‘I doubt very much Euphorion himself had visited many of them.’ Fields’s tone was dismissive. ‘He was mostly copying what Pausanias had already written.’
‘Perhaps not. There is more to this Latin note, though. The Aldine editor, assuming it was he, writes of the manuscripts he has seen.’
‘The three of which I told you.’
‘Possibly, possibly not. “In one manuscript only does the most worthy Euphorion write of the golden treasure that lies hidden where the ancient kings buried it. Of this treasure I have learned no more and I have chosen therefore not to transmit to posterity words which are most probably but lies and idle fantasies.” What do you make of that?’
The professor finally looked up from his volume of The Peloponnesian War. He took the Aldine book from Adam and read the passage himself.
‘Hmm, interesting. What could have been the treasure to which the manuscript referred?’ He gave the book back to Adam. ‘But, as Palavaccini says, probably no more than an idle fantasy of hidden riches.’
‘But what if it was more than fantasy? What if one of the manuscripts of Ellados Periegesis did contain details of some ancient treasure? And what if Creech had come into possession of it? That would be reason enough to speak of a “very great secret”.’
Fields waved his hand in dismissal. ‘There can be nothing in the three manuscripts,’ he said, with apparent certainty.
‘Perhaps there is a fourth manuscript,’ Adam went on, his excitement growing as his thoughts raced ahead of him. ‘Last night, you said yourself that Creech might have found another.’
‘I said it was a possibility, Adam. I do not believe it is particularly likely.’
‘I am not sure that it is not the only explanation. Other scholars have no doubt seen the three manuscripts that are known to exist and found nothing in any of them which can possibly justify the remark about the golden treasure. Ergo, there must be another manuscript. One which Palavaccini saw in the sixteenth century but which had disappeared by the time Munro put together his edition two hundred years later. Creech must have seen that missing manuscript. He must have known where it is. Or was.’
‘As I say, it is not beyond all bounds of possibility that another manuscript exists.’ Fields still sounded dubious. ‘This man Creech might have read it and realised what he was reading. But it still seems improbable to me.’
Adam thought for a moment.
‘I don’t think Creech was sufficiently a scholar to have read the manuscript himself. I remember at the Marco Polo dinner he did not seem to recognise a very familiar phrase from the Iliad. He must have had someone whose Greek was very much better than his own to translate it for him.’
‘Creech’s Greek may have disappeared with the passage of time. I know of men who were fair enough scholars in their youth who could not now construe a Greek verse if their lives depended upon it. Some of them continue to teach in the university. However, as I have said, we do not know that such a manuscript exists.’
‘You must admit, Professor, that there is — at the very least — a possibility that one does.’
‘I have acknowledged as much already, Adam. But I will go no further than to reiterate that it is only a possibility. Nothing more. If another early manuscript of Euphorion does survive, it cannot be anywhere in Western Europe. Scholars would know of it.’
‘Creech might have seen it in Greece or Turkey.’ Adam felt a rising certainty that he was correct. ‘He spent much of his life in the lands of the Ottoman Empire.’
‘That is true.’ Fields seemed to have caught some of the excitement which was stirring his one-time pupil. His voice now possessed an animation it had not so far done. ‘There are undoubtedly manuscripts that have never been properly catalogued or recorded. In obscure libraries and isolated monasteries.’
The professor stood. He thrust his small volume of Thucydides into his jacket pocket.
‘We must both read more of Euphorion, Adam. There is a riddle here to be answered.’
‘I shall continue to read here this afternoon.’
‘No, no, you must return to London. There is a train at three.’
Fields retreated into the darker recesses of the library. Adam could hear him moving books on one of the shelves.
‘I could stay longer in Cambridge,’ he called.
‘There is no need for you to do so, my boy.’ A book fell noisily to the floor. There was a muffled curse and then the professor appeared again by the reading desks, holding an old volume bound in calfskin. He blew gently on it and coughed as clouds of dust rose from it. ‘Here is a copy of the Munro edition. No one has looked at it for decades, it would seem. Possibly since it was first published. Take it back to town. I cannot countenance the borrowing of one of the college’s Aldine volumes, but the Munro is another matter. Perhaps there is some further clue to be found within its pages.’
‘And you shall read the Aldine edition here?’
‘I shall.’ The professor ran his hand through his hair where much of the dust from the book had settled. ‘I shall also make more enquiries of my confrères at high table. I shall even speak to Dandridge again. Together you and I will get to the bottom of this mystery.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Word from Cambridge, Quint,’ Adam said, waving a letter in his manservant’s direction. ‘It can only be from the professor. Who else would write to me from the college? And in such a wretched scrawl.’
Quint, standing by the window and staring down into Doughty Street, said nothing. His interest in Cambridge and the professor, his attitude very clearly said, was limited.
Adam opened his letter and began to read it.
‘You must depart on a quest for provisions, Quint,’ he said after a moment. ‘Fields intends to visit this afternoon. We must offer him some refreshment after his journey. He has news to deliver to us and a proposal to make, he says. The least we can do in return is set afternoon tea before him.
Adam placed the letter by his plate and turned to look at his manservant.
‘Cucumber sandwiches are still de rigueur on such occasions, are they not?’ he said. ‘And muffins, perhaps. Or scones? I leave the choice to you. The baker’s on the Gray’s Inn Road sells both, I am sure.’
‘We paying with ready gilt?’ Quint asked, turning from the window. ‘Or we still looking for tick?’
‘I think we shall make Mr Gregory’s day and pay him for once with coin of the realm.’
Adam took a florin from his jacket pocket and spun it through the air. His manservant caught it and pocketed it in one swift motion.
‘What a ferocious woman your landlady is, Adam! Medusa shaking her serpentine locks at Perseus could scarcely be more terrifying. Unlike the hero of old, I possess no mirrored shield but I have escaped her petrifying gaze. Somehow I have mounted the stairs to your rooms unscathed.’
As he entered the sitting room at Doughty Street, it was clear that Fields was in an exuberant mood. There could be no doubt that he had awakened that morning in the best of spirits and the journey from Cambridge had done nothing to dampen them. Not even a close encounter with Mrs Gaffery had been able to dent his ebullience. He shook hands with Adam as warmly as if they had last seen one another a year ago rather than a week, and nodded amiably at Quint, who was still employed in ferrying the materials for afternoon tea from the kitchen. The professor skipped around the manservant like a small boy and moved towards the side table where Quint had placed muffins for toasting and a plentiful supply of butter, jams and preserves. Fields gazed down at it as if he had never seen such riches spread before him.