Chapter 62 Chapter 61

The air in the Pantheon was cold and humid, with a heavy sense of history.The ceiling stretched overhead as if without weight—a hundred and forty-one-foot unsupported span greater even than the dome of St. Peter's.As usual, Langdon shivered as he entered the cavernous home.This is a remarkable combination of technology and art.Above them, the famous round hole in the roof shone in the narrow ray of the setting sun.Skylight, Langdon thought, Devil's Den, here they come. Langdon's gaze followed the curve of the sloping ceiling, his gaze fell on the columned wall, and down to the gleaming marble floor beneath their feet.The echo of footsteps and the whispers of tourists echoed under the dome.Langdon glanced at the dozens of tourists wandering aimlessly in the shadows.Are you here? "It looks so quiet," said Victoria, still holding his hand.

Langdon nodded. "Where is Raphael's tomb?" Langdon thought for a moment, trying to figure out where he was.He measured the perimeter of the house.tomb.altar.beams and columns.niche.He pointed to a particularly ornate coffin on the left across the room. "I think that's Raphael's tomb over there." Victoria glanced at the rest of the room. "I don't see anyone who looks like a killer for a cardinal. Shall we take a look around?" Langdon nodded. "There's only one place here where someone might hide. We'd better check the alcove."

"Alcove?" "Yes," Langdon pointed, "an alcove in the wall." A series of niches have been hewn along the surrounding walls, and some graves are interspersed among them.These alcoves, though small, are big enough to hide in the shadows.Sadly, Langdon knew that these niches once housed ancient Greek gods, but the pagan statues had been destroyed when the Holy See converted the Pantheon into a Catholic church.He felt a pang of defeated grief when he knew he was on the first altar of science and the logo was no longer there.He wondered which statue it was and what direction it was pointing.Langdon couldn't imagine anything more thrilling than finding an Illuminati icon—a statue that pointed darkly to the path of light.He wondered again who the unknown Illuminati sculptor really was.

"I'll walk along the arc on the left." Victoria pointed to the half circle on the left and said, "Go to the right, and we'll see you after turning 180 degrees." Langdon smiled faintly. With Victoria gone, Langdon felt a sense of grotesque horror slowly seeping into his mind. He turned around and walked to the right, the killer's voice seemed to echo low in the blind corner he was in.At eight o'clock, the pure sacrifice on the altar of science.Mathematical progression of death.Eight, nine, thousand, eleven...twelve seats in the middle of the night.Langdon checked his watch: seven fifty-two, eight minutes to go.

Walking toward the first alcove, Langdon passed the tomb of a Catholic Italian emperor.Like many sarcophagi in Rome, this sarcophagus is placed at an angle against the wall, which seems incongruous. Many tourists seem mystified by this.Langdon didn't pause to explain.Formal Christian graves are usually staggered from buildings so that they face east.It was an old superstition Langdon had discussed in class 212's semiotics class last month. "That's irrelevant!" a girl blurted out as Langdon explained why the tomb faced east. "Why would Christians want their graves to face the sun? We're talking about Christianity...not sun worship!"

Langdon walked to the blackboard with an apple in his mouth and a smile. "Mr. Hitzroth!" he cried. A young man dozed off in the back sat up straight. "What! Call me?" Langdon pointed to a poster on the wall about Renaissance art. "Who is that man kneeling before God?" "Uh...some saint." "Clever. But how do you know he's a saint?" "Is it because he has a halo on his head?" "Great, what does this golden halo remind you of?" Hitzroth chuckled. "Yes! The Egyptian stuff we learned last term. Those... 坶...!"

"Thank you, Hitzroth, and go back to sleep." Langdon turned to the class again and said, "Halos, like many symbols in Christianity, were borrowed from the ancient Egyptian belief in sun worship. Examples of sun worship abound." "Excuse me, what did you say?" said the girl in the front row, "I go to church all the time, but I just don't see that much sun worship!" "Really? What do you celebrate on the twenty-fifth of December?" "Holy spit. Celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ." "But, according to the Bible, Christ was born in March, so what are we celebrating at the end of December?"

No one said anything. Langdon smiled slightly. "Guys, the twenty-fifth of December is the festival of the ancient pagan god of the unconquerable sun—just so on the day of the winter solstice. It's the time of celebration when the sun returns and the days grow longer." Langdon took another bite of the apple. "Conquering religions," he went on, "usually uses ready-made festivals so that the change of religion is not too shocking. This is called transmutation, and it helps people adapt to new religions. Believers remember the same sacred Dates, praying at the same sacred places, using the same symbols...they just have a different god."

At this moment, the girl in front of her looked furious. "You're implying that Christianity is just some...repackaged Apollonian worship!" "Not at all. Christianity did not just borrow symbols from Apollonian worship. The Christian ritual of canonization was derived from the ancient 'god-making' rites. And the act of 'eating the gods', the Eucharist - was derived from the learned from the Aztecs. Even the concept of Christ's death for our sins may not be considered exclusively Christian; a young man's self-sacrifice to wash away the sins of his It exists in the tradition of Feathered Serpent worship."

