Langdon glanced over. "I thought Caesar was dead in that scene."
Teabing smirked. "Yes, but my toga tore open when I fell, and I had to lie on stage for half
an hour with my todger hanging out. Even so, I never moved a muscle. I was brilliant, I tell
you."
Langdon cringed. Sorry I missed it.
As the group moved through the rectangular annex toward the archway leading into the
main church, Langdon was surprised by the barren austerity. Although the altar layout resembled
that of a linear Christian chapel, the furnishings were stark and cold, bearing none of the
traditional ornamentation. "Bleak," he whispered.
Teabing chuckled. "Church of England. Anglicans drink their religion straight. Nothing to
distract from their misery."
Sophie motioned through the vast opening that gave way to the circular section of the
church. "It looks like a fortress in there," she whispered.
Langdon agreed. Even from here, the walls looked unusually robust.
"The Knights Templar were warriors," Teabing reminded, the sound of his aluminum
crutches echoing in this reverberant space. "A religio-military society. Their churches were their
strongholds and their banks."
"Banks?" Sophie asked, glancing at Leigh.
"Heavens, yes. The Templars invented the concept of modern banking. For European
nobility, traveling with gold was perilous, so the Templars allowed nobles to deposit gold in
their nearest Temple Church and then draw it from any other Temple Church across Europe. All
they needed was proper documentation." He winked. "And a small commission. They were the
original ATMs." Teabing pointed toward a stained-glass window where the breaking sun was
refracting through a white-clad knight riding a rose-colored horse. "Alanus Marcel," Teabing
said, "Master of the Temple in the early twelve hundreds. He and his successors actually held the
Parliamentary chair of Primus Baro Angiae."
Langdon was surprised. "First Baron of the Realm?"
Teabing nodded. "The Master of the Temple, some claim, held more influence than the king
himself." As they arrived outside the circular chamber, Teabing shot a glance over his shoulder
at the altar boy, who was vacuuming in the distance. "You know," Teabing whispered to Sophie,
"the Holy Grail is said to once have been stored in this church overnight while the Templars
moved it from one hiding place to another. Can you imagine the four chests of Sangreal
documents sitting right here with Mary Magdalene's sarcophagus? It gives me gooseflesh."
Langdon was feeling gooseflesh too as they stepped into the circular chamber. His eye
traced the curvature of the chamber's pale stone perimeter, taking in the carvings of gargoyles,
demons, monsters, and pained human faces, all staring inward. Beneath the carvings, a single
stone pew curled around the entire circumference of the room.
"Theater in the round," Langdon whispered.
Teabing raised a crutch, pointing toward the far left of the room and then to the far right.
Langdon had already seen them.
Ten stone knights.
Five on the left. Five on the right.
Lying prone on the floor, the carved, life-sized figures rested in peaceful poses. The knights
were depicted wearing full armor, shields, and swords, and the tombs gave Langdon the uneasy
sensation that someone had snuck in and poured plaster over the knights while they were
sleeping. All of the figures were deeply weathered, and yet each was clearly unique— different
armory pieces, distinct leg and arm positions, facial features, and markings on their shields.
In London lies a knight a Pope interred.
Langdon felt shaky as he inched deeper into the circular room.
This had to be the place.
CHAPTER 84
In a rubbish-strewn alley very close to Temple Church, Rémy Legaludec pulled the Jaguar
limousine to a stop behind a row of industrial waste bins. Killing the engine, he checked the
area. Deserted. He got out of the car, walked toward the rear, and climbed back into the
limousine's main cabin where the monk was.
Sensing Rémy's presence, the monk in the back emerged from a prayer-like trance, his red
eyes looking more curious than fearful. All evening Rémy had been impressed with this trussed
man's ability to stay calm. After some initial struggles in the Range Rover, the monk seemed to
have accepted his plight and given over his fate to a higher power.
Loosening his bow tie, Rémy unbuttoned his high, starched, wing-tipped collar and felt as if
he could breathe for the first time in years. He went to the limousine's wet bar, where he poured
himself a Smirnoff vodka. He drank it in a single swallow and followed it with a second.
Soon I will be a man of leisure.
Searching the bar, Rémy found a standard service wine-opener and flicked open the sharp
blade. The knife was usually employed to slice the lead foil from corks on fine bottles of wine,
but it would serve a far more dramatic purpose this morning. Rémy turned and faced Silas,
holding up the glimmering blade.
Now those red eyes flashed fear.
Rémy smiled and moved toward the back of the limousine. The monk recoiled, struggling
against his bonds.
"Be still," Rémy whispered, raising the blade.
Silas could not believe that God had forsaken him. Even the physical pain of being bound
Silas had turned into a spiritual exercise, asking the throb of his blood-starved muscles to remind
him of the pain Christ endured. I have been praying all night for liberation. Now, as the knife
descended, Silas clenched his eyes shut.
A slash of pain tore through his shoulder blades. He cried out, unable to believe he was
going to die here in the back of this limousine, unable to defend himself. I was doing God's
work. The Teacher said he would protect me.
Silas felt the biting warmth spreading across his back and shoulders and could picture his
own blood, spilling out over his flesh. A piercing pain cut through his thighs now, and he felt the
onset of that familiar undertow of disorientation— the body's defense mechanism against the
pain.
As the biting heat tore through all of his muscles now, Silas clenched his eyes tighter,
determined that the final image of his life would not be of his own killer. Instead he pictured a
younger Bishop Aringarosa, standing before the small church in Spain... the church that he and
Silas had built with their own hands. The beginning of my life.
Silas felt as if his body were on fire.
"Take a drink," the tuxedoed man whispered, his accent French. "It will help with your
circulation."
