Teabing's “study” was like no study Sophie had ever seen. Six or seven times larger
than even the most luxurious of office spaces, the knight's cabinet de travail resembled
an ungainly hybrid of science laboratory, archival library, and indoor flea market. Lit by
three overhead chandeliers, the boundless tile floor was dotted with clustered islands of
worktables buried beneath books, artwork, artifacts, and a surprising amount of
electronic gear—computers, projectors, microscopes, copy machines, and flatbed
scanners.
“I converted the ballroom,” Teabing said, looking sheepish as he shuffled into the
room. “I have little occasion to dance.”
Sophie felt as if the entire night had become some kind of twilight zone where nothing
was as she expected. “This is all for your work?”
“Learning the truth has become my life's love,” Teabing said. “And the Sangreal is my
favorite mistress.”
The Holy Grail is a woman, Sophie thought, her mind a collage of interrelated ideas
that seemed to make no sense. “You said you have a picture of this woman who you
claim is the Holy Grail.”
“Yes, but it is not I who claim she is the Grail. Christ Himself made that claim.”
“Which one is the painting?” Sophie asked, scanning the walls.
“Hmmm . . .” Teabing made a show of seeming to have forgotten. “The Holy Grail.
The Sangreal. The Chalice.” He wheeled suddenly and pointed to the far wall. On it hung
an eight-foot-long print of The Last Supper, the same exact image Sophie had just been
looking at. “There she is!”
Sophie was certain she had missed something. “That's the same painting you just
showed me.”
He winked. “I know, but the enlargement is so much more exciting. Don't you think?”
Sophie turned to Langdon for help. “I'm lost.”
Langdon smiled. “As it turns out, the Holy Grail does indeed make an appearance in
The Last Supper. Leonardo included her prominently.”
“Hold on,” Sophie said. “You told me the Holy Grail is a woman. The Last Supper is a
painting of thirteen men.”
“Is it?” Teabing arched his eyebrows. “Take a closer look.”
Uncertain, Sophie made her way closer to the painting, scanning the thirteen figures—
Jesus Christ in the middle, six disciples on His left, and six on His right. “They're all
men,” she confirmed.
“Oh?” Teabing said. “How about the one seated in the place of honor, at the right hand
of the Lord?”
Sophie examined the figure to Jesus' immediate right, focusing in. As she studied the
person's face and body, a wave of astonishment rose within her. The individual had
flowing red hair, delicate folded hands, and the hint of a bosom. It was, without a doubt .
. . female.
“That's a woman!” Sophie exclaimed.
Teabing was laughing. “Surprise, surprise. Believe me, it's no mistake. Leonardo was
skilled at painting the difference between the sexes.”
Sophie could not take her eyes from the woman beside Christ. The Last Supper is
supposed to be thirteen men. Who is this woman? Although Sophie had seen this classic
image many times, she had not once noticed this glaring discrepancy.
“Everyone misses it,” Teabing said. “Our preconceived notions of this scene are so
powerful that our mind blocks out the incongruity and overrides our eyes.”
“It's known as skitoma,” Langdon added. “The brain does it sometimes with powerful
symbols.”
“Another reason you might have missed the woman,” Teabing said, “is that many of
the photographs in art books were taken before 1954, when the details were still hidden
beneath layers of grime and several restorative repaintings done by clumsy hands in the
eighteenth century. Now, at last, the fresco has been cleaned down to Da Vinci's original
layer of paint.” He motioned to the photograph. “Et voilà!”
Sophie moved closer to the image. The woman to Jesus' right was young and pious-
looking, with a demure face, beautiful red hair, and hands folded quietly. This is the
woman who singlehandedly could crumble the Church?
“Who is she?” Sophie asked.
“That, my dear,” Teabing replied, “is Mary Magdalene.”
Sophie turned. “The prostitute?”
Teabing drew a short breath, as if the word had injured him personally. “Magdalene
was no such thing. That unfortunate misconception is the legacy of a smear campaign
launched by the early Church. The Church needed to defame Mary Magdalene in order to
cover up her dangerous secret—her role as the Holy Grail.”
