Original subtitles

On this episode of "Expedition Files"...

In 1948, a man is found dead on an Australian beach with no ID

and a cryptic message hidden in his clothing.

For 75 years, his identity has remained a mystery...

until now.

Then, the Trojan War is one of our most enduring legends.

Greek soldiers hidden inside a wooden horse mount

the world's most legendary surprise attack.

For the first time, we'll reveal the truth

behind the myth.

And... Shakespeare is considered the greatest writer

in history, but does he deserve the credit?

We reveal the remarkable theory that argues the true author

has remained hidden.

In the corridors of time...

are mysteries that defy explanation.

Now, I'm traveling through history itself,

on a search for the truth.

New evidence.

Shocking answers.

I'm Josh Gates,

and these...

are my "Expedition Files."

They say that patience is a virtue, something that's

important to remember while waiting for the secrets

of the past to be revealed

and when you're updating your iPhone.

But tonight, we're diving into mysteries

that refuse to be rushed.

Because sometimes cracking history's toughest cases

isn't about forcing the puzzle pieces together.

It's about letting time do the heavy lifting and staying

patient until the answers finally present themselves.

We begin by turning back the clock

to December 1st, 1948.

Somerton Beach, near Adelaide, South Australia.

The time is 6:30 AM.

But despite the beautiful coastal view,

several beachgoers are gathered near the seawall,

looking down at something else--

the motionless body of a man lying with his head propped up.

He almost looks asleep.

Almost.

Oh, my God. He's dead.

He's oddly well dressed for the beach.

Nice suit and even dress shoes, polished to a high shine.

But he has no wallet.

Indeed, no identification of any kind.

Even more bizarre, there's not a mark on him.

But soon, curious clues will surface-- a coded message,

a torn scrap of poetry,

and whispers of Cold War secrets.

Who is this, and how did he die?

These questions will linger for more than seven decades,

that is, until a revolutionary DNA breakthrough will reveal

the long lost identity of the stranger known

only as the Somerton Man.

Detectives Lionel Lean and Len Brown are baffled.

The few items in the dead man's pockets seemingly offer

no clues about who he was

or how he died.

The police find a half-empty packet of chewing gum,

an aluminum comb,

a bus and train ticket,

matches, and a pack of cigarettes.

During an initial examination of the body,

they find no evidence of violence.

They do, however, notice that the deceased has extremely

well-defined calves and wedge-shaped toes.

This leads some to theorize that perhaps the man

was a ballet dancer.

Another detail that jumps out, every label on his clothing

has been meticulously removed.

And his shoes are so spotless, they don't even show signs

he'd been walking across the beach.

Something isn't right,

and the detectives can sense it.

The autopsy reveals no wounds of any kind.

The pathologists suspect poison,

but no trace is ever found.

The cause of death is ruled "unknown."

January 14, 1949, detectives have pounded

the pavement for six weeks since the Somerton man

was first found.

And in that time, they have searched every hotel,

bus and train stop in the city.

Finally, at a local rail station, they get a hit.

The discovery of an unclaimed suitcase in the coat check.

The case was placed there the day before the body

was discovered on the beach.

But no one remembers who put it there.

Inside, more clothes with tags removed.

But then they find one big clue.

The name T. Keane is stitched on a necktie.

So, mystery solved, right?

The body must be T. Keane.

Except there's a problem.

There isn't a single person named Keane reported

as missing-- not in Adelaide, not in all of Australia.

Needing more time and desperate to preserve what remains

of the mysterious man's body, authorities make a plaster cast

of his head and torso, capturing his features

before they're lost forever.

Then, just when the case is going cold, a discovery.

Months after his death, detectives examine his clothing

one last time.

And in a hidden pocket sewn within his pants,

they find something fascinating.

A tiny scrap of paper with a mysterious message.

"Tamám Shud."

Two words, neatly printed.

In Persian, it means, "It is finished."

The question is, was it left by the man himself

or by his killer?

Detectives confirm the tiny scrap has been torn

from the final page of "The Rubaiyat"

by Omar Khayyam,

a collection of poetry dating back to 12th century Persia.

