The Expected One (14 page)

Tammy elaborated on the various theories that had been explored by local and international research teams, rattling off a laundry list of possibilities: ley lines, vortexes, hollow earth, star gates. “Salvador Dali said that the train station in Perpignan was the center of the universe because it was where these magnetic power points intersected.”

“How far is Perpignan from here?” This came from Maureen.

“Forty miles or so. Close enough to make it interesting, certainly. I wish I had a definitive answer to it all, but I don’t. Nobody does. That’s why I’m addicted to this place and keep coming back. Remember the meridian that Sinclair showed you in the church of Saint-Sulpice in Paris?”

Maureen was nodding, trying to keep up. “The Magdalene Line.”

“Exactly. And it runs from Paris straight through this area. Why? Because there is something about this region that transcends time and space, and I think that is why it has attracted alchemists from all over Europe for as long as anyone can remember.”

“I was wondering when we were going to get back to alchemy,” Peter remarked.

“Sorry, Padre. I tend to get long-winded, but then again, none of these explanations are simple. So that tower up there, called the Tower of Alchemy, is apparently built over the legendary power point and the Magdalene Line runs through it. The tower has been the site of countless experiments in alchemy.”

“So when you say alchemy, you mean the medieval belief system of turning sulfur into gold?” This was Maureen’s question.

“In some cases, yes. But what is the true definition of alchemy? If you ever want to start a great fight, ask that question at a convention of esoteric thinkers. The room will be torn down before a definitive answer is ever reached.”

Tammy rattled off the different kinds of alchemy. “There are the scientific alchemists, those who physically attempt to change base materials into gold. Some of these scientific alchemists came here believing that the magic in the land itself was the magical x-factor they were looking for to complete their experiments. Then there are the philosophers, who believe that alchemy is a spiritual transformation, that it is about turning the base elements of the human spirit into a golden self; there are the esoterics who pursue the idea that alchemical processes can be used to achieve immortality and somehow impact the nature of time. Then there are sexual alchemists, who believe that sexual energy creates a type of transformation when two bodies are blended using a certain combination of physical and metaphysical methods.”

Maureen listened closely; she wanted to know more about Tammy’s personal perspective. “And what theory do you favor?”

“I’m a big fan of sexual alchemy, personally. But I think they’re all true. I really do. I think alchemy is actually a term for the most ancient set of principles we have on earth. Once upon a time I think those rules were understood by the ancients, like the architects of the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

The next question came from Peter. “So what does all of this have to do with Mary Magdalene?”

“Well, for starters we believe she lived here, or at least spent some time here. Which leads to this question: why here? It’s remote even now, with modern transportation. Can you even imagine what it must have been like trying to get through these mountains in the first century? The terrain was totally inhospitable. So why did she choose this place? Why have so many chosen this place? Because there’s something special about the land itself.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention the other kind of alchemy that happens here, and it’s something that I have just recently dubbed Gnostic alchemy.”

“Sounds like an interesting title for a new religion,” Maureen said, weighing it.

“Or for an old one. But there is a belief here that extends to the Cathars and maybe beyond, a belief that this region was the center of duality: that the King of the World, old Rex Mundi himself, lives here. The earthly balance of light and dark, good and evil, takes place in this strange little village and its immediate environs. And on some level, those two elements are at war with each other all the time, right here under our feet. You think it’s eerie here during the day? You couldn’t pay me to walk these streets in the middle of the night. There is something very important about this place, and it isn’t all good.”

Maureen nodded at Tammy. “I feel that, too. So maybe Dali was off by about forty miles. Maybe Rennes-le-Château is actually the center of the universe?”

Peter chimed in, more seriously. “Well, that would have made sense for the medieval people of France as this
was
their universe. But do people really believe this still?”

“All I can tell you is that there are strange occurrences here that no one can explain, and they happen all the time. Here, in Arques, and in the surrounding areas where the châteaux were built. Some say that the Cathars built their castles as stone fortresses against the energies of darkness. They chose to build on top of vortexes or power points where they could conduct holy ceremonies to control or defeat the forces of darkness. And all of the châteaux have towers, which is significant.”

Peter was listening carefully. “But wouldn’t towers be strategic, built for defensive purposes?”

“Sure.” Tammy nodded emphatically. “But that doesn’t explain why each of these châteaux has legends involving alchemy within their towers. The towers are renowned for being places where some kind of magic or transformation occurred. It relates directly to the alchemical motto ‘As above, so below.’ Towers represent earth, because they’re grounded, but they also represent heaven because they reach to the sky, making them appropriate locations for conducting alchemical experiments. And like Saunière’s tower, they were all built with twenty-two stairs.”

