 I know we're a small group, but let's try this again. How are we doing? Yay! Well thank you for coming out to the New Town Art Gallery, and thank you New Town Art Gallery for hosting this event. We really appreciate it. This is our second in our Plays in Progress series with Panglonsian Productions. First was done last month at Aromas. Some of you might have been there in Newport News. We're glad to be here tonight for The King's Face by Stephen Young. For those of you who don't know Panglonsian, it does have a regular season as well. Coming up in June is K2, followed by Scream Queens in July, and then Woman in Black in October. First you're sitting right in front of me. Details. Nothing more. The particular should not concern you. Well they are my particulars, are they not? Why only? They will only serve to upset you. Well obviously that effect has been achieved. A full report will be made to His Majesty. His Majesty is not present to receive it. It is in your best interest. What is in my best interest is that you no longer counterfeit the truth. The angle is quite severe, and the wound is deep. Tell me something beyond the obvious. No one believes the arrow hit can be achieved. My report meets with your satisfaction. That is all? That is all. What do you think you're doing? Going to your father. I did not give you leave. My apologies, I meant no disrespect. May I continue? I beg your pardon. Forgive me, please forgive me. I need you soon. Give me ten novice. I shall take my name. Silence! I must. I said it all. May I? Why? I said it all. May I go? Did prison teach you to be insubordinate? Or are you born to it? Your Highness, forgive me, but you are mortal and like all mortal men there are limits. I am not like other mortal men. Perhaps not. I am amazed that in your present condition you are able to remain upright, orated in great lengths and argue with such vehemence. It is the inability of those around me to remedy my present condition that inspires such vehemence. If you will pardon me, I take my leave. I do not appreciate how you and others of your trade can be so dismissive. I fail to understand. For days I have told nothing. I have plotted like a fatted calf left ignorant of my situation and like a fatted calf since the axe is to fall but have no certainty when. There is nothing short of cruel. It is customary practice. I assure you customary. Not to speak of my condition in my presence as if I were deaf, daft, or dead to treat a prince in the way reserved for the feeble and the aged unless I force it from you. You need to sleep. Do I really need to practice since the eternal one is staring me in the face? Do not look at me that way. What would your highness have me do? Change the nature of your gaze. Now! I do not follow. When you talk to me, talk to me. When you look at me see me. I see you perfectly. It's not what I meant. Forgive me. There is an army of men dedicated to curative arts that can do nothing to remedy my situation. And you, like all of them, freeing your expertise by predicting the date of my demise. As if the certainty of death merits the respect of saving life. Do you know what that feels? Something I cannot thank to Christ watching Roman soldiers cast ice at his feet. Your highness, the men assembled on your behalf are at a loss. Are you too at a loss, Bradmore? Or when you look at me do you see a dead man? Do not deny it. Your eyes show the truth, your lips profess to hide. Your highness, I am but a man. I cannot promise to save you. I thought the truth would only add to your suffering. I need you to champion my life. I'm sad to say that... Think in other ways, Bradmore. In battle, if the wall cannot be reached, you go under, around or through. You must do the same. Your father wishes to use conventional protocols and procedures. I have my instructions. To hell with him! Give me. But all he cares about is designing the outcome of my being and now that it is slipping away, he is curiously absent. Sending you reflects the final charge of desperate men. Having less to do with my restoration than war with the question, when may we hang the funeral trappings for poor Harry? Wake up, Bradmore. You are here to declare an end, not announce a resurrection. And I will not endure it. If your father should visit Huffman Leverendry's chamber, your servant death is too near and his soul too toward you. Very well. I shall be your advocate. Good day. I'm sure to lighten your subjects' hearts to hear of your brave struggle. You exhaust me. Lighten hearts. What world is it you live in, Bradmore? Behind those cold stares is right on the level. It's black with judgment and desire. They hate me. They respect you. They fear me or they fear the king. Or they fear the king I might become. Moments like these are a reminder I am but flesh and blood. Kings who appear mortal inspire men with thoughts of immortality. The realm watched my father snatch the crown and decree himself king. So simple. They whisper in the dark places of their hearts, Bollingbrook did it so could I. It happened only four years ago, but memories of Fantagia and Sedition are alive and well, spawning as many treasons as there are blades of grass in the English countryside. The battle of Shrewsbury made it to rest. It will never rest. I heard a monk tell another the arrow that struck me as a penance in my face, a permanent reflection of the anger of God. The monk no longer resides with us. Forgive me, Your Highness. I should not be privy to such a confidence. I wish to be excused. This is your polite way of telling me I talked to you about it. Resting body and mouth is advice. Silence it in that. It's not what I... You're confused. Confused or afraid? Both. I promise you, you will not be held responsible for the loss of the man already declared dead. It's more than that. The money? Fear of returning to prison? May I speak? Do so, and plainly. Passing judgment on a monk is beyond me. I am only a surgeon, not an advisor. I need you to be more than that, my dear counterfeiter surgeon. It is not my place. It is, if I say it is. You cannot will it to be so. Let it break through the hills. I have discovered the one man in England who wants nothing of me. The English men that can be trusted. That is an expectation of which I am not worthy. I determine your worthiness. I do not wish to raise your higher. Do you not understand? Understand God's anger? Treason? What? This is beyond my scope and comfort. Friendship is beyond you. Friendship? I need to be forced to say it. Please. I need a friend. No one subject, counsellor or chief. One thing I do not have is a friend I want one. One I can trust and when I look in the eyes of that friend I want to see hope and a belief that I might live. This I need behind us. I understand. But if I am to have any hope of serving you, you must trust I have your welfare at the forefront. I beg you, do not mock my profession. If I seem aloof, no one is to better my judgment. A sentimentality or emotion would lessen my skill of observation. If you deem this unacceptable or insubordinate, then relieve me of my position and seek another. Please, your highness. I beg you, do not rush the answer. Give it consideration. Grandma, I wish you to stay. Help me to beg. The prince nearly collapses with exhaustion as Bradmore helps him back to the bedroom. I have witnessed the warrior, the intellect, and at last the boy. The boy whose life pulses with the spark of the very young and the very determined. To be king and have had a life of absolute power and certainty, the encroachment of death must be all the more horrific. To reach the final shocking realization, you shit like any other man, you piss like any other man, and you rot like any other man. After a life ordained by God, you lie on your deathbed knowing it was an illusion and you were never in control. I suppose every generation has to learn and has been lied to by the previous. If we were told the truth by our parents, who would have let down children and my wife died, I couldn't help her. I didn't know what to do. As a man of medicine, I felt so, so very small. Come on, please. Dad, Mom, you all right? Yes, yes, of course. I will fetch her. How long have I been asleep? The better part of the day. Your Highness, might I say, it has been my good fortune to serve and to expand the writings of my art, but I never, in all my wildest dreams, believed I should be permitted to aid a personage of your stature. I scarce can draw breath. Please, please, in fact, take the minus. As you wish. Don't make me laugh, the pain is unbearable. If it were acceptable to your minus, I would have you call me by my given name, John. If you prefer something less formal, John. Or John, the less formal. John. John. John. John, it