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A short story depicting a scene when maybe Mary and Elizabeth Tudor decided where they stood with each other over a simple lunch. Please read, enjoy and let me know what you think. I enjoy little imaginary scenes like this. Happy Weekend. Wanstead, Essex — August, 1553 The canvas walls of the private pavilion at Wanstead breathed heat. It was not the honest warmth of open sunlight or the clean exertion of riding beneath the wide Essex sky. This heat was closer, more oppressive, while the heavy canvas trapped too many living bodies inside a space strained with excitement, fear, and triumph. The air hung thick with melted beeswax smoke, horse sweat, damp velvet, crushed summer grass, and the fine dust that drifted endlessly from thousands of hooves grinding the old Roman road toward Aldgate. Outside, England shouted itself hoarse for its new queen. The roar of the crowds rose and fell like surf against the tent walls while parish bells pealed somewhere beyond the fields and heraldic trumpets answered in bright metallic bursts. Men called loudly for ale. Horses stamped and tossed their heads in the growing press of bodies. Along the road to London, polished armor flashed beneath the lowering afternoon sun beside snapping banners, silver harness, and the restless movement of twelve thousand souls surging steadily toward the capital, all eager to witness the return of the rightful Tudor bloodline. Inside the pavilion, however, a heavy, suffocating silence held. With her gloved hand on the polished table, Mary I of England steeled herself before taking a seat. The heavy, stiff purple velvet of her state gown dragged at her shoulders. The thick gold embroidery stitched densely along her bodice seemed to trap the day’s heat inside the fabric itself, offering no relief. Ropes of fine seed pearls looped across her breast in solemn, heavy rows, while large rubies glimmered darkly from the conservative French hood that pressed painfully against her temples. Even the thick ermine lining at her wide, hanging sleeves felt like an oppressive weight now.