A public appeal follows, and detectives soon recover

the rest of the book, which had been tossed by someone

into the backseat of a local man's car

parked near Somerton Beach.

The torn scrap of paper fits perfectly,

restoring a haunting message.

"And when thyself with shining foot shall pass,

"among the guests, stars scattered on the grass,

"and in thy joyous errand reach the spot where I made one,

turn down an empty glass."

"Tamám Shud-- it is finished."

It's a farewell.

The empty glass symbolizes the end of one's life, as in,

"I've finished my drink, my time is up."

Detectives discover that the book provides

even more potential clues.

Faint impressions pressed into the back of the book,

five lines of letters that appear to be some kind

of secret code.

Could it be an encrypted message?

Why not?

After all, the Cold War is just beginning to heat up,

with a uranium mine and a military research facility

close to where the Somerton Man was found.

The detectives wonder, was this man a Soviet spy?

The Australian Navy's cryptographic experts examine

the text, hoping to break the code.

But despite their efforts, they're unable to crack it.

On the inside back cover of the book, detectives find

something more easily deciphered,

a phone number.

It connects them to a woman named Jessica Thomson,

living just a five-minute walk from where the body was found.

- Jessica Thomson? - Hi, yeah?

Adelaide Police Department.

Can we have a word?

OK. Yes, come in.

Could she be the one to finally name the man

behind the face?

At the station, police present Jessica with the man's

haunting death mask.

When Jessica sees the bust, she looks shocked.

In fact, she almost faints.

But then she regains her composure and insists

that she doesn't recognize the man.

No.

But she does claim to recognize

something else-- the Rubaiyat.

She tells detectives she once owned a copy of the same book.

During the war, while working as a nurse in a military

hospital, Jessica gave the book as a gift to an Australian Army

lieutenant named Alf Boxall,

with whom she had a brief romance.

After the war, she married and moved on.

Then, one day, a letter arrived from Boxall.

She wrote back only once, to tell him she was married now

and they could never meet again.

Police are convinced they've found their man.

It must be Alf Boxall.

They theorize he took his own life,

drinking poison after being rejected by Jessica.

But a stunning twist is about to change everything police

thought they uncovered about the dead man.

It turns out that Alf Boxall is alive and well,

living quietly in Sydney.

And the kicker?

His copy of the Rubaiyat is still in his possession.

The book was extremely popular in Australia at this time.

But based on Jessica's reaction to the bust,

some experts suggested that she did know the Somerton Man,

that perhaps, shockingly, he was even

the estranged father of her son, Robin.

Photos of Robin do bear a resemblance

to the Somerton Man, some going so far as to claim

a 99-percent possibility that they're related.

Oh, and remember the dead man's pronounced calves?

Well, maybe they run in the family,

because Robin Thomson grew up to be a ballet dancer.

But 99 percent isn't a done deal.

And that 1-percent chance?

Well, 70 years after the mystery began, shocking new

evidence appears to unmask

the Somerton Man's true identity.

For almost a century, the Somerton Man case has

sparked extraordinary theories of spies, heartbreak,

and secret codes, but no solid answers.

Until Professor Derek Abbott from the University of Adelaide

comes up with an ingenious idea to crack the case.

I was looking at this plaster bust

of the Somerton Man,

and I noticed there were hairs stuck in the plaster.

Immediately in my mind, the word DNA popped up.

You've heard of grasping at straws--

this was grasping at hairs.

Sealed for decades in the plaster cast,

the hairs were badly deteriorated.

Extracting viable DNA

was going to be a long shot at best.

I got permission to extract hairs from the plaster bust,

and it was like a gold mine.

The lab pulled out a sequence of two million pieces

of DNA information.

We found distant cousins,

and they were all in Melbourne, Australia.

We found alive people today whose DNA triangulated to him,

and it was at that point, we knew that we had nailed it.

After 70 years of intrigue, the team appears

to have found their man.

The hair belonged to an individual named

Carl Charles Webb.

Born in 1905 in Victoria, Australia,

Carl was an electrical engineer.

In 1941, he married Dorothy Robinson,

but the marriage quickly fell apart.

In divorce documents, Dorothy described Carl

as abusive, depressed, and isolated,

and even potentially suicidal

after discovering him overdosed on ether.

