on, communion,
baptism, mass--take your pick--choose whatever combination pleases you and
ignore the rest. What kind of spiritual guidance is the Church offering?"
"Third-century laws," the second cardinal said, "cannot be applied to
the modern followers of Christ. The rules are not workable in today's
society."
"Well, they seem to be working for Opus Dei!"
"Bishop Aringarosa," the secretariat said, his voice conclusive. "Out
of respect for your organization's relationship with the previous Pope, His
Holiness will be giving Opus Dei six months to voluntarily break away from
the Vatican. I suggest you cite your differences of opinion with the Holy
See and establish yourself as your own Christian organization."
"I refuse!" Aringarosa declared. "And I'll tell him that in person!"
"I'm afraid His Holiness no longer cares to meet with you."
Aringarosa stood up. "He would not dare abolish a personal prelature
established by a previous Pope!"
"I'm sorry." The secretariat's eyes did not flinch. "The Lord giveth
and the Lord taketh away."
Aringarosa had staggered from that meeting in bewilderment and panic.
Returning to New York, he stared out at the skyline in disillusionment for
days, overwhelmed with sadness for the future of Christianity.
It was several weeks later that he received the phone call that changed
all that. The caller sounded French and identified himself as the Teacher--a
title common in the prelature. He said he knew of the Vatican's plans to
pull support from Opus Dei.
How could he know that? Aringarosa wondered. He had hoped only a
handful of Vatican power brokers knew of Opus Dei's impending annulment.
Apparently the word was out. When it came to containing gossip, no walls in
the world were as porous as those surrounding Vatican City.
"I have ears everywhere, Bishop," the Teacher whispered, "and with
these ears I have gained certain knowledge. With your help, I can uncover
the hiding place of a sacred relic that will bring you enormous power...
enough power to make the Vatican bow before you. Enough power to save the
Faith." He paused. "Not just for Opus Dei. But for all of us."
The Lord taketh away... and the Lord giveth. Aringarosa felt a glorious
ray of hope. "Tell me your plan."
Bishop Aringarosa was unconscious when the doors of St. Mary's Hospital
hissed open. Silas lurched into the entryway delirious with exhaustion.
Dropping to his knees on the tile floor, he cried out for help. Everyone in
the reception area gaped in wonderment at the half-naked albino offering
forth a bleeding clergyman.
The doctor who helped Silas heave the delirious bishop onto a gurney
looked gloomy as he felt Aringarosa's pulse. "He's lost a lot of blood. I am
not hopeful."
Aringarosa's eyes flickered, and he returned for a moment, his gaze
locating Silas. "My child..."
Silas's soul thundered with remorse and rage. "Father, if it takes my
lifetime, I will find the one who deceived us, and I will kill him."
Aringarosa shook his head, looking sad as they prepared to wheel him
away. "Silas... if you have learned nothing from me, please... learn this."
He took Silas's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Forgiveness is God's
greatest gift."
"But Father..."
Aringarosa closed his eyes. "Silas, you must pray."
CHAPTER 101
Robert Langdon stood beneath the lofty cupola of the deserted Chapter
House and stared into the barrel of Leigh Teabing's gun.
Robert, are you with me, or against me? The Royal Historian's words
echoed in the silence of Langdon's mind.
There was no viable response, Langdon knew. Answer yes, and he would be
selling out Sophie. Answer no, and Teabing would have no choice but to kill
them both.
Langdon's years in the classroom had not imbued him with any skills
relevant to handling confrontations at gunpoint, but the classroom had
taught him something about answering paradoxical questions. When a question
has no correct answer, there is only one honest response.
The gray area between yes and no.
Silence.
Staring at the cryptex in his hands, Langdon chose simply to walk away.
Without ever lifting his eyes, he stepped backward, out into the room's
vast empty spaces. Neutral ground. He hoped his focus on the cryptex
signaled Teabing that collaboration might be an option, and that his silence
signaled Sophie he had not abandoned her.
All the while buying time to think.
The act of thinking, Langdon suspected, was exactly what Teabing wanted
him to do. That's why he handed me the cryptex. So I could feel the weight
of my decision. The British historian hoped the touch of the Grand Master's
cryptex would make Langdon fully grasp the magnitude of its contents,
coaxing his academic curiosity to overwhelm all else, forcing him to realize
that failure to unlock the keystone would mean the loss of history itself.
