The Last Scion

by Richard Reed

  “I should think not – the guy’s supposed to be celibate. He’ll blow a gasket.”

  “David! But thanks, anyway.”

  “No worries. I mean, he’s probably pretty desperate… Ow!” he yelled, as he received a punch in the ribs. “That hurt! You’ve got a mean right hook.”

  “I know. Now shut up, or you’ll get another one. Let’s get a move on – I want to see those pictures.”

  Chapter 8

  It was a 20-minute drive to the chambre d’hôtes at Rennes-les-Bains, the small spa town nestling in the valley below Rennes-le-Château, that had sprung up around the thermal springs that bubbled up from volcanic strata far below the surface. The site of an extensive Roman bath-house, the town later acquired a reputation in the Middle Ages as a place where lepers could come and be cured of their disease. It reached its heyday in Victorian times with the arrival of the railway just a few miles away at Couiza, and rapidly became popular as a station thermale, with the waters claimed to be a cure-all for everything from TB to gout. Sadly it had now seen better days, the faded facades and peeling paintwork of its grand old buildings bearing testament to the steep decline in prosperity.

  Rachel squeezed her car across the tiny bridge over the Sals river and managed to find a space outside the little guest house, Au Coeurs de Rennes. Feeling grubby and tired, she headed straight for the shower, then, after taking a slurp from a generous glass of red wine, she felt ready to return to the fray.

  She fired up her MacBook and started scouring the internet, trying to find as much background information as possible on the interior of the church.

  They had carried out several weeks of preliminary research on Rennes-le-Château before starting the assignment, and knew many of the theories – some downright wacky, others more plausible. But there was such a web of confusion it was almost impossible to separate fact – or at least, serious theories – from fiction. Historical accounts had become exaggerated, and conflated with conjecture, while new information had appeared out of thin air without any reliable accreditation – only to be subsequently reported as fact. It was almost as if there were a conspiracy to hide the truth.

  It was for this reason they had decided to focus the programme on the dig and the expected finds in the crypt. There had been little doubt as to its existence, or National Geographic would have been unlikely to go ahead. There had, after all, been that excavation in 1967, when French archaeologist Professor Cholet had been given permission to carry out excavations inside the church on the strength of the 18th century document in which Abbé Bigou directly referred to a ‘Tomb of the Lords’ under the church.

  Bizarrely, however, despite apparently finding the entrance to three passages – one under the stairs to the pulpit, one in the sacristy and one in Saunière’s Secret Room, Professor Cholet decided to block everything up again without going any further, claiming to have run out of funds. He returned a few years later, thanks to a wealthy benefactor, but mysteriously confined his excavations to the area in front of the altar, without attempting to re-excavate the staircases he had discovered. He found nothing. Just another piece in this strange jigsaw that was Rennes-le-Château.

  Rachel went into her files and opened her translation of the Cholet report to remind herself of what he had found. Most of his nine-page, typewritten report was devoted to recounting the historical background to Rennes-le-Château and its transition from the site of an ancient Gaulish temple to a stronghold for the Visigoths after they sacked and plundered Rome. At the time its population, incredibly for such a tiny hilltop location, was estimated to number some 30,000 inhabitants. It was alleged that when the Saracens attacked from Spain, the Visigoths escaped through underground passages. Had they taken their treasures with them, or were they still in the crypt? But she was convinced there was more than just gold buried under the church.

  She read on, refreshing her memory. Rennes, then known as Rédé, did not come to light again in the history books until the Albigensian Crusade, when it was a Cathar stronghold. However, it fell early in the campaign to the armies of the sadistic baron, Simon de Montfort, in around 1212. The town was destroyed at least twice more after the crusade: once during the 100 Years War with the English, and again during the Wars of Religion, when it was razed to the ground by Calvinists.

  Rennes-le-Château rose from the ashes, this time as nothing more than a village, under the ownership of its new overlords, the wealthy Hautpoul de Blanchefort family. Cholet recounted the legend of how it was believed that Saunière discovered an ancient Visigoth temple under the church.

