Malibu, California, USA - 1959
Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror, she was caught between disbelief and acceptance. She was used to servants dressing her, but this….this was strange. No fancy hooped skirts or embroidered bodices, no jewels to show her rank. Instead, she wore a pale blue skirt that reached her calves and a fitted blouse in pastel pink. The fabric was soft and comfortable, but it felt strangely plain.
And the women here walked with confidence as they wore trousers. Trousers! Elizabeth had scoffed aloud at first, but the servants had barely batted an eye. She sighed as she looked down on her strange clothing.
When Abigail opened the door and motioned her out, Elizabeth took a deep breath. She stepped into the hallway, and the buzz of unfamiliar voices met her ears.
“So I say to Mr. Miller, ‘Please look after the dawg,’” said a woman with a strange accent that Elizabeth couldn’t place. A peal of laughter followed, and then she addressed her directly.
“Hi! I’m Lily, the estate manager,” the woman said warmly, offering her hand before giving a small curtsy. She wore a crisp, pastel suit with a pencil skirt that hugged her figure, her heels clicking on the floor as she moved.
Elizabeth extended her hand. “Good day,” she said carefully, unsure how much formality was expected here.
Lily smiled warmly. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
***
They entered a grand atrium, spacious and alive with greenery. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. Walls lined with papyrus scrolls and ancient books gave the space a sense of timelessness, while furniture inspired by classical Greek design, fancy chairs with gilded edges and plush seats, invited royal comfort.
The back wall was painted with a copy of Raphael’s The School of Athens. Its bright colors clashed slightly with the polished marble floors and a colored statue of philosopher Socrates in the center.
In the middle of the atrium, a group of people sat in a loose circle. Most wore 20th century clothes.
But one man stood apart. He was very tall, about six feet three inches. His robes were bright and flowing; he was Egyptian.
In the center of it all, slightly back in a chair, sat a young woman, looking directly at Elizabeth.
This woman wore a tailored dress of bright red, unlike anything Elizabeth had seen before. A single gold bracelet coiled like a serpent around her upper arm, and a narrow belt emphasized her waist. Her dark hair was gathered at the nape of her neck.
She moved towards Elizabeth and looked at her without blinking. Then she smiled.
When she spoke, it was low and musical.
“Who are you?” she asked in Greek.
Elizabeth’s surprise quickly gave way to her training. She straightened, clasping her hands in front of her, and spoke back in Greek as well.
“I am Elizabeth of England, daughter of a king, sister of a king, sister of a queen, prisoner of a queen. And who are you?”
The woman’s smile deepened as she sat back. “I am Isis the Divine, ruler of Egypt, daughter of the Sun, beloved of Ra, chosen of the gods.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.
Elizabeth realized immediately who this must be.
“You’re Cleopatra,” she said, understanding.
Cleopatra smiled. “You know me? How do you know me?”
Elizabeth paused, then decided on the truth. “From my teachers. I have read many books.”
Cleopatra laughed, a full, delighted sound. “Books. About me?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, cautious but firm. “Some of them are about you.”
Cleopatra gave a sharp grin. “Tell me, Alzebess,” she said, stumbling over Elizabeth’s name but not caring. “Why are you here?”
Elizabeth was unsure how much to reveal. “The jester brought me here. I was a prisoner; my sister would have me dead.”
Cleopatra nodded, growing serious. “And my brother would have me dead, but apparently, he will not succeed.”
“Describe this jester,” Cleopatra said.
Elizabeth described him carefully, his bright clothing, his mischievous grin, his knowing gaze. Cleopatra listened closely, her face growing thoughtful.
“It appears,” Cleopatra said at last, “that the man who brought us here is the same. He exists in both your time and mine.”
***
The door to the atrium opened, and Thaddeus walked in. It seemed like he was about to break into a dance again, then he offered a dramatic bow. He was wearing a tailored, lime-green suit with a fancy tie. His grin was wide, almost hungry as he looked at them both.
“Ah, my famous queens,” he said cheerfully. “How are you getting on? Are your rooms comfortable? Have you all you need? Are you hungry, perhaps?”
Cleopatra straightened in her seat, her royal poise unshaken. “Why have you brought me here?” she demanded. “And when will you take me back to my throne?”
. “Yes,” Elizabeth said, no less urgently. “Why am I here? When will you return me?”
Thaddeus turned to Elizabeth, his grin sharpening. “Do you truly wish to go back, Your Highness? To that cold, horrible cell, with your sister’s spies watching over you?”
Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “No,” she said. “But... What is to become of me here? Everything is so strange. I do not know this place.”
Thaddeus’ grin softened. “Then you must learn,” he said simply. “After lunch, we are going to the city.”
Elizabeth turned to Abigail, who stood behind her. “What is he saying, my lady? I cannot understand a word.”
Elizabeth sighed, glancing back at Thaddeus. “He is speaking Greek,” she explained. “He says he is going to take us into the city.”