Remarkably, Carl had a deep love for poetry,

writing his own verses, many of which were focused on death,

which his ex-wife claimed was, quote, "his greatest desire."

This seems to be a strong connection to the slip

of poetry found in the dead man's pants,

and the copy of the Rubaiyat discarded in the car.

But what about that strange

sequence of letters inscribed inside?

That was all very mysterious to people.

"Ooh, you know, that's a sign of a spy."

As it turned out, it really isn't a serious code.

It doesn't have the structure of serious World War II code.

But because it's four lines, and this is a book of poetry

with verses that all have four lines in them,

it could be he's trying to pen a poem himself

in a similar vein to the four line poetry in the Rubaiyat.

Either way, it seems the real Somerton Man

was no international spy.

And there are even more pieces of the puzzle.

Carl had a nephew named John Keane.

Remember that tie the detectives found

with the name tag "T. Keane?"

Well, it turns out they read it wrong.

The T was apparently a J.

So when he died on that beach,

Carl Webb was simply carrying his nephew's clothes.

It's a stunning conclusion,

but not every puzzle piece has been found.

What about the fact the discarded poetry book

inexplicably contained the phone number

of Jessica Thomson, the young nurse who reacted to the bust

of the Somerton Man,

but then swore she didn't know him?

Why on Earth does he have her number?

It makes you wonder whether they knew each other

from before, but we have not been able to find any evidence

to back that up.

So it could be just a coincidence that he has

her number for whatever reason.

Because you have to remember, in those days, people put

classified ads in newspapers, advertising to sell things.

And she did have a bunch of classified ads at the time.

There's still so much we don't know about Carl Webb,

or how and why he died.

Some experts point to a possible heart attack

or a pharmaceutical overdose.

Some still suspect a rare poison.

But without hard forensic evidence we may never

know for sure.

But we do know that Professor Abbott and his team have done

what for 70 years was believed impossible,

provide a definitive scientific identification

for the Somerton Man.

Tamám Shud, it is finished, indeed.

History has a way of hiding secrets, whether the identity

of an unknown man or the truth behind a legendary war.

It's 1200 BC.

Standing outside one of the ancient world's

most notorious fortresses.

This is Troy, a city known for its great wealth and status.

Oh, and the massive wooden horse behind me?

That's an offering to the Goddess Athena,

supposedly left behind by the retreating Greeks

after ten long years of war.

To the Trojans, it's seen as a victory trophy.

But do you know that old saying,

"beware of Greeks bearing gifts?"

Yeah, this is where that comes from.

Soon, the Trojans will wheel it inside,

and hidden Greek soldiers will pour out and conquer the city.

That is, if any of this ever happened.

Was there actually a Trojan horse,

or even a Trojan War, for that matter?

Three thousand years from now, archaeology and cutting-edge

science will reveal the truth behind this epic myth.

Remember those two doorstops from high school

you pretended to read-- "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey"?

Well, they're the blockbuster epics of the ancient world

and the bedrock of Western lit.

While they may have originated as an oral tradition,

they are credited to a Greek poet named Homer

in the 8th century BC.

The Iliad covers the brutal war sparked when Helen,

Queen of Sparta,

is abducted to the rich and powerful city of Troy.

Greek King Agamemnon then rallies the city-states

to help her husband, Menelaus, get her back.

"The Odyssey" is kind of like the sequel,

which follows a hero named Odysseus

on the worst road trip in history

as he tries to get home after the war.

So what about the city at the center

of Homer's stories?

In the legends, Troy is a rich city status-soaked port kingdom

near the sea, and a gateway to major trade routes.

And it's a fortress.

High walls, strong gates.

So formidable, the Greek armies camp outside and supposedly

hammer at it for 10 years.

And that's where the legendary horse comes in.

After the Greek soldiers jump out, they set the city ablaze,

torching its temples

and killing or enslaving its citizens.

It's certainly a vivid story

of the cunning and treachery of war.

But what are the facts?

Here's what we know.

Around 1200 BC, in the Bronze Age,

civilizations like the Greeks, the Mycenaeans,

and the Hittites duke it out all around the Mediterranean.

Cities are razed, alliances forged and broken,

war is everywhere.

It's clear that Homer's epic story is set in a period

just as volatile as this real one.

But for centuries, there was no evidence that a war had ever

occurred in the city of Troy.

And there's good reason for that...

No one knew if Troy was even a real place.

Fast forward a few thousand years because that's where

this guy, Heinrich Schliemann, comes in.

In the 1870s, this self-taught archaeologist arrives

in modern-day Turkey, determined to find Troy.

Fueled by a childhood obsession with Homer's tales,

he's convinced the city lies buried beneath Hissarlik,

a flat topped mound in northern Turkey

about four miles from the Aegean Sea.

Using references in Homer's text like a map,

Schliemann starts to dig.

And wouldn't you know it...

he actually finds something.

Layer upon layer of ruins.

In ancient times, different cities would be

built, destroyed, and rebuilt in the exact same place,

each time piling new structures on top of the old.

Beneath the point where Schliemann began his excavation

lay nine distinct archaeological layers,

each reflecting a different era of habitation,

designated Troy I through IX.

These strata span from the Stone Age to the Roman era,

revealing the site's deep history.

Driven by his obsession, Schliemann attacks the site

with shovels, pickaxes, and even dynamite.

In his single-minded quest for Troy, he blindly destroys

priceless archaeological evidence, leveling centuries

of history in his path.

Yet, even in the chaos,

Schliemann strikes gold, literally.

He unearths a glittering cache of ancient treasures,

golden crowns, bracelets, and a delicate chain

he famously claims belonged to Helen of Troy herself.

In 1873, Schliemann declares he's found Troy, and news

of his incredible discovery spreads around the world.

Schliemann has seemingly done the impossible,

finding the real-life foundation of one

of our greatest legends.

But a big problem is about to be dug up.

In the rugged terrain of what is now Turkey,

archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann believes

he's uncovered the lost city of Troy.

There's no wooden horse in sight.

But shimmering gold goblets, crowns, and dazzling jewels

do suggest a city worthy of Homeric verse.

But a problem quickly emerges.

The allegedly Trojan treasure Schliemann unearthed actually

dates to around 2400 B.C., over 1,000 years

before the era of Homer's "Iliad."

So, did Schliemann get it all wrong?

Well, maybe not entirely.

Decade after decade, archaeological teams return

to Hissarlik, leaving the dynamite at home.

They carefully excavate the layer-cake structure

of the site.

They zero in on the layers Schliemann tore through,

specifically Troy VI and VII.

What they uncover is stunning.

These layers date from the era of the Trojan War

as described by Homer,

and they reveal the remnants of a grand city

with towering fortification walls, all of which suggests

the Troy of legend might in fact be real,

and that Schliemann had dug in the right place but dug

too deep and ended up in the wrong time.

But is there any evidence that backs up Homer's narrative

of the Trojan War?

Professor Owen Doonan is an archaeologist who has spent

25 years excavating in the region.

Archaeology is the most incredibly dynamic field.

Like the question of Troy, we are always going to be

finding shocking and exciting new things.

At the site of Troy, there has been evidence found of burning,

of destruction that we associate

with the time horizon around 1200 B.C.

Weapons, burnt buildings, charcoal, burnt bones testify

to a fiery destruction within the time

associated with the Trojan War.

So, not only was Troy a real place, but there is also

clear evidence of its catastrophic downfall.

But what brought about its destruction?

Was it the likes of King Agamemnon and Menelaus

in their epic quest to rescue Helen?

And can we finally say, "giddy up" to a Trojan horse?

Well, few historians would argue that such a theatrical

ploy could have really happened as described.

But with so much of the story of Troy bearing out,

some experts believe that Homer described a mythic distortion

of something very real.

Unfortunately, there's never been any trace found

of the so-called "Trojan horse," but there were large wooden

vessels that are known around this time called siege engines.

A siege engine was sort of like an ancient tank.

Early Greek sources use the word "hippos" when referring

to the Trojan horse, but that term is also used

to describe certain wheeled weapons of war,

some of which were even animal-shaped,

hence the term "battering ram."

It's quite possible that something

like a siege machine,

that resembled a form of a horse, may have been part

of the conquest of the city of Troy.

And what about the rest of Homer's cast?

Agamemnon, Menelaus, Helen,

and the rest of the gang?

Any truth there?

Well, amazingly, the answer is also yes,

courtesy of discoveries from a neighboring civilization.

Archaeologists have excavated written tablets

from the Hittite Empire, a powerful kingdom that

flourished in central Turkey between 1600 and 1200 B.C.

And some of the tablets contain references to specific names

and places that closely mirror those described

in Homer's "Iliad."

There has been a trickle of new tablets

discovered and translated,

that mention various characters

that we are familiar with from the story.

Like the reference to Attarsiya, a king of the Ahhiyawa,

is widely believed to connect with the name Atreus,

the father of Agamemnon and Menelaus.

In the "Iliad," these were the kings who led

the Greek expedition to Troy.

So, after almost 3,000 years, we now have real evidence

that Homer's epic narrative has significant historical roots,

from the city to the players

and maybe, just maybe, the horse itself.

Is everything in Homer's epic factual?

- No. - But it's kind of like your favorite TV series today,

lavish, dramatic, and stamped with those

five irresistible words, "based on a true story."

All the world's a stage,

and all the men and women, merely players.

It's 1601, and I'm walking the boards

of London's Globe Theater.

And this here, is none other than William Shakespeare.

He's been called the most influential writer of all time.

Today, the Bard of Avon is running a rehearsal

for a little play he's just penned, called "Hamlet."

I wonder if it'll be a hit?

This, above all, to thine own self be true.

Catchy line.

But how's this for a dramatic twist?

Did he really write it?

For the next four centuries, some will suspect that

there may be a different man behind the name Shakespeare.

And one historian will reveal that a secret code could unlock

his true identity.

So, is Shakespeare, "to be or not to be,"

the world's greatest playwright?

That is the question.

William Shakespeare has captivated the world

for centuries, author of 39 acclaimed plays,

not to mention 154 sonnets,

and a reputation as the greatest writer who ever lived.

But for a man who gave us such immortal words,

there's a shockingly light paper trail.

Here's what we do know.

He was born in 1564 to John Shakespeare,

a respected glove maker.

His parents, likely illiterate.

Young William grows up humbly in the quiet market town

of Stratford-upon-Avon, about

100 miles northwest of London.

Then, at the age of 18, he weds Anne Hathaway--

no, not from "The Devil Wears Prada,"

and eventually has three kids.

There's no historical record of him attending university,

no record of anything, really, for the next several years,

which is why they're often referred to

as "the lost years."

Then in 1592, the now 28-year-old Shakespeare

suddenly reappears in London, where he's making a name

for himself as a rising star of the stage.

Shakespeare earns accolades as a valued member

of a prominent acting troupe.

He acts himself,

but that's not what makes him famous.

It will be his work writing for this group

that truly cements his legacy.

From 1600 on, Shakespeare writes and stages

masterpiece after masterpiece...

"Hamlet," "Othello," "King Lear,"

"The Tempest," not to mention "Macbeth."

Sorry, the "Scottish Play."

Been around enough curses to know better.

The plays are hits.

At least two are even performed for Queen Elizabeth.

After writing more than three dozen plays,

it is said that he retires from the London literary scene

around 1613.

At 49, he returns to Stratford-upon-Avon.

It's said that he lays down his prodigious pen

to live the quiet life of a country gentleman.

He'll die at age 52 in 1616.

Strangely, there's no record of any notes

or unfinished manuscripts at the time of his death.

His will mentions no books in his personal collection.

It's as though the most literary man in history

has no connection to literature at all.

In 1623, 36 of Shakespeare's most iconic plays are published

in the "First Folio,"

turning Will into a true household name.

So how did a poor English country boy

churn out masterpiece after masterpiece?

Well, not everyone is convinced he did.

Skeptics point out that there's no record

that William Shakespeare went to university,

there's no record he ever left England,

or had any ties to high society.

And if that's the case,

then Shakespeare had seemingly impossible insight,

with deep knowledge of Italy, France,

and the royal courts of Europe.

Then there's the fact that several of Shakespeare's

early plays, including "Romeo and Juliet" and "Richard III,"

are first published anonymously,

without any mention of an author.