is. And your Highness. Yes, John. Given the situation and the proximity with which we will work, might I call you Eric? No. Of course not. Allow me to rephrase. My station and your time in prison would never allow it. Come to go about this. I'm not so sure about this notion of friendship. It can be quite a pleasure. Who have you done this before? Yes, your Highness. I have made a friend or two in my lifetime. Get on with it. Friendship? Yes. I have been told it's quite simple. I'm listening. I claim no expertise. Well, I live and work in a practice that requires the head to rule the heart. How so? Squeamish surgeons do not inspire confidence. I suppose not. Well, in literature, for example, friendship more or less, has it started? I've never had the experience of choosing it. It seems given a short period to choose you. How so? It's a function of time. Two lads, such as ourselves, although your age is closer to being a lad than mine, spend time together and they mutual fondness grows. As the days progress, the bond grows stronger, out of friendship might blossom a sort of... gentlemanly love. Ragnar. Your Highness. I am not fortunate. I simply wish to engage in a bit of banter. Of course, and I am not a raging sodomite, nor I, and I should be greatly distressed for I'd wake up tomorrow and find myself in receipt of a love sonnet brought by your hand. My love is like a river. It flows and flows. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. My love is like the wind. It blows and blows. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. My love is like the winter. It snows and snows. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. You know my poem. That's very distinctive, please. My love is like a boat. It flows and flows. Oh, oh, oh, oh, wait. A boat does not row of its own accord. It must be rowed. Not if it's a sailboat. Sailboats ride the wind and do not require the act of a row. However, sail does not rhyme with row or any o for that matter. I am aware. Your way means for very poor poetry. What compelled you to write? I was in love with the death row. The good wife, Brad. She's still married you after that boy. I didn't even trust him. I will have you know she hailed me a veritable orpheus. Who should only be permitted to write for the underworld before you make a better surgeon than a poet? Ah, I am very spoiled. Point to the pain. Brad wore crosses behind him and begins a gentle examination. Careful. Tender. Tell me. The arrow shaft, when removed, did it come out in one piece? The wood did not splinter. Good. We are looking for only one object and the arrow head no one could get to it. To thee. Die. Deep enough I may be buried with that bed of whales. What methods have been tried? The funneling of scorched fat to enlarge the wound. It failed. Another man of medicine suggested easing the shaft back into the gash, realigning the shaft into the arrowhead, taking a wooden mallet, giving the dowel a good whack and sending the shaft quills and all out in the back of my skull. They didn't try it. I wasn't plumpy. I can't ignore I. Is there anything else I should know? I had the last bloodletting a day ago. Did it help? It built itself and all was so tight. Are you eating? Healing is an effort. Cold water would be excruciating like a blow to the manly bits. Descriptive. I need to probe the damage and get a sense of how deep the arrowhead lies. That requires an insertion of a finger into the wound. It would use your shortest finger? Unfortunately, no. Just the opposite. Though it hurt, most assuredly. Bradmore, I've changed my mind. I'd prefer you lie to me. I could give you something to bite. Do it. He hands the printed bite stick Bradmore spits on his finger and then inserts it into his mouth. What are you doing? I'm sitting the finger. Why? Easier to insert. Turn this way. Bradmore removes the bandage and maneuvers the prints to a sitting position. Bradmore places his fingertip on the wound and the prints body goes top. At first, the wound rejected my search. Bradmore slightly twists. The prints whizzes and gasps. Once entry had been made, it slid inward. Bradmore twists again, causing the prints to cry out. The wound narrowed considerably. Bradmore twists once more, causing the prints to start panting. I'm going to pass out. Inches from his brain. I felt his body contract with the ebb and flow of pain. It seemed that should I reach further, the pad of my finger would feel his thoughts before they had time to form. He strained wanting to rip his head from my grasp. Be still. If you squirm about, it will only make it worse. Be still. Get it? I will be done. When I count three, I will give it a good tug. Stay where you are. One, two, three. Three. What are you doing? Get your finger out of my head. I'm trying. You were supposed to remove it on three. I know. It's stuck. Out. Bradmore slowly pulls. The print screams. I'm just a little more. Bradmore breaks free. The prints rise in pain. That was horrible. There. There. Try and rest. It hurts. Blindly hurts. Here I was. Knuckle deep in the skull of royalty. I wasn't touching history. I was probing it. We look to the young as our future. A noble sentiment. But the skill that had been, the skull that had been in my hand is the future of England. The realization shook me. Can you reach the arrowhead? I am afraid not. Bradmore. Sire? You're shaking. Cold. See to yourself, I'm in no condition to be taken here of you. Of course. What next? All progress is at a halt until the depth of the wound is established. See. An alternate approach is needed. How do you say under, over, or around the fortification? Bradmore removes a jar and bits of wood and cloth from his satchel. What have you there? A probe to gauge the depth of the arrowhead and with luck the entrance of the wound. No finger? I need something thinner than the arrow shell. You're fashioning it over. Elderwood. Imported for France. A tree branch is your solution. The pit. I use various lengths, wrap them in purified linen and infuse them with rose honey. It makes the entry far easier to work. At least I'll have a sweet-smelling corpse. No need for incense and murder. If you insist on moving your lips at least employ them in prayer. I need all the help I can get. Do you bring Bradmore? Yes. Is your wife? She did, my lord. Did? As in? She is no longer amongst us. I am sad to hear it. I shall pray for her. That is most kind. Your wife? She was a goodly woman. The very best. She bore me a son. He would have been a bit older than you. Did he follow in your path? There was never a chance. He died a girl. I shall pray for him. Thank you, my lord. My mother was barely of age when she was me. She died when I was a good boy. I shall pray for her. She never saw the throne. She would have been proud. Mary was her name. She was a partial heiress to a fortune of land and coin. Family legend has it my grandfather and his brother Thomas were rivals. If Thomas purchased a cow, grandfather would immediately purchase two cows. If grandfather said the weather was lovely, Thomas would argue it was going to rain. Thomas wed Mary's older sister and inherited half the family fortune. But that was not enough. He wanted to keep all the estate and to ensure it, he placed Mary in a convent. Not unusual for an unmarried girl. Grandfather was not about to let a single copper slip through his fingers. He went to the convent, roused at Mary, carried her out over his shoulder and found off a gaggle of angry nuns, took her home, introduced her to my father, told my father he was to marry her and that had him married before nightfall. The nuns were displeased, he drove into cursing. Your mother was a young bride. Extremely young. That's the only reason grandfather didn't marry her. No, that in fact he was already married. Mind you, marriage never interfered with his dalliances. His plantagenous sword was legendary. He frequently trotted it out for a bit of thrust and chopped. Flying with enough drink and he was fairly gay to show it to any lady who desired to gaze upon it. He married four times and sired as many bastards as he fathered legitimate children. He could barely remember their names. I believe the sum total was fourteen. Quite prolific. He could have single-handedly populated the Canterbury tales. Birthing and killing. The Lancaster and Forte. I take it you were the first born. No, my mother conceived the era for betrothal of fourteen. They were to wait until she was sixteen to consummate with the family history of patients. My father did not leave that field of battle. She had a baby at the dive. A boy. Never had a name. Brother I never knew. A brother who wouldn't be king. How came you to be wounded? Crushing rebellion is a nasty affair. The Welch are a ferocious people. Have you ever engaged in hand-to-hand fighting? My place is with the wounded and dying. No taste in her blood. Not in my own making. It can be a glorious thing. I find little pleasure attending such a spectacle as if it were a passion play or a sport. But once your enemy realizes they've been out on Newford, there's a look that comes into their faces. Complete shock. The battles won at that point. Only the business of killing is left. When I led my forces into Wales to battle with Owen Glendauer, the rebel Owen Glendauer. He's possessed. Some say he's a sorcerer. It's true. Then he does command spiritual forces. Oh, I. You've witnessed his dark power. You did conjure one trick on the battle. Tell me. He fled in retreat faster than any mortal I've ever encountered. I was being serious. So am I. He fairly flew. All the while bleeding like a goat he is. No. It is not sensible you were there at all. Glendauer is a man. You are but a boy. I resent the implication. With all due respect, you can barely shave my father coffee capable. How old are you? 15. They're about. 