inlaid rose, even the hinges look the same."
Langdon knew the young man must be mistaken. If ever a box had been one of a kind, it
was this one— the box custom-made for the Priory keystone. "The two boxes may be similar
but— "
The side door closed loudly, drawing both of their gazes. Sophie had exited without a word
and was now wandering down the bluff toward a fieldstone house nearby. Langdon stared after
her. Where is she going? She had been acting strangely ever since they entered the building. He
turned to the docent. "Do you know what that house is?"
He nodded, also looking puzzled that Sophie was going down there. "That's the chapel
rectory. The chapel curator lives there. She also happens to be the head of the Rosslyn Trust." He
paused. "And my grandmother."
"Your grandmother heads the Rosslyn Trust?"
The young man nodded. "I live with her in the rectory and help keep up the chapel and give
tours." He shrugged. "I've lived here my whole life. My grandmother raised me in that house."
Concerned for Sophie, Langdon moved across the chapel toward the door to call out to her.
He was only halfway there when he stopped short. Something the young man said just
registered.
My grandmother raised me.
Langdon looked out at Sophie on the bluff, then down at the rosewood box in his hand.
Impossible. Slowly, Langdon turned back to the young man. "You said your grandmother has a
box like this one?"
"Almost identical."
"Where did she get it?"
"My grandfather made it for her. He died when I was a baby, but my grandmother still talks
about him. She says he was a genius with his hands. He made all kinds of things."
Langdon glimpsed an unimaginable web of connections emerging. "You said your
grandmother raised you. Do you mind my asking what happened to your parents?"
The young man looked surprised. "They died when I was young." He paused. "The same
day as my grandfather."
Langdon's heart pounded. "In a car accident?"
The docent recoiled, a look of bewilderment in his olive-green eyes. "Yes. In a car accident.
My entire family died that day. I lost my grandfather, my parents, and..." He hesitated, glancing
down at the floor. "And your sister," Langdon said.
Out on the bluff, the fieldstone house was exactly as Sophie remembered it. Night was falling
now, and the house exuded a warm and inviting aura. The smell of bread wafted through the
opened screened door, and a golden light shone in the windows. As Sophie approached, she
could hear the quiet sounds of sobbing from within.
Through the screened door, Sophie saw an elderly woman in the hallway. Her back was to
the door, but Sophie could see she was crying. The woman had long, luxuriant, silver hair that
conjured an unexpected wisp of memory. Feeling herself drawn closer, Sophie stepped onto the
porch stairs. The woman was clutching a framed photograph of a man and touching her
fingertips to his face with loving sadness.
It was a face Sophie knew well.
Grand-p ère.
The woman had obviously heard the sad news of his death last night.
A board squeaked beneath Sophie's feet, and the woman turned slowly, her sad eyes finding
Sophie's. Sophie wanted to run, but she stood transfixed. The woman's fervent gaze never
wavered as she set down the photo and approached the screened door. An eternity seemed to
pass as the two women stared at one another through the thin mesh. Then, like the slowly
gathering swell of an ocean wave, the woman's visage transformed from one of uncertainty... to
disbelief... to hope... and finally, to cresting joy.
Throwing open the door, she came out, reaching with soft hands, cradling Sophie's
thunderstruck face. "Oh, dear child... look at you!"
Although Sophie did not recognize her, she knew who this woman was. She tried to speak
but found she could not even breathe.
"Sophie," the woman sobbed, kissing her forehead.
Sophie's words were a choked whisper. "But... Grand-p ère said you were..."
"I know." The woman placed her tender hands on Sophie's shoulders and gazed at her with
familiar eyes. "Your grandfather and I were forced to say so many things. We did what we
thought was right. I'm so sorry. It was for your own safety, princess."
Sophie heard her final word, and immediately thought of her grandfather, who had called
her princess for so many years. The sound of his voice seemed to echo now in the ancient stones
of Rosslyn, settling through the earth and reverberating in the unknown hollows below.
The woman threw her arms around Sophie, the tears flowing faster. "Your grandfather
wanted so badly to tell you everything. But things were difficult between you two. He tried so
hard. There's so much to explain. So very much to explain." She kissed Sophie's forehead once
again, then whispered in her ear. "No more secrets, princess. It's time you learn the truth about
our family."
Sophie and her grandmother were seated on the porch stairs in a tearful hug when the young
docent dashed across the lawn, his eyes shining with hope and disbelief.
"Sophie?"
Through her tears, Sophie nodded, standing. She did not know the young man's face, but as
they embraced, she could feel the power of the blood coursing through his veins... the blood she
now understood they shared.
When Langdon walked across the lawn to join them, Sophie could not imagine that only
yesterday she had felt so alone in the world. And now, somehow, in this foreign place, in the
company of three people she barely knew, she felt at last that she was home.
CHAPTER 105
Night had fallen over Rosslyn.
Robert Langdon stood alone on the porch of the fieldstone house enjoying the sounds of
laughter and reunion drifting through the screened door behind him. The mug of potent Brazilian
coffee in his hand had granted him a hazy reprieve from his mounting exhaustion, and yet he
sensed the reprieve would be fleeting. The fatigue in his body went to the core.
"You slipped out quietly," a voice behind him said.
He turned. Sophie's grandmother emerged, her silver hair shimmering in the night. Her
name, for the last twenty-eight years at least, was Marie Chauvel.
Langdon gave a tired smile. "I thought I'd give your family some time together." Through
the window, he could see Sophie talking with her brother.
Marie came over and stood beside him. "Mr. Langdon, when I first heard of Jacques's
murder, I was terrified for Sophie's safety. Seeing her standing in my doorway tonight was the
greatest relief of my life. I cannot thank you enough."