Silas's eyes flew open in surprise. A blurry image was leaning over him, offering a glass of
liquid. A mound of shredded duct tape lay on the floor beside the bloodless knife.
"Drink this," he repeated. "The pain you feel is the blood rushing into your muscles."
Silas felt the fiery throb transforming now to a prickling sting. The vodka tasted terrible, but
he drank it, feeling grateful. Fate had dealt Silas a healthy share of bad luck tonight, but God had
solved it all with one miraculous twist.
God has not forsaken me.
Silas knew what Bishop Aringarosa would call it.
Divine intervention.
"I had wanted to free you earlier," the servant apologized, "but it was impossible. With the
police arriving at Chateau Villette, and then at Biggin Hill airport, this was the first possible
moment. You understand, don't you, Silas?"
Silas recoiled, startled. "You know my name?"
The servant smiled.
Silas sat up now, rubbing his stiff muscles, his emotions a torrent of incredulity,
appreciation, and confusion. "Are you... the Teacher?"
Rémy shook his head, laughing at the proposition. "I wish I had that kind of power. No, I
am not the Teacher. Like you, I serve him. But the Teacher speaks highly of you. My name is
Rémy."
Silas was amazed. "I don't understand. If you work for the Teacher, why did Langdon bring
the keystone to your home?"
"Not my home. The home of the world's foremost Grail historian, Sir Leigh Teabing."
"Butyou live there. The odds..."
Rémy smiled, seeming to have no trouble with the apparent coincidence of Langdon's
chosen refuge. "It was all utterly predictable. Robert Langdon was in possession of the keystone,
and he needed help. What more logical place to run than to the home of Leigh Teabing? That I
happen to live there is why the Teacher approached me in the first place." He paused. "How do
you think the Teacher knows so much about the Grail?"
Now it dawned, and Silas was stunned. The Teacher had recruited a servant who had access
to all of Sir Leigh Teabing's research. It was brilliant.
"There is much I have to tell you," Rémy said, handing Silas the loaded Heckler Koch
pistol. Then he reached through the open partition and retrieved a small, palm-sized revolver
from the glove box. "But first, you and I have a job to do."
Captain Fache descended from his transport plane at Biggin Hill and listened in disbelief to the
Kent chief inspector's account of what had happened in Teabing's hangar.
"I searched the plane myself," the inspector insisted, "and there was no one inside." His
tone turned haughty. "And I should add that if Sir Leigh Teabing presses charges against me, I
will— "
"Did you interrogate the pilot?"
"Of course not. He is French, and our jurisdiction requires— "
"Take me to the plane."
Arriving at the hangar, Fache needed only sixty seconds to locate an anomalous smear of
blood on the pavement near where the limousine had been parked. Fache walked up to the plane
and rapped loudly on the fuselage.
"This is the captain of the French Judicial Police. Open the door!"
The terrified pilot opened the hatch and lowered the stairs.
Fache ascended. Three minutes later, with the help of his sidearm, he had a full confession,
including a description of the bound albino monk. In addition, he learned that the pilot saw
Langdon and Sophie leave something behind in Teabing's safe, a wooden box of some sort.
Although the pilot denied knowing what was in the box, he admitted it had been the focus of
Langdon's full attention during the flight to London.
"Open the safe," Fache demanded.
The pilot looked terrified. "I don't know the combination!"
"That's too bad. I was going to offer to let you keep your pilot's license."
The pilot wrung his hands. "I know some men in maintenance here. Maybe they could drill
it?"
"You have half an hour."
The pilot leapt for his radio.
Fache strode to the back of the plane and poured himself a hard drink. It was early, but he
had not yet slept, so this hardly counted as drinking before noon. Sitting in a plush bucket seat,
he closed his eyes, trying to sort out what was going on. The Kent police's blunder could cost me
dearly. Everyone was now on the lookout for a black Jaguar limousine.
Fache's phone rang, and he wished for a moment's peace. "Allo?"
"I'm en route to London." It was Bishop Aringarosa. "I'll be arriving in an hour."
Fache sat up. "I thought you were going to Paris."
"I am deeply concerned. I have changed my plans."
"You should not have."
"Do you have Silas?"
"No. His captors eluded the local police before I landed."
Aringarosa's anger rang sharply. "You assured me you would stop that plane!"
Fache lowered his voice. "Bishop, considering your situation, I recommend you not test my
patience today. I will find Silas and the others as soon as possible. Where are you landing?"
"One moment." Aringarosa covered the receiver and then came back. "The pilot is trying to
get clearance at Heathrow. I'm his only passenger, but our redirect was unscheduled."
"Tell him to come to Biggin Hill Executive Airport in Kent. I'll get him clearance. If I'm not
here when you land, I'll have a car waiting for you."
"Thank you."
"As I expressed when we first spoke, Bishop, you would do well to remember that you are
not the only man on the verge of losing everything."
CHAPTER 85
You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.
Each of the carved knights within the Temple Church lay on his back with his head resting
on a rectangular stone pillow. Sophie felt a chill. The poem's reference to an "orb" conjured
images of the night in her grandfather's basement.
Hieros Gamos. The orbs.
Sophie wondered if the ritual had been performed in this very sanctuary. The circular room
seemed custom-built for such a pagan rite. A stone pew encircled a bare expanse of floor in the
middle. A theater in the round, as Robert had called it. She imagined this chamber at night, filled
with masked people, chanting by torchlight, all witnessing a "sacred communion" in the center
of the room.
Forcing the image from her mind, she advanced with Langdon and Teabing toward the first
group of knights. Despite Teabing's insistence that their investigation should be conducted
meticulously, Sophie felt eager and pushed ahead of them, making a cursory walk-through of the
five knights on the left.