15. Perhaps 16. Possibly 17. Perhaps 14. Maybe 13. You don't know. No one bothered to report you. You just ran away at the time. I was not in line for the throne. What does the date of my birth matter? A record would have taken a little time. I'd have died in the rival. Plenty of families for Gobert's celebrations. But you are not like other families. You're tiresome. And here you are wounded. This is the price of your father putting a boy at peril. How else would you have me learn to be king? You think you could read a book and there you have. Of course not. You lead in the field. Men respect. Naked aggression. To directly engage the enemy. At your age. Richard II was 10 when he ascended the throne. Only because his father died. Then my being of war saved mine. At great risk to yourself. Are you asking me to doubt the king's intentions? Who puts their child in harm's way? I am not a child. A man boy then. If it makes you feel better. Teach a place to brag more. It is irresponsible. Silence! I have given you sufficient answer. Thank you. Please forgive me. Dave's wings. Extra to court they make. We all name the order. Make it a door. They aren't giving it a door. We ate the condo. Once all unborn is. Take. You stay. It's back to Chaston. I'll make it just soon. Is that what I say to them? We ate what they made. It's the injury I have. Changes of mood I cannot control. Prayer calls. And confession perhaps. When a ten-year-old Richard came to the throne, grandfather was denied the position of regent to his nephew. Parliament knew my grandfather would only do what was in his best interest. He vowed to crown him with the hours again. Your birth was hidden. Richard's dominion was unstable. He was wary of any action out of the norm. So your grandfather might have been discovered to record the birth of a child unlike to the throne, would have been suspect. Given our proximity to the crown, it may have been perceived as treason. Aha. Why make a record of a child insignificant to history than that? We may all be plantagena, but gatherings are saintly feasts among the houses of York and Lancaster have become a bit strange. The Percy clan originally secured my father's clan. Surprisingly, a sufficient army was raised. Richard deep-roamed and out of the clutter emerged a bother wearing the crown. A triumphant day. It was the moment the relationship with the Percy's youth. Traitors, every last one of them, their family. I shed not a tear for their fate as they would shed none in my demise. If not for them, I should never have been in those ways. God chose you as victor. There is no divinity behind our cause. The Percy's agreed to fight for family assets, not to displace a pawn for them. They were formidable. And to meet the king's strength, they recruited Cheshiremen. Cheshire archers. Loyal uncle Richard. No, brained by the crown. Now turned on the crown. Precisely. The English longbow used on Englishmen my shutter to think. On the day of battle, he'd pierced a coffin in armor. I was fairly roasted alive. My cloth garments sagged with the weight of sweat. Where did you meet? Three miles north of Shrewsbury. A place called Heywoodfield. Excellent land for barn. Good earth, well-tilted, planted with peas. Too pastoral for war. It seemed a sacrilege to render a field intended to nourish it. Under the weight of armor and horse, the plants were mashed to a pulpy green. You could hear pods snapping. Peas spew a dewy, unrighte pungency. It's nauseating. I cannot abide vegetables. The horse fell alone because I have to blur my vision. Was there no avoiding bloodshed? The father sent an avid to offer turns. The Perseus argued with the avid. They argued a father. They argued amongst themselves. The father cut him up. With the weight of his hand, drums began pounding, banners snapping, horns blasting, and both horses drew nearer the other to make ready to clash. You'd never seen it as a highly civilized affair. Both armies allowed the other to hold at a comfortable distance. Far enough to respect the opponent, yet close enough to ensure the mount won't tire the charge. Of course, once in place, the glove of civility is taunts. Taunts, jives, songs of wayward mothers, and all manner of general disparagement are traded. More like a tournament than a battle at the ready. All the men place the visors in the downed position. Someone is like no other. Armor makes one intensely aware of drawing breath. You hear and feel the cycle of it as it grows shallower in each breath. All I can think is I itch, sweat, and I shall go mad if something doesn't happen. You actually wish for the battle to begin. I want resolution. Even so, father lifts his sword. For one moment there is no sound. A signal flag cracks the silence and archers on both sides begin to notch their arrows and draw. And while the drawn foe amidst no platter, the strain of sinew on wood powerfully vibrates. The archers release creating the drum of both strength and the hiss of a thousand snakes as fleshy brushes you wood. Brad, do you know what every man does in this situation? You watch. You watch as the shafts hit sail toward their geek in the sky. I would flee if you can't. It's mesmerizing. Beautiful and lethal. In the first volley, there's an instant where arrows of either force can ascend no further and hover as if in breathing before they cross paths and hurdle downward. And for all of you, try and convince yourself that you could catch an arrow with your hands. Snatch it from the breeze like a butterfly riding a gust. It's a thought of earth and arrow and manning that snaps you back. Metal tips saw flesh like they could smell it. Man fell like autumn leaves. God, help us. Then a charge. A blur of humanity and force. Smashing and jostling for position. Under the weight of the armor, the horse's slogan starts, but once the speed, the mask becomes an asset, giving the mound additional momentum. You ride uncontrollably with neither beast nor man in charge. The forward thrust becomes so great the only way to stop is to hurdle into the wall of death before you. With no other choice, you plunge forward, ripping great chunks of terrain with every stride. The foes beat the earth like thunder. How do you signal? Well, you don't. You're screaming. You scream to drown the screams of the opposition, drown the screams of your brethren, drown the screams of horses and drown the screams of the dying, your own voice traps and armor sounds foreign and echoes so much upon itself you no longer hear or recognize it. You scream so loud and so long, you are deafened by it, terrifying when you're never more alive. At contact with the enemy, the vows release from fear and necessity. Within the armor, why? There's no shame because there's no choice. From within, the pummeling of armor with arrow, sword and spear sounds like hail on stone. Riding in and out of blood sprays, I have splattered with tiny sap drops which clung to the metal and became heart-baked by the sun. How came you to be injured? A blank helmet. You can't see. There are two slits for eyes, but when on a charge of steam, the earth bounces in and out of view like windows on a ship or a storm. Sometimes their vision is no further than the man to the right or left. I've been a battle-uncertain. I was galloping in the right direction. But when did you enter the fray? I wasn't long in a fight before the right wing began to crumble. Seeing an opening, the Percy starts with King. We beat him back. As the Percy line began to falter, I rewarded myself. It was a stupid gesture. I knew better if it was private. I underestimated the enemy. It is of no consequence. Trapped in armor. I wanted nothing more, but