for the years 1694 to 1726 that speaks of the crypt, but the register does not mention its entrance. Sauniere noted in his personal diary that he discovered a tomb. He then wrote in another entry, The year 1891 carries to the highest the fruit of that of which one speaks. Lars always thought that entry important.'
Malone eased the car to the side of the road and turned back to face Claridon. 'So that gold and those jewels were Sauniere's source of income. That's what he used to finance the church remodeling?'
Claridon laughed. 'At first. But, monsieur, there is even more to the story.'
Sauniere stood.
Never had he seen so much wealth in one place. What fortune had come his way. But he needed to salvage it without arousing suspicions. To do that, he would need time. And no one could be allowed to discover the crypt.
He bent down, retrieved the lamp, and decided that he might as well start tonight. He could remove the gold and jewels, hiding both in the presbytery. How to convert them to useful currency could be decided later. He retreated toward the staircase, taking another look around as he walked.
One of the tombs caught his attention.
He approached and saw that the niche contained a woman. Her burial dress lay flat, only bones and a skull remained. He held the lamp close and read the inscription beneath:
MARIE D'HAUTPOUL DE BLANCHEFORT
He was familiar with the countess. She was the last of the d'Hautpoul heirs. When she died in 1781, control of both the village and surrounding lands slipped away from her family. The Revolution, which came only a dozen years later, forever eliminated all aristocratic ownership.
But there was a problem.
He quickly climbed back to ground level. Outside, he locked the church doors and, through a blinding rain, hustled around the building to the parish close and worked his way through the graves where the tombstones seemed to swim in the living blackness.
He stopped at the one he sought and bent down.
Shining the lamp, he read the inscription.
'Marie d'Hautpoul de Blanchefort was buried outside, too,' Claridon said.
'Two graves for the same woman?' Stephanie asked.
'Apparently. But the body was in the crypt.'
Malone remembered what Stephanie had said yesterday about Sauniere and his mistress molesting the graves in the churchyard, then chiseling away the inscription on the countess's headstone. 'So Sauniere dug up the grave in the churchyard.'
'That's what Lars believed.'
'And it was empty?'
'Again, we'll never know, but Lars felt that to be the case. And history would seem to support his conclusion. A woman of the countess's stature would never have been buried. She would have been laid in a crypt, which is indeed where the body was found. The grave outside was something altogether different.'
'The tombstone was a message,' Stephanie said. 'We know that. That's why Eugene Stublein's book is so critical.'
'But unless you know the story of the crypt, the grave in the cemetery would generate no interest. Just another memorial, along with all the others. The abbe Bigou was smart. He hid his message in plain sight.'
'And Sauniere discovered it?' Malone asked.
'Lars believed so.'
Malone turned back to the wheel and motored the car onto the road. They headed down the last stretch of highway, then turned west and crossed the swift-moving Rhone. Ahead rose Avignon's fortified walls, the papal palace looming high above. Malone turned off the busy boulevard into the old city, passing the market square containing the book fair they'd visited earlier. He wound a path back toward the palace and parked in the same underground garage.
'I have a stupid question,' Malone said. 'Why doesn't somebody just dig beneath the church at Rennes, or use ground radar to verify the crypt?'
'The local authorities will not allow it. Think about that, monsieur. If nothing were there, what would happen to the mystique? Rennes lives off Sauniere's legend. The whole Languedoc benefits. The last thing anyone wants is proof of anything. They profit far too well from myth.'
Malone reached under the seat and retrieved the gun he'd taken from his pursuer last night. He checked the magazine. Three rounds left.
'Is that needed?' Claridon asked.
'I feel a whole better with it.' He opened his door and stepped out, stuffing the gun beneath his jacket.
'Why do we have to go inside the palace of the popes?' Stephanie asked.
'That's where the information is stored.'
'Care to explain?'
Claridon opened his door. 'Come and I'll show you.'
THIRTY-THREE
7:00 PM
THE SENESCHAL STOPPED THE CAR IN THE VILLAGE CENTER. HE and Geoffrey had been traveling northward in a meandering route for the past five hours. Intentionally, they'd bypassed the larger communities of Foix, Quillan, and Limoux, opting instead to stop in a tiny hamlet, nestled within a sheltered hollow, where few tourists seemed to venture.
After leaving the master's chamber, they'd exited through the secret passages near the main kitchen, the portal cleverly concealed within a brick wall. Geoffrey had explained how the master had taught him the routes, used in centuries past for escape. For the last hundred years they'd been known only to masters and rarely utilized.
Once out, they'd quickly found the garage and appropriated one of the abbey's cars, leaving through the main gate before the brothers assigned to the motor pool returned from noontime prayers. With de Roquefort unconscious in his chambers and his entourage waiting for someone to open the locked door, they'd bought themselves a solid head start.
'It's time we talk,' he said, his tone conveying that there would be no more procrastinating.
'I'm prepared.'
They left the car and walked to a cafe where an older clientele filled outside tables roofed by stately elms. Their robes were gone, replaced with clothes bought an hour ago in a quick stop. A waiter appeared and they placed an order. The evening was warm and pleasant.
'Do you realize what we did back there?' he asked. 'We shot two brothers.'
'The master told me violence would be inevitable.'
'I know what we're running from, but what are we running to?'
Geoffrey reached into his pocket and produced the envelope he'd displayed to de Roquefort. 'The master told me to give you this, once we were free.'
He accepted the envelope and tore it open with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation.