With Sophie at gunpoint across the room, Langdon feared that
discovering the cryptex's elusive password would be his only remaining hope
of bartering her release. If I can free the map, Teabing will negotiate.
Forcing his mind to this critical task, Langdon moved slowly toward the far
windows... allowing his mind to fill with the numerous astronomical images
on Newton's tomb.
You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.
Turning his back to the others, he walked toward the towering windows,
searching for any inspiration in their stained-glass mosaics. There was
none.
Place yourself in Sauniure's mind, he urged, gazing outward now into
College Garden. What would he believe is the orb that ought be on Newton's
tomb? Images of stars, comets, and planets twinkled in the falling rain, but
Langdon ignored them. Sauniure was not a man of science. He was a man of
humanity, of art, of history. The sacred feminine... the chalice... the
Rose... the banished Mary Magdalene... the decline of the goddess... the
Holy Grail.
Legend had always portrayed the Grail as a cruel mistress, dancing in
the shadows just out of sight, whispering in your ear, luring you one more
step and then evaporating into the mist.
Gazing out at the rustling trees of College Garden, Langdon sensed her
playful presence. The signs were everywhere. Like a taunting silhouette
emerging from the fog, the branches of Britain's oldest apple tree burgeoned
with five-petaled blossoms, all glistening like Venus. The goddess was in
the garden now. She was dancing in the rain, singing songs of the ages,
peeking out from behind the bud-filled branches as if to remind Langdon that
the fruit of knowledge was growing just beyond his reach.
Across the room, Sir Leigh Teabing watched with confidence as Langdon
gazed out the window as if under a spell.
Exactly as I hoped, Teabing thought. He will come around.
For some time now, Teabing had suspected Langdon might hold the key to
the Grail. It was no coincidence that Teabing launched his plan into action
on the same night Langdon was scheduled to meet Jacques Sauniure. Listening
in on the curator, Teabing was certain the man's eagerness to meet privately
with Langdon could mean only one thing. Langdon's mysterious manuscript has
touched a nerve with the Priory.
Langdon has stumbled onto a truth, and Sauniure fears its release.
Teabing felt certain the Grand Master was summoning Langdon to silence him.
The Truth has been silenced long enough!
Teabing knew he had to act quickly. Silas's attack would accomplish two
goals. It would prevent Sauniure from persuading Langdon to keep quiet, and
it would ensure that once the keystone was in Teabing's hands, Langdon would
be in Paris for recruitment should Teabing need him.
Arranging the fatal meeting between Sauniure and Silas had been almost
too easy. I had inside information about Sauniure's deepest fears. Yesterday
afternoon, Silas had phoned the curator and posed as a distraught priest.
"Monsieur Sauniure, forgive me, I must speak to you at once. I should never
breach the sanctity of the confessional, but in this case, I feel I must. I
just took confession from a man who claimed to have murdered members of your
family."
Sauniure's response was startled but wary. "My family died in an
accident. The police report was conclusive."
"Yes, a car accident," Silas said, baiting the hook. "The man I spoke
to said he forced their car off the road into a river."
Sauniure fell silent.
"Monsieur Sauniure, I would never have phoned you directly except this
man made a comment which makes me now fear for your safety." He paused. "The
man also mentioned your granddaughter, Sophie."
The mention of Sophie's name had been the catalyst. The curator leapt
into action. He ordered Silas to come see him immediately in the safest
location Sauniure knew--his Louvre office. Then he phoned Sophie to warn her
she might be in danger. Drinks with Robert Langdon were instantly abandoned.
Now, with Langdon separated from Sophie on the far side of the room,
Teabing sensed he had successfully alienated the two companions from one
another. Sophie Neveu remained defiant, but Langdon clearly saw the larger
picture. He was trying to figure out the password. He understands the
importance of finding the Grail and releasing her from bondage.
"He won't open it for you," Sophie said coldly. "Even if he can."
Teabing was glancing at Langdon as he held the gun on Sophie. He was
fairly certain now he was going to have to use the weapon. Although the idea
troubled him, he knew he would not hesitate if it came to that. I have given
her every opportunity to do the right thing. The Grail is bigger than any
one of us.
At that moment, Langdon turned from the window. "The tomb..." he said
suddenly, facing them with a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I know
where to look on Newton's tomb. Yes, I think I can find the password!"