to breathe clean air that lifted my eyes. Understandable. The right 200 yards away is a young man dressed in a peasant beard. Friend or foe? I couldn't tell. The afternoon sun was behind him. No. One motion, foe was notched and wronged. You saw it. Shot from 200 yards away, the arrow had time to gain full press. It quivered slightly, leaving the boat quickly adjusted itself while spiraling toward me. Collided, I left cheek with such a foresight to snap backward. It felt my spine slackle full length of the mountain-massive backbone. My helmet banged against the rump, sending the animal exploding forward. And you, I was a marionette up straight. The horse threw you. My hand became entangled in the reins. I barely managed to pull myself to sit in. Any other man would have passed out. All I could think was, I have an arrow in my face. I have an arrow in my face. God in heaven, I have an arrow in my face. At the same time, I'm relieved there's no pain. I'm very aware of it being there, but it doesn't hurt. And it would soon enough. I lifted a visor flap that fell forward, making the arrow vibrate pain through the length of my skull. I left it down against the wood bar, but in its position while the visor was perfectly open, the shutter of the horse constantly flipped flap against the shaft, equally painful. Grabbing the arrow, I could not tear it free, but only managed to jerk my head about. This is very painful. My efforts only alarmed the horse. But what did you do? I calmed enough to realize that if I allowed my gaze to follow the shaft, I could make out a bit of ground. So as I rode, head down, I could see a line of blood for all the length of the shaft. Left at the butt of the arrow until the weight of it became so great, it fell to earth. My face became dull. Face of blood. Last thing I remember was hearing brick, brick, brick against the chest blade. It was said that by the end of the battle so much English blood had spilled your father was unsure of which side had won. I ask in all sincerity, did we carry the day? Your defense at the right flank assured victory. So much death where I led the day. In the first season, you do not know the leader of the rebellion. His body was salted and impaled on a spear in Shrewsbury Market. When the birds have their fill, he is to be quartered and his head spiked on the York North Bar. So he might gaze on his ancestral home. I see. I thought he would be pleased. Better than a knife. I don't want you to pray for them. Pray for us. Pray for us all. That's your plan. Dominus. They come by the dikta. Two in the airbus. The dikta. The prince starts choking. Bradmore helps him to lie down and wipes him up. Bradmore sits at the table and writes, Given the impact and the proximity of the arrow when released, the arrowhead is surely lodged in the bone itself at the rear of the skull. The path of the wound is so narrow that to insert tongs of any sort will not work. They are simply too wide. Should I somehow manage to wedge a pair of tongs into the wound? Once in, I have not room enough to expand them to grasp the arrowhead. If the arrowhead is trapped or bound by bone, there is no possibility of expanding the area surrounding it. I have considered leaving the arrowhead in place. But at this date, any hope at the body will simply absorb it and write itself seems unlikely. The Prince jerks in his sleep and then awakes in a panic. I had a dream. There is nothing to fear. Take your eaves of a mouth filled with blood. It was only a dream unable to speak. I could not confess. Dreams are not truths. Floods were placed by sin. Sin, wet, and alive, dribbling from my mouth, spewing the length of my gown, and the garment clings my naked body, bathing me. I knew I was dying when it trickled to a stopper. Peace! He came for me, brushed the damp air from my face, took my chin, and gently kissed me on the lips. With the other hand, he began to hold the jaw downward. I cried out, and leaned his full weight against the bone until I could hear it snap. Enough. Enough. Shhh. You're safe. I'm here at your side. Nothing shall happen to you. Let me show you something. An idea. Bradmore reaches into his bag and removes a metal spoon, a ruler, and a stick. This is how you come for me. Great thoughts, born of simplicity, metal flatware. He possessed such final. For measuring remedies. Now, take your hand and hold it thus. Good. Hold it there. Your hand represents the socket of the arrowhead. A bit large, don't you think? Make the hole smaller. Now, imagine the width of this spoon handle to be less than the width of a quill stripped of its feathers. Next to the spoon, we have a counterpart of similar width and length. Allow the measure to serve in this capacity. The width of the entire instrument is now less than that of my finger. It can easily slip into the wound and from there into the socket. Cradled between the spoon and the measure is a thin rod. Once the spoon and measure are in the socket, we push the rod downward to force the outer objects against the socket wall. When the arrowhead is secure, we extract. What will it be made of? I need access to craftsmen and fire. You have a metal internal sight. Good. A bit of bad news, I'm afraid. Yes, I was not able to ascertain the depth of the wound. To properly calculate the length of the instrument, I need to probe these. It will not hurt as it did before. I have bits of elder wood and rose honey I prepared. The honey should smooth the entrance of the pit and act as a restorative. You must. My doubt. Bradmore begins to tie rope to both sides of the headboard and makes a small duce in each. What's this? Restraints. Their purpose? To prevent you flailing about. I shall vote for them. As you did with the finger, I'll summon manly courage. The bindings are for your own protection. I have no fear. The bindings are for my protection. I do. The prince lies on the cot. Bradmore slips the prince's wrist into the rope and makes them taut. He takes several towels and places them around the prince's face. Bradmore holds up the probe examining the length. Steady? As Bradmore inserts the probe, the prince's body was rigid. His hands grasped the bedding and squeezed till shaking. As the probe continues, done. As the probe is removed, the prince collapses in a ball, panting. His body suffers spasms. He seems unable to control. Bradmore frees his wrists. You can rest now. My body leaves me little choice. Be light of heart. We have a plan. It will not be long now. You will be able to look back at Shrewsbury and have the final lap. God willing, you will outlive them all. Perhaps with one in to be king. The person's wanted to be king. It was not their place to my father so different. I cannot speak to that. Is this what it is to be king? To trust no one? To rely on no one? To have spies? To have spies spying on your spies? Doing battle with neighbors, cousins? Executing uncles? If it is Richard the second of whom you speak, he wronged your father. Give him not another thought. Who do you say that? I say it with a clear conscience. He was weak of strength, morality, and character. Neither deserving of a crown, nor able to lead with the nation's care in life. I am sure you are the finest who has right well heard the rumors. What rumors? He spent his time solely in the company of men. In fact, they were his preference in the merits with them. Shame. Shame be to you. You should thank God in heaven that your father is king. You would do well to keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak of my family. Richard is buried and forgot in England better or worse. Richard was a king and ordained by God! And when you speak of him you will speak of him with the reverence of a king by his proper title in the manner of a servant you are. His prison taught him nothing. You will do, as I say, or by God I will watch you slowly fern. The prince collapses in Bradmore's arms. Bradmore cares. That highness? Bradmore? Yes, I don't want to die. Please, do not let me die until the day the crucifix is made. I may take it for me soon. I can't. I can't. I can't finish. Help me. Superna. Illumina. Kistori. Rege. The light leads to black. Back to you. Your majesty. I wish to thank indeed we are nearing a fortnight. Your son? Ah. The prince was struck with an armor piercing arrow. This type of arrowhead is very small and shaped like a square nail. How do I explain? A square nail has four sharp edges which allow it to cut further into timber making a stronger fixing than a round nail. The same principle applies to an arrowhead. Once embedded in flesh the four sides of the arrowhead have a flat surface area for the body to swell around and bind to. This causes the arrowhead to be pulled further into the body. Once the shaft is