Langdon sensed she was toying with him, but he played along, quickly describing the
symbols.
A look of vague recollection crossed her face. "Ah, yes, of course. The blade represents all
that is masculine. I believe it is drawn like this, no?" Using her index finger, she traced a shape
on her palm.
"Yes," Langdon said. Marie had drawn the less common "closed" form of the blade,
although Langdon had seen the symbol portrayed both ways.
"And the inverse," she said, drawing again on her palm, "is the chalice, which represents the
feminine."
"Correct," Langdon said.
"And you are saying that in all the hundreds of symbols we have here in Rosslyn Chapel,
these two shapes appear nowhere?"
"I didn't see them."
"And if I show them to you, will you get some sleep?"
Before Langdon could answer, Marie Chauvel had stepped off the porch and was heading
toward the chapel. Langdon hurried after her. Entering the ancient building, Marie turned on the
lights and pointed to the center of the sanctuary floor. "There you are, Mr. Langdon. The blade
and chalice."
Langdon stared at the scuffed stone floor. It was blank. "There's nothing here...."
Marie sighed and began to walk along the famous path worn into the chapel floor, the same
path Langdon had seen the visitors walking earlier this evening. As his eyes adjusted to see the
giant symbol, he still felt lost. "But that's the Star of Dav— "
Langdon stopped short, mute with amazement as it dawned on him.
The blade and chalice.
Fused as one.
The Star of David... the perfect union of male and female... Solomon's Seal... marking the
Holy of Holies, where the male and female deities— Yahweh and Shekinah— were thought to
dwell.
Langdon needed a minute to find his words. "The verse does point here to Rosslyn.
Completely. Perfectly."
Marie smiled. "Apparently."
The implications chilled him. "So the Holy Grail is in the vault beneath us?"
She laughed. "Only in spirit. One of the Priory's most ancient charges was one day to return
the Grail to her homeland of France where she could rest for eternity. For centuries, she was
dragged across the countryside to keep her safe. Most undignified. Jacques's charge when he
became Grand Master was to restore her honor by returning her to France and building her a
resting place fit for a queen."
"And he succeeded?"
Now her face grew serious. "Mr. Langdon, considering what you've done for me tonight,
and as curator of the Rosslyn Trust, I can tell you for certain that the Grail is no longer here."
Langdon decided to press. "But the keystone is supposed to point to the place where the
Holy Grail is hidden now. Why does it point to Rosslyn?"
"Maybe you're misreading its meaning. Remember, the Grail can be deceptive. As could my
late husband."
"But how much clearer could he be?" he asked. "We are standing over an underground
vault marked by the blade and chalice, underneath a ceiling of stars, surrounded by the art of
Master Masons. Everything speaks of Rosslyn."
"Very well, let me see this mysterious verse." She unrolled the papyrus and read the poem
aloud in a deliberate tone.
The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.
The blade and chalice guarding o'er Her gates.
Adorned in masters' loving art, She lies.
She rests at last beneath the starry skies.
When she finished, she was still for several seconds, until a knowing smile crossed her lips.
"Aah, Jacques."
Langdon watched her expectantly. "You understand this?"
"As you have witnessed on the chapel floor, Mr. Langdon, there are many ways to see
simple things."
Langdon strained to understand. Everything about Jacques Saunière seemed to have double
meanings, and yet Langdon could see no further.
Marie gave a tired yawn. "Mr. Langdon, I will make a confession to you. I have never
officially been privy to the present location of the Grail. But, of course, I was married to a person
of enormous influence... and my women's intuition is strong." Langdon started to speak but
Marie continued. "I am sorry that after all your hard work, you will be leaving Rosslyn without
any real answers. And yet, something tells me you will eventually find what you seek. One day it
will dawn on you." She smiled. "And when it does, I trust that you, of all people, can keep a
secret."
There was a sound of someone arriving in the doorway. "Both of you disappeared," Sophie
said, entering.
"I was just leaving," her grandmother replied, walking over to Sophie at the door. "Good
night, princess." She kissed Sophie's forehead. "Don't keep Mr. Langdon out too late."
Langdon and Sophie watched her grandmother walk back toward the fieldstone house.
When Sophie turned to him, her eyes were awash in deep emotion. "Not exactly the ending I
expected."
That makes two of us, he thought. Langdon could see she was overwhelmed. The news she
had received tonight had changed everything in her life. "Are you okay? It's a lot to take in."
She smiled quietly. "I have a family. That's where I'm going to start. Who we are and where
we came from will take some time."
Langdon remained silent.
"Beyond tonight, will you stay with us?" Sophie asked. "At least for a few days?"
Langdon sighed, wanting nothing more. "You need some time here with your family,
Sophie. I'm going back to Paris in the morning."
She looked disappointed but seemed to know it was the right thing to do. Neither of them
spoke for a long time. Finally Sophie reached over and, taking his hand, led him out of the
chapel. They walked to a small rise on the bluff. From here, the Scottish countryside spread out
before them, suffused in a pale moonlight that sifted through the departing clouds. They stood in
silence, holding hands, both of them fighting the descending shroud of exhaustion.
The stars were just now appearing, but to the east, a single point of light glowed brighter
than any other. Langdon smiled when he saw it. It was Venus. The ancient Goddess shining
down with her steady and patient light.
The night was growing cooler, a crisp breeze rolling up from the lowlands. After a while,
Langdon looked over at Sophie. Her eyes were closed, her lips relaxed in a contented smile.
Langdon could feel his own eyes growing heavy. Reluctantly, he squeezed her hand. "Sophie?"
Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned to him. Her face was beautiful in the moonlight.
She gave him a sleepy smile. "Hi."
