Steven nodded. “Maybe that’s why Bacon’s name is associated with the Voynich so often. At one point I came to the conclusion that he was the likeliest one who could have written it, in spite of the impossibility, given that he died a century before it was created. It’s always been a paradox, and it’s that niggling detail that caused me to discard the hypothesis,” Steven said. “But why create a copy?”
“The original was in terrible shape after being hidden by those loyal to Bacon for over a hundred years — medieval castles and abbeys weren’t the most hospitable places for manuscript storage, long term.”
“No, I’d imagine not, given the moisture, and rats, and everything else.”
“Exactly. Apparently, one acolyte devoted ten years of his life to creating the current document, from 1440 to 1450, so the secret wouldn’t be lost. According to Frank’s research, that monk was Christian Rosenkreuz, who later became legendary as the purported founder of the Rosicrucian Order — although in that group’s legend he’s a doctor rather than a monk and lived a hundred fifty years later,” Natalie explained.
“Rosenkreuz was a monk?”
“My father believed that one of the reasons the legend about him started was based in fact, although twisted by history and inventive followers — Rosenkreuz was rumored to know secrets of vast importance, forbidden knowledge, and that got twisted into the Rosicrucian legend after he died. If he was a follower of Bacon and knew the secret, then he would have indeed had forbidden understanding — only not the kind that later got associated with him,” Natalie said.
Steven considered this revelation — the saga had just gotten more interesting. He’d decrypted several documents from the seventeenth century that had been coded Rosicrucian communiqués.
Natalie scrunched closer to Steven. “In a way, Bacon did write the Voynich, but not with his own hand — at least, not this iteration, which is all that survives. The original was destroyed by Rosenkreuz once he was done and replaced by what is now the Voynich. Only there was a problem. Two, actually. The first was that he needed to preserve the mechanism for decoding it. In a medium that couldn’t be destroyed by time and couldn’t be discovered by those who weren’t part of the loyal few. That must be where the tablet and the parchment came in. He needed to send instructions to others of his brethren in England and Italy and France, on how to find the decryption tablet, but he couldn’t do it in a way that might be discovered,” Natalie continued.
The light went on in Steven’s head. “He sent encrypted documents to them with coded directions on where to find, not the tablet, but hidden instructions on how to find the tablet. Embedded in the middle basilica, which was not publicly known about at the time.” Steven finished his wine. “Only a member of the cloth — presumably one of his associates — could have ready access to the upper, new basilica and find the secret way to the middle level. Now that we know the parchment was there, my guess is the existence of the middle and lower levels were passed on as a verbal legacy. That ensured the secret was safe, with several hurdles in place to keep those not part of the conspiracy from ever discovering the secret. Back then, the Inquisition was in full swing, and even a hint would have gotten someone burned as a heretic,” Steven reasoned.
“That’s why you’ve probably seen the crest on other encrypted documents from the same period, which also contained instructions to the Basilica of Saint Clemente, or perhaps to some other site — it could be there’s a different location for each encoded parchment sent out. It doesn’t really matter and can never be known without decrypting those others. But for our purposes, we have the tablet, which in the end is the key. Without that, there’s no way to decrypt the Scroll,” Natalie finished.
“I wonder what Bacon could have come across that warranted such secrecy. I mean, it had to be big. During that period, knowledge that had been lost to the West for a thousand years was beginning to make its way into Europe via the writings of the ancient Greeks and Arabs — the study of which ultimately wound up driving the creation of the university system. It was a period of tremendous intellectual upheaval, and at the same time, one of excitement. All the knowledge of the centuries that had been forgotten in the West during the so-called Dark Ages was being rediscovered.”
“Our contact didn’t know what the Scroll contained,” Natalie added. “My father was always curious as to why the Order didn’t simply destroy it, versus guarding it all these years, if the secret was that big a deal.”
“I think I can answer that. Just a guess, but I suspect they were waiting.”
“Waiting? For what?”
“Waiting for someone to decrypt the Voynich, as technology improved. If you want to know a secret that’s contained in a document, but you don’t know how to decrypt it, you wait until someone comes along who does, or figures out how to. That would account for rumors of scholars deep in the Vatican spending their lives trying to decipher the Voynich. Maybe the rumors about it were true, but like everyone else, they never figured it out?” Steven speculated.
“That makes sense. It also explains why the Church only safeguarded the chapter that held the secret.”
“Exactly. Although who actually had possession of the Voynich is unknown for most of its existence, and I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what happened to quire 16. Could have just fallen out, or been removed at any point in its life.” Steven snapped his fingers. “You know, one thing I always found odd was the circumstances by which Wilfrid Voynich came into possession of the manuscript in the first place. It was found among the remaining possessions of a top Jesuit general when he passed away. So there’s the Church, again, although not the Order…that we know of. Could be that it was all some convoluted scheme to get the manuscript back out into circulation so modern cryptographers could have a crack at it.”
Natalie shrugged. “Whatever. In the end none of this will matter. Soon, you’ll have solved the puzzle, and then we’ll be in a better position to figure out what to do next.” Natalie reached over and toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt. “All this talk is making me sleepy. Are you sleepy yet, or do I need to pour some more booze down your throat first? I’m not above getting you drunk to have my way with you. And it’s not just because I’m a crypto-groupie or anything. Although that’s probably why you took up the discipline…”
“It was either that or play lead guitar in a rock band,” Steven replied.
“I never liked musicians.”
“You never heard me play guitar.”
“You ready to hit the sack?” she asked, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
The next morning, Steven awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and the chiming of Natalie’s cell phone, which she’d left in her purse. He called out for her and then lunged out of the bed to the small dresser where it lay, pushing the gun out of the way in the small clutch to get to the phone. He hit the green call button.
“Hello.”
“Steven. I was expecting Natalie. Could you put her on, please?” Moody said without preamble.
“Sure. She’s coming.”
Natalie appeared at the door and he handed the phone across the bed. She grabbed it and ran back into the kitchen — something smelled like it was burning. Steven pulled on his pants then strode to the living room, where the laptop was waiting for his attention. He moved the mouse, tapped the Enter key, and the screen came to life. A long list of possible sentences stared back at him, and he groaned inwardly as Natalie chatted in the kitchen, rattling pans and doing three things at once.