removed the wound closes over itself and buries it. The prince's arrowhead lies six inches deep in the interior bone of the skull posterior. Over the last few days I have devised what I believe a method never before tried. However it is with great trepidation I report it is my experience that head injuries of this sword almost always prove fatal. I am aware that I have been given a second chance. Delights fade down on Bradmore and fade up revealing the prince. His bandage has been restored. He awaits and calls for Bradmore. Realizing he is alone he rises across to the table and begins to read from Bradmore's notes. The more he reads the more he agitated he becomes. He removes the bandage. As he reads he gently probes his face trying to determine the extent of the wound. Each passage sends his fingertips to a different portion of the face. He reads then probes reads then probes he can read no more he pulls the hand away and stares at it then wipes the hand against his gown he pours water into the bowl on the table maneuvering the bowl in hopes of capturing a glimpse of his face failing he goes to Bradmore's satchel and rummages he finds a hand mirror but hides the face of the mirror against his chest he slowly brings the mirror into position to see his face when the mirror is in position he freezes for a moment. My God Give me that It's not what you think What were you doing? I wanted a drink Did you expect to find a fountain of water in my bags? No You've gone through my notes I had to know if you were being forthright with me And what do you conclude? No Not entirely You had no right to do this I have every right to give it to you recent and prison You have to explore your own protection You will know certain things when I deem you need to face It's hideous You are seeing it at its worst You are young At the time you should be seeking a wife Your youth will help you heal faster and with saps and massage we can keep the skin and muscles soft That I cannot know The truth Yes You will scar I am certain You will be king for who will want me All women will want you You sure? Your highness Decorative prevents me elaborating on what unspeakable things women will do to wet your appetite I speak not of sin but marriage You should first focus on recovery Your highness I have a question Yes It's of great importance I will do my best to answer I have to be taken seriously Of course what we speak of is to be kept in confidence Without question Do you know much in regards to women and their anatomy It's just a quote It is a very strong muscle, my lord The elements of the heart Science knows little about it, my lord Love? Science knows nothing about it, my lord Then appealing to the heart of a woman I am not a proper tuner I know nothing about it The tenets of romance I consider my lack of verbosity with women virtue I have devoted my life to the avoidance of romance What did you say to win your wife? I do This beard is grey and any expertise grey with it You've at least been married Now what difference does it make I wish my future bride to like me What difference does it make If she likes you, you will be king What will have to sigh your children Again I ask you What difference does it make If she likes you, you will be king Again I ask It might be best to have a healthy hatred of her I've finished and worked for past monarchies In fact, I can't think of a pair that got along You swore to take me serious Aren't these things decided for you? Chances are To appease a diplomatic crisis You'll marry to some foreigner You'll learn God's English You won't understand a word she says And therefore, lucky man You were under no obligation to talk with her Indeed She's a well-chance, a hopeless venture Who can follow a word of that? Sounds like a cat hacking up a verb Well, her blood flows in this body I hadn't realized You speak like an angel Am I to believe you conducted your marriage in silence? No Mrs. Bradmore talked incessantly In fact, she never hesitated to offer an opinion or an instruction regarding my improvement Her mastery of the subject spilled out regardless of time or occasion It's quite traditional between men and women Partly It is preferable No talk means no spats Happy be the marriage wrapped in silence I had not considered that I do adjust your highness Your point is well made If I am to have a wife, I'm not to understand I would fancy a French wife Not much from a French's tongue Damn them all hard to chew that language But I do like the way it wraps When directed to our compliments it is pleasantly not It seems the most minuscule of all that sends the French into a tirade of cooing, honking, and spitting seldom can I decide if there are the throes of the world, the latter minus the French are perpetually angry Indeed Can not reason why They smell of cheese There is strong breeding in their breathing I once attended a woman from Milan who smelled of garlic and sausage Awkward On the contrary, I felt instantly in love You might say her tang tickled me from nose to toes in a way that blood pudding never could So you contemplated an affair Not at all I may have been inspired to eat her but only in the most platonic manner possible Don't grab more likes at my bra Something tells me you know more than you let on I shouldn't your father be the one to teach you in the way that courtly love Or would he know? His first marriage was arranged and the second nut shall manage my proxy Once married it took her two years and romance was not the forefront Nor is it an issue for you Let it alone How do you How do I what? Do you know what I'm trying to ask? No How to mount Yes, mount a a lady I knew that was where this was headed How do you know when she's ripe for mounting You don't just walk into a room and mount a lady You can It just makes them cranky and less apt to do it again Is it a matter of training? But do not look away Who would answer such a question if their prince had not you? The priest, no help The king barely talks to me and when he does the subject of rutting has never been on the forefront You swear you have no knowledge of the subject Jokes and bawdy songs have been my tool I will not be made a fool I spent the majority of my youth with Uncle Richard who as you so aptly put preferred the bum into the bush Go observe the beast in the field A pig does not arouse my passion You mock me Rascal, please Oh, honestly, I do not know I cannot As your prince, I command you to tell me how to make a woman gain from the hunt You know that men and women are different I'm not a simpleton You're not a scholar either I understand the physical body It's the flaring passion of interest If I tell you, will you rest? Forgive me I'm waiting It's quite simple You take your hand and put it between her thighs then do a bit of rubbing back and forth possibly round and round is good up and down if you like they seem to prefer a variety do you wear fast or slow? I don't know, wouldn't I rub the hair away? It's not meant to be quite that furious It's not a hunting dog to be thunked Think of it as a flower a flower petal to be stroked with the tip of the finger You stroke flowers? It's merely a suggestion to conjure the temperance of a gesture I'm too imagined stroking flowers No, I'm not at all interested in that You will be How will I know when she's ready? Look at her It'll be evident on her face Then what? If she's happy, you mount her The rest will make sense once you're there This is how you advise me What did you expect? Who are you a surgeon? I fix fractures I do bloodlettings and perform the odd amputation or two I have nothing to do with what goes on down there with a woman Very well, I can joke with it I didn't know I'd be serving proxy and teaching you how to master the game of cup and ball You have yet to provide a proper answer The ball goes in the cup I know how to play cup and ball Very well, man And this is the last I'm going to say on this subject It's like pouring wine Fill the vessel till it overflows Your cheeks have reddened You talk too much If I didn't possible to leave you know nothing of carnal pleasure I speak the truth All young men are obsessed Not all Even I know royal chambermaids do more than turn the bedding The manner and mode is not an issue It is the bonds of feeling and respect that elude me I doubt how I will work Why was serious inquiry of the subject be negated and reduced to perfumery? You were hardly serious Should I in ignorance set about to litter the countryside with bastards? The word for your grandfather And grow tolerative assaults in the market place You were a costly market Puppets, the cost of you Sensibilities During the public show, a large phallus was put on trial for bedding a woman and making her greatest child The phallus