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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. André Vernet was a dear friend of Jacques, and
Jacques trusted him explicitly. André would have done anything to honor Jacques's requests for the
care of this box."
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