达芬奇密码 作者: 美 丹·布朗(英文版)-第100部分

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rds。
。。。　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；　driving　his　legs　out　from　under　him；　and　sending　the　man　down；　his　head　hitting　the　floor。　The　second　officer　staggered　to　his　feet　in　the　doorway；　and　Silas　drove　a　knee　into　his　groin；　then　went　clambering　over　the　writhing　body　into　the　hall。
Almost　naked；　Silas　hurled　his　pale　body　down　the　staircase。　He　knew　he　had　been　betrayed；　but　by　whom？　When　he　reached　the　foyer；　more　officers　were　surging　through　the　front　door。　Silas　turned　the　other　way　and　dashed　deeper　into　the　residence　hall。　The　women's　entrance。　Every　Opus　Dei　building　has　one。　Winding　down　narrow　hallways；　Silas　snaked　through　a　kitchen；　past　terrified　workers；　who　left　to　avoid　the　naked　albino　as　he　knocked　over　bowls　and　silverware；　bursting　into　a　dark　hallway　near　the　boiler　room。　He　now　saw　the　door　he　sought；　an　exit　light　gleaming　at　the　end。
Running　full　speed　through　the　door　out　into　the　rain；　Silas　leapt　off　the　low　landing；　not　seeing　the　officer　ing　the　other　way　until　it　was　too　late。　The　two　men　collided；　Silas's　broad；　naked　shoulder　grinding　into　the　man's　sternum　with　crushing　force。　He　drove　the　officer　backward　onto　the　pavement；　landing　hard　on　top　of　him。　The　officer's　gun　clattered　away。　Silas　could　hear　men　running　down　the　hall　shouting。　Rolling；　he　grabbed　the　loose　gun　just　as　the　officers　emerged。　A　shot　rang　out　on　the　stairs；　and　Silas　felt　a　searing　pain　below　his　ribs。　Filled　with　rage；　he　opened　fire　at　all　three　officers；　their　blood　spraying。
A　dark　shadow　loomed　behind；　ing　out　of　nowhere。　The　angry　hands　that　grabbed　at　his　bare　shoulders　felt　as　if　they　were　infused　with　the　power　of　the　devil　himself。　The　man　roared　in　his　ear。　SILAS；　NO！
Silas　spun　and　fired。　Their　eyes　met。　Silas　was　already　screaming　in　horror　as　Bishop　Aringarosa　fell。
　
CHAPTER　97

More　than