‘A feast fit for Lucullus,’ he exclaimed. ‘The recipe book of Apicius himself does not contain anything more appetising.’
‘It ain’t finished yet,’ Quint said, attempting to elbow the professor out of his path, but Fields was not to be moved.
‘What have we here?’ he asked, seizing a jar from the table and peering at its label. ‘No less than the honied wealth Hymettus yields, I do believe.’
‘It is honey certainly, sir,’ Adam replied. ‘But I think it is more likely to have come from the beehives of Kent than from the slopes of Hymettus.’
‘No matter. It will be equally agreeable, I am sure.’
Waving Quint on with his work, Fields retired from the side table and sank into one of the armchairs by the hearth. A small fire was burning there and the professor held out his hands to warm them as if it were December rather than July. Forgetting for the moment that he was guest rather than host, he gestured to Adam to join him. Smiling to himself, the young man obeyed. He settled himself in the other chair.
‘However, we are not here solely to indulge in the Epicurean pleasures of the table,’ Fields said. ‘I have no doubt that, like me, you have now spent much time with Euphorion. I had thought that there could be no more tiresome guide to the ancient lands of Greece than Pausanias but I was mistaken.’
‘His Greek is certainly more workmanlike than elegant,’ Adam acknowledged. He patted a leather-bound book that was resting on a round walnut wine table by his chair. ‘I have read the Munro edition you lent to me.’
‘And you found nothing further to pique your curiosity?’
‘No, I could find no references to treasure or to anything else that might have excited Creech’s interest. But you said yourself that you had found nothing in Munro’s volume. What of the older edition, the Aldine? Did you read that again?’
‘I did, but there is nothing beyond that enigmatic reference to the golden treasure that lies hidden where the ancient kings buried it. The one you saw when you came to Cambridge.’
‘So, we are at a dead end.’ Adam was disappointed. He had hoped so much that Fields might have something new to tell him. ‘There is nothing more to be learned from Euphorion.’
‘I would not go so far as to say that.’ Fields was almost hugging himself with delight.
‘You have discovered more of our mysterious author?’
‘I have done more than that. I have located another manuscript.’ The professor looked about the room with the air of a man expecting a hidden audience to reveal itself and burst into sudden applause. ‘I sent a telegraph to an old friend in Athens. Professor Masson at the French School there.’
‘He knew of another manuscript?’
‘He did not. He is an archaeologist. His interest lies in the Eleusinian Mysteries. He believes that he has found a shrine to Demeter on the road from Athens to Eleusis.’ Fields waved a hand in dismissal of his friend’s archaeological concerns. Shrines to Demeter, he seemed to suggest, were pretty small beer in comparison with what he and Adam were chasing. ‘But he made enquiries on my behalf. And he is of the opinion that there is another manuscript of Euphorion’s work in the Greek National Library.’
‘And it is one that is unknown outside Greece?’
‘There can be no doubt about it. Scholars in the West know of three manuscripts only. One is in the Harleian collection in the British Museum. Another is in Paris. The third belongs to Sir Granville Tukes of Tukes Hall in Buckinghamshire. It has been in the family for at least a century and a half. If Masson has really found another, it is a new one.’
‘Although Palavaccini may have known of it in the sixteenth century?’
‘That is certainly a possibility.’
Adam took a muffin from a plate that Quint thrust unceremoniously in front of him. He placed it on a toasting fork and pointed it towards the flames of the fire.
‘And yet this manuscript that your friend has located must have been in Athens for some time?’
‘Not necessarily. You forget that the modern Greek state has been in existence for a few decades only. The National Library is also a young institution. The Euphorion manuscript must have only come into its possession recently.’
‘So where was it before that?’
The professor shrugged. ‘Who can tell?’ he said. ‘A monastery library, perhaps? They will have some record in the National Library of its provenance, I assume. I am not sure that it is of any great import. It is enough that it is there now.’ He paused. ‘I do believe that muffin is toasted more than adequately for consumption.’
Adam, who had forgotten his toasting duties while thinking of the manuscript, pulled the fork from the fire. He scrutinised the muffin impaled on it.
‘I have allowed it to burn.’
‘It will serve its purpose.’ The professor seemed untroubled by the muffin’s blackened state. Lifting it off the fork, he helped himself to the butter and honey that Quint had set out on the small table beside his chair and began to eat it with apparent relish.
‘There is but one way to learn more of this mysterious manuscript that Louis Masson has unearthed,’ he said between mouthfuls, spraying crumbs carpetwards. ‘And that is to travel to Athens and inspect it.’
‘I do not see how that is easily possible.’ Adam was surprised by the professor’s sudden enthusiasm for another journey to Greece. He was not even sure he wanted to leave London in the near future. He had returned to his photography and his dark room was filling up with plates awaiting his attention. Nor had he lost all hopes of meeting once more with Emily Maitland. ‘We cannot drop everything and make our way across Europe in pursuit of one manuscript.’
‘Why not? The long vacation is nearly upon us. What better way for me to spend my time than in journeying to Greece in search of mysterious manuscripts? The college would be only too delighted if I could unearth some others that were equally unknown.’
‘It is a long journey to make on what might turn out to be a wild goose chase.’ Adam continued to sound doubtful.
‘Nonsense, my boy. We can be in Athens within ten days if we so desire,’ Fields said. ‘If we make our way to the south of France, we can take the steamer from Marseilles to Malta. And then on to Athens. Or we could go by rail to Trieste and then join an Austrian ship to Greece.’
‘That would probably be cheaper.’
‘But the Malta route would be more convenient and comfortable. And I am inclined to think that convenience and comfort should trump expense.’ The professor leaned forward, dripping butter from the muffin he was eating onto the lapels of his jacket. His eyes were shining with excitement. ‘Shall we go? The two of us? And the bold Quintus, of course. It will not be so challenging an expedition as the one we made in sixty-seven but — who knows? — the results may prove more rewarding.’
Fields’s enthusiasm for the journey he proposed was oddly infectious. Adam, who had been about to recite a list of objections to the plan, began instead to consider its benefits. Within the hour, it had been decided. The two of them, with Quint in tow, would depart for Athens as soon as the long vacation began.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As Adam and Cosmo Jardine entered the Café Royal, the artist was telling his friend of some social excursion he had made the previous evening.
‘The champagne tasted like varnish and as for the girls…’ He grimaced.
‘As bad as that?’ Adam asked.
‘Worse.’
They made their way to one of the tables.
‘There’s that fellow Gilbert,’ Jardine said, nodding towards a florid and heavily moustached man in his early thirties who was sitting nearby with a group of other men.