400 years, he's been a warrior,
a lover,
a wanderer,
constantly facing other Immortals in combat to the death.
The winner takes his enemy's head...
and with it, his power.
I am a Watcher,
part of a secret society of men and women...
who observe and record, but never interfere.
We know the truth about Immortals.
In the end, there can be only one.
May it be Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander.
Here we are
Born to be kings
We're the princes of the universe
I am immortal
I have inside me blood of kings
I have no rival
No man can be my equal
Take me to the future of your world
This is all your fault, MacLeod!
My fault? You're the one that brought the bloody gunpowder!
And you didn't even bring enough!
How do you know?
Because the abbey's still standing, you bloody nincompoop!
What did you call me? Nincompoop!
That's it!
Wait. Now, this is no way...
for gentlemen to settle a dispute.
Then how do you suggest that we settle it?
On the field of battle, like the warriors we are.
Oh, very well, then. What are the terms?
If I lose, I'll help you steal the stone.
But if you lose, you'll help me...
bring this abbey down on George's head. Done.
When? When?
Tomorrow. The battlefield at dawn.
Come on, Hugh Fitzcairn!
This is all your fault!
Ready?
Ready.
I'm going to bury you, MacLeod.
-So who has the honor of the first swing?
It makes no difference to me, Fitzcairn,
because I'm gonna drive you into the ground.
Expect no mercy from me.
From an Englishman? I dinna need it.
You will, when you see how I use this.
The best money can buy.
English briar.
Ha! You call that a club? Now this...
This is a club.
After you.
I beg your pardon?
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Ohh! Nicely done!
Is this some sort of new English strategy?
Well, let's see you do better.
No problem.
Mind the cow.
- I beg your pardon, sir? - Just trying to help.
I dinna want your help or need it.
Ach, damn you, Fitzcairn! You did that on purpose!
Oh, that's a lame excuse. Anyone can see, man, it's your grip!
There's nothing wrong with my grip.
Your grip on the club, sir... It's all wrong.
You're impossible.
Ahh, the smell of the damp grass.
An open fairway.
Driver in my hands.
Reminds me of the old days, MacLeod.
There's a crosswind. I'll just take my mulligan.
No mulligans, darling.
Amanda. You're late.
Sorry. No mulligans?
Of course there are mulligans. Always have been mulligans.
Andy?
It ain't gentlemanly, sir.
One never takes a mulligan when playing a proper round of golf.
It's only children and...
begging your pardon, miss... women do.
I gave her odds.
I needed the money.
You bet Amanda when she needed money?
Think I'm taking an unfair advantage?
I think you're an idiot.
You might want to, uh, slow the backswing down a little, Amanda.
And adjust your grip.
Just a little.
You were saying, Fitz?
Nothing.
Ta-ta, boys. I'll see you on the green.
I think she's done this before.
She's done everything before, Fitz.
How come she's playing off the men's tees and not the ladies' tees?
Part of the odds I gave her. Hmm.
How much did you bet her? A few... pounds.
A few thousand pounds.
Well, how good is she?
Lost your ball? I think I saw it over here.
Need some help? No problem.
Ah, yes. Here it is.
Yes, here's mine.
I believe, uh, that's your ball, sir. Yeah?
No. No, this one's mine. That must be someone else's.
This is your mark, Fitzcairn.
You took an unplayable lie without declaring.
An honest mistake.
Ah, a mistake, was it? You miserable, lying little cheat.
Amanda. Hmm?
I'll forfeit the game. The money's yours.
- Promise you won't tell MacLeod. - Tell me what?
It seems our friend here is playing hard and fast with the rules.
You cheated! A simple mistake.
Anyone could've made it.
I've seen you cheat at cards, and I've seen you cheat with women.
But golf? What kind of man cheats at golf?
I have an impossible lie.
I swear! I haven't done it for centuries!
Which century?
It was a long, long, long time ago, MacLeod.
I can barely remember it myself.
Well, I'm two strokes ahead, Fitzcairn.
That makes you two strokes behind.
Looks like you'll be swinging a pick.
Two strokes ahead Two strokes ahead
MacLeod.
Your ball.
How did it get buried in the ground like that?
Who knows? Bad luck.
Oh, look. I'm in the clear. Do you mind?
No.
Bad luck. Bad luck.
How did it get buried in the ground like that?
You could always take a penalty stroke.
Ach, penalty, my ass.
I keep telling you. It's your grip.
The truth, Fitzcairn.
Did you cheat on that game we had in 1720? Did you?