Teabing's heart soared. "Where, Robert? Tell me!"
Sophie sounded horrified. "Robert, no! You're not going to help him,
are you?"
Langdon approached with a resolute stride, holding the cryptex before
him. "No," he said, his eyes hardening as he turned to Leigh. "Not until he
lets you go."
Teabing's optimism darkened. "We are so close, Robert. Don't you dare
start playing games with me!"
"No games," Langdon said. "Let her go. Then I'll take you to Newton's
tomb. We'll open the cryptex together."
"I'm not going anywhere," Sophie declared, her eyes narrowing with
rage. "That cryptex was given to me by my grandfather. It is not yours to
open."
Langdon wheeled, looking fearful. "Sophie, please! You're in danger.
I'm trying to help you!"
"How? By unveiling the secret my grandfather died trying to protect? He
trusted you, Robert. I trusted you!"
Langdon's blue eyes showed panic now, and Teabing could not help but
smile to see the two of them working against one another. Langdon's attempts
to be gallant were more pathetic than anything. On the verge of unveiling
one of history's greatest secrets, and he troubles himself with a woman who
has proven herself unworthy of the quest.
"Sophie," Langdon pleaded. "Please... you must leave."
She shook her head. "Not unless you either hand me the cryptex or smash
it on the floor."
"What?" Langdon gasped.
"Robert, my grandfather would prefer his secret lost forever than see
it in the hands of his murderer." Sophie's eyes looked as if they would well
with tears, but they did not. She stared directly back at Teabing. "Shoot me
if you have to. I am not leaving my grandfather's legacy in your hands."
Very well. Teabing aimed the weapon.
"No!" Langdon shouted, raising his arm and suspending the cryptex
precariously over the hard stone floor. "Leigh, if you even think about it,
I will drop this."
Teabing laughed. "That bluff worked on Rumy. Not on me. I know you
better than that."
"Do you, Leigh?"
Yes I do. Your poker face needs work, my friend. It took me several
seconds, but I can see now that you are lying. You have no idea where on
Newton's tomb the answer lies. "Truly, Robert? You know where on the tomb to
look?"
"I do."
The falter in Langdon's eyes was fleeting but Leigh caught it. There
was a lie there. A desperate, pathetic ploy to save Sophie. Teabing felt a
profound disappointment in Robert Langdon.
I am a lone knight, surrounded by unworthy souls. And I will have to
decipher the keystone on my own.
Langdon and Neveu were nothing but a threat to Teabing now... and to
the Grail. As painful as the solution was going to be, he knew he could
carry it out with a clean conscience. The only challenge would be to
persuade Langdon to set down the keystone so Teabing could safely end this
charade.
"A show of faith," Teabing said, lowering the gun from Sophie. "Set
down the keystone, and we'll talk."
Langdon knew his lie had failed.
He could see the dark resolve in Teabing's face and knew the moment was
upon them. When I set this down, he will kill us both. Even without looking
at Sophie, he could hear her heart beseeching him in silent desperation.
Robert, this man is not worthy of the Grail. Please do not place it in his
hands. No matter what the cost.
Langdon had already made his decision several minutes ago, while
standing alone at the window overlooking College Garden.
Protect Sophie.
Protect the Grail.
Langdon had almost shouted out in desperation. But I cannot see how!
The stark moments of disillusionment had brought with them a clarity
unlike any he had ever felt. The Truth is right before your eyes, Robert. He
knew not from where the epiphany came. The Grail is not mocking you, she is
calling out to a worthy soul.
Now, bowing down like a subject several yards in front of Leigh
Teabing, Langdon lowered the cryptex to within inches of the stone floor.
"Yes, Robert," Teabing whispered, aiming the gun at him. "Set it down."
Langdon's eyes moved heavenward, up into the gaping void of the Chapter
House cupola. Crouching lower, Langdon lowered his gaze to Teabing's gun,
aimed directly at him.
"I'm sorry, Leigh."
In one fluid motion, Langdon leapt up, swinging his arm skyward,
launching the cryptex straight up toward the dome above.
Leigh Teabing did not feel his finger pull the trigger, but the Medusa
discharged with a thundering crash. Langdon's crouched form was now
vertical, almost airborne, and the bullet exploded in the floor near
Langdon's feet. Half of Teabing's brain attempted to adjust his aim and fire
again in rage, but the more powerful half dragged his eyes upward into the
cupola.
