Battle of North Walsham
Geoffrey Litster, the leader of the Norfolk rebels, is captured by Bishop Henry le Despenser's royal forces after the failed peasant uprising. The rebels, scattered and demoralized, watch as their lea
Setting
A grassy field on the outskirts of North Walsham, bordered by scattered oak trees and a small stream. The remnants of a makeshift rebel camp lie in disarray, with broken carts, scattered weapons, and trampled crops. In the distance, the silhouette of the town's church steeple is visible against the summer sky.
Characters
Geoffrey Litster
primary
A middle-aged man with a wiry build, sunken cheeks, and calloused hands from years of weaving. His dark hair is streaked with grey and matted with sweat and dirt. His eyes, once fiery with rebellion, now carry the heavy weight of defeat.
Henry le Despenser
primary
A tall, imposing man in his late 40s with sharp, angular features and piercing grey eyes that seem to assess everything with cold calculation. His gaunt face is clean-shaven, and his thin lips are perpetually pressed into a tight line. His hands are slender but strong, one resting on the hilt of his sword while the other clutches a bishop's crozier.
Rebel Soldier
secondary
A gaunt man in his late 20s with sunken cheeks and a wiry frame, his face streaked with dirt and blood. His left leg bears a deep wound from a poleaxe, the rough woolen hose soaked crimson below the knee. Calloused hands clutch at the grass, fingers digging into the earth as he struggles to stay conscious.
Royal Archer
secondary
A tall, lean man in his late 20s with sun-weathered skin and a closely cropped beard. His piercing blue eyes betray no emotion as he carries out his duties. His hands are calloused from years of archery practice, and a faded scar runs along his left cheekbone.
Dialog
Henry le Despenser
By the will of God and our sovereign lord, your rebellion is ended. What say you now, Geoffrey Litster, before judgment is passed?
Geoffrey Litster
Say? I say the whipping posts still burn in my back, and the tax collector's scales still weigh heavy on my children's bellies!
Henry le Despenser
Deo volente, those scales shall now weigh your neck. The Divine Order brooks no insolence from churls who forget their station.
Geoffrey Litster
Station? A man drowns the same whether he's called 'serf' or 'sire' - and God hears all men's prayers alike!
Henry le Despenser
Yet not all prayers are answered, weaver. Some are drowned in blood as floodwaters drown rats in the ditches.
Geoffrey Litster
Then hang me high where all Norfolk may see - they'll count your ropes and know their strength!
Henry le Despenser
Let them count. We shall number the corpses for their edification. Take him.