was found guilty of wantonness and sentenced to prison Once clapped in iron, the phallus began to weep and beg for pity The woman, swept with emotion, forgave the phallus and carried kinds over in the past and gave her many wondrous nights that brought a smile to her cheek How fortunate for the fornicating phallus You demonstrate my point My lord, it is merely a bit of fun to relieve the tension of a prickly subject and implications life far deeper You're being silly You find the sewers? A trace? The children were present I was unaware Priests and nuns joined the very men How unfortunate They laughed and clapped I know not what to say Did you hear me? clergymen, members of the church laughed and clapped for a cankered genital Is this funny? No, of course not Well, when you say it in that manner God witnessed their sin and surely will punish them It's second to me that the bestial sin of Adam and Eve should be of such little regard Indeed, it was a rallying place in the hands of the corrupt It was an entertainment That all entertainment should be halted You disagree? It is not my place Time and prism has taught you little Forgive me, but a mere puppet show does not threaten the realm Moral degeneracy does The country erodes from within Life is decimated Our spiritual center Leading Englishmen from God Like starving beggars to free mutton How did the conversation turn so ugly? Pardon, but Your Highness is not in his right mind Your wound has made you tired Your thoughts feverish And you slur the very words You intend to injure me I am perfectly fit Your father made differ in opinion And it has come to this Lord, you threaten me with my father If you continue, who do you think taught me? The king educated you to fear puppets When he is strength and courage itself Tempered with terror and raw violence To accomplish the throne You're molded by battle, blood and broadsword Bosh What other lesson is there to be believed Of Harry Monham's life? I watch cousins swear allegiance With one hand while drawing a blade With the other What do you know of the ways of men? You are but a fool and I'm a boyhood I never got to play it before Where I spent my youth making it I've tasted my own blood and battle Taken in spared light And now face mortality In the future might I suggest You choose the option to make peace With the enemy? Ireland, Wales, Scotland, England We all have a bit of this land But no one wants to share it with the others There will be no peace until there is one victor You're right The notion is impossible Sticking or wielding a knight point Is far less complicated, more satisfying And the results more permanent Peace is merely the pause before the next war Who are you? One minute to the next It's as if you've been conjured from the role Of dear, sweet boy To rabbining wool Bratmore, we live in dangerous times Peace is a luxury I have not tasted in many a year And my adversaries would do well To keep me from the table Punishing or embracing Wales Does not change the fact we are but an island Just as vulnerable to outside attack As internal destruction Since the age of the Romans This land has been subject to war Even now, the enemies in France, Spain and Italy Have spied, roaming the countryside And poured the light Many speak our native tongue better than you and I And rest more English than post-Englishmen We fight an adversary we cannot see The mistakes of your forebearers Do not have to be yours Learn, Bill, I have I did in the Lord of Pelons rebellion Richard's army was defeated The mob had the courage to rise up But their leader lacked the fortitude To execute a king Richard overthrew them without mercy He crushed those who opposed him Save one, the leader A family member turned traitor His first cousins, the two played Road eight, studied And even joined the Order of the Garter together Nineteen years ago Richard had my father Henry Bollingworth by the Bollocks I am at a loss Uncle Richard could have ended it all The entire family in a blink Instead, he forgives precious cousin Harry What is the lesson? Whether friend, foe, or family You do not let traitors live Has all your compassion vanquished? Do not mistake me, Bradmore I am no feeble Richard You or anyone else Cross me and whatever imagined kinship You believe us to have will fly From my heart Making my resolve harden like steel I promise, should you attack your king To attack your king is to attack England itself You will be exposed and shamed In the presence of your countrymen You will be denied all sacrament Of holy right And your sin before God Left unresolved So that as you are eliminated From this earth You die fully in the knowledge Salvation can never be attained And your mortal soul Will be cast into hell What did these men do to you? They readied me for the form By encouraging you to embrace The rapture of war Who are you to say God has not blessed the act? The Bible is filled with battles and bloodshed God would not allow you to forego The rules of civility There are no rules in war The purpose of war is to physically And spiritually overwhelm your opponent In such a manner as to break their resolve And force them to surrender As quickly as possible One does not fight war in small bites But in the jaws of complete aggression To lack that resolve invites defeat Any less The cost of materials coin a man is too costly Too, too costly And I hold it as I would a mortal sin I neither invite, be purged, nor desire war But be it known to the enemies of this realm I will not run from it Be you an Englishman, born of an Englishman Whose ancestors and their ancestors before them Take back as far as time may recall And who may comprise the very plague we tried Should they defy this realm Or act in a manner that would place Their king in country-minute jeopardy Their treasons will be viewed no less Than that of any foreign rival For by turning against England They shun their right to share our good name What do you think? What is Brad not thinking? Nothing, you lie You cannot know that Every muscle in your body screams it Are my thoughts not my own? Come, we'll make a game of it I'd rather not, you're a sporty man Not in matters of life and death My, I guess, most true counterfeiter Can I stop you? Let me see You appear to have trouble Yes, yes, my lord, I have a troubled look Well done, anger I would say so Anger with a pinch of bewilderment You're not sure you like me Not at this moment, in fact You're not so sure you want to save me I am here Easy enough to let you slip away I don't know what to suspect I suppose not You get your gold regardless of Monmouth Cliffs or Die Do I seem concerned with coin Perhaps the king pardoned you To ensure I breathe my last A counterfeiter? I will not dignify that statement His retinue desires I replace him On the throne, this instant, if at all possible They've tried poisoning him The king knows it and he wishes me dead Enough, you go too far Where are the crosses to the wind box And remove the extractor Here, this is it What is it? It is so new it doesn't have a name I made it for you To save you Gaston, what are you afraid of? Torture? If the plan was to kill you There has been ample opportunity Don't wait for me The tongs are your saviour Forged in the same fire The blade you carried into battle Feel it Take it in your palm, take it This is all that stands between you And death It is as real as my loyalty There is no conspiracy In which I am involved There never was Nor will there be How will I? I will do nothing I am no longer needed Our bond is quits Surgeon with a sure hand can utilize it The difficulty was in the design I will observe And act as guide You are to perform the task No one else There is no excuse for my behavior Clearly I am not myself But I am as I have been And have never wavered I am unworthy of your affection Get up Get up, I will do your bidding Please Forgive me It is I who should ask forgiveness We will not speak to it again As you wish The withdrawal of the arrowhead How's it to be done? The instrument slides in At the same angle as the arrowhead First entered I center the middle screw Over the socket of the arrowhead Where it is connected to the shaft I flip inside the socket Engage the screw The tongs press against the sides of the socket Making for a firm grip Gently rock it to And throw And the arrow is freed Remove the tongs And the arrow should fall Simple Yes Almost elegant Indeed Looks painful This is to go inside my head I could put it elsewhere The pain would differ But be no less I alone will cite it My face paints the prints Your words A good report from you always carries a promise of anguish I'm glad to hear it News can be altered While my face remains constant You're shaking You will not be the first When