We always considered that Geoffrey was the best scholar amongst us when we were at college together all those years ago, which made what followed seem all the more disappointing. The rest of us drifted off in various directions and started careers and families, but Geoffrey didn’t. He remained a solitary figure. He tried for an academic post, but when he didn’t manage this, he took a series of mediocre and ill-paid jobs leading nowhere. He seemed fixated with his particular topic, which was north-western England during the dark ages; so much so that he hardly fitted into the modern world at all. But I always liked him in an odd sort of way, and kept in touch with him, mostly because we both enjoyed writing letters. Finally after many years he achieved a small measure of fame, or at least controversy, when he announced he had reconstructed the works of a hitherto unknown writer, a certain Sextus Sempronius (or so the man called himself: it can hardly have been his real name) who allegedly lived in Cumbria in the fifth century. Naturally the original manuscripts hadn’t survived, but Geoffrey claimed to have pieced them together from other sources. His findings did not meet with general approval: most academic critics thought Sextus to be entirely imaginary, and that Geoffrey had merely gathered extracts from a much later period: probably written by students in the 15th century as a grammatical exercise. Still, I read his book when it was put out, by a suitably obscure publisher, and arranged to meet him, up in the Lake District where he now lived.
I hadn’t set eyes on him for years, and my first impression was how much older he looked. But he was as intransigent as ever, and strongly defended the reality of Sextus. He pointed out that there was always a strong Roman presence in Cumbria, that the Saxon invaders were slow to penetrate the area, and that legends of King Arthur were at least as strong in the north-west as they were in Cornwall; so there was no reason why the region should not have remained a lone beacon of Latin culture well into the Dark Ages. I formed the impression that Geoffrey felt a strong personal identity with Sextus: a man at odds with the age he lived in, who felt civilisation collapsing all around him. I made some comment along these lines, at which he gave me a strange look, and replied that he would show me something important.
We drove out to the lake (in my car: he didn’t have one),and he took me out along a path. I noticed that he no longer walked easily, and that a scramble up a steep bit was a serious effort for him. The view was magnificent, but that wasn’t why he’d brought me.
“As you can see, the modern road is on the other side of the lake”, he explained, “but this is the ancient trackway, in use from prehistoric times. And there’s something else I want you to know. There’s a cave up above us, though you couldn’t see it from this path. Sextus tells us he took refuge in a cave at one point. I’m convinced it was this one”.
“Aren’t we going to have a look at it, then?”
“No: at this time of year it’ll probably have tourists scrambling around . The atmosphere of the place will be lost. I only ever go there if I’m certain there’ll be nobody about”.
I don’t remember all that much about the rest of the day, but I spent the night at Geoffrey’s flat. It was a scruffy little place, and very poorly furnished, and I was saddened to see a number of empty bottles littering the kitchen: when he was in his prime, Geoffrey had been an abstemious drinker. We talked until quite late. In the morning I told Geoffrey about an odd dream I‘d had. I thought I was outside the cave, looking down on the lake, but it was all different. The road on the opposite bank wasn’t there, neither were the modern houses that lined it, or the forestry commission plantations on the slopes above, and there were strange smells in the air. It was if I had strayed into an earlier century. It had so much effect on me that I was able to describe it to him in detail over breakfast. He looked pleased.
“So you saw it too!” he exclaimed. “I’ve seen it many times. That was how I first became attracted to Sextus! I know he was there! He left his aura in the place!” He rabbited on like this for some time, about how he knew from his dreams that Sextus was real, and that the critics who doubted him didn’t know what they were talking about. I felt more and more depressed as he spoke. After all, a belief in the occult is all very well when you’re a student, but when you get older, it looks rather silly: but Geoffrey had moved in the opposite direction; at college he’d always been scathing in his contempt for any supernatural beliefs. What had a fine scholar come to?
“And there’s just one thing missing”, he continued, “I’ve never actually managed to meet Sextus himself, and speak to him. That would be the final proof, wouldn’t it? So did you see him? It would be wonderful if you did! It would make everything worthwhile.”
“Oh yes”, I said, “At least, there was someone in the cave, in what I take it was Romano-British dress, so I suppose it must have been Sextus”.
He was absolutely delighted, and said it was the confirmation of his work. Actually, I was making the whole thing up, of course. But I felt so sorry for Geoffrey, who despite his talents had achieved so very little in life, that I felt I had to cheer up the poor chap. And who would tell me that was wrong?
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