The future of a nation was at stake!
It was the only way I could get you to help me. Help him what?
Because of you, the Stone of Scone was never returned.
Because of you, Scotland lost its chance!
And because of you, we went after those bloody Crown Jewels!
Uh,theCrown Jewels? We could've had the stone!
Well, seems like I won't be swinging that pick after all, MacLeod.
Rotten luck, you hitting into the rough like that.
Still, you're a man of honor to play it as it lay.
Aye, that I am.
And as a man of honor, you are bound to help me restore the true king.
I gave my word, and I will keep it.
Tonight the abbey is rubble. Tonight?
Are you out of your tiny little mind? No.
No. After last night, they'll be waiting for us.
Piffle. What can they do to us?
The same thing they did to Guy Fawkes... hung, drawn and quartered.
Oh. Oh.
But we Catholics have wanted to restore the rightful king since Cromwell,
and blowing up Westminster Abbey is just what we need to rally support.
You blow up the abbey, you blow up the stone.
And the Scots will never be behind you then.
And you need the Scots.
God, I hate it when you're right.
There must be some way we can rally men to the cause.
You'd need the bloody Crown Jewels to do that.
Hah! The man's a genius!
Ah, no, no. Fitzcairn, you cannot be serious.
Not the Crown Jewels! Why not?
Be-Because it's madness!
No one gets in the Tower of London.
Come on! Only a lunatic would try it. Exactly.
Exactly?
I should've kept me mouth shut.
You there!
I said you there!
Hmm! Dead drunk.
No, just dead.
Are you sure this man of yours knows how to get inside the tower?
I should hope so. He works there.
As what? The executioner.
Bernie Crimmins. Crimmins? The fence?
Mmm. Are you out of your tiny English mind?
And why not? They say he'd sell his mother out for two pennies.
You worry too much. And besides, he doesn't have a mother.
Oh, great. He's one of us.
Ah, Crimmins!
He's one of us? Ah, this gets better by the minute.
Does he know he can actually cut the meat off the bone first?
Maybe you should tell him.
- Mr. Crimmins, I presume?
Jimmy the Dipper sent me. Hugh Fitzcairn.
The, uh, floor plans to the tower.
Forgetting something, aren't we?
Ah, yes. Of course.
Sixty guineas.
Sixty guineas?
Oh, yes, you're right. One hundred.
Ah, now. We seem to have a little problem here.
What kind of problem?
Your man, he told you the wrong price.
It's 200 guineas.
Two hundred guineas? Why, that's robbery!
Things are tough all over.
I haven't got 200 guineas.
MacLeod, what are we going to do?
Let me deal with this. Mr. Crimmins!
The deal was 100 guineas, and 100 guineas it is.
Now, you can take it or leave it.
- I'll leave it. - Very well, then.
- Mr. Fitzcairn, shall we? - Ahem, MacLeod. One moment.
One moment. Mr. Crimmins,
you are a scoundrel and a rogue.
- And as much as it pains me to do so...
- The plans.
- MacLeod, would you?
- Adieu.
'Tis 3:00 at the tower, and all is well.
Come on, Fitzcairn.
Get off me!
Come on.
Mallet and chisel. I thought you brought the tools.
No, you did.
Eh, I'll go get them. It'll take you too long.
Shows what he knows. Stupid Scot.
Fitzcairn. Fitzcairn?
Idiot. You cannie leave him alone for a minute.
Fitzcairn!
Over here, MacLeod.
Will you stop playing? We have work to do.
Oh, how do you do it?
It wasn't my fault. He surprised me.
I think you'd better give up.
It'll take more than one man to make me yield.
Yes, well, I've been meaning to get around to that.
Throw down your sword!
I'm sorry.
- Yield and I'll show you mercy.
No mercy! Show him no mercy!
- I blame you for this, MacLeod!
This is your fault! What do you mean, it's my fault?
Why are you waiting about?
I've been shot!
How do you like it?
Will you go down?
I could've done that.
Really? Hurry, men! Up the stairs!
MacLeod, the chains! There's no time! Come on!
Without the jewels? Without them or without your bloody English head!
If it hasn't escaped your notice, we've just committed an act of treason,
and if we get caught, we can be put in the Tower of London...
and beheaded by your friend Crimmins.
And to think I trusted you!
I'm sorry. It was a long time ago, MacLeod.
Forgive and forget. No.
But we're friends. We were.
Andy, you're a Scot.
What can you tell me about the Scone Stone?
It's priceless, miss. Worth more than the Crown Jewels?