The keystone!
Time seemed to freeze, morphing into a slow-motion dream as Teabing's
entire world became the airborne keystone. He watched it rise to the apex of
its climb... hovering for a moment in the void... and then tumbling
downward, end over end, back toward the stone floor.
All of Teabing's hopes and dreams were plummeting toward earth. It
cannot strike the floor! I can reach it! Teabing's body reacted on instinct.
He released the gun and heaved himself forward, dropping his crutches as he
reached out with his soft, manicured hands. Stretching his arms and fingers,
he snatched the keystone from midair.
Falling forward with the keystone victoriously clutched in his hand,
Teabing knew he was falling too fast. With nothing to break his fall, his
outstretched arms hit first, and the cryptex collided hard with the floor.
There was a sickening crunch of glass within.
For a full second, Teabing did not breathe. Lying there outstretched on
the cold floor, staring the length of his outstretched arms at the marble
cylinder in his bare palms, he implored the glass vial inside to hold. Then
the acrid tang of vinegar cut the air, and Teabing felt the cool liquid
flowing out through the dials onto his palm.
Wild panic gripped him. NO! The vinegar was streaming now, and Teabing
pictured the papyrus dissolving within. Robert, you fool! The secret is
lost!
Teabing felt himself sobbing uncontrollably. The Grail is gone.
Everything destroyed. Shuddering in disbelief over Langdon's actions,
Teabing tried to force the cylinder apart, longing to catch a fleeting
glimpse of history before it dissolved forever. To his shock, as he pulled
the ends of the keystone, the cylinder separated.
He gasped and peered inside. It was empty except for shards of wet
glass. No dissolving papyrus. Teabing rolled over and looked up at Langdon.
Sophie stood beside him, aiming the gun down at Teabing.
Bewildered, Teabing looked back at the keystone and saw it. The dials
were no longer at random. They spelled a five-letter word: APPLE.
"The orb from which Eve partook," Langdon said coolly, "incurring the
Holy wrath of God. Original sin. The symbol of the fall of the sacred
feminine."
Teabing felt the truth come crashing down on him in excruciating
austerity. The orb that ought be on Newton's tomb could be none other than
the Rosy apple that fell from heaven, struck Newton on the head, and
inspired his life's work. His labor's fruit! The Rosy flesh with a seeded
womb!
"Robert," Teabing stammered, overwhelmed. "You opened it. Where... is
the map?"
Without blinking, Langdon reached into the breast pocket of his tweed
coat and carefully extracted a delicate rolled papyrus. Only a few yards
from where Teabing lay, Langdon unrolled the scroll and looked at it. After
a long moment, a knowing smile crossed Langdon's face.
He knows! Teabing's heart craved that knowledge. His life's dream was
right in front of him. "Tell me!" Teabing demanded. "Please! Oh God, please!
It's not too late!"
As the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hall toward the
Chapter House, Langdon quietly rolled the papyrus and slipped it back in his
pocket.
"No!" Teabing cried out, trying in vain to stand.
When the doors burst open, Bezu Fache entered like a bull into a ring,
his feral eyes scanning, finding his target--Leigh Teabing--helpless on the
floor. Exhaling in relief, Fache holstered his Manurhin sidearm and turned
to Sophie. "Agent Neveu, I am relieved you and Mr. Langdon are safe. You
should have come in when I asked."
The British police entered on Fache's heels, seizing the anguished
prisoner and placing him in handcuffs.
Sophie seemed stunned to see Fache. "How did you find us?"
Fache pointed to Teabing. "He made the mistake of showing his ID when
he entered the abbey. The guards heard a police broadcast about our search
for him."
"It's in Langdon's pocket!" Teabing was screaming like a madman. "The
map to the Holy Grail!"
As they hoisted Teabing and carried him out, he threw back his head and
howled. "Robert! Tell me where it's hidden!"
As Teabing passed, Langdon looked him in the eye. "Only the worthy find
the Grail, Leigh. You taught me that."
CHAPTER 102
The mist had settled low on Kensington Gardens as Silas limped into a
quiet hollow out of sight. Kneeling on the wet grass, he could feel a warm
stream of blood flowing from the bullet wound below his ribs. Still, he
stared straight ahead.
