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Brian has escaped the Soldiers, and runs off towards the crowded market place, at one end of which there is an area in which many weirdly bearded and oddly dressed Prophets are attempting to preach to the passers-by. A strange figure covered in mud, with a wild hairstyle and with two severed hands on a pole waves wildly at his listeners

 

 

Muddy Prophet:

... and shall ride forth on a serpents' back, and the eyes shall be red with the blood of living creatures, and the whore of Babylon shall rise over the hill of excitement and throughout the land there will be a great rubbing of parts ...

Red-haired Prophet:

And he shall bear a nine-bladed sword. Nine-bladed. Not two. Or five or seven, but nine, which he shall wield on all wretched sinners and that includes you sir, and the horns shall be on the head ...

A bored Roman Soldier stands in front of each speaker. Brian races into the market place. A cohort of Romans is searching the square roughly turning over baskets and patting down passers-by. Brian appears near a rather dull little Prophet, who is standing underneath the high window at the back of the revolutionarys' HQ.

Dull Prophet:

And there shall in that time be rumours of things going astray, and there will be a great confusion as to where things really are, and nobody will really know where lieth those little things with the sort of raffia-work base, that has an attachment — they will not be there.

Brian spots the Beard Seller, and moves towards his stall — he has an idea...

Dull Prophet:

At this time a friend shall lose his friends's hammer and the young shall not know where lieth the things possessed by their fathers that their fathers put there only just the night before ...

Brian runs to the Beard Seller's stall and hurriedly grabs an artificial beard.

Brian:

How much? Quick!

Beard Seller:

What?

Brian:

It's for the wife.

Beard Seller:

Oh. Twenty shekels.

Brian:

Right.

Beard Seller:

What?

Brian:

(putting the money down) There you are...

Beard Seller:

Wait a moment.

Brian:

What?

Beard Seller:

We're supposed to haggle.

Brian:

No, no — I've go to...

Beard Seller:

What do you mean, 'no'?

Brian:

I haven't time — I've got to get...

Beard Seller:

Give it back then.

Brian:

No, no — I paid you.

Beard Seller:

(calls) Bert!

Bert, a massive man, appears.

Bert:

Yeah?

Beard Seller:

This bloke won't haggle.

Bert:

(looks around) Where are the guards?

Brian:

Oh all right — I mean, do we have to...

Beard Seller:

Now I want twenty for that...

Brian:

I gave you twenty!

Beard Seller:

Now are you telling me that's not worth twenty shekels?

Brian:

No.

Beard Seller:

Feel the quality, that's none of yer goat..

Brian:

Oh — I'll give you nineteen, then...

Beard Seller:

No, no. Do it properly.

Brian:

What?

Beard Seller:

Haggle properly. This isn't worth nineteen.

Brian:

You just said it was worth twenty!

Beard Seller:

Bert!

Brian:

I'll give you ten...

Beard Seller:

That's more like it (Angrily) Ten? Are you trying to insult me? Me? With a poor dying grandmother...? Ten?!

Brian:

Eleven.

Beard Seller:

Now you're getting it. Eleven? Did I hear you right? Eleven?? This cost me twelve — d'you want to ruin me?

Brian:

Seventeen.

Beard Seller

Seventeen?!

Brian:

Eighteen?

Beard Seller:

No, no, no — you go to fourteen now!

Brian

Fourteen.

Beard Seller:

Fourteen? Are you joking>

Brian:

That's what you told me to say! (desperate) Tell me what to say, please!

Beard Seller:

Offer me fourteen.

Brian:

I'll give you fourteen.

Beard Seller:

(to the onlookers) He's offering me fourteen for this!

Brian:

Fifteen...

Beard Seller:

Seventeen. My last word. I won't take a penny less, or strike me dead.

Brian:

Sixteen!

Beard Seller:

Done! (shaking Brian's hand)Nice to do business with you. Tell you what, I'll throw in this as well. (Gives Brian a gourd)

Brian:

I don't want it, but thanks.

Beard Seller:

Bert!

Bert:

(appearing rapidly) Yes?

Brian:

All right! All right!! Thank you.

Beard Seller:

Where's the sixteen then?

Brian:

I already gave you twenty.

Beard Seller:

Oh yes ... that's four I owe you then. (starts looking for change)

Brian:

... It's all right, it doesn't matter.

Beard Seller:

Hang on.

A pause while the Beard Seller tries to find change. Brian sees a pair of patrolling Roman soldiers.

Brian:

It's all right, that's four for the gourd — that's fine!

Beard Seller:

Four for the gourd. Four!! Look at it, that's worth ten if it's worth a shekel.

Brian:

You just gave it to me for nothing!

Beard Seller:

Yes, but it's worth ten.

Brian:

All right, all right.

Beard Seller:

No, no, no. It's not worth ten. You're supposed to argue. 'What? Ten for that? You must be mad!'

Brian pays ten and runs off with the gourd, fixing the beard on his face.

Beard Seller:

Ah well, there's one born every minute.