The Da Vinci Code

opulent drawing room and shared his story, admitting his initial skepticism on hearing of the alternate Holy Grail story, then describing how years of research had persuaded him that the story was true. Finally, Langdon offered some of his own research—a series of symbologic connections that strongly supported the seemingly controversial claims.

When the program aired in Britain, despite its ensemble cast and well-documented evidence, the premise rubbed so hard against the grain of popular Christian thought that it instantly confronted a firestorm of hostility. It never aired in the States, but the repercussions echoed across the Atlantic. Shortly afterward, Langdon received a postcard from an old friend—the Catholic Bishop of Philadelphia. The card simply read: Et tu, Robert?

“Robert,” Sophie asked, “you're certain we can trust this man?”

“Absolutely. We're colleagues, he doesn't need money, and I happen to know he despises the French authorities. The French government taxes him at absurd rates because he bought a historic landmark. He'll be in no hurry to cooperate with Fache.”

Sophie stared out at the dark roadway. “If we go to him, how much do you want to tell him?”

Langdon looked unconcerned. “Believe me, Leigh Teabing knows more about the Priory of Sion and the Holy Grail than anyone on earth.”

Sophie eyed him. “More than my grandfather?”

“I meant more than anyone outside the brotherhood.”

“How do you know Teabing isn't a member of the brotherhood?”

“Teabing has spent his life trying to broadcast the truth about the Holy Grail. The Priory's oath is to keep its true nature hidden.”

“Sounds to me like a conflict of interest.”

Langdon understood her concerns. Sauniere had given the cryptex directly to Sophie, and although she didn't know what it contained or what she was supposed to do with it, she was hesitant to involve a total stranger. Considering the information potentially enclosed, the instinct was probably a good one. “We don't need to tell Teabing about the keystone immediately. Or at all, even. His house will give us a place to hide and think, and maybe when we talk to him about the Grail, you'll start to have an idea why your grandfather gave this to you.”

“Us,” Sophie reminded.

Langdon felt a humble pride and wondered yet again why Sauniere had included him.

“Do you know more or less where Mr. Teabing lives?” Sophie asked.

“His estate is called Chateau Villette.”

Sophie turned with an incredulous look. “The Chateau Villette?”

“That's the one.”

“Nice friends.”

“You know the estate?”

“I've passed it. It's in the castle district. Twenty minutes from here.”

Langdon frowned. “That far?”

“Yes, which will give you enough time to tell me what the Holy Grail really is.”

Langdon paused. “I'll tell you at Teabing's. He and I specialize in different areas of the legend, so between the two of us, you'll get the full story.” Langdon smiled. “Besides, the Grail has been Teabing's life, and hearing the story of the Holy Grail from Leigh Teabing will be like hearing the theory of relativity from Einstein himself.”

“Let's hope Leigh doesn't mind late-night visitors.”

“For the record, it's Sir Leigh.” Langdon had made that mistake only once. “Teabing is quite a character. He was knighted by the Queen several years back after composing an extensive history on the House of York.”

Sophie looked over. “You're kidding, right? We're going to visit a knight?”

Langdon gave an awkward smile. “We're on a Grail quest, Sophie. Who better to help us than a knight?”

Chapter 52

The Sprawling 185-acre estate of Chateau Villette was located twenty-five minutes northwest of Paris in the environs of Versailles. Designed by Franзois Mansart in 1668 for the Count of Aufflay, it was one of Paris's most significant historical chateaux. Complete with two rectangular lakes and gardens designed by Le Notre, Chateau Villette was more of a modest castle than a mansion. The estate fondly had become known as la Petite Versailles.

Langdon brought the armored truck to a shuddering stop at the foot of the mile-long driveway. Beyond the imposing security gate, Sir Leigh Teabing's residence rose on a meadow in the distance. The sign on the gate was in English: PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING.

As if to proclaim his home a British Isle unto itself, Teabing had not only posted his signs in English, but he had installed his gate's intercom entry system on the right-hand side of the truck—the passenger's side everywhere in Europe except England.

Sophie gave the misplaced intercom an odd look. “And if someone arrives without a passenger?”

“Don't ask.” Langdon had already been through that with Teabing. “He prefers things the way they are at home.”

Sophie rolled down her window. “Robert, you'd better do the talking.”

Langdon shifted his position, leaning out across Sophie to press the intercom button. As he did, an alluring whiff of Sophie's perfume filled his nostrils, and he realized how close they were. He waited there, awkwardly prone, while a telephone began ringing over the small speaker.

Finally, the intercom crackled and an irritated French accent spoke. “Chateau Villette. Who is calling?”

“This is Robert Langdon,” Langdon called out, sprawled across Sophie's lap. “I'm a friend of Sir Leigh Teabing. I need his help.”

“My master is sleeping. As was I. What is your business with him?”

“It is a private matter. One of great interest to him.”

“Then I'm sure he will be pleased to receive you in the morning.”

Langdon shifted his weight. “It's quite important.”

“As is Sir Leigh's sleep. If you are a friend, then you are aware he is in poor health.”

Sir Leigh Teabing had suffered from polio as a child and now wore leg braces and walked with crutches, but Langdon had found him such a lively and colorful man on his last visit that it hardly seemed an infirmity. “If you would, please tell him I have uncovered new information about the Grail. Information that cannot wait until morning.”

There was a long pause.

Langdon and Sophie waited, the truck idling loudly.

A full minute passed.

Finally, someone spoke. “My good man, I daresay you are still on Harvard Standard Time.” The voice was crisp and light.

Langdon grinned, recognizing the thick British accent. “Leigh, my apologies for waking you at this obscene hour.”

“My manservant tells me that not only are you in Paris, but you speak of the Grail.”

“I thought that might get you out of bed.”

“And so it has.”

“Any chance you'd open the gate for an old friend?”

“Those who seek the truth are more than friends. They are brothers.”

Langdon rolled his eyes at Sophie, well accustomed to Teabing's predilection for dramatic antics.