They're just bits of diamond.
But the Stone of Scone, missy,
that's beyond any price, aye.
Christmas, 1950.
With few days left for Christmas, the race is on...
to get Santa's sleigh loaded up in time,
and with shop windows glistening like pre-war,
it's a real problem to know just what to pick.
But Christmas isn't just about having things.
There's lots of fun in going round and seeing all the exciting things inside.
And mistletoe gives Auntie a chance, even if you don't need it yourself.
Make others happy. That's the spirit of Christmas,
as the sailor said, taking home something to wash down the bird.
I'm sorry, madam. I'm afraid the Clermont Club is a "members only" establishment.
Oh, really? Well, uh, from all the action I've seen,
I thought maybe it was a morgue.
Listen, would you please tell Mr. Crimmins I would like to see him?
Very good, madam. Mmm.
Hello, sweetie.
Hmm! Very, very nice!
Lord Crimmins will see you now.
Quelle surprise.
My dearest Amanda!
Lord Crimmins? You actually bought a title?
One doesn'tbuy a title, Amanda.
I merely helped the royal family out of a rather nasty business.
A set of unfortunate photographs came into my possession.
Oh, but not exactly unfortunate for you.
Well, a matter of being in the right place at the right time...
That's my Bernie. Always working the angles.
It's Lord Crimmins, if you don't mind.
So, what brings you to see your old friend?
I've got a deal lined up, Bernie, but I need a little advance.
How much? Only £ 50,000.
Sorry. The bottom dropped out of the art market.
Ah, but this isn't art. This is a stone.
A priceless stone.
It's the score of the century, Bernie.
Makes the Crown Jewels look like dirt. Dirt?
Dirt.
Here's my proposal.
A 70-30 split.
70-30? Now, why would I take that?
Oh, my darling, Amanda,
because your luck at the gaming tables has been abysmal,
and you owe the Curson Street Boys £ 47,863.
And they're going to break your... lovely legs.
Cheers.
All right.
It's a deal... 60-40.
I like you, Amanda.
Well, as much as I like anyone. You're warming my heart, Bernie.
So, I want to be sure you take this in the right way.
If you renege on our little deal,
I shall cut out your heart...
before I take your head.
Understood?
Perfectly.
Am I boring you?
What?
MacLeod, don't you think maybe you're taking this a little too hard?
The man has no honor at all.
Oh, it just breaks my heart to see you this way.
You know, I say if the stone is so important to you, we should just go and get it.
- You mean steal it? - Yeah.
Impossible.
Oh, no, no, no. You see, with my talent and your muscles,
the impossible takes just a little bit longer.
Why would you want the Stone of Scone back in Scotland?
To make you happy.
What?
Are you the only one who can be selfless?
Don't I ever, ever, ever get to be kind?
The stone has been locked up for 230 years in Westminster Abbey, tight as a drum.
Yeah, but locks are my specialty. Yeah. Look, sweetheart.
What? We couldn't do it, and there's nobody crazy enough to try it.
MacLeod? Are you in there?
No. No. No. Yes!
Don't... Don't let him in!
Ah. Amanda, you're dressed for the occasion.
MacLeod. Ohh.
MacLeod, my comrade, my friend, my companion.
I am dying!
With guilt.
Poor baby. For 230 years,
I have lived...
with the memory of my betrayal.
And it hangs over me like a curse.
Please forgive me that. Can you ever forgive me?
You're forgiven. You mean it?
Yeah. Thank you!
Oh, oh! Fitzcairn.
You won't be... s-sorry.
I'm already sorry.
'Tis the season to be jolly...
as Christmas Eve descends on London.
Fitzcairn. I see you dressed for the occasion.
I've been invited to a party later.
Are you sure I agreed to this?
Yeah, you agreed. He agreed, didn't he? Mm-hmm.
But it's Christmas. Nobody works on Christmas.
Oh, I've made some of my best scores on Christmas.
See? Now, will you shut up and let her work?
This is crazy. Now for stage two.
Come on. Mind your pole.
You can't be in here, miss. We're closed.
Oh, but it's Christmas.
Won't you 'ave a little bit of Christmas cheer with me?
No, madam. Not while on duty.
Oh, well, I only come to the abbey to toast the soul of me poor departed mother.
Please. To Mother?
After all, it is Christmas.
God bless us every one.
What the dickens is in there?
Something to separate the men from the boys.
Come.
Are you sure you know where you're going? Of course I do.
Come on.
- There it is. - Where?