Langdon had no idea how to respond. Although he had offered to give Sophie and her
grandmother time to talk in private, Marie had asked him to stay and listen. My husband
obviously trusted you, Mr. Langdon, so I do as well.
And so Langdon had remained, standing beside Sophie and listening in mute astonishment
while Marie told the story of Sophie's late parents. Incredibly, both had been from Merovingian
families— direct descendants of Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ. Sophie's parents and
ancestors, for protection, had changed their family names of Plantard and Saint-Clair. Their
children represented the most direct surviving royal bloodline and therefore were carefully
guarded by the Priory. When Sophie's parents were killed in a car accident whose cause could
not be determined, the Priory feared the identity of the royal line had been discovered.
"Your grandfather and I," Marie had explained in a voice choked with pain, "had to make a
grave decision the instant we received the phone call. Your parents' car had just been found in
the river." She dabbed at the tears in her eyes. "All six of us— including you two
grandchildren— were supposed to be traveling together in that car that very night. Fortunately we
changed our plans at the last moment, and your parents were alone. Hearing of the accident,
Jacques and I had no way to know what had really happened... or if this was truly an accident."
Marie looked at Sophie. "We knew we had to protect our grandchildren, and we did what we
thought was best. Jacques reported to the police that your brother and I had been in the car... our
two bodies apparently washed off in the current. Then your brother and I went underground with
the Priory. Jacques, being a man of prominence, did not have the luxury of disappearing. It only
made sense that Sophie, being the eldest, would stay in Paris to be taught and raised by Jacques,
close to the heart and protection of the Priory." Her voice fell to a whisper. "Separating the
family was the hardest thing we ever had to do. Jacques and I saw each other only very
infrequently, and always in the most secret of settings... under the protection of the Priory. There
are certain ceremonies to which the brotherhood always stays faithful."
Langdon had sensed the story went far deeper, but he also sensed it was not for him to hear.
So he had stepped outside. Now, gazing up at the spires of Rosslyn, Langdon could not escape
the hollow gnaw of Rosslyn's unsolved mystery. Is the Grail really here at Rosslyn? And if so,
where are the blade and chalice that Saunière mentioned in his poem?
"I'll take that," Marie said, motioning to Langdon's hand.
"Oh, thank you." Langdon held out his empty coffee cup.
She stared at him. "I was referring to your other hand, Mr. Langdon."
Langdon looked down and realized he was holding Saunière's papyrus. He had taken it from
the cryptex once again in hopes of seeing something he had missed earlier. "Of course, I'm
sorry."
Marie looked amused as she took the paper. "I know of a man at a bank in Paris who is
probably very eager to see the return of this rosewood box. AndréVernet was a dear friend of
Jacques, and Jacques trusted him explicitly. Andréwould have done anything to honor Jacques's
requests for the care of this box."
Including shooting me, Langdon recalled, deciding not to mention that he had probably
broken the poor man's nose. Thinking of Paris, Langdon flashed on the three sénéchaux who had
been killed the night before. "And the Priory? What happens now?"
"The wheels are already in motion, Mr. Langdon. The brotherhood has endured for
centuries, and it will endure this. There are always those waiting to move up and rebuild."
All evening Langdon had suspected that Sophie's grandmother was closely tied to the
operations of the Priory. After all, the Priory had always had women members. Four Grand
Masters had been women. The sénéchaux were traditionally men— the guardians— and yet
women held far more honored status within the Priory and could ascend to the highest post from
virtually any rank.
Langdon thought of Leigh Teabing and Westminster Abbey. It seemed a lifetime ago. "Was
the Church pressuring your husband not to release the Sangreal documents at the End of Days?"
"Heavens no. The End of Days is a legend of paranoid minds. There is nothing in the Priory
doctrine that identifies a date at which the Grail should be unveiled. In fact the Priory has always
maintained that the Grail should never be unveiled."
"Never?" Langdon was stunned.
"It is the mystery and wonderment that serve our souls, not the Grail itself. The beauty of
the Grail lies in her ethereal nature." Marie Chauvel gazed up at Rosslyn now. "For some, the
Grail is a chalice that will bring them everlasting life. For others, it is the quest for lost
documents and secret history. And for most, I suspect the Holy Grail is simply a grand idea... a
glorious unattainable treasure that somehow, even in today's world of chaos, inspires us."
"But if the Sangreal documents remain hidden, the story of Mary Magdalene will be lost
forever," Langdon said.
"Will it? Look around you. Her story is being told in art, music, and books. More so every
day. The pendulum is swinging. We are starting to sense the dangers of our history... and of our
destructive paths. We are beginning to sense the need to restore the sacred feminine." She
paused. "You mentioned you are writing a manuscript about the symbols of the sacred feminine,
are you not?"
"I am."
She smiled. "Finish it, Mr. Langdon. Sing her song. The world needs modern troubadours."
Langdon fell silent, feeling the weight of her message upon him. Across the open spaces, a
new moon was rising above the tree line.
Turning his eyes toward Rosslyn, Langdon felt a boyish craving to know her secrets. Don't
ask, he told himself. This is not the moment. He glanced at the papyrus in Marie's hand, and then
back at Rosslyn.
"Ask the question, Mr. Langdon," Marie said, looking amused. "You have earned the right."
Langdon felt himself flush.
"You want to know if the Grail is here at Rosslyn."
"Can you tell me?"
She sighed in mock exasperation. "Why is it that men simply cannot let the Grail rest?" She
laughed, obviously enjoying herself. "Why do you think it's here?"
Langdon motioned to the papyrus in her hand. "Your husband's poem speaks specifically of
Rosslyn, except it also mentions a blade and chalice watching over the Grail. I didn't see any
symbols of the blade and chalice up there."
"The blade and chalice?" Marie asked. "What exactly do they look like?"