“Why twenty-two?” Maureen asked, her interest piqued.

“Twenty-two is a master number, and numerological elements are critical in alchemy. The master numbers are eleven, twenty-two, and thirty-three. But twenty-two is the pattern you will see most frequently in this area as it pertains to divine female energy. You’ll note that Mary Magdalene’s feast day on the church calendar…”

“Is the twenty-second of July,” Peter and Maureen interrupted simultaneously.

“Bingo. So to finally answer your question, maybe that’s why Mary Magdalene came here, because she knew of the natural power elements or understood something about the struggle between light and dark as it happens here. This region wasn’t unknown to the people of Palestine, you know. The Herod family owned retreats not all that far from here. There is even a tradition that says Mary Magdalene’s mother was originally of Languedoc stock. So maybe she was coming home in some way.”

Tammy looked up at the crumbling tower of the Château Hautpol. “What I wouldn’t give to have been an immortal fly on the wall in that place.”

The Languedoc
June 23, 2005

T
HEY DROPPED
T
AMMY OFF IN
C
OUIZA,
where she was meeting some friends for a late lunch. Maureen was disappointed that Tammy wouldn’t be joining them until later; she was nervous about approaching Sinclair’s home without a mutual friend to make things less awkward. And she could feel Peter’s tension. He was doing his best to hide it, but it was there in the tightening of his arms on the steering wheel. Perhaps staying at Sinclair’s was a mistake after all.

But they had already committed to doing so, and to change their minds now would appear rude and insulting to their host. Maureen didn’t want to risk that. Sinclair was too important a piece of her puzzle.

Peter eased the rental car from the road and through the enormous iron gates. Maureen noted as they passed that the gates were decorated with large gold fleurs-de-lis intertwined with vines of grapes — or, perhaps, blue apples. The winding driveway curved uphill, through the sprawling and sumptuous estate that was the Château des Pommes Bleues.

They stopped in front of the château, both speechless for a moment at the sheer size and grandeur of the property, a perfectly restored castle built in the sixteenth century. As Peter and Maureen stepped out of the car, Sinclair’s imposing majordomo, the giant Roland, emerged from the front door. Two liveried servants scurried around the car to gather luggage and otherwise respond to Roland’s commands.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Paschal, Abbé Healy. Bienvenue.” Roland smiled suddenly and the expression softened his face, causing both Maureen and Peter to release their collective indrawn breaths. “Welcome to Château des Pommes Bleues. Monsieur Sinclair is most delighted that you are here!”

Maureen and Peter were left to wait in the lavish entry hall as Roland went in search of his master. It wasn’t a hardship — the room was filled with valuable art and priceless antiques, the equal of those in many a museum in France.

Maureen stopped at a glass case that served as a focal point for the room, and Peter followed. A massive and ornate silver chalice occupied the case, and a human skull rested in a place of honor in the reliquary. The skull was bleached by time, yet a distinct split could be seen across the cranial bone. A lock of hair — faded, yet still carrying an obvious red pigment — was placed alongside the skull within the chalice.

“The ancients believed that red hair was a source of great magic.” Bérenger Sinclair had arrived behind them. Maureen jumped a little at his unexpected voice, then turned to respond.

“The ancients never had to attend public school in Louisiana.”

Sinclair laughed, a rich Celtic sound, and reached out to run a finger playfully through Maureen’s hair. “Were there no boys at your school?”

Maureen smiled, but returned her attention to the relic in the case quickly before he could see her blush. She read aloud from the placard within the case.

“The skull of King Dagobert the Second.”

“One of my more colorful ancestors,” Sinclair replied.

Peter was fascinated and a little incredulous.
“Saint
Dagobert the Second? The last Merovingian king? You’re a descendant of his?”

“Yes. And your grasp of history is as fine as your Latin. Well done, Father.”

“Refresh my memory.” Maureen looked sheepish. “Sorry, but my real grasp of French history doesn’t start until Louis Quatorze. Who were the Merovingians again?”

Peter answered, “An early line of kings in what is now France and Germany. Ruled from about the fifth to the eighth centuries. The line died out with the death of this Dagobert.”

Maureen pointed to the jagged split in the skull. “Something tells me he didn’t die of natural causes.”

Sinclair answered. “Not exactly. His godson shoved a lance into his brain through an eye socket while he slept.”

“So much for family loyalty,” Maureen replied.

“Sadly, he chose religious duty over family loyalty, a dilemma that has plagued many throughout history. Isn’t that right, Father Healy?”

Peter frowned at the perceived implication. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sinclair gestured grandly to a heraldic shield on the wall: a cross surrounded by roses over which a Latin inscription read

ELIGE MAGISTRUM
.