The fog made it look like heaven here.
Raising his bloody hands to pray, he watched the raindrops caress his
fingers, turning them white again. As the droplets fell harder across his
back and shoulders, he could feel his body disappearing bit by bit into the
mist.
I am a ghost.
A breeze rustled past him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of new life.
With every living cell in his broken body, Silas prayed. He prayed for
forgiveness. He prayed for mercy. And, above all, he prayed for his
mentor... Bishop Aringarosa... that the Lord would not take him before his
time. He has so much work left to do.
The fog was swirling around him now, and Silas felt so light that he
was sure the wisps would carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final
prayer.
From somewhere in the mist, the voice of Manuel Aringarosa whispered to
him.
Our Lord is a good and merciful God.
Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right.
CHAPTER 103
It was late afternoon when the London sun broke through and the city
began to dry. Bezu Fache felt weary as he emerged from the interrogation
room and hailed a cab. Sir Leigh Teabing had vociferously proclaimed his
innocence, and yet from his incoherent rantings about the Holy Grail, secret
documents, and mysterious brotherhoods, Fache suspected the wily historian
was setting the stage for his lawyers to plead an insanity defense.
Sure, Fache thought. Insane. Teabing had displayed ingenious precision
in formulating a plan that protected his innocence at every turn. He had
exploited both the Vatican and Opus Dei, two groups that turned out to be
completely innocent. His dirty work had been carried out unknowingly by a
fanatical monk and a desperate bishop. More clever still, Teabing had
situated his electronic listening post in the one place a man with polio
could not possibly reach. The actual surveillance had been carried out by
his manservant, Rumy--the lone person privy to Teabing's true identity--now
conveniently dead of an allergic reaction.
Hardly the handiwork of someone lacking mental faculties, Fache
thought.
The information coming from Collet out of Chuteau Villette suggested
that Teabing's cunning ran so deep that Fache himself might even learn from
it. To successfully hide bugs in some of Paris's most powerful offices, the
British historian had turned to the Greeks. Trojan horses. Some of Teabing's
intended targets received lavish gifts of artwork, others unwittingly bid at
auctions in which Teabing had placed specific lots. In Sauniure's case, the
curator had received a dinner invitation to Chuteau Villette to discuss the
possibility of Teabing's funding a new Da Vinci Wing at the Louvre.
Sauniure's invitation had contained an innocuous postscript expressing
fascination with a robotic knight that Sauniure was rumored to have built.
Bring him to dinner, Teabing had suggested. Sauniure apparently had done
just that and left the knight unattended long enough for Rumy Legaludec to
make one inconspicuous addition.
Now, sitting in the back of the cab, Fache closed his eyes. One more
thing to attend to before I return to Paris.
The St. Mary's Hospital recovery room was sunny.
"You've impressed us all," the nurse said, smiling down at him.
"Nothing short of miraculous."
Bishop Aringarosa gave a weak smile. "I have always been blessed."
The nurse finished puttering, leaving the bishop alone. The sunlight
felt welcome and warm on his face. Last night had been the darkest night of
his life.
Despondently, he thought of Silas, whose body had been found in the
park.
Please forgive me, my son.
Aringarosa had longed for Silas to be part of his glorious plan. Last
night, however, Aringarosa had received a call from Bezu Fache, questioning
the bishop about his apparent connection to a nun who had been murdered in
Saint-Sulpice. Aringarosa realized the evening had taken a horrifying turn.
News of the four additional murders transformed his horror to anguish.
Silas, what have you done! Unable to reach the Teacher, the bishop knew he
had been cut loose. Used. The only way to stop the horrific chain of events
he had helped put in motion was to confess everything to Fache, and from
that moment on, Aringarosa and Fache had been racing to catch up with Silas
before the Teacher persuaded him to kill again.
Feeling bone weary, Aringarosa closed his eyes and listened to the
television coverage of the arrest of a prominent British knight, Sir Leigh
Teabing. The Teacher laid bare for all to see. Teabing had caught wind of
the Vatican's plans to disassociate itself from Opus Dei. He had chosen
Aringarosa as the perfect pawn in his plan. After all, who more likely to
leap blindly after the Holy Grail than a man like myself with everything to
lose? The Grail would have brought enormous power to anyone who possessed
it.
