Carry on Cleo Page #2

we're gonna fight them?

lf we can just hold them up

till we get word to Boadicea and her army,

there's a chance.

- Can you run?

- Just what I wanted to do.

She's camped at Carlisle.

Go like the devil.

I'll take Senna.

- Never mind about your wife.

- It's my two-wheeler. I named it after her.

- All right, but be quick.

- You can depend on me.

Legion! Legion! Terminus!

What's that settlement down there?

We call it Cockium inconnoviae, General.

What a mouthful. They deserve

to be done with a name like that.

We could do with a few captives.

They fetch 20 sesterces

a time back home.

It'd be silly going back empty-handed.

Right. Order the attack.

Legion, incursamus!

(Horse whinnies)

Ow!

It's hard work

catching these damn Britons.

- All right. On your way.

- All right.

Don't give up hope, men.

Remember,

Hengist is on his way to our army.

Oh, gawd. Oh, gawd.

Oh, no!

Oh, gawd! Oh, gawd!

Come on!

(Man) Come on! Come on!

Pull him along there.

Whoa, boy. Whoa, boy. Whoa.

Excuse me. Any chance of a lift?

- Yes, mate. Hop in.

- Thank you. How far are you going?

- Just to Rome.

- Oh, I see.

Would you mind dropping me at Carlisle?

Our army's there and I've got to get help.

You see...

the Romans are attacking our settlement.

- You don't say?

- Yeah.

- ln that case, come on.

- Oh! Thank you.

Oh! Well...

What are the chains for?

Just to stop you

falling out of the cart, mate.

Thank you ver much.

That's ver thoughtful of you.

The pleasure is mine.

(Laughs)

Oh! You seem to be rather full up.

- I suppose I'd better wait for the next one.

- Oh, no, you don't.

Get in there!

Oh! Hello!

Oh, you silly Pod!

(Narrator)

'Enthroned in his lush headquarters,

'mighty Caesar sniffed the sweet smell

of success and eucalyptus.'

Achoo!

Oh, I do feeI queer.

'He was closely guarded as always

by the champion gladiator of Rome

'and captain of the Praetorian guard,

the noble Bilious.'

(Belches) I beg your pardon, sir.

Oh, it's not your fault, Bilious.

It's this wretched countr.

I haven't been right since we landed.

It's the water, you know.

It's making ver irregular soldiers

of us all.

Oh, I've never known

such a cold, damp, depressing place.

Achoo!

Even my laurels have wilted.

When I left Rome,

they were positively rigid.

Here, my lord.

I've prepared this for your illness.

Oh, yes, dear? What is it?

It's an old British medicant,

my lord,

made of mustard seed,

brewed up with bats' ears,

seaweed

and the intestines of pregnant lizards.

Yes. Charming.

To be taken externally, I trust?

Yes, my lord.

You just add a little to your foot bath.

Like this.

Oh!

Oh, it's good. Yes. Ver good.

Pretty little thing.

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