Langdon felt an unexpected sadness to realize he would be returning to Paris without her. "I
may be gone before you wake up." He paused, a knot growing in his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm not
very good at— "
Sophie reached out and placed her soft hand on the side of his face. Then, leaning forward,
she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "When can I see you again?"
Langdon reeled momentarily, lost in her eyes. "When?" He paused, curious if she had any
idea how much he had been wondering the same thing. "Well, actually, next month I'm lecturing
at a conference in Florence. I'll be there a week without much to do."
"Is that an invitation?"
"We'd be living in luxury. They're giving me a room at the Brunelleschi."
Sophie smiled playfully. "You presume a lot, Mr. Langdon."
He cringed at how it had sounded. "What I meant— "
"I would love nothing more than to meet you in Florence, Robert. But on one condition."
Her tone turned serious. "No museums, no churches, no tombs, no art, no relics."
"In Florence? For a week? There's nothing else to do."
Sophie leaned forward and kissed him again, now on the lips. Their bodies came together,
softly at first, and then completely. When she pulled away, her eyes were full of promise.
"Right," Langdon managed. "It's a date."
Epilogue
Robert Langdon awoke with a start. He had been dreaming. The bathrobe beside his bed bore the
monogram HOTEL RITZ PARIS. He saw a dim light filtering through the blinds. Is it dusk or
dawn? he wondered.
Langdon's body felt warm and deeply contented. He had slept the better part of the last two
days. Sitting up slowly in bed, he now realized what had awoken him... the strangest thought.
For days he had been trying to sort through a barrage of information, but now Langdon found
himself fixed on something he'd not considered before.
Could it be?
He remained motionless a long moment.
Getting out of bed, he walked to the marble shower. Stepping inside, he let the powerful jets
message his shoulders. Still, the thought enthralled him.
Impossible.
Twenty minutes later, Langdon stepped out of the Hotel Ritz into Place Vendome. Night
was falling. The days of sleep had left him disoriented... and yet his mind felt oddly lucid. He
had promised himself he would stop in the hotel lobby for a cafe au lait to clear his thoughts, but
instead his legs carried him directly out the front door into the gathering Paris night.
Walking east on Rue des Petits Champs, Langdon felt a growing excitement. He turned
south onto Rue Richelieu, where the air grew sweet with the scent of blossoming jasmine from
the stately gardens of the Palais Royal.
He continued south until he saw what he was looking for— the famous royal arcade— a
glistening expanse of polished black marble. Moving onto it, Langdon scanned the surface
beneath his feet. Within seconds, he found what he knew was there— several bronze medallions
embedded in the ground in a perfectly straight line. Each disk was five inches in diameter and
embossed with the letters N and S.
Nord. Sud.
He turned due south, letting his eye trace the extended line formed by the medallions. He
began moving again, following the trail, watching the pavement as he walked. As he cut across
the corner of the Comédie-Francaise, another bronze medallion passed beneath his feet. Yes!
The streets of Paris, Langdon had learned years ago, were adorned with 135 of these bronze
markers, embedded in sidewalks, courtyards, and streets, on a north -south axis across the city.
He had once followed the line from Sacré-Coeur, north across the Seine, and finally to the
ancient Paris Observatory. There he discovered the significance of the sacred path it traced.
The earth's original prime meridian.
The first zero longitude of the world.
Paris's ancient Rose Line.
Now, as Langdon hurried across Rue de Rivoli, he could feel his destination within reach.
Less than a block away.
The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.
The revelations were coming now in waves. Saunière's ancient spelling of Roslin... the
blade and chalice... the tomb adorned with masters' art.
Is that why Sauni ère needed to talk with me? Had I unknowingly guessed the truth?
He broke into a jog, feeling the Rose Line beneath his feet, guiding him, pulling him toward
his destination. As he entered the long tunnel of Passage Richelieu, the hairs on his neck began
to bristle with anticipation. He knew that at the end of this tunnel stood the most mysterious of
Parisian monuments— conceived and commissioned in the 1980s by the Sphinx himself,
Francois Mitterrand, a man rumored to move in secret circles, a man whose final legacy to Paris
was a place Langdon had visited only days before.
Another lifetime.
With a final surge of energy, Langdon burst from the passageway into the familiar
courtyard and came to a stop. Breathless, he raised his eyes, slowly, disbelieving, to the
glistening structure in front of him.
The Louvre Pyramid.
Gleaming in the darkness.
He admired it only a moment. He was more interested in what lay to his right. Turning, he
felt his feet again tracing the invisible path of the ancient Rose Line, carrying him across the
courtyard to the Carrousel du Louvre— the enormous circle of grass surrounded by a perimeter
of neatly trimmed hedges— once the site of Paris's primeval nature-worshipping festivals...
joyous rites to celebrate fertility and the Goddess.
Langdon felt as if he were crossing into another world as he stepped over the bushes to the
grassy area within. This hallowed ground was now marked by one of the city's most unusual
monuments. There in the center, plunging into the earth like a crystal chasm, gaped the giant
inverted pyramid of glass that he had seen a few nights ago when he entered the Louvre's
subterranean entresol.
La Pyramide Inversée.
Tremulous, Langdon walked to the edge and peered down into the Louvre's sprawling
underground complex, aglow with amber light. His eye was trained not just on the massive
inverted pyramid, but on what lay directly beneath it. There, on the floor of the chamber below,
stood the tiniest of structures... a structure Langdon had mentioned in his manuscript.
Langdon felt himself awaken fully now to the thrill of unthinkable possibility. Raising his
eyes again to the Louvre, he sensed the huge wings of the museum enveloping him... hallways
that burgeoned with the world's finest art.