“Her role?”
“As I mentioned,” Teabing clarified, “the early Church needed to convince the world
that the mortal prophet Jesus was a divine being. Therefore, any gospels that described
earthly aspects of Jesus' life had to be omitted from the Bible. Unfortunately for the early
editors, one particularly troubling earthly theme kept recurring in the gospels. Mary
Magdalene.” He paused. “More specifically, her marriage to Jesus Christ.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie's eyes moved to Langdon and then back to Teabing.
“It's a matter of historical record,” Teabing said, “and Da Vinci was certainly aware of
that fact. The Last Supper practically shouts at the viewer that Jesus and Magdalene were
a pair.”
Sophie glanced back to the fresco.
“Notice that Jesus and Magdalene are clothed as mirror images of one another.”
Teabing pointed to the two individuals in the center of the fresco.
Sophie was mesmerized. Sure enough, their clothes were inverse colors. Jesus wore a
red robe and blue cloak; Mary Magdalene wore a blue robe and red cloak. Yin and yang.
“Venturing into the more bizarre,” Teabing said, “note that Jesus and His bride appear
to be joined at the hip and are leaning away from one another as if to create this clearly
delineated negative space between them.”
Even before Teabing traced the contour for her, Sophie saw it—the indisputable V
shape at the focal point of the painting. It was the same symbol Langdon had drawn
earlier for the Grail, the chalice, and the female womb.
“Finally,” Teabing said, “if you view Jesus and Magdalene as compositional elements
rather than as people, you will see another obvious shape leap out at you.” He paused. “A
letter of the alphabet.”
Sophie saw it at once. To say the letter leapt out at her was an understatement. The
letter was suddenly all Sophie could see. Glaring in the center of the painting was the
unquestionable outline of an enormous, flawlessly formed letter M.
“A bit too perfect for coincidence, wouldn't you say?” Teabing asked.
Sophie was amazed. “Why is it there?”
Teabing shrugged. “Conspiracy theorists will tell you it stands for Matrimonio or Mary
Magdalene. To be honest, nobody is certain. The only certainty is that the hidden M is no
mistake. Countless Grail-related works contain the hidden letter M—whether as
watermarks, underpaintings, or compositional allusions. The most blatant M, of course, is
emblazoned on the altar at Our Lady of Paris in London, which was designed by a
former Grand Master of the Priory of Sion, Jean Cocteau.”
Sophie weighed the information. “I'll admit, the hidden M's are intriguing, although I
assume nobody is claiming they are proof of Jesus' marriage to Magdalene.”
“No, no,” Teabing said, going to a nearby table of books. “As I said earlier, the
marriage of Jesus and Mary Magdalene is part of the historical record.” He began pawing
through his book collection. “Moreover, Jesus as a married man makes infinitely more
sense than our standard biblical view of Jesus as a bachelor.”
“Why?” Sophie asked.
“Because Jesus was a Jew,” Langdon said, taking over while Teabing searched for his
book, “and the social decorum during that time virtually forbid a Jewish man to be
unmarried. According to Jewish custom, celibacy was condemned, and the obligation for
a Jewish father was to find a suitable wife for his son. If Jesus were not married, at least
one of the Bible's gospels would have mentioned it and offered some explanation for His
unnatural state of bachelorhood.”
Teabing located a huge book and pulled it toward him across the table. The leather-
bound edition was poster-sized, like a huge atlas. The cover read: The Gnostic Gospels.
Teabing heaved it open, and Langdon and Sophie joined him. Sophie could see it
contained photographs of what appeared to be magnified passages of ancient documents
—tattered papyrus with handwritten text. She did not recognize the ancient language, but
the facing pages bore typed translations.
“These are photocopies of the Nag Hammadi and Dead Sea scrolls, which I mentioned
earlier,” Teabing said. “The earliest Christian records. Troublingly, they do not match up
with the gospels in the Bible.” Flipping toward the middle of the book, Teabing pointed
to a passage. “The Gospel of Philip is always a good place to start.”