  Cholet then speculated on the likely source of any possible treasure. Was it indeed Visigoth in origin, or rather a sacred relic left by the Cathars – though they were known for their renunciation of worldly goods? Something hidden by the Templars, perhaps, who had a powerful presence in the region, and escaped the initial round of arrests by the King of France when the order was disbanded in 1307? Blanche de Castile, regent and mother of Louis IX, had visited Rennes with a sizeable baggage train while her son was away on a crusade – had she hidden a hoard of royal gold? Or was it the treasure of her daughter, Blanche de France, whose gold had been stolen and allegedly hidden in the underground passages?

  Then came the really interesting part – the route by which Cholet believed Saunière had gained access to the temple or crypt. The general consensus was that on the first occasion Saunière discovered the tomb, apparently based on information contained in one or more parchments, the entrance was situated underneath the flagstone in front of the altar. The flagstone turned out to be a ninth century Carolingian bas relief of knights on horseback, which had been laid upside-down. Such was the hysteria surrounding Rennes-le-Château that some treasure hunters believed the stone, now known as La Dalle des Chevaliers, was a depiction of the Knights Templar, even though it appeared to pre-date the Order’s foundation by some 300 years.

  How could they be sure the bas relief was Carolingian? She had seen the stone herself, in the museum. A piece of solid rock that was impossible to carbon-date. It was certainly Carolingian in style, but did art really change much in medieval times? The image of two knights mounted on one horse was strongly tied to the Templars. Was it really just a coincidence?

  She returned to Cholet’s report. Saunière, it seemed, had moved the slab out into the grounds and retiled the church floor, presumably blocking off the entrance to the tomb – at least, Cholet was never to find it there. But as the archaeologist himself said, the priest must have had continued access to the crypt, possibly by more than one entrance. There were several eye-witness accounts of Saunière apparently ‘disappearing’ while in the cemetery. And then there was the ‘Secret Room’, which could only be reached through a false door in a cupboard in the sacristy. Was this where Saunière had gone to visit the crypt? Again, according to eye-witnesses, he spent some considerable time in there. What other reason could there be for such secrecy?

  Rachel found the text relating to Cholet’s discovery of the hidden stairways.

  “Beneath the stairway leading up to the pulpit there is another staircase leading downwards towards the cemetery… In the little structure to the left of the sacristy [the Secret Room] it appears that the stones of the wall adjoining the apse may be in the form of a relieving arch. Beneath the floor of the sacristy I found the beginning of a staircase leading south. The treads are rough-cut and of the width of the entrance to the sacristy.”

  She was puzzled, however, that in the Secret Room, Cholet had found nothing more than an arch in the stonework. If the room had been Saunière’s access to the crypt, what had happened to it? Cholet had dug the place up, but to no avail. Had Marie Dénarnaud filled it in after the priest’s death? It was hard to believe Saunière himself would have removed the access to something that had so clearly become an obsession for him.

  She tried searching the internet for ‘Cholet and Saunière’s Secret Room’ to see if anything new had come up. Not much, surprisingly. J
ust one page of entries, while a search on ‘Rennes-le-Château’ yielded more than a million. It seemed people were more interested in wild theories than a French archaeologist’s official report.

  One Google result seized her instantly – a claim that someone had made an attempt on Cholet’s life by suspending a heavy oak beam over the church door with invisible nylon wire. The trap had failed to work, but it had been enough to scare the quiet academic away for several months.

  Fact or fiction? It was hard to say – there was no citation, and there were so many ‘urban myths’ flying around. As a professional researcher, she had to discount claims that had no evidence to back them up. Nonetheless, if it were true, it would explain a lot…

  A knock on the door made her jump. “Rachel?”

  “Oh hi David, I thought I heard you come back.”

  David gave her a concerned look as he entered the room. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine – I was just buried in some research. You startled me – this whole thing spooks me a little sometimes.”