I may be the last Given your condition I am in your hands Never made such an utterance Grab more Yes Do not let me die Let me finish Do not let me die with the stain of sin Shall I sign for a priest You will serve well enough I cannot I wish to confess to you That's an act of trust I have not gods here Nor I since Richard's death These transgressions you do not own But I do There is not room enough in hell To stack my sins Only God can make that judgment Grant more Lord, no matter how much I might wish I cannot absolve you But you can't take any We shall ask the saints to pray for my forgiveness That was Richard who raised me My father I barely knew him Home to him was crusading In the Holy Land As was the case for many Uncle Richard told me to ride him Schooled me, gave me my first lesson In the hawk I rode side by side with him In the campaign of Ireland After the first battle he united me In many ways he was warm I know to think this is sort of blasphemy You have to understand Richard provided me shelter, food, clothes and often And education I loved him It could not have been easy And I loved my father I've always supposed to love his real father Mutual infection is not a sin I wish my father dead You can't mean it He allowed Richard to die horrible There was no quick jab at the night That was lies spread by the crowd How do you know of this? Each day a guard brought the king And accounted for Richard's safety You're becoming agitated I must finish, please Why did your father not kill Richard outright? God chose Richard If God wanted Richard to live Then you would live A hand of Henry Bollingford Must remain utterly pure The guard ordered to feed Richard Just enough to keep him alive Each day an imperceptible amount Of food from the allotment of the day before So small was the fraction Uncle Richard's eyes could not construe The sight of his belly agonized In time, doubtful, the senses Reduced him to an imbecile His hair grew brittle His teeth reigned from his mouth Scratching and whining at the door To call for those he thought once loved him Stays developed into wheat with his brain sour Prayers became songs Songs became poetry Poetry became phrases Phrases became words And words became a single vowel Repeated over and over Then only sounds Sorted, made by a baby Months passed And when the bits and pieces he was fed Could no longer sustain him Uncle Richard consumed his fingernails And his body scales Once they looked over He would vigorously clog his head Till flakes fell out of the snow Rolling the damper between thumb Orphing if he glued them Into tiny cakes using the jelly Produced by his body No bit that could be cannibalized Once it was finally his muscles vanished Eared slow to a dribble Tears became tearless and his breath Took up the stench his bowel Ceased to produce Near the end, the daily offering Was of vinegar soaked rag Which tortured the sores of his parched throat And tortured his mind because his will Could not refuse him No longer able to suckle The guard rung the dregs Into his mouth as a washerwoman Rids broad on the excess water Dive without sound King is dead Unlived the king It's important that that be said For it denotes the past is the past And this reign has now begun And the second cooked to pronounce it He who says it first Appears most loyal Which only makes one ruminate If this man loved his king so little That he could only some enjoy at his death In the coronation of another You should not blame yourself If you brought him food But pleaded for his life I left him to die alone Afraid of an unloved Now it is my turn I am a condemned My lips failed with every utterance Of prayer. Do you not understand? God has left me I will pray for you I will pray for King Richard May God forgive you And bless your good name Confateur Deo omnipotente Beate Marier Beato Beato Joani Baptiste Sanctis Apostolis Omnibus Evobus Etibipatete Qui è beccato Nimis Cogitadione Verbo e operae Nei culpa, nei culpa, neo maxima culpa Ideo Frecor Beato, Mariam, Semper, Vergine Beato Akelam, Parangelo Beato Joani Baptiste Sanctis Apostolis Etibipotente Verbo Beato You're sure? Yes, as you wish Will I see you afterward? I will not be on your side Good man Grandma pours a cup of wine And invokes the Prince's face White wine To cleanse the wound Rather share a glass than wear one When you're healed We shall raise a cup Baptiste shall This is a mixture of Bread, honey, and barley To speed the healing If I should pass out I will be here When I await Will I know how to mount a wand? No What is it? I'll speed, dear boy Bradmore studies the Prince's head And places his wrists into the restraints Bradmore surveys the wound And experiments with the alignment As the extractor enters the wound The Prince's breathing becomes ragged And his torso flails about forcing Bradmore to have to subdue him The pain is unbearable And the Prince faints Bradmore, with effort, plums the depth of the wound And then withdraws the extractor He holds up the bloody arrowhead He turns to the table And drops it into a hole We hear the Prince breathing deeply God save the king He crosses himself And then begins praying As the lights fade to black I've played the young boy's skype So the playwright is not available this evening As he is working on the show These are just A list of questions And things for consideration As we go through Bear with us for just a moment Really quite small print, Mr. Miles Even your wife is struggling Thank you, Mark Just a moment It's small, man Very small print Thank you for joining us No one can actually see you at the moment I think that's probably I think that may be better, actually Oh, come now Thank you, chef Oh, yes Trippy That's trippy Very Alice in Wonderland What are your overall impressions Of the play? What was that? Part 12 Okay What did you take away from the show? I mean, what's something that you'll remember about it? I think that it provides For an interesting look At the humanity of The better of the society And to go through Royals to hear Those who we know Who we know Who we know Who we know Who we know Royals to hear Those who we view historically as Beyond the approach A lot of times Or as perfect figures As we see the importance of that sort of thing And By his own mortality And being reckoned I think that He becomes much more Approachable I suppose understandable Yeah, I mean along those lines I think most of us know Henry V from Shakespeare What we got into The Breach Guy And to me just the premise For such a twist on that And really think about The humanity of somebody eating a thing Of a smart little thing It's coming out of this guy God loves technology You know There's a whole lot of historical information On Jonathan Bradford The playwrights kind of put together A backstory for him With him being prison And counterfeiter and so forth Do you think that That works in this case Or what are your thoughts on that I think it does work One thing that I was thinking though And granted I don't do history As far back as the 15th century But most of the time people weren't Put in prison as a punishment They would be corporally punished And I thought it would be interesting If he perhaps had some kind of Disfigurement that the Prince is worried That he will also have Because prison wasn't a punishment So much as corporal punishment At least from the 17th To 9th Like the 18th, mid-18th century Interesting Like you'd be in prison Like debtor's prison is a thing But if you committed a crime You usually were disfigured If you were a counterfeiter You'd probably be killed And I was wondering if the reason He wasn't was because he had treated Jonathan Gont as what's stated Maybe he got some kind of special pardon For being a counterfeiter because of that So that was something I was thinking about It would be a cool parallel The fact that so much of it Disfigurement How did you feel The balance of the play was Between the characters Did you feel it was offside at all Or did you feel like it Between the two of them It worked pretty well Flood well? I thought it worked very well It was interesting in the definition Where Henry Has been Highly, you know In his education and Bradmore His ideas are much more grounded Real everyday sort of thing But at times it did strike me That Henry's Language Obviously he's been trained and brought up To be the next king But for being so young It wasn't just things that sound Like he had learned It was like he's been intensely Deeply thinking about these things And Henry at some time As a 15 year old His thoughts might have been Slightly more tripled at times Although the extreme The extreme Beliefs of them You're either all good Or all bad That does show a childishness But it did seem very mature at