The Da Vinci Code

receptionist shrugged it off. Bishop Aringarosa had been acting very strangely the last few months.

* * *

My cellular phone must not have been receiving, Aringarosa thought as the Fiat approached the exit for Rome's Ciampino Charter Airport. The Teacher was trying to reach me. Despite Aringarosa's concern at having missed the call, he felt encouraged that the Teacher felt confident enough to call Opus Dei headquarters directly.

Things must have gone well in Paris tonight.

As Aringarosa began dialing the number, he felt excited to know he would soon be in Paris. I'll be on the ground before dawn. Aringarosa had a chartered turbo prop awaiting him here for the short flight to France. Commercial carriers were not an option at this hour, especially considering the contents of his briefcase.

The line began to ring.

A female voice answered. “Direction Centrale Police Judidaire.”

Aringarosa felt himself hesitate. This was unexpected. “Ah, yes… I was asked to call this number?”

“Qui кtes-vous?” the woman said. “Your name?”

Aringarosa was uncertain if he should reveal it. The French Judicial Police?

“Your name, monsieur?” the woman pressed.

“Bishop Manuel Aringarosa.”

“Un moment.” There was a click on the line.

After a long wait, another man came on, his tone gruff and concerned. “Bishop, I am glad I finally reached you. You and I have much to discuss.”

Chapter 60

Sangreal… Sang Real… San Greal… Royal Blood… Holy Grail.

It was all intertwined.

The Holy Grail is Mary Magdalene… the mother of the royal bloodline of Jesus Christ. Sophie felt a new wave of disorientation as she stood in the silence of the ballroom and stared at Robert Langdon. The more pieces Langdon and Teabing laid on the table tonight, the more unpredictable this puzzle became.

“As you can see, my dear,” Teabing said, hobbling toward a bookshelf, “Leonardo is not the only one who has been trying to tell the world the truth about the Holy Grail. The royal bloodline of Jesus Christ has been chronicled in exhaustive detail by scores of historians.” He ran a finger down a row of several dozen books.

Sophie tilted her head and scanned the list of titles:

The Templar Revelation:

Secret Guardians of the True Identity of Christ

* * *

The Woman with the alabaster Jar:

Mary Magdalene and the Holy Grail

THE GODDESS IN THE GOSPELS

Reclaiming the Sacred Feminine

“Here is perhaps the best-known tome,” Teabing said, pulling a tattered hardcover from the stack and handing it to her. The cover read:

HOLY BLOOD, HOLY GRAIL

The Acclaimed International Bestseller

Sophie glanced up. “An international bestseller? I've never heard of it.”

“You were young. This caused quite a stir back in the nineteen eighties. To my taste, the authors made some dubious leaps of faith in their analysis, but their fundamental premise is sound, and to their credit, they finally brought the idea of Christ's bloodline into the mainstream.”

“What was the Church's reaction to the book?”

“Outrage, of course. But that was to be expected. After all, this was a secret the Vatican had tried to bury in the fourth century. That's part of what the Crusades were about. Gathering and destroying information. The threat Mary Magdalene posed to the men of the early Church was potentially ruinous. Not only was she the woman to whom Jesus had assigned the task of founding the Church, but she also had physical proof that the Church's newly proclaimed deity had spawned a mortal bloodline. The Church, in order to defend itself against the Magdalene's power, perpetuated her image as a whore and buried evidence of Christ's marriage to her, thereby defusing any potential claims that Christ had a surviving bloodline and was a mortal prophet.”

Sophie glanced at Langdon, who nodded. “Sophie, the historical evidence supporting this is substantial.”

“I admit,” Teabing said, “the assertions are dire, but you must understand the Church's powerful motivations to conduct such a cover-up. They could never have survived public knowledge of a bloodline. A child of Jesus would undermine the critical notion of Christ's divinity and therefore the Christian Church, which declared itself the sole vessel through which humanity could access the divine and gain entrance to the kingdom of heaven.”

“The five-petal rose,” Sophie said, pointing suddenly to the spine of one of Teabing's books. The same exact design inlaid on the rosewood box.

Teabing glanced at Langdon and grinned. “She has a good eye.” He turned back to Sophie. “That is the Priory symbol for the Grail. Mary Magdalene. Because her name was forbidden by the Church, Mary Magdalene became secretly known by many pseudonyms—the Chalice, the Holy Grail, and the Rose.” He paused. “The Rose has ties to the five-pointed pentacle of Venus and the guiding Compass Rose. By the way, the word rose is identical in English, French, German, and many other languages.”

“Rose,” Langdon added, “is also an anagram of Eros, the Greek god of sexual love.”

Sophie gave him a surprised look as Teabing plowed on.

“The Rose has always been the premiere symbol of female sexuality. In primitive goddess cults, the five petals represented the five stations of female life—birth, menstruation, motherhood, menopause, and death. And in