  David smiled at her indulgently. “There’s nothing down there – or anywhere else in Rennes-le-Château, for that matter – that isn’t explained by the laws of physics,” he said. “Hopefully just some nice, juicy historical finds that will make us both famous.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, don’t be so patronising. Scientists keep changing the ‘laws’ of physics every five minutes. What is it they say in quantum physics? You can’t separate the observer from the observed – matter is materially affected by the very action of being observed, and every observer will see it differently. Basically, nothing is what it seems. And I see things differently to you – that doesn’t make me wrong.”

  “Well, if you’ve finished lecturing me, come and look at these pictures I’ve downloaded. I think you’ll find them interesting.”

  Rachel followed David into his bedroom on the other side of the spacious landing.

  “Right, take a look at this,” said David, sitting down at his laptop. “I’ve already spotted one or two anomalies. Firstly, the statue in the churchyard opposite the Calvary depicting Jesus on the cross.”

  “The Virgin Mary, or as she seems to be known round here, Our Lady of Lourdes?”

  “That’s what it says in the museum pamphlet that we’ve all seen. But look again – why is she wearing a crown composed of little towers? And why does the canopy above her head contain more turrets? We’re back to La Tour Magdala again, if you ask me: an homage to Mary Magdalene.”

  “That’s astonishing. I must have walked past that countless times over the past few months, and I hadn’t noticed the tower symbolism. Pan the image out a little… Look, she is directly opposite the Calvary, almost as if gazing at Christ forlornly from a distance. It could be his mother, but given the way the scenario is played out, it’s begging you to assume it’s Mary Magdalene, his closest disciple – and, as the gnostic gospels hint at, perhaps his wife…”

  “Funny you should say that,” said David. “Normally I’d tell you to stop jumping to conclusions. But look at this.” David zoomed in on the bas relief of St Mary Magdalene above the main door in the porch. “Does anything strike you as odd about that statue?”

  Rachel gasped in amazement. “She’s pregnant!” she said, without hesitation.

  “Exactly my thoughts. That’s the swollen belly of a pregnant woman if ever I saw one. And it’s definitely not the Virgin Mary, because underneath there’s a plaque giving her name: St Maria Magdalene.”

  “My God…” said Rachel, putting hands to her face in disbelief. “This is almost literally incredible. And look at the way her cloak parts around her stomach. That’s the way clothes hang on a woman when she’s pregnant!”

  “This would have been earth shattering in Saunière’s time,” said David excitedly. “Which brings me back to that statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in the churchyard. I’ve discovered that the pillar it’s mounted on is Carolingian – that’s around 750-950 AD, around the time the original church was built on this site. Saunière is believed to have found the pillar under the original altar during his restoration work, and used it as the base for the statue. But why did he turn it upside down? Look closely at the alpha and omega symbols: they’re the wrong way up. As a cleric, he would have known that. The stem of the cross, too, is slightly longer – but at the top, rather than the bottom, as you would expect. Is Saunière trying to tell us he found something that turns religion upside down? A pregnant Magdalene would certainly do that: no prizes for guessing whom most people would assume the father to be.”

  “Indeed not,” said Rachel distractedly, still staring at the photo of the bas relief of Mary Magdalene. “Look at the cross she’s holding in her arms!” she said, abruptly.

  “What about it?”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”

  “Slightly, but I didn’t attach any significance to it.”

  “Of course not, you’re a man! But that’s exactly the way a woman would hold a baby. It’s hard to believe no-one’s noticed these things before.”

  “Well, it takes a camera with a good zoom lens. And I guess most people are much more interested in hunting for buried treasure – Mary Magdalene is much lower down the agenda… Rachel?”

  She was staring across the room, lost in thought, an intense look on her face.