The girl glared. "So, is there anything original in Christianity?" "There is little that is truly original in any assembled religion. Religions did not start out of nothing; they feed off each other to form themselves. Modern religion is a collage...an assimilated historical record , documenting humanity's quest for an understanding of divinity." "Hmm... wait a minute," Hitzroth said boldly, sounding conscious now. "I know a solid Christian thing. What about the image of our God? Christian art never portrays God as a sun god with an eagle, nor like the Aztecs, nor like other wacky Stuff. God in Christianity is an old man with a white beard, so our image of God is original, right?"

Langdon smiled slightly. "Early converts to Christianity abandoned their former gods—pagan gods, Roman gods, Greek gods, the sun god, Mithras, and so on—and they asked the church to teach them what their new Christian god would look like. Like what, the Church has wisely chosen the most awe-inspiring and authoritative face in all of written history...and a well-known face." Hitzroth looked suspicious. "An old man with a fluttering white beard?" Langdon pointed to the hierarchical chart of the ancient gods on the wall.On the top of the picture sits an old man with a white beard. "Does Zeus look familiar?" The class ended exactly at the scheduled time. "Good evening," said a man's voice. Langdon was taken aback.His thoughts went back to the Pantheon.He turned around and saw an old man wearing a blue cloak with a red cross hanging on his chest.The old man smiled at him, showing his gray teeth. "You're British, aren't you?" The man said with a thick Tuscan accent. Langdon blinked, confused. "No, actually, I'm an American." The man looked a little embarrassed. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You're dressed so well, I thought... so sorry." "Is there anything I can do for you?" Langdon asked, his heart beating wildly. "Actually I thought maybe I could be of service to you. I'm a tour guide here." The man pointed proudly at his government badge. "My job is to make your trip to Rome more interesting." more fun?Langdon was sure that this particular trip to Rome had been fun enough. "You look different," the guide flattered him. "You're undoubtedly more interested in culture than most. Maybe I can tell you a bit about the history of this fascinating building." Langdon smiled politely, "You're somewhat right, but I'm actually an art historian, and—" "Great!" The man's eyes lit up, as if he had won the first prize, "Then you must have had a good time!" "I think I'd rather—" "The Pantheon," said the man aloud, and began to spout words from memory, "built by Marcus Agrippa in 27 BC." "Yes," Langdon said in and out, "it was rebuilt again in AD 119." "This was the largest unsupported dome in the world until 1960 when its reputation was surpassed by the New Orleans Superdome!" Langdon sighed.The man talked endlessly. "In the fifth century a theologian called this pantheon the House of the Devil, warning that the holes in the roof were manholes for the devil!" Langdon made a mental picture.His gaze moved up to the skylight, and he recalled the plot Victoria had hinted at, and a horrific image flashed through his mind... a branded cardinal fell through the hole and fell on the marble floor.This many sets became a news.Langdon unconsciously looked around the Pantheon for reporters, and there were none.He took a deep breath.This is really a wild idea.A military deployment for such a thrilling show is absurd. Langdon continued to look around as the chattering docent followed him like a puppy eager to be petted.This reminds me, Langdon thought to himself, that there is nothing worse than meeting a fanatic art historian. On the other side of the Pantheon, Victoria was investigating intently.Standing alone for the first time since hearing the news of her father's death, she felt the harsh reality of the past eight hours looming again.Her father was murdered - brutally and suddenly.Almost as poignantly, my father's invention has also been tainted - now a tool of terrorists.Thinking that she was the one who invented the device to transport antimatter, she felt deeply guilty... that storage is counting down in the Vatican right now.It was originally to help her father and pursue the simple truth...but she became an accomplice of those who created chaos. Oddly enough, at this point in her life, the only thing that seemed reasonable to her was the presence of a total stranger, Robert Langdon.She felt an unspeakable comfort in his eyes... as calm and harmonious as the ocean she had left that morning.She was glad to have him there.Not only was Langdon a source of strength and hope for her, but he also used his sharp mind to find this opportunity to catch his father's killer. Victoria continued to search, taking a deep breath as she walked around the perimeter.All she could think of was revenge herself, and those unpredictable scenes made her very excited.Just like a determined lover... She wanted to find this executioner too much.Her determination today is that even nine cows will not be able to pull back.She felt panic and excitement, and felt something flowing in her Italian blood that she had never been aware of before... the whisper of Sicilian ancestors defending family honor with ruthless law.Feud, Victoria thought, understanding the meaning of the word for the first time in her life. The vision of revenge motivates her to keep going.She walked towards Rafael Santi's grave.Even from a distance, she could tell that this man was different.His coffin was different from other people's. It was embedded in the wall and had a protective plexiglass screen outside.Through the bars, she could see the front of the sarcophagus. Raphael Santi 1483-1520 Victoria carefully observed the tomb, and then looked at the sentence written on the sign next to Raphael's tomb. Then she looked at it again. And then... she read it again. After a while, she rushed towards the opposite side in horror. "Robert! Robert!"

---

Notes: