Death of Wat Tyler
A tense confrontation between Wat Tyler, leader of the Peasants' Revolt, and King Richard II's forces at Smithfield, London. Tyler, confident and defiant, demands further concessions from the young ki
Setting
Smithfield, London - an open marketplace outside the city walls, surrounded by modest timber-framed buildings with thatched roofs. The ground is dry dirt, trampled flat by years of foot traffic and market stalls. Nearby stands a small chapel with rough stone walls.
Characters
Wat Tyler
primary
A rugged man in his late 30s, with a wiry frame hardened by years of labor. His face is weathered, with deep lines from outdoor work, and his hands are calloused. He has a short, unkempt beard and wild, dark hair streaked with grey. A fresh scar runs across his left cheekbone, a testament to recent skirmishes.
King Richard II
primary
A slender, fair-haired youth of 14 years with delicate features and pale complexion, his regal bearing contrasting with his youthful appearance. His blue eyes are sharp with intelligence but betray a flicker of unease.
Lord Mayor of London
secondary
A middle-aged man with a broad, muscular frame, weathered face, and close-cropped dark hair streaked with gray. His piercing blue eyes are fixed on Wat Tyler with a mixture of suspicion and readiness. He carries himself with the bearing of a seasoned warrior, his stance solid and prepared for action.
Rebel Lieutenant
secondary
A wiry, sunburnt man in his early 30s with a patchy beard and deep-set eyes that dart nervously. His hands are calloused from years of labor, and he stands with the tense readiness of someone accustomed to sudden violence.
Royal Guard
background
A sturdy, battle-hardened soldier in his late 30s, with a weathered face and a thick beard. His muscular build suggests years of training and combat experience. His eyes are sharp and alert, scanning the crowd for any sign of threat.
Dialog
Wat Tyler
We'll have our rights, by God's own truth! No more taxes to bleed us dry while nobles feast!
King Richard II
We have granted pardons to all who disperse peacefully. This rabble must lay down arms ere we can treat further.
Rebel Lieutenant
Good captain, the mayor's hand twitches toward 'is dagger... I say again, we're outflanked here.
Wat Tyler
Pardons? What good's pardon when our children starve? We want charters signed, not pretty words!
King Richard II
Nolumus tolerate treason! By God's grace we rule, not by mob's clamor!
Rebel Lieutenant
Like rats in a granary, they've surrounded us! Fall back while we—
Wat Tyler
God's wounds! You'd treat honest men as—