  “I’m just thinking… I’ve seen the Magdalene in that pose somewhere before, but I can’t think where… Got it! My thesis for my Art History master’s was on the Baroque painters. I can picture an image in my head right now… I think it was Caravaggio, but I’m not sure… Here, give me the laptop.” She sat down as David vacated his seat, and started a new search. “Yes, here we are – I was right! Caravaggio’s The Repentant Magdalene. Look at this!”

  “What about it?” said David, peering over her shoulder, studying the painting with care.

  “Her hands, dummy. Look at her hands. It’s like the statue at Rennes, she’s cradling a baby in her arms – but in this case, her arms are empty.”

  “Maybe you’re on to something,” said David. “So is this the secret Saunière was hiding all his life? That Mary Magdalene was pregnant – presumably with Jesus’s child. Is this where all the money came from – was he really blackmailing the church?”

  “It looks like a distinct possibility, doesn’t it? Now, while I’m on an art website, I’m going to have a quick look at The Last Supper.”

  David groaned. “God, not that hoary old chestnut again, please…”

  “I know we’ve had this discussion before, David, but some of Dan Brown’s comments about The Last Supper are right on the money. I mean, that figure to Jesus’s right, which all the so-called experts claim to be John, just has to be a woman. You’d have to be blind to not see it, especially in the newly restored painting. Earlier restorers were obviously uncomfortable with it, and made the figure much more masculine. But now we’re back to what Da Vinci actually painted, there’s no question about the gender.”

  “Yes, but as an art history grad you must know that Da Vinci used a female model for some of his male figures…”

  “Goddamn it, David, it isn’t a boyish man, or a womanish boy – it’s a woman,” said Rachel exasperatedly. “Come on, let’s get it up on screen and I’ll prove it to you.”

  The image of the painting on the art website turned out to be quite small, and she searched the web again, eventually finding a Milan tourism site that allowed her to zoom in to high resolution close-ups of the mural at the city’s Santa Maria Delle Grazie church.

  “There – look at that,” said Rachel. “How in God’s name is that supposed to be a guy? I mean, if you saw this painting for the first time, and knew nothing about it, would you think it’s a man or a woman? Look, there’s Da Vinci’s idea of a ‘boyish’ man – James Minor, five places to the right of Jesus. But he’s still easily identified as male from his jaw and forehead, and even the size of his skull. The figure of ‘John’ is distinctively different
– look at that delicate, feminine face and chin; the pale, feminine hands that are obviously not used to hard work; even the passive body language is feminine. And she is wearing a necklace – some of the others have clasps on their cloaks, but only she is wearing a necklace; you can see the chain clearly.”

  “I hadn’t noticed the necklace. Zoom in closer.”

  Rachel took the website zoom function up to its highest setting, and a clear picture of the necklace appeared. “There’s some kind of symbol on that pendant. Can you work your magic on it?”

  They swapped seats again and David took a screen-shot of the section of painting. Then he opened it in Photoshop and digitally enhanced the contrast and sharpness.

  Rachel gave a sharp intake of breath. “It’s a crown – a four-pointed crown! David, this proves Mary was of royal blood! The anointing of Jesus, who the Bible says was from the royal house of David… this was a dynastic marriage that produced a holy bloodline. Everything points in that direction – and Saunière obviously found some kind of proof!”

  “I hate to disillusion you, but it’s a painting, not a photographic record,” said David drily.

  “Yes, but look at the facts. Da Vinci was probably the world’s greatest ever genius – art aside, he came up with everything from the theory of plate tectonics to engineering designs for helicopters and hang gliders – and this in the late 15th century! He was big on symbolism – he wouldn’t have included anything in this mural without a reason. And look at the massive V-shape created by the space between Mary and Jesus, as they lean away from each other! Yes, it gives the painting structure, but it’s so dramatic there has to be more to it than that. Is it a coincidence that the ‘V’ is an ancient emblem for the feminine – symbolic of both the womb, and the female genitalia?”

  “I think you’re stretching things again, but I have to admit the figure on Jesus’s right does look every inch a woman. It’s a while since I’ve seen a copy of the fully restored fresco.”