Leigh Teabing had protected his identity shrewdly--feigning a French
accent and a pious heart, and demanding as payment the one thing he did not
need--money. Aringarosa had been far too eager to be suspicious. The price
tag of twenty million euro was paltry when compared with the prize of
obtaining the Grail, and with the Vatican's separation payment to Opus Dei,
the finances had worked nicely. The blind see what they want to see.
Teabing's ultimate insult, of course, had been to demand payment in Vatican
bonds, such that if anything went wrong, the investigation would lead to
Rome.
"I am glad to see you're well, My Lord."
Aringarosa recognized the gruff voice in the doorway, but the face was
unexpected--stern, powerful features, slicked-back hair, and a broad neck
that strained against his dark suit. "Captain Fache?" Aringarosa asked. The
compassion and concern the captain had shown for Aringarosa's plight last
night had conjured images of a far gentler physique.
The captain approached the bed and hoisted a familiar, heavy black
briefcase onto a chair. "I believe this belongs to you."
Aringarosa looked at the briefcase filled with bonds and immediately
looked away, feeling only shame. "Yes... thank you." He paused while working
his fingers across the seam of his bedsheet, then continued. "Captain, I
have been giving this deep thought, and I need to ask a favor of you."
"Of course."
"The families of those in Paris who Silas..." He paused, swallowing the
emotion. "I realize no sum could possibly serve as sufficient restitution,
and yet, if you could be kind enough to divide the contents of this
briefcase among them... the families of the deceased."
Fache's dark eyes studied him a long moment. "A virtuous gesture, My
Lord. I will see to it your wishes are carried out."
A heavy silence fell between them.
On the television, a lean French police officer was giving a press
conference in front of a sprawling mansion. Fache saw who it was and turned
his attention to the screen.
"Lieutenant Collet," a BBC reporter said, her voice accusing. "Last
night, your captain publicly charged two innocent people with murder. Will
Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu be seeking accountability from your
department? Will this cost Captain Fache his job?"
Lieutenant Collet's smile was tired but calm. "It is my experience that
Captain Bezu Fache seldom makes mistakes. I have not yet spoken to him on
this matter, but knowing how he operates, I suspect his public manhunt for
Agent Neveu and Mr. Langdon was part of a ruse to lure out the real killer."
The reporters exchanged surprised looks.
Collet continued. "Whether or not Mr. Langdon and Agent Neveu were
willing participants in the sting, I do not know. Captain Fache tends to
keep his more creative methods to himself. All I can confirm at this point
is that the captain has successfully arrested the man responsible, and that
Mr. Langdon and Agent Neveu are both innocent and safe."
Fache had a faint smile on his lips as he turned back to Aringarosa. "A
good man, that Collet."
Several moments passed. Finally, Fache ran his hand over his forehead,
slicking back his hair as he gazed down at Aringarosa. "My Lord, before I
return to Paris, there is one final matter I'd like to discuss--your
impromptu flight to London. You bribed a pilot to change course. In doing
so, you broke a number of international laws."
Aringarosa slumped. "I was desperate."
"Yes. As was the pilot when my men interrogated him." Fache reached in
his pocket and produced a purple amethyst ring with a familiar hand-tooled
mitre-crozier appliquu.
Aringarosa felt tears welling as he accepted the ring and slipped it
back on his finger. "You've been so kind." He held out his hand and clasped
Fache's. "Thank you."
Fache waved off the gesture, walking to the window and gazing out at
the city, his thoughts obviously far away. When he turned, there was an
uncertainty about him. "My Lord, where do you go from here?"
Aringarosa had been asked the exact same question as he left Castel
Gandolfo the night before. "I suspect my path is as uncertain as yours."
"Yes." Fache paused. "I suspect I will be retiring early."
Aringarosa smiled. "A little faith can do wonders, Captain. A little
faith."
CHAPTER 104
Rosslyn Chapel--often called the Cathedral of Codes--stands seven miles
south of Edinburgh, Scotland, on the site of an ancient Mithraic temple.
Built by the Knights Templar in 1446, the chapel is engraved with a
mind-boggling array of symbols from the Jewish, Christian, Egyptian,
Masonic, and pagan traditions.