Sophie read the passage:
And the companion of the Saviour is Mary Magdalene. Christ loved her more than
all the disciples and used to kiss her often on her mouth. The rest of the disciples
were offended by it and expressed disapproval. They said to him, “Why do you love
her more than all of us?”
The words surprised Sophie, and yet they hardly seemed conclusive. “It says nothing
of marriage.”
“Au contraire.” Teabing smiled, pointing to the first line. “As any Aramaic scholar
will tell you, the word companion, in those days, literally meant spouse.”
Langdon concurred with a nod.
Sophie read the first line again. And the companion of the Saviour is Mary Magdalene.
Teabing flipped through the book and pointed out several other passages that, to
Sophie's surprise, clearly suggested Magdalene and Jesus had a romantic relationship. As
she read the passages, Sophie recalled an angry priest who had banged on her
grandfather's door when she was a schoolgirl.
“Is this the home of Jacques Saunière?” the priest had demanded, glaring down at
young Sophie when she pulled open the door. “I want to talk to him about this editorial
he wrote.” The priest held up a newspaper.
Sophie summoned her grandfather, and the two men disappeared into his study and
closed the door. My grandfather wrote something in the paper? Sophie immediately ran
to the kitchen and flipped through that morning's paper. She found her grandfather's
name on an article on the second page. She read it. Sophie didn't understand all of what
was said, but it sounded like the French government, under pressure from priests, had
agreed to ban an American movie called The Last Temptation of Christ, which was about
Jesus having sex with a lady called Mary Magdalene. Her grandfather's article said the
Church was arrogant and wrong to ban it.
No wonder the priest is mad, Sophie thought.
“It's pornography! Sacrilege!” the priest yelled, emerging from the study and storming
to the front door. “How can you possibly endorse that! This American Martin Scorsese is
a blasphemer, and the Church will permit him no pulpit in France!” The priest slammed
the door on his way out.
When her grandfather came into the kitchen, he saw Sophie with the paper and
frowned. “You're quick.”
Sophie said, “You think Jesus Christ had a girlfriend?”
“No, dear, I said the Church should not be allowed to tell us what notions we can and
can't entertain.”
“Did Jesus have a girlfriend?”
Her grandfather was silent for several moments. “Would it be so bad if He did?”
Sophie considered it and then shrugged. “I wouldn't mind.”
Sir Leigh Teabing was still talking. “I shan't bore you with the countless references to
Jesus and Magdalene's union. That has been explored ad nauseum by modern historians.
I would, however, like to point out the following.” He motioned to another passage.
“This is from the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.”
Sophie had not known a gospel existed in Magdalene's words. She read the text:
And Peter said, “Did the Saviour really speak with a woman without our
knowledge? Are we to turn about and all listen to her? Did he prefer her to us?”
And Levi answered, “Peter, you have always been hot-tempered. Now I see you
contending against the woman like an adversary. If the Saviour made her worthy,
who are you indeed to reject her? Surely the Saviour knows her very well. That is
why he loved her more than us.”
“The woman they are speaking of,” Teabing explained, “is Mary Magdalene. Peter is
jealous of her.”
“Because Jesus preferred Mary?”
“Not only that. The stakes were far greater than mere affection. At this point in the
gospels, Jesus suspects He will soon be captured and crucified. So He gives Mary
Magdalene instructions on how to carry on His Church after He is gone. As a result,
Peter expresses his discontent over playing second fiddle to a woman. I daresay Peter
was something of a sexist.”
Sophie was trying to keep up. “This is Saint Peter. The rock on which Jesus built His
Church.”
“The same, except for one catch. According to these unaltered gospels, it was not Peter
to whom Christ gave directions with which to establish the Christian Church. It was Mary
Magdalene.”
Sophie looked at him. “You're saying the Christian Church was to be carried on by a
woman?”
“That was the plan. Jesus was the original feminist. He intended for the future of His
Church to be in the hands of Mary Magdalene.”
“And Peter had a problem with that,” Langdon said, pointing to The Last Supper.
