Will was a freelance photojournalist, and well connected. A long-time colleague, now his closest friend, had become intrigued over a beer and offered some help, taking a fragment of the parchment to a cousin at Oxford who could do the carbon dating. At least they’d know the approximate age of the paper. Will had been clicking off photos in the Greek Theater in Taormina on a blistering mid-June day when the text appeared tantalizingly on his phone:

Samples tested x 2. Both conclude it’s probably late C16.

Any interest? C U Sept. Simon

Interest, indeed! What happened in the Campo de’ Fiori—the so-called Field of Flowers—in the late sixteenth century? This was only the very first reference on the document and, quick as he was at crosswords and anagrams, he had no idea how it might fit in with the key. After weeks of travel and research he’d begun to piece some thoughts together, but his mind was still whirling with the myriad facts that might—and as likely might not—be relevant. He’d spent the last day in Rome e-mailing back to himself photographs of any places that seemed of possible relevance, as well as pages of data about the political climate in Rome during the sixteenth century. He’d ordered a library list from Amazon to be waiting for him at Alex’s. He wondered about the Cenci, about Bruno, and Galileo. He’d have to peruse it all again at leisure, but it was taking his feet along some strange alleyways, past grim hooded figures in a kind of courtly dance. He’d thought of it as a “merry dance” more than once, and when the alleyways dead-ended he was often left with an eerie, unsettled feeling. Rome could entice you to look over your shoulder sometimes, even when there was nothing but paranoia waiting behind you.

Despite the limited long-distance vision from under his visor, he could see the impressive mirage that was Chartres Cathedral floating above the flat plain from miles away. Approached at speed, its sheer magnitude was suddenly upon you; he could imagine how a medieval pilgrim must have felt dwarfed into insignificance, and he realized that this amazing image of the great church dominating the landscape—its many personal associations—would never lose its magic for him.