times I think almost overly mature At a case point I'm just curious Based on historical fact Or is this an extrapolation Or an idea It's loosely based on historical fact What's the fact? The wound itself And Bradmore removed it It's really about as much as they know It's not necessarily the rest of it It's false It's just that you don't know the details So what you're saying as far as There is definitely a record that you survived This exact kind of wound Right, but it starts with Bradmore The fact is only his name Assessing it with removing the arrow Yeah, there's a little bit of information He did invent that The thing I'm sorry It is based on historical fact In terms of The wound itself that happened The prince wasn't He did create a structure That I'd like to extract And that will be used in the next 100 years And extract most of the public That's being used That's being used I'll give you what's past The most tender The conversation And that's where The writing And the writing And the writing That takes Story that's unbelievable But I believe it's because It's still outrageous that I cannot One theme where you directly Address the king Is that It seems just a little out of place To interrupt the Intimacy of Taking place in this one room Between the two characters Just seems a little odd There must be another one That's a direct conversation with the king But it's never really followed The writing That's a possibility I thought kind of on the same lines When I first read the piece That maybe there was a particular scene Led me to wonder a lot more About the question of Was Brad Moore Not supposed to It felt like I kind of got distracted By that a little bit In the end I decided To really bring through And come around more At the end of the play I suppose my comment on The character relationship When I actually saw A kid talking To an older man The kid being a kid And the older man being a father They were very believable The biggest thing Disturbed the relationship for me Was the language He let The king Get into Philosophical statements In a very Philosophical form of speech And that's when I lost The character of the 15 year As a matter of fact when they said Oh I'm 15 or 14, I was shocked Because I was beginning to play The kid was probably 18, 19, 20 So when The two relationships were clear They worked beautifully well The whole sex scene was just charming It's when it became kind of Messaging and pontificating that It bothered me Though I didn't believe by it Yeah, let me ask you Because the part to me that I Felt the most conflicted about Was the prince's long description Of the battle When he gets into that Part of me finds that Language kind of invigorating Part of me thinks it's maybe a little Too much For somebody who's supposed to be 15 is badly wounded To be in that part of life Do you have that sense for me? I know you do I feel like the emotion behind that part Really makes sense to me that you would be like Oh yeah, you know, battle's so cool You know, I got shot in the face So it's like This is the coolest thing I've ever done in my life So like, you know, I could do that But like, yeah, I'm going to Do a bit scenario where I didn't Feel like When you talk to me about our 15 year old You know, it's a very, you know, for both Very well put together A crazy holiday with him Well, you've already been to Oxford for two years That's true And you would have had a very, like, scholastic education I would say at that point And I'm also not sure that Bradmore having Seen the battle for himself Would be quite so taken in by The description of the battle Would be quite as glorious One question that the Playwright did have Was do you see this play Working with a minimal set Contemporary clothing for machines and props? I see it working with a really minimal set I don't know, I was kind of thinking of it Like Like a production of Lion and Winter I saw when I was in middle school Where There was basically just One heart and set and then like one pillar And then everybody had on Period costume So I could see it working that way Yeah, I think Modern clothing might be a little Tracking I think it would work great with a minimal set You know, some cubes Could be the bed, you know That would be great, but I mean, it would have to be full-long Period clothing, like just something Suggestive of a different kind Like so sort of simple I don't think I have a problem With modern clothing Yeah Two blocks in the background That's all I'm talking about I mean, I guess Maybe you can clarify Forces, the question is the Intent of asking that You're hoping to see Modern parallels in the piece Or maybe waiting On the delay for the bead Yeah But it's a question Good to ask again A little louder I guess one thing I'm wondering When you asked the question as the play Right about Whether it would work with modern Clothing, I mean, is the intent behind That that you would be trying To draw out modern parallels In the piece Or are you just wondering If it can be From a design point Can be set almost anywhere Sorry guys, I'm not Is Is it Yes I think what Steve is Trying to ask One of the obvious What are the reasons for the right Place to have it done And the Most More As a Low clock clock theater With This There were meanings Of this path A little bit more They were in the path Very simple Used for the bed Used for the desk And it Existed pretty Well There What Is A counter Yes You can present it Off Theater Very low clock Two hands are kind of key Thank you Very I think the sound's on her end I mean I think that Mostly from a design point I don't see why I couldn't personally I don't know, I might enhance it Some to be done in Costume and Accent, but I don't know that it would Can I ask another Question? We can try You're cutting in and out quite a bit On our end as well Hang with me for just a moment I want to try something Talk to us I can hear you, can you hear me? You can relay it Brandon Can you say that again? Not important Think it's that important They're saying Really not important for them They don't feel that it's all that With Weil I was thinking it would be Interesting if you had A big television Screen up somewhere And just show pictures of A wound At certain times Not in a really natured way No more Thanks It would be like watching an episode of House where they pass It would be It would be a certain Power Not saying it's got to be a wonderful Valorant A little hologram Cars Prinzary One thing The very end Where they were talking Maybe not the very end, but near the end Where they were talking about meeting How there were too many kings And we couldn't share the island So That's very topical right now In the UK Scotland has set a date to actually vote On whether or not they want to stay part of the UK And the view that was being advocated Of meeting a unification Might not be the best view To advocate right now In the UK So I don't know It's just jarring with some things That I've seen primarily At heritage sites in the UK And actually You go through there on the train And you see all kinds of crosses Of St Andrews flying You hit England and it's all Union Jacks Or St George And it's very clear that there's still that Very very strong distinction And instead of working to get more together They are currently breaking more apart So it would be very interesting To see how that might go over In an English or Scottish setting And Wales too has started Mandatory learning Welsh in schools They're sort of Fermenting a little bit of a Welsh independence movement So things are kind of falling apart Just Yeah it's a little It was a very topical statement Given where At that point they are actually Making Wales part of England And to the point that Wales gets forgotten A lot And now coming forward What 600 years Like where all those nations that they Will be unified Go apart So it was just an interesting moment That could maybe be worked into A much more topical reference So Very good Alright so one final question Before we wrap this up for tonight Would you be interested in seeing Display for real on stage At some point in the future Yeah Alright I got a lot of head nods on that one So it's a good sign Make sure to pass that along to Stephen Yes absolutely And before we wrap for the night Let's give it up for our two wonderful Actors Thank you all Thank you all And if you'd like to watch it again later It will be posted on Howl Around And New Play TV Thank you very much for joining us Sure Yes absolutely We Kept the recording going as well So I do have a recording of it So if you'd like that I can also get that to him Yeah Absolutely Yeah absolutely We're glad We're very happy to do this So But very well Oh yeah Okay great Alright thank you so much Bye We know