The chapel's geographic coordinates fall precisely on the north-south
meridian that runs through Glastonbury. This longitudinal Rose Line is the
traditional marker of King Arthur's Isle of Avalon and is considered the
central pillar of Britain's sacred geometry. It is from this hallowed Rose
Line that Rosslyn--originally spelled Roslin--takes its name.
Rosslyn's rugged spires were casting long evening shadows as Robert
Langdon and Sophie Neveu pulled their rental car into the grassy parking
area at the foot of the bluff on which the chapel stood. Their short flight
from London to Edinburgh had been restful, although neither of them had
slept for the anticipation of what lay ahead. Gazing up at the stark edifice
framed against a cloud-swept sky, Langdon felt like Alice falling headlong
into the rabbit hole. This must be a dream. And yet he knew the text of
Sauniure's final message could not have been more specific.
The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.
Langdon had fantasized that Sauniure's "Grail map" would be a
diagram--a drawing with an X-marks-the-spot--and yet the Priory's final
secret had been unveiled in the same way Sauniure had spoken to them from
the beginning. Simple verse. Four explicit lines that pointed without a
doubt to this very spot. In addition to identifying Rosslyn by name, the
verse made reference to several of the chapel's renowned architectural
features.
Despite the clarity of Sauniure's final revelation, Langdon had been
left feeling more off balance than enlightened. To him, Rosslyn Chapel
seemed far too obvious a location. For centuries, this stone chapel had
echoed with whispers of the Holy Grail's presence. The whispers had turned
to shouts in recent decades when ground-penetrating radar revealed the
presence of an astonishing structure beneath the chapel--a massive
subterranean chamber. Not only did this deep vault dwarf the chapel atop it,
but it appeared to have no entrance or exit. Archaeologists petitioned to
begin blasting through the bedrock to reach the mysterious chamber, but the
Rosslyn Trust expressly forbade any excavation of the sacred site. Of
course, this only fueled the fires of speculation. What was the Rosslyn
Trust trying to hide?
Rosslyn had now become a pilgrimage site for mystery seekers. Some
claimed they were drawn here by the powerful magnetic field that emanated
inexplicably from these coordinates, some claimed they came to search the
hillside for a hidden entrance to the vault, but most admitted they had come
simply to wander the grounds and absorb the lore of the Holy Grail.
Although Langdon had never been to Rosslyn before now, he always
chuckled when he heard the chapel described as the current home of the Holy
Grail. Admittedly, Rosslyn once might have been home to the Grail, long
ago... but certainly no longer. Far too much attention had been drawn to
Rosslyn in past decades, and sooner or later someone would find a way to
break into the vault.
True Grail academics agreed that Rosslyn was a decoy--one of the
devious dead ends the Priory crafted so convincingly. Tonight, however, with
the Priory's keystone offering a verse that pointed directly to this spot,
Langdon no longer felt so smug. A perplexing question had been running
through his mind all day:
Why would Sauniure go to such effort to guide us to so obvious a
location?
There seemed only one logical answer.
There is something about Rosslyn we have yet to understand.
"Robert?" Sophie was standing outside the car, looking back at him.
"Are you corning?" She was holding the rosewood box, which Captain Fache had
returned to them. Inside, both cryptexes had been reassembled and nested as
they had been found. The papyrus verse was locked safely at its core--minus
the shattered vial of vinegar.
Making their way up the long gravel path, Langdon and Sophie passed the
famous west wall of the chapel. Casual visitors assumed this oddly
protruding wall was a section of the chapel that had not been finished. The
truth, Langdon recalled, was far more intriguing.
The west wall of Solomon's Temple.
The Knights Templar had designed Rosslyn Chapel as an exact
architectural blueprint of Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem--complete with a
west wall, a narrow rectangular sanctuary, and a subterranean vault like the
Holy of Holies, in which the original nine knights had first unearthed their
priceless treasure. Langdon had to admit, there existed an intriguing
symmetry in the idea of the Templars building a modern Grail repository that
echoed the Grail's original hiding place.
Rosslyn Chapel's entrance was more modest than Langdon expected. The
small wooden door had two iron hinges and a simple, oak sign.
ROSLIN
This ancient spelling, Langdon explained to Sophie, derived from the
Rose Line meridian on which the chapel sat; or, as Grail academics preferred
to believe, from the "Line of Rose"--the ancestral lineage of Mary
Magdalene.