“That's Peter there. You can see that Da Vinci was well aware of how Peter felt about
Mary Magdalene.”
Again, Sophie was speechless. In the painting, Peter was leaning menacingly toward
Mary Magdalene and slicing his blade-like hand across her neck. The same threatening
gesture as in Madonna of the Rocks!
“And here too,” Langdon said, pointing now to the crowd of disciples near Peter. “A
bit ominous, no?”
Sophie squinted and saw a hand emerging from the crowd of disciples. “Is that hand
wielding a dagger?”
“Yes. Stranger still, if you count the arms, you'll see that this hand belongs to . . . no
one at all. It's disembodied. Anonymous.”
Sophie was starting to feel overwhelmed. “I'm sorry, I still don't understand how all of
this makes Mary Magdalene the Holy Grail.”
“Aha!” Teabing exclaimed again. “Therein lies the rub!” He turned once more to the
table and pulled out a large chart, spreading it out for her. It was an elaborate genealogy.
“Few people realize that Mary Magdalene, in addition to being Christ's right hand, was a
powerful woman already.”
Sophie could now see the title of the family tree.
THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN
“Mary Magdalene is here,” Teabing said, pointing near the top of the genealogy.
Sophie was surprised. “She was of the House of Benjamin?”
“Indeed,” Teabing said. “Mary Magdalene was of royal descent.”
“But I was under the impression Magdalene was poor.”
Teabing shook his head. “Magdalene was recast as a whore in order to erase evidence
of her powerful family ties.”
Sophie found herself again glancing at Langdon, who again nodded. She turned back
to Teabing. “But why would the early Church care if Magdalene had royal blood?”
The Briton smiled. “My dear child, it was not Mary Magdalene's royal blood that
concerned the Church so much as it was her consorting with Christ, who also had royal
blood. As you know, the Book of Matthew tells us that Jesus was of the House of David.
A descendant of King Solomon—King of the Jews. By marrying into the powerful
House of Benjamin, Jesus fused two royal bloodlines, creating a potent political union
with the potential of making a legitimate claim to the throne and restoring the line of
kings as it was under Solomon.”
Sophie sensed he was at last coming to his point.
Teabing looked excited now. “The legend of the Holy Grail is a legend about royal
blood. When Grail legend speaks of ‘the chalice that held the blood of Christ' . . . it
speaks, in fact, of Mary Magdalene—the female womb that carried Jesus' royal
bloodline.”
The words seemed to echo across the ballroom and back before they fully registered in
Sophie's mind. Mary Magdalene carried the royal bloodline of Jesus Christ? “But how
could Christ have a bloodline unless . . .?” She paused and looked at Langdon.
Langdon smiled softly. “Unless they had a child.”
Sophie stood transfixed.
“Behold,” Teabing proclaimed, “the greatest cover-up in human history. Not only was
Jesus Christ married, but He was a father. My dear, Mary Magdalene was the Holy
Vessel. She was the chalice that bore the royal bloodline of Jesus Christ. She was the
womb that bore the lineage, and the vine from which the sacred fruit sprang forth!”
Sophie felt the hairs stand up on her arms. “But how could a secret that big be kept
quiet all of these years?”
“Heavens!” Teabing said. “It has been anything but quiet! The royal bloodline of Jesus
Christ is the source of the most enduring legend of all time—the Holy Grail. Magdalene's
story has been shouted from the rooftops for centuries in all kinds of metaphors and
languages. Her story is everywhere once you open your eyes.”
“And the Sangreal documents?” Sophie said. “They allegedly contain proof that Jesus
had a royal bloodline?”
“They do.”
“So the entire Holy Grail legend is all about royal blood?”
“Quite literally,” Teabing said. “The word Sangreal derives from San Greal—or Holy
Grail. But in its most ancient form, the word Sangreal was divided in a different spot.”
Teabing wrote on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to her.
She read what he had written.
Sang Real
Instantly, Sophie recognized the translation.
Sang Real literally meant Royal Blood.
