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Meeting at Smithfield and Death of Wat Tyler

At Smithfield Market, Wat Tyler, leader of the Peasants' Revolt, confronts King Richard II and his retinue during tense negotiations. Tyler, emboldened by the rebels' momentum, makes bold demands for

Setting

Smithfield Market, an open-air livestock trading space in London, surrounded by timber-framed buildings with thatched roofs. The ground is uneven, trampled earth mixed with straw and dung, with shallow drainage ditches running along the edges.

Characters

Wat Tyler
primary
A strong, wiry man in his late 30s with sun-weathered skin and a closely cropped beard. His dark hair is matted with sweat, and a fresh wound on his neck seeps blood onto his tunic. His hands are calloused from years of labor, and his stance suggests a man accustomed to hard work and quick action.
Mayor Walworth
primary
A middle-aged man of sturdy build, with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes. His face is weathered from years of civic duties, and his hair is cropped short in a practical style. He wears a chain of office around his neck, signifying his status as London's mayor.
King Richard II
secondary
A slender 14-year-old monarch with fine, pale features and shoulder-length golden hair. His complexion is smooth, and his light blue eyes betray a mix of youthful uncertainty and royal determination. His posture is regal but slightly stiff, as if he's still growing into his role.
Rebel Lieutenant
secondary
A rugged man in his late 30s, with a wiry build and sun-weathered skin. His face is marked by deep lines from years of outdoor labor, and his hands are calloused from wielding tools and weapons. His dark hair is cropped short, and he sports a thick, unkempt beard. His piercing eyes reflect a mix of determination and weariness.
Royal Guard
background
A broad-shouldered man in his late 30s, with a weathered face marked by old scars. His thick beard is trimmed short, and his keen eyes scan the crowd for threats. His chainmail glints dully under a surcoat bearing the city's arms.

Dialog

Wat Tyler We be men, not beasts to be yoked! No more taxes shall we bear!
Mayor Walworth Enough! This rabble shall not speak so to our king.
Wat Tyler Ye stand with the lords who grind us down—God’s wounds, Walworth, whose side be ye on?
Mayor Walworth The side of law and order. You leave me no choice.
Wat Tyler Strike then, coward! But mark ye—the seed’s already sown.

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