A follower of God, Sister Sandrine had learned to find peace in the calming voices of her own soul. Tonight, however, those voices were as silent as the empty church around her.
Chapter 8
Langdon couldn't tear his eyes from the glowing purple text scrawled across the parquet floor. Jacques Sauniere's final communication seemed as unlikely a departing message as any Langdon could imagine.
The message read:
O, Draconian devil!
Oh, lame saint!
Although Langdon had not the slightest idea what it meant, he did understand Fache's instinct that the pentacle had something to do with devil worship.
Sauniere had left a literal reference to the devil. Equally as bizarre was the series of numbers. “Part of it looks like a numeric cipher.”
“Yes,” Fache said. “Our cryptographers are already working on it. We believe these numbers may be the key to who killed him. Maybe a telephone exchange or some kind of social identification. Do the numbers have any symbolic meaning to you?”
Langdon looked again at the digits, sensing it would take him hours to extract any symbolic meaning.
“You alleged earlier,” Fache said, “that Sauniere's actions here were all in an effort to send some sort of message… goddess worship or something in that vein? How does this message fit in?”
Langdon knew the question was rhetorical. This bizarre communique obviously did not fit Langdon's scenario of goddess worship at all.
Fache said, “This text appears to be an accusation of some sort. Wouldn't you agree?”
Langdon tried to imagine the curator's final minutes trapped alone in the Grand Gallery, knowing he was about to die. It seemed logical. “An accusation against his murderer makes sense, I suppose.”
“My job, of course, is to put a name to that person. Let me ask you this, Mr. Langdon. To your eye, beyond the numbers, what about this message is most strange?”
“The word 'Draconian'?” he ventured, offering the first thing that came to mind. Langdon was fairly certain that a reference to Draco—the ruthless seventh-century B.C. politician—was an unlikely dying thought. “ 'Draconian devil' seems an odd choice of vocabulary.”
Langdon wasn't sure what issue Fache had in mind, but he was starting to suspect that Draco and Fache would have gotten along well.
“Sauniere was a Frenchman,” Fache said flatly. “He lived in Paris. And yet he chose to write this message…”
“In English,” Langdon said, now realizing the captain's meaning.
Fache nodded.
Langdon knew Sauniere spoke impeccable English, and yet the reason he had chosen English as the language in which to write his final words escaped Langdon. He shrugged.
Fache motioned back to the pentacle on Sauniere's abdomen. “Nothing to do with devil worship? Are you still certain?”
Langdon was certain of nothing anymore. “The symbology and text don't seem to coincide. I'm sorry I can't be of more help.”
“Perhaps this will clarify.” Fache backed away from the body and raised the black light again, letting the beam spread out in a wider angle. “And now?”
To Langdon's amazement, a rudimentary circle glowed around the curator's body. Sauniere had apparently lay down and swung the pen around himself in several long arcs, essentially inscribing himself inside a circle.
In a flash, the meaning became clear.
Considered the most anatomically correct drawing of its day, Da Vinci's
The circle had been the missing critical element. A feminine symbol of protection, the circle around the naked man's body completed Da Vinci's intended message—male and female harmony. The question now, though, was
“Mr. Langdon,” Fache said, “certainly a man like yourself is aware that Leonardo da Vinci had a tendency toward the darker arts.”
Langdon was surprised by Fache's knowledge of Da Vinci, and it certainly went a long way toward explaining the captain's suspicions about devil worship. Da Vinci had always been an awkward subject for historians, especially in the Christian tradition. Despite the visionary's genius, he was a flamboyant homosexual and worshipper of Nature's divine order, both of which placed him in a perpetual state of sin against God. Moreover, the artist's eerie eccentricities projected an admittedly demonic aura: Da Vinci exhumed corpses to study human anatomy; he kept mysterious journals in illegible reverse handwriting; he believed he possessed the alchemic power to turn lead into gold and even cheat God by creating an elixir to postpone death; and his inventions included horrific, never-before-imagined weapons of war and torture.
Even Da Vinci's enormous output of breathtaking Christian art only furthered the artist's reputation for spiritual hypocrisy. Accepting hundreds of lucrative Vatican commissions, Da Vinci painted Christian themes not as an expression of his own beliefs but rather as a commercial venture—a means of funding a lavish lifestyle.
