Death of Wat Tyler
Wat Tyler, the leader of the Peasants' Revolt, is in the midst of tense negotiations with King Richard II at Smithfield. The atmosphere is volatile as Tyler presents the peasants' demands for social a
Setting
Smithfield, an open market area in London, surrounded by makeshift stalls and the distant spires of the city. The ground is uneven, trodden dirt mixed with patches of trampled grass. The area is bustling with peasants, merchants, and the occasional livestock.
Characters
Wat Tyler
primary
A rugged man in his late 30s with a wiry, muscular build from years of labor. His sun-weathered face is framed by a short, unkempt beard, and his dark hair is streaked with gray. His piercing brown eyes convey both determination and a deep-seated anger. A fresh scar runs along his left cheekbone, a mark from recent skirmishes.
King Richard II
primary
A slender youth of 14 years with fair complexion and shoulder-length golden-brown hair, clean-shaven as befitting his royal status. His delicate features and high cheekbones give him an almost angelic appearance, though his piercing blue eyes reveal a sharp intelligence beyond his years.
Mayor of London
secondary
A stout, middle-aged nobleman with a square jaw and piercing gray eyes. His face is flushed with agitation, and his thick eyebrows are furrowed in a mixture of anger and concern. His broad shoulders and upright posture betray his military training, and his hands are calloused from years of wielding a sword.
Peasant Mob
secondary
A gathering of roughly fifty to sixty peasants, predominantly men of working age but including some women and older youths. Their faces are weathered from outdoor labor, with calloused hands gripping makeshift weapons like staves, scythes, and a few rusty swords. Their builds range from wiry to robust, all bearing the physical marks of hard agricultural labor.
Royal Guard
background
A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late 30s with weathered skin and a stern, clean-shaven face. His dark eyes are sharp and constantly scanning the crowd for threats. His hands are calloused from years of wielding weapons, and his stance is rigid with readiness.
Dialog
Wat Tyler
We demand an end to the poll tax! No more lords hoarding what we toil for! The land is ours by sweat and blood!
King Richard II
By the grace of God's anointing, we... shall consider your grievances. But rebellion against your lawful king is no path to justice.
Mayor of London
Enough of this insolence! You dare threaten the king's person?
Wat Tyler
Threaten? No. But we will not be silenced! If the boy king will not hear us, then—
King Richard II
Peace, Wat Tyler. Lay down your demands and we shall... grant you pardon.
Mayor of London
Your Grace, this traitor speaks with a serpent's tongue!
Wat Tyler
Pardon? We seek justice, not scraps from the royal table!