***
This mansion had many rooms. The dining room they were in now was another wild blend of eras and cultures. The long table was a polished slab of marble, its edges carved with detailed Egyptian hieroglyphs. The chairs, cushioned in deep crimson velvet, were shaped in Tudor style, though their legs were gilded with lotus designs. Above them, chandeliers cast broken light across the walls, covered in swirling murals that seemed to shift when no one was looking.
The table was set with mismatched dishes, gold goblets beside modern cutlery and porcelain plates paired with rough earthen bowls. The feast was no less mixed: roasted meats rubbed with Egyptian spices, pies filled with spiced fruits, honey-covered cakes, and fragrant lentil stews.
Elizabeth and Cleopatra sat across from one another. The whole time Cleopatra was looking at Elizabeth, examining her, as the Tudor princess remained upright, her hands resting neatly on the table as she tried to hide her unease.
Neither woman said much, though they glanced at each other every so often. Both had come to understand that they had been brought here for one another, though Thaddeus refused to explain why.
Thaddeus, seated at the head of the table, filled the silence with chatter. He sat forward, gesturing with a fork as he spoke. He described the food and the decorations. He described Raphael’s painting when it was created and what it meant, always with a glimmer in his eye.
“In the 2,000 years since I brought you from your fort,” he said to Cleopatra, “and the 400 years since I took you from your cell,” he added, nodding at Elizabeth, “much has changed.”
“Does England still stand?” Elizabeth asked.
“Certainly.”
“And Egypt?” said Cleopatra.
“Indeed,” Thaddeus said with a flourish, “but it is very different now. They no longer worship the gods of your time.”
Cleopatra looked crushed.
“Isis is no longer worshiped in Egypt?”
Elizabeth said. “In my time, you are still remembered, Your Highness.”
Thaddeus’s grin widened. “Oh, but they do, they do worship you, Your Highness, they worship you everywhere, not just in Egypt, but not as Isis. As Cleopatra.”
At this, Cleopatra’s face broke into a broad smile of satisfaction. “And my siblings? My brother Ptolemy, my sister Arsinoe, do they worship them?”
“No, Your Highness,” Thaddeus said with a nasty smirk. “Your siblings have been forgotten to time like sand in the wind.”
Cleopatra’s laughter burst forth, wild and uncontrolled, echoing through the room. “I win,” she shouted in triumph. “I win! My foul siblings lose.”
“Would you like to see your temples? In years to come, more will be built,” Thaddeus said, his tone turning sly.
“Yes!” Cleopatra said eagerly, sitting up straighter. “Show me the temples they have built to honor me.”
Thaddeus produced his strange device and pressed a button. The room dimmed as three-dimensional images appeared in the air, shimmering and ghostly. Cleopatra gasped, as the projections unfolded: grand casinos glittering with golden lights, luxury hotels with marble facades, towering signs marked with her name.
“These are your temples,” Thaddeus said, in a sing-song manner.
Cleopatra stood abruptly, stepping closer to the images. She took in the scale of the structures, the wealth that bore her name. She knew enough Latin to understand the words: Cleopatra’s Luxury Resort, Cleopatra Palace, Casino Cleopatra.
She turned to Thaddeus, her face bright with glee. “I win,” she repeated, trembling all over with joy. “I win! My siblings are dust, and I am eternal!”
Elizabeth remained seated, the sight of Cleopatra basking in her imagined triumph filled her with unease.
Thaddeus’s chuckle joined in with Cleopatra’s. But then he said, “But beware, Your Highness. No one can know too much about their future. I can show you glimpses of this world, but not everything.”
Cleopatra waved a hand dismissively, still smiling. “You have shown me enough,” she said. She turned to Philo, her tone commanding. “Come, Philo! And you, Alzebess. Bring your servant. Let us see this town!”
As Cleopatra swept from the room, Elizabeth lingered behind. She could not help but feel some pity for the Egyptian queen, so bright in her triumph. She, of course, knew how it would all end. She thought of what she had read in a book by a writer called Plutarch, “Life of Antony,” and of the coming tragedy that would swallow the queen of Egypt.
“Come, Abigail,” Elizabeth said, rising to her feet. “We must follow.”
Abigail was annoyed. “My lady, is she always so... loud?”
Elizabeth’s lips smiled slightly sadly. “Yes,” she said, “but it will not last.”
Please don’t buy me a coffee! Buy the book… spoiler alert, it’s the same price as a coffee.
What you have just read is Chapter Four from John Bosworth’s debut novel, Cleo and Bess: Rivals in Time. It’s an action-packed adventure book for kids of all ages that imagines what would have happened if two of history’s most famous women, Cleopatra VII of Egypt and Elizabeth I of England, had ever met as young women.
Chapter Five will follow next week.
This substack is a companion to the novel. Here you can find all the information and educational material you will ever need on the world of Cleo & Bess, Ancient Egypt, and the Tudors.
If you like what we do here, don’t buy me a coffee…BUY THE BOOK or visit www.CleoAndBess.com; it lasts a lot longer than a coffee, and you may even enjoy it.