Secretum Secretorum "And that is what you are going to tell the FBI?" Marcus Brody asked, as he and Indy passed through the double doors of the Museum of Antiquity. "That there was nothing to any of it? The Tomb of Hermes does not exist, Voynich is gibberish, and the philosopher's stone is simply a dream?" -- Indiana Jones and the Philosopher's Stone (1995) ***************************************** The standard warnings and provisos are valid here. Not mine, no disrespect meant, certainly no profit or other gain acquired. The idea for this story came from an episode of "Ancient Mysteries, with Arthur C. Clarke" which I saw this past weekend. The muses began screaming during a short segment on the Voynich Manuscript, an obscure, and, as-yet, not translated document of possible alchemical significance. Its origins are lost to the mists of time, as may be the key to the strange code it was apparently written in. Methos thinks this is a very good thing <G>. Only marginal connections exist to other stories in my universe, mostly to keep the time line straight (it's getting more difficult, let me tell you!). The modern portion is set in August, 1999, just after the end of "Judgment," because, well, that's one of the only times I could *fit* it! Many thanks to Tia for the beta read. Comments are much appreciated! ***************************************** Part 1: "There are in fact four very significant stumbling-blocks in the way of grasping the truth, which hinder every man however learned, and scarcely allow anyone to win a clear title to wisdom, namely, the example of weak and unworthy authority, longstanding custom, the feeling of the ignorant crowd, and the hiding of our own ignorance while making a display of our apparent knowledge." -- Roger Bacon [A lazy Sunday afternoon, August 1999. Seacouver] Click...pause. Click...pause. Click. Pause. Grumble. Click. "There's nothing on." Richie continued his discontented channel surfing ever higher through the choices his budget cable package offered. "Too bad football's not on." "I, for one, am grateful. Let me have that." Leaning forward in his easy chair, Methos grabbed the remote from Richie's hand. The ancient Immortal continued perusing the channels, while Enkidu watched with amusement. It had been a frenetic few days, ending with Athrwys' death, and Jo's revelation that she had discovered Methos' true identity. Sighing, Enkidu wearily rubbed a hand across his face. A boring Sunday afternoon of television viewing, no matter how banal the content, was vastly preferable to the tragedy and endless complications of recent real life. He had only a few days left with his friends, before he was due to return to the monastery. He was determined to wring every last bit of enjoyment from the next few days. "...Among the alchemical works which have survived to this day, none are as mysterious as the Voynich manuscript." Enkidu nearly jumped off the couch at that seemingly pedantic pronouncement, his mouth opening to protest further channel surfing. However, the wide-eyed expression on Methos' face assured Enkidu that his old friend had no intention of changing the channel. Squirming uncomfortably against the couch cushion, Enkidu watched the Discovery Channel presentation with rapt interest. "Known to have been purchased by Emperor Rudolph II, in the late 16th century, it eventually passed through several hands, to an American antique book dealer, Wilfrid Voynich, in 1912." Richie watched the program with increasing interest, blissfully unaware of the tension mounting in the room around him. "Weird," he announced, his forehead creasing with lines of confusion at the peculiar illustrations of human anatomy and flowers broadcast before him. The program's narrator blithely droned on the story of the mysterious manuscript. "Apparently part astrology manual, part botanical catalog, this indecipherable work also appears to be a treatise on human anatomy, pharmacology, and a list of recipes some authors presume to be unsuccessful experiments in the search for the illusive elixir of life." "Probably someone's family meatloaf recipe," Richie teased, noting uneasily the lack of response to his joke. A quick glance to his right, and left, bolstered his growing feeling that there was something amiss. "Sorry, no insult to meatloaf," he tried to joke, again failing to elicit any response from the stone faced elder men. Shaking his head, Richie returned his attention to the program. "The popular tale that it was the creation of famed Franciscan monk and scientist Roger Bacon has been largely discounted by scholars...." A loud, sharp snort from Methos provided commentary to that offhanded dismissal. "Despite the efforts of a multitude of scholars to crack its elusive, and one of a kind code, the work has defied all attempts at a translation...." Richie chuckled. "Hmmm, maybe they need a better secret decoder ring." Glancing at the focused expression on Enkidu's face, he asked, "Ya think they'll ever decode it?" "Heaven forbid!" Whipping his head to the right, toward the source of that outburst, Richie noted the serious tone was mirrored in a grim expression. "Why?" "Although some researchers believe this to be a deliberate fraud, either perpetrated in the 16th century, or the 20th, others hold fast to the belief that this one-of-a-kind document, now housed at Yale University, holds the secrets to Immortality...." His mouth gaping open like a carp's, Richie stared at the television, shocked disbelief on his face. "What?!?" A nearly silent click sent a signal to the television's power supply. As he watched the picture suddenly disappear, Richie sank back against the couch. Slowly turning his head to the left, he met Enkidu's distracted, inscrutable gaze. "Okay...." He turned his head to the right, locking into Methos' troubled expression. "Which one of you is gonna tell me..." He returned his eyes to Enkidu's face. "... what's going on?" Air loudly rushed into the Akkadian's lungs, was held, then was expelled with equal volume. "That task falls to me, I suppose." Watching Methos slowly shake his head, Enkidu paused, wondering if he was unnecessarily opening up a canister of caterpillars. As history had proven, countless times, curiosity had the power to kill more than merely the common housecat. Richie observed the uncomfortable, guilt-laden manner of his elders with morbid curiosity, and more than a minimum of goose bump raising dread. "This should be good," he murmured under his breath, raising his beer to his lips. <<*Really* good.>> "Bacon." That single word caught Richie off guard. "Huh?" Cracking the barest hint of a smile, Enkidu shifted in his seat, facing the confused youth sitting beside him. "Roger Bacon. Brother Roger, as he was later to become. The story truly does begin with him." Blue eyes widened in understanding. "He knew about us... about Immortals?" Enkidu nodded slowly. "Yes. Thanks to my carelessness." "What, you said something? Caused a light show?" "Nothing quite so ordinary," Enkidu offered. "It was a rather embarrassing hiking accident...."