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Langdon had no idea what she had just said； but he clicked anyway。
A new window popped up。
。。。mythological knight named Parsifal who。。。
。。。metaphorical Grail quest that arguably。。。
。。。the London Philharmonic in 1855。。。
Rebecca Pope's opera anthology 〃Diva's。。。
。。。Wagner's tomb in Bayreuth； Germany。。。
〃Wrong Pope；〃 Langdon said； disappointed。 Even so； he was amazed by the system's ease of use。 The keywords with context were enough to remind him that Wagner's opera Parsifal was a tribute to Mary Magdalene and the bloodline of Jesus Christ； told through the story of a young knight on a quest for truth。
〃Just be patient；〃 Gettum urged。 〃It's a numbers game。 Let the machine run。〃
Over the next few minutes； the puter returned several more Grail references； including a text about troubadours—France's famous wandering minstrels。 Langdon knew it was no coincidence that the word minstrel and minister shared an etymological root。 The troubadours were the traveling servants or 〃ministers〃 of the Church of Mary Magdalene； using music to disseminate the story of the sacred feminine among the mon folk。 To this day； the troubadours sang songs extolling the virtues of 〃our Lady〃—a mysterious and beautiful woman to whom they pledged themselves forever。
Eagerly； he checked the hypertext but found nothing。
The puter pinged again。
KNIGHTS； KNAVES； POPES； AND PENTACLES： THE HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAIL THROUGH TAROT
〃Not surprising；〃 Langdon said to Sophie。 〃Some of our keywords have the same names as individual cards。〃 He reached for the mouse to click on a hyperlink。 〃I'm not sure if your grandfather ever mentioned it when you played Tarot with him； Sophie； but this game is a 'flash…card catechism' into the story of the Lost Bride and her subjugation by the evil Church。〃
Sophie eyed him； looking incredulous。 〃I had no idea。〃
〃That's the point。 By teaching through a metaphorical game； the followers of the Grail disguised their message from the watchful eye of the Church。〃 Langdon often wondered how many modern card players had any clue that their four suits—spades； hearts； clubs； diamonds—were Grail…related symbols that came directly from Tarot's four suits of swords； cups； scepters； and pentacles。
Spades were Swords—The blade。 Male。
Hearts were Cups—The chalice。 Feminine。
Clubs were Scepters—The Royal Line。 The flowering staff。
Diamonds were Pentacles—The goddess。 The sacred feminine。
Four minutes later； as Langdon began feeling fearful they would not find what they had e for； the puter produced another hit。
The Gravity of Genius： Biography of a Modern Knight。
〃Gravity of Genius？〃 Langdon called out to Gettum。 〃Bio of a modern knight？〃
Gettum stuck her head around the corner。 〃How modern？ Please don't tell me it's your Sir Rudy Giuliani。 Personally； I found that one a bit off the mark。〃
Langdon had his own qualms about the newly knighted Sir Mick Jagger； but this hardly seemed the moment to debate the politics of modern British knighthood。 〃Let's have a look。〃 Langdon summoned up the hypertext keywords。
。。。 honorable knight； Sir Isaac Newton。。。
。。。 in London in 1727 and。。。
。。。 his tomb in Westminster Abbey。。。
。。。 Alexander Pope； friend and colleague。。。
〃I guess 'modern' is a relative term；〃 Sophie called to Gettum。 〃It's an old book。 About Sir Isaac Newton。〃
Gettum shook her head in the doorway。 〃No good。 Newton was buried in Westminster Abbey； the seat of English Protestantism。 There's no way a Catholic Pope was present。 Cream and sugar？〃
Sophie nodded。
Gettum waited。 〃Robert？〃
Langdon's heart was hammering。 He pulled his eyes from the screen and stood up。 〃Sir Isaac Newton is our knight。〃
Sophie remained seated。 〃What are you talking about？〃
〃Newton is buried in London；〃 Langdon said。 〃His labors produced new sciences that incurred the wrath of the Church。 And he was a Grand Master of the Priory of Sion。 What more could we want？〃
〃What more？〃 Sophie pointed to the poem。 〃How about a knight a Pope interred？ You heard Ms。 Gettum。 Newton was not buried by a Catholic Pope。〃
Langdon reached for the mouse。 〃Who said anything about a Catholic Pope？〃 He clicked on the 〃Pope〃 hyperlink； and the plete sentence appeared。
Sir Isaac Newton's burial； attended by kings and nobles； was presided over by Alexander Pope； friend and colleague； who gave a stirring eulogy before sprinkling dirt on the tomb。
Langdon looked at Sophie。 〃We had the correct Pope on our second hit。 Alexander。〃 He paused。 〃A。 Pope。〃
In London lies a knight A。 Pope interred。
Sophie stood up； looking stunned。
Jacques Saunière； the master of double…entendres； had proven once again that he was a frighteningly clever man。
CHAPTER 96
Silas awoke with a start。
He had no idea what had awoken him or how long he had been asleep。 Was I dreaming？ Sitting up now on his straw mat； he listened to the quiet breathing of the Opus Dei residence hall； the stillness textured only by the soft murmurs of someone praying aloud in a room below him。 These were familiar sounds and should have forted him。
And yet he felt a sudden and unexpected wariness。
Standing； wearing only his undergarments； Silas walked to the window。 Was I followed？ The courtyard below was deserted； exactly as he had seen it when he entered。 He listened。 Silence。 So why am I uneasy？ Long ago Silas had learned to trust his intuition。 Intuition had kept him alive as a child on the streets of Marseilles long before prison。。。 long before he was born again by the hand of Bishop Aringarosa。 Peering out the window； he now saw the faint outline of a car through the hedge。 On the car's roof was a police siren。 A floorboard creaked in the hallway。 A door latch moved。
Silas reacted on instinct； surging across the room and sliding to a stop just behind the door as it crashed open。 The first police officer stormed through； swinging his gun left then right at what appeared an empty room。 Before he realized where Silas was； Silas had thrown his shoulder into the door； crushing a second officer as he came through。 As the first officer wheeled to shoot； Silas dove for his legs。 The gun went off； the bullet sailing above Silas's head； just as he connected with the officer's shins； driv