The chapel would be closing soon, and as Langdon pulled open the door,
a warm puff of air escaped, as if the ancient edifice were heaving a weary
sigh at the end of a long day. Her entry arches burgeoned with carved
cinquefoils.
Roses. The womb of the goddess.
Entering with Sophie, Langdon felt his eyes reaching across the famous
sanctuary and taking it all in. Although he had read accounts of Rosslyn's
arrestingly intricate stonework, seeing it in person was an overwhelming
encounter.
Symbology heaven, one of Langdon's colleagues had called it.
Every surface in the chapel had been carved with symbols--Christian
cruciforms, Jewish stars, Masonic seals, Templar crosses, cornucopias,
pyramids, astrological signs, plants, vegetables, pentacles, and roses. The
Knights Templar had been master stonemasons, erecting Templar churches all
over Europe, but Rosslyn was considered their most sublime labor of love and
veneration. The master masons had left no stone uncarved. Rosslyn Chapel was
a shrine to all faiths... to all traditions... and, above all, to nature and
the goddess.
The sanctuary was empty except for a handful of visitors listening to a
young man giving the day's last tour. He was leading them in a single-file
line along a well-known route on the floor--an invisible pathway linking six
key architectural points within the sanctuary. Generations of visitors had
walked these straight lines, connecting the points, and their countless
footsteps had engraved an enormous symbol on the floor.
The Star of David, Langdon thought. No coincidence there. Also known as
Solomon's Seal, this hexagram had once been the secret symbol of the
stargazing priests and was later adopted by the Israelite kings--David and
Solomon.
The docent had seen Langdon and Sophie enter, and although it was
closing time, offered a pleasant smile and motioned for them to feel free to
look around.
Langdon nodded his thanks and began to move deeper into the sanctuary.
Sophie, however, stood riveted in the entryway, a puzzled look on her face.
"What is it?" Langdon asked.
Sophie stared out at the chapel. "I think... I've been here."
Langdon was surprised. "But you said you hadn't even heard of Rosslyn."
"I hadn't..." She scanned the sanctuary, looking uncertain. "My
grandfather must have brought me here when I was very young. I don't know.
It feels familiar." As her eyes scanned the room, she began nodding with
more certainty. "Yes." She pointed to the front of the sanctuary. "Those two
pillars... I've seen them."
Langdon looked at the pair of intricately sculpted columns at the far
end of the sanctuary. Their white lacework carvings seemed to smolder with a
ruddy glow as the last of the day's sunlight streamed in through the west
window. The pillars--positioned where the altar would normally stand--were
an oddly matched pair. The pillar on the left was carved with simple,
vertical lines, while the pillar on the right was embellished with an
ornate, flowering spiral.
Sophie was already moving toward them. Langdon hurried after her, and
as they reached the pillars, Sophie was nodding with incredulity. "Yes, I'm
positive I have seen these!"
"I don't doubt you've seen them," Langdon said, "but it wasn't
necessarily here."
She turned. "What do you mean?"
"These two pillars are the most duplicated architectural structures in
history. Replicas exist all over the world."
"Replicas of Rosslyn?" She looked skeptical.
"No. Of the pillars. Do you remember earlier that I mentioned Rosslyn
itself is a copy of Solomon's Temple? Those two pillars are exact replicas
of the two pillars that stood at the head of Solomon's Temple." Langdon
pointed to the pillar on the left. "That's called Boaz--or the Mason's
Pillar. The other is called Jachin--or the Apprentice Pillar." He paused.
"In fact, virtually every Masonic temple in the world has two pillars like
these."
Langdon had already explained to her about the Templars' powerful
historic ties to the modern Masonic secret societies, whose primary
degrees--Apprentice Freemason, Fellowcraft Freemason, and Master
Mason--harked back to early Templar days. Sophie's grandfather's final verse
made direct reference to the Master Masons who adorned Rosslyn with their
carved artistic offerings. It also noted Rosslyn's central ceiling, which
was covered with carvings of stars and planets.
"I've never been in a Masonic temple," Sophie said, still eyeing the
pillars. "I am almost positive I saw these here." She turned back into the
chapel, as if looking for something else to jog her memory.
The rest of the visitors were now leaving, and the young docent made
his way across the chapel to them with a pleasant smile. He was a handsome
young man in his late twenties, with a Scottish brogue and strawberry blond
hair. "I'm about