And when his name does appear on the title pages

of his printed works, it shows up with curious

variations of spellings.

Add to that the fact that his own signature

appears six different ways,

and a provocative theory emerges.

What if Shakespeare is just a pseudonym

for someone else entirely?

For 400 years, literary sleuths have questioned whether

William Shakespeare truly penned the plays credited to him.

Some suspect another author

could be behind these masterpieces.

Enter one of the most intriguing suspects,

Sir Francis Bacon.

Bacon was a philosopher and statesman who served

as Lord Chancellor of England under King James I.

In the 19th century, the theory that Bacon was

the real author of the Bard's works gains traction.

Supporters argue he had all the education,

eloquence, and intellect

that the unassuming actor from Stratford lacked.

Even Mark Twain jumped on board,

writing, "Is Shakespeare Dead?" in support of the idea.

But opponents of this theory "doth protest."

They argue that Francis Bacon

was never afraid of the spotlight.

If he wrote all these great works,

he wouldn't have concealed it.

He would have taken the credit.

Plus, he was pretty busy inventing empirical philosophy.

Then there's Christopher Marlowe.

Born the same year as Shakespeare, Marlowe was

a Cambridge University graduate and a leading playwright, too.

Best known for "Dr. Faustus,"

and "Tamburlaine the Great," Marlowe was one

of Shakespeare's most formidable contemporaries.

But is it possible that he's more than just a rival?

While Shakespeare got the glory,

did Marlowe write the story?

The theory goes that Marlowe,

facing persecution for his rumored spy work

for Queen Elizabeth's Secret Service,

fakes his own death in a bar fight in 1593.

Conveniently, that's right before Shakespeare's

greatest works began appearing.

Could Marlowe have gone underground and continued

writing under the safer, more anonymous name

of Shakespeare?

It sounds like a plot straight out of, well, Shakespeare,

full of intrigue, deception,

and characters who swap identities

to get the upper hand.

"Twelfth Night," anyone?

In 2016, cutting-edge textual analysis revealed

Marlowe's stylistic fingerprints present

in the Shakespeare play "Henry VI."

As a result, some experts credit both men as co-authors,

though it remains controversial.

But could Marlowe really have been responsible

for all of Shakespeare's works?

Most experts say, not likely.

There's no surviving manuscripts, letters,

or confessions that directly tie Marlowe

to the creation of Shakespeare's works.

The trail is tantalizing, but ultimately circumstantial.

So it's likely not Bacon or Marlowe,

but they're just two of the almost 80 identities

proposed as "the real Shakespeare."

With all these possible candidates, how in the name

of Falstaff are Shakespeare skeptics supposed to figure out

who really wrote the plays?

Well, if you're Dr. Roger Stritmatter,

you take a decades-long deep dive

and narrow it down to just one man.

If you ask a typical Shakespeare professor,

"where does Shakespeare's life connect with these plays?"

They don't really have a very good answer to that.

Shakespeare has essentially almost nothing that would be

a legitimate preparation for writing these plays.

He may have gone to grammar school.

He didn't go to college.

He never traveled out of the country.

Nothing about Shakespeare supports the idea that he is

a credible author of these plays.

At every point, you are fighting the evidence.

The exact opposite is true of Edward De Vere.

You're probably asking yourself,

"who the hell is Edward De Vere?"

Well, he's also known as "the Earl of Oxford."

Born in 1550, De Vere was a wealthy nobleman

and an accomplished poet and playwright.

His position within the court of England gave him

an insider's perspective on the politics and intrigue

of royal life.

He was also a seasoned traveler, having spent

a good deal of time in Venice, Verona, and Florence,

the settings of some of Shakespeare's

most famous plays.

And it gets even more interesting.

De Vere's personal Bible contains numerous underlines

and notes, several of which show up as themes

and quotations in the work of Shakespeare.

Could it be a coincidence?

Some scholars use these details

to argue that the Earl of Oxford

makes a better Shakespeare than...

well, Shakespeare.

The theory that Edward De Vere

was the man behind William Shakespeare

isn't original to Dr. Stritmatter, though.

It was first proposed in 1920 by J. Thomas Looney.