The chair. Where it's been for 350 years.
-Come on, Fitz. - Quiet, quiet, quiet.
Can you hear that? I don't hear anything.
- Nor do I. - Someone's coming.
Quick. I know where to hide. Come on. Fitz!
Come on.
Ow! Get in here, quick.
What about you? I'll take care of him like I did the last one.
What's that?
A policeman. Oh, no. She's locked us in.
Why?
Probably to get rid of her partners.
But why would she do that? It doesn't make sense.
The stone's of no use to her. She's Amanda.
I wouldn't bother. By the time you knock down the door,
every cop in Westminster will be waiting for us.
- So what are we gonna do? - Don't worry. She'll be back.
Think this suits me?
No.
Oh. Well, I never really did like the forces.
There you go.
Where is it!
Bernie isn't gonna like this.
Been plucking the Christmas turkey, my dear?
What's the matter? Need us to help you move it?
- I need you to help me find it. - What do you mean, find it?
It's right there. Under the chair.
This is a joke!
That's no joke. This is the Stone of Scone.
It's a stupid rock! It's not just any rock.
Legend has it this is the rock that Jacob lay his head on...
when he dreamt of heaven.
Whoever sits on this sits on the throne of Scotland.
The English stole it, and now we'll have it back.
It's a rock.
I can't believe I did all of this for a stupid chunk of rock!
Will you hold my pole?
Come on.
Are you lifting, MacLeod?
Of course I'm lifting, Fitzcairn. Give us a hand.
- I don't do lifting, Fitzcairn. - Amanda, I owe you one.
Good, because I owe Bernie Crimmins £ 50,000
You made a deal with Crimmins? Ah, you two have something in common.
I thought I was getting an advance on what was a giant diamond.
- Nobody said it was a diamond. - Nobody said it wasn't!
Quick! It's gonna drop!
Oh, my God! That's all we need! It's the police!
I'll drive. I'll drive!
Let me drive! I'm driving!
The silence of Christmas morning was shattered by sirens...
as Westminster Abbey, spiritual heart of the Commonwealth,
lost one of its most precious relics...
when persons so far unknown broke in...
anone of Scone.
The thieves left the initials "J.F.S.,"
"Justice for Scotland."
Other priceless relics were untouched...
as they dragged the ancient Stone of Destiny...
upon which Scottish kings were crowned...
and vanished into the night through this door.
The honor of the nation is at stake.
If you scoundrels are listening to this broadcast,
know you will be found.
I'm much prettier than this.
Don't you think I'm prettier than this?
My eyes are too far apart, and my nose is all wrong.
It just... doesn't look like me.
Amanda, as long as it doesn't look like you, then we're in the clear.
The only problem is they've got the license plate number.
Oh, no.
I think we should leave the country for a while. And what about the stone?
What about the stone? Crimmins wants the stone or my head.
Yeah, well... I'm on the next boat to Algiers, boys.
Well, I've done my bit. You've got the stone.
Fine. What about you?
I'm staying. Well, as you wish.
You're leaving? Mmm.
Right, right. Fine. You're leaving?
Yeah. Fine.
Ah. My dear...
Well, well,quelle surprise.
If it isn't Amanda.
Get your hands off me! Who the hell are you?
Scotland Yard, miss. I must ask you to accompany us to the station house.
I'm under arrest? What's the charge?
Treason.
There is a startling new development...
in the Stone of Scone investigation...
as police have apprehended a suspect who's being questioned at Scotland Yard.
I told you. I was nowhere near the place on Christmas. I was out caroling.
Look, love, I don't think you understand the trouble you're in.
Breaking into Westminster Abbey, stealing a national treasure.
Really? Now, uh, which Westminster Abbey would that be?
The charge is treason against the state.
I suppose you have proof? A little.
Your fingerprints were all over the coronation chair.
There is a little matter of being recognized by one of the guards.
You know the one. The one you drugged.
You call that proof?
Look, love, I know how it is.
Innocent young girl falls under the wrong influences.
But in this case, we know that you were just being used by those two men.
Give us the names,
and you might not grow old in prison.
You'd be surprised.
What? No one knows she's here.
It would appear you have been sprung.
Next time, be a little bit more careful who you pick up.
Amanda.
I've changed my mind. I'd like to talk about that deal now.
Ticklish, are we?
Oh, I love ticklish women.
Tell me, my dear,
what are the three words a woman never wants to hear when she's making love?
I give up. Exactly.
Go away.
High Fitzcairn, miss, you're under arrest.
