Imposition of the Third Poll Tax
In Westminster Hall, the announcement of the Third Poll Tax is met with a mix of silent resentment and uneasy compliance. The tax collector, flanked by royal guards, reads the decree imposing a flat t
Setting
Westminster Hall, the grand hall within the Palace of Westminster, where Parliament is convened. The high-ceilinged space is filled with murmuring lords, clergy, and representatives. The afternoon light filters through narrow, arched windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor.
Characters
Tax Collector
primary
A middle-aged man with a gaunt face, sharp nose, and thin lips that seem permanently pursed in disapproval. His posture is rigid, with broad shoulders that suggest he once had a more physically demanding role. His hands are well-kept but bear ink stains—a mark of his bureaucratic duties.
Merchant
secondary
A middle-aged man with a well-fed frame, sharp brown eyes that dart with calculation, and a neatly trimmed beard streaked with gray. His hands bear the ink stains of frequent ledger work, and he stands with the confident posture of a man accustomed to wealth.
Angry Peasant
secondary
A burly man in his late 30s with a thick, unkempt beard and sun-weathered skin. His muscular frame, built from years of toil, is tense with barely contained rage. Dirt is ingrained under his fingernails, and his calloused hands are clenched into fists.
Royal Guard
background
A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late 30s with a weathered face and a closely cropped beard. His piercing grey eyes scan the crowd with military precision. His muscular arms grip a long, polished spear, its iron tip catching the dim light.
Dialog
Tax Collector
By order of His Majesty, King Richard II, we do declare the imposition of the third poll tax of this reign, to be levied upon all men of fifteen years and above, without exception.
Angry Peasant
Tha's bleedin' robbery! Three shillings from me while the fat lords pay the same? Saint George’s bones, I’ve not got two farthings to rub together!
Merchant
Softly, friend. This levy will gut our trade, aye, but a riot will burn London to the ground.
Tax Collector
The Crown’s need is great, and disobedience is treason. Let no man say he was not warned.
Angry Peasant
Treason? By the Thames’ mud, it’s treason to starve honest men for the king’s wars!