A tavern near Bosworth.
Tudor:And so . . . The Yorkshire hog is dead. Those burgesses who made him king will have to find another trough to feed in. Now, back to London to kill those bastards in the Tower.
Minion:Why did he not kill 'em himself, d'you think?
Tudor:Who knows? The man knew nothing much of kingship: no heirs, ends hanging loose all over the land, traitors trusted until they show their hand.
Minion:And by then it's too late.
Tudor:Far too late. Oh well, the man was a fool.
Minion:But the people loved him.
Tudor:The people still love him, dead or alive. Did you hear people got killed in the crush when the weeping masses came out on to the streets?
Minion:We put a stop to that. All mourners are being locked up.
Minion:And we're reminding people he was a regicide.
Minion:Didn't the man smother his own father?
Tudor:I never heard that.
Minion (laughs):Nor anyone else, until we started the rumours.
Tudor (joins in the jollity):Good. Good. I like the way you're working.
Minion:I did a similar office for him.
Minion:Yeah, him. Who was it organised the burgesses to beg him to take the crown?
Tudor:But I thought he was reluctant.
Minion:Like a virgin on her wedding night. We talked him into it.
Tudor:So it was true?
Minion:About him wanting to lead a life of prayer? No, not really. He had some sort of an idea about being a people's king.
Tudor:Well, he did that.
Minion:Until you chopped him down this morning.
Minion:Now we've got a proper king to deal with.
Tudor:To work for, you mean.
Minion:Yes, of course, your majesty. To serve.