The Da Vinci Code

CHAPTER 101
Robert Langdon stood beneath the lofty cupola of the deserted Chapter House and stared into the 

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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 Saunière's mind, he urged, gazing outward now into College Garden. What would 

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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. Saunière 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 Saunière. 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