Arrest? Whatever it is, you've got the wrong man.
I know nothing about the stone. I'm not even a Scot.
Save it for the magistrate. Your partner turned you in.
Um, you couldn't give me a half an hour to get ready, could you?
The search for the missing Stone of Destiny.
With two suspects in custody,
Scotland Yard continues its search for the third villain.
The dragnet has been extended throughout the country,
and no stone, no matter how small,
is being left unturned.
Many Scotsmen feel the removal of their Stone of Destiny...
may be a gesture to stir up Scottish sentiment for home rule.
A little bit here, a little bit there.
This stone, that stone, your stone, my stone.
A little bit there...
Looks like the original to me.
Hmm.
Now, to move it to the car.
Oh, no! Damn! Oh!
Oh, no!
Oh, well.
Oi, give us a blanket here!
Tell me, Miss Judas,
did you sell MacLeod out too?
No, I didn't. Look. Crimmins was waiting for me.
I had to make the best of a bad deal. I ratted on you to save my neck.
Speaking of deals,
what do you think they'll do to us?
Well, the charge is treason,
so I would say... 60-40 we get the hangman.
- 70-30. - You're on.
- How much? - Five thousand.
- But you haven't got any money. - I'll give you a marker.
Oh, right. You don't trust me?
Trust? You?
You'll get it when you're good and ready!
In London, the Stone of Scone has still not been recovered.
Prime Minister Churchill has little to say to the crowds...
anxiously waiting outside 10 Downing Street.
It's a sticky situation, sir.
If the Scots get wind that the stone can't be found, it will rally them to the cause.
Oh, bad business. Indeed. The worst.
The press will tear me apart for this.
Well, use them, sir. Issue a press release.
Tell them that it was a schoolboy lark,
that you're releasing the two responsible in return for the stone.
But the idiots don't know where it is.
Well, trust me, sir. Release them, and I'm sure the stone will be returned.
I sense something more than love of country, MacLeod.
It's personal, sir. It would be best for England.
Exactly. You will have the stone back, although it's not in one piece.
How did the bloody thing get broken, anyway?
Never mind. As long as we have it back.
Good man, MacLeod. There will be no questions asked.
Thank you, sir.
The Stone of Scone has been recovered.
It was anonymously placed at Arbroath Abbey,
close to the grave of William the Lion.
And here by appointment to receive the stone...
came Counselors Pontham and Gardner.
We were approached... Mr. Gardner and I...
to act as intermediaries...
to, um, facilitate the return of the Stone of Destiny...
to, uh, the Scottish people and to their king.
And so the Stone of Scone has been returned...
to its rightful place cone of Westminster Abbey,
and there is joy throughout our great kingdom.
Ah, you're a sight for sore eyes.
How'd you manage to spring us? Don't ask. But I did.
Our official pardon? Ah, no. Better.
It's reward money for information leading to the recovery of the stone.
Ah. Wait. I ratted on you. That's mine!
I think not. It's mine. I think not. It's mine.
Yours? Yeah. If you hadn't cheated in the first place,
none of this would've happened. Excuse me.
Did I hear you correctly? Did you call me a cheat?
I think he did.
Cheat, cheat, cheat.
-Nobody calls me a cheat. - You're a...
I demand satisfaction. You shall have it.
Tomorrow. Dawn.
Dawn it is.
And, uh, Fitzcairn, no mulligans.
She'd make a fortune with me as her coach.
She doesn't need a coach. Are you serious?
Everyone needs a coach, especially you.
Oh, very nice shot!
Hmm. Thank you.
You see, you keep the hands right,
and you slow the backswing down.
And the follow-through comes completely natural.
MacLeod, how did you... I shall demonstrate.
- Oh, my goodness! - Huh.
That's the way to do it.
Seems a little complicated, but, after all, it is a Scottish game.
I'm sorry about the stone.
We did our damnedest, but I suppose some things aren't meant to be.
You tried.
I told you, man. It's your grip.
He won't have it, but I keep telling him. Anyone can see.
Is it true what they say that whoever sits on the stone is the rightful ruler of Scotland?
So they say. Oh.
I'm on the green, MacLeod.
Aye, it's a good place to put a seat.
It's a little bit hard on the bottom,
but it's better than sittin' on the grass.
The end.
And here we are
We're the princes of the universe
Here we belong fighting for survival
We've come to be the rulers of your world
I am immortal
I have inside me blood of kings
I have no rival
No man can be my equal
Take me to the future of your world
Closed-Captioned By Captions, Inc. Los Angeles