All language subtitles for Expedition.Files.S03E03.Time.Reveals.All.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-RAWR_track3_[eng]

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.