Looney was looking for...

a person who was sort of placed in society to...

learn about all of the domains of knowledge that are embodied

in the Shakespeare plays.

So after doing a lot of research, Looney discovered

Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford.

He had traveled extensively in Italy.

He had a first-class education.

He was a lyric poet

before Shakespeare appears on the scene.

And interestingly enough, he is recorded as early

as 1589 as being a writer of comedies.

He was also a patron of the theater.

Looney also realized,

as soon as you think of De Vere as the author,

suddenly it's like ,

the life and the plays are deeply intertwined.

For a hundred years, though, there was no proof

to this theory.

As Shakespeare once wrote, "there's the rub."

But now, for the first time,

Stritmatter believes he's found it.

And he says it's all thanks to a shocking hidden code.

The ruthless, bloody reign of King Richard III inspired one

of Shakespeare's most infamous plays called, you guessed it,

"Richard III."

It's the story of the villainous hunchback

who murdered his way to the English throne.

It also inspired a long-running mystery.

Where was King Richard buried?

Following his death at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485,

the location of his grave was lost to history.

In 2012, researchers used historical accounts to pinpoint

the location of a long-lost monastery in the English city

of Leicester that's now... a modern parking lot.

Excavation beneath this office car park uncovered a skeleton

bearing battle wounds and a twisted spine.

DNA testing with living descendants

confirmed the identity...

Richard III.

History-- it's the ultimate long-term parking.

Did William Shakespeare really write

all of his immortal plays?

Academic Roger Stritmatter believes he's confirmed

that nobleman and poet Edward De Vere

was the true voice of the bard.

He says he can prove it thanks to a secret code

hidden in a book from 1598.

The book in question is "Palladis Tamia",

a collection of quotes, moral sayings,

and literary criticism written by Francis Meres.

The book is notable for being the first to include commentary

on Shakespeare's plays.

In the book, Meres includes several lists

comparing famous authors.

One links great English writers

with classical counterparts from Greece and Rome.

Meres is a believer in divine mathematics, and he arranges

these lists so that the norm is they are symmetrical.

You have the same number of names on both sides,

and then he varies that,

and whenever he varies there's a reason.

He wants you to dig deeper

and figure out why symmetry doesn't exist.

In other words, move over, Da Vinci.

This is the Shakespeare code.

Stritmatter noticed that the two lists are unbalanced.

17 English names, 16 classical ones.

He claims this imbalance indicates that two

of the English names refer to the same person.

Your goal is to figure out which two names refer

to the same person, and you've got a clue over here.

The name that corresponds to Shakespeare in the list

on the Greek side is Aristonymus.

Why did he put Aristonymus next to Shakespeare?

Well, it turns out that the name "Aristonymus"

really means the "aristocratic name."

Well, guess what?

There's only one an aristocratic name

on the English side in this paragraph,

and that's the very first name,

Edward, Earl of Oxford.

So it's pretty obvious which names are duplicated,

and that would be De Vere and Shakespeare.

Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, is Shakespeare.

OK, but if De Vere and Shakespeare really were

one and the same, why hide it?

Stritmatter thinks it's because writing anything

but poetry was looked down upon as an unworthy pursuit

for nobles in that era.

Aristocrats like De Vere were known to publish

other work anonymously.

For De Vere, having a commoner front for him meant he could

indulge his passion for the stage

without losing face at court.

For Shakespeare, an actor by trade,

it meant money in his pocket,

a continued presence in London's theater scene,

and the ability to retire a country gentleman

back in his hometown.

It was the ultimate win-win.

One man kept his reputation...

the other made one.

Dr. Stritmatter is confident that he's cracked

the Shakespeare code, but it will take much more

than two imbalanced lists to convince other scholars.

Today, most still believe Shakespeare was exactly

who he was known to be, a man from Stratford

who rose from humble beginnings

to become the greatest English writer in history.

Arguments over his identity will continue,

but what you can't argue about is the genius

of his work, and maybe that's the most important thing

after all-- to quote the Bard,

whoever he may be,

"What's in a name?

"That which we call a rose by any other name

would smell as sweet."

I'm Josh Gates,

and I'll see you on the next expedition.