Michael White - Equinox

For the next thirty minutes, Wren kept his audience spellbound. His voice, low and melodious yet never soporific, drew in the listener and made the most specialised aspects of what he was describing interesting and easy to visualise. Illustrating his talk with sketches he had made, he first told the audience how he had designed the Sheldonian Theatre, and then went on to describe the engineering challenges that it had presented for him as a young architect who was both nervous and keen to impress his masters. He had produced immaculate drawings at every stage of the theatre's construction, from the floor plans that had secured his commission through the many stages of the building process to the grand unveiling of the completed project in 1669, five years after it had begun.

Newton enjoyed the talk but, after a while, he had found himself drawn back to the problem that had occupied his mind so completely since February: the meaning of Ripley's cryptic message. The room melted away. The sound of Wren's voice faded. Newton could see Ripley's words, the encrypted message and the strange drawing, as though he were holding the document in his hand. His eidetic memory could reproduce what he had seen down to the last wrinkle in the parchment but, frustratingly, such prodigious mental powers had been of almost no help in his efforts to understand what the message meant.

'It was a most startling moment. .' Wren was saying. 'The foundations were almost complete and I was most assuredly loath to see further delay, but my curiosity was piqued. I permitted the exposing of the odd construction to the limit of one day of work, as I felt it worthy. By the end of the day it had become clear. There was a natural and quite possibly an extensive cave system under this part of Oxford. I duly noted it in my diary and, with the permission of the Master of Hertford College, I ran a narrow corridor from this subterranean void to the cellars beneath the nearby college, with the thought that one day I might go back to learn more. That, sadly, was twenty-five years ago, and commitments to His Majesty have, alas, kept my enthusiasm in check.'

The audience laughed and Wren took a deep breath. 'So, forgive my digression. Now, as to the construction of the roof. .'

A tingling that had begun at the base of Newton's spine slowly rippled up through his body. As he stood transfixed, staring intently at the great architect, he could feel rather than hear the words of Ripley resonating inside his head: Seek the sphere under the earth, 'tis cocooned in stone, great learning above and earth below.

When Newton tapped on the door and peered in, Wren was alone in an ante-room off the main lecture hall, removing his wig and trying to untangle his straggly grey hair. 'Well, what an excellent surprise,' he said with a smile.

'May I bother you for a moment, Sir Christopher?'

'Naturally, sir. Come in. Take a seat. Did you enjoy my lecture?'

'Yes, I did — very much,' Newton replied gravely. He was trying to control his excitement.

'I'm most honoured by your presence, sir. Indeed, we had a fine audience tonight, did we not? So, how may I help you?' Wren left his hair alone and began to remove his jacket. Newton noticed that it was stained with sweat.

'I found your description of the construction of the Sheldonian Theatre most beguiling. But. .' He hesitated briefly. 'I was particularly taken with your mention of the subterranean cave system.'

'Oh, really? I am crestfallen, sir,' Wren dead-panned. 'I thought you would have favoured talk of the engineering feat, the genius of the design, the extraordinary accommodation of Nature's forces.'

'Please forgive me.' Newton looked lost for a moment. 'I did not mean. .'

'I'm jesting, Isaac. Ye gods, it must be true what they say about you — that you never laugh and have been known to smile but once.'

Newton, po-faced, said nothing. Sensing that he had offended the scientist, Wren placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'Forgive me. I meant no insult, my friend.'

Newton took a step back and bowed. 'No offence taken, I'm sure. Sir, I was enamoured with your entire talk, but the cave fascinated me. Perhaps this interest comes as a result of some inexplicable primeval connection in my mind. Whatever it may be, I would like to know more about it.'

'Sadly, I can add almost nothing to what I said earlier tonight. It was a quarter of a century ago. I was young and idealistic and I believed I could go back to explore at my leisure.'

'But there are caves under the Sheldonian?'

'Oh, indeed there are. But they remain unexplored.'

'Did you record the layout on paper?' 'I did not.'

'So what exactly did you see?' Newton found it hard to keep the rising excitement out of his voice.

Wren frowned. 'There were two openings, I recall. I had the workmen dig around them for a day, as I said. They uncovered a flat roof, a winding corridor, tunnels. I sent two men down with a lantern. Yes, it's coming back to me now. They were gone an inordinately long time. And we were about to dispatch a search party-after them when they re-emerged, a little shabby and feeling somewhat sorry for themselves.'

Newton raised an eyebrow. 'What had befallen them?'

'I managed to obtain from them only a few facts. Apparently, there was some sort of maze beyond the opening. But they were confused about even this.

One of the men said it was a natural convolution of the tunnels, the other thought it was a demonic creation. They were superstitious and ignorant workmen, of course, but I could not have spared anyone with more intelligence at that time. It was perhaps a little foolish of me to digress from the work to which I was committed. It appeared that there were natural corridors leading off towards Hertford College to the south-east and to a point beneath the Bodleian Library almost directly south. I knew from experience that at Hertford College the cellars extend far underground with tunnels leading outward in the direction of my theatre. It was a trivial matter to join them up, and in that way I thought I was satisfying the calling of my curiosity and respecting my muse. You understand?'

Newton seemed far away, staring at Wren without speaking. Then he pulled himself together.

'Apologies, sir,' he mumbled. 'I was totally absorbed by your words. I do understand. We must satisfy our muse lest we shrivel up and die.'

'Quite.'

Newton appeared to have nothing more to add and an uncomfortable silence fell between the two men.

'Well, if that is all you seek, Isaac. .' Wren said.

'I'm most grateful to you,' Newton responded abruptly. 'Most grateful. Farewell, Sir Christopher.' He bowed and made for the door.

Laura was sitting in Philip's house with the Aga on full and a fire blazing in the grate, wondering for perhaps the sixth time that evening how anyone could live in a house without central heating, when Philip's car pulled up outside.

In the hall he hung up his sodden coat and walked into the living room.

'God, you look awful,' she said.

'I feel awful,' he replied without looking at her. 'How's Jo?'

'She's upstairs, asleep. Battered and bruised but basically in one piece.'

'And is she cold?' Philip asked sarcastically. 'I can't believe the bloody temperature in this house.'

'Hah!' Laura said. I can't believe you enjoy living in the Stone Age. Have you not heard of that great new invention, the radiator?'

Philip sighed and slumped into a chair, put his elbows on the table and cupped his head in his palms. 'Yeah, OK. . whatever.'

'Bad day?'

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot. 'I could do with a drink.'

A few moments later Laura handed him a huge malt whisky and settled into the chair next to him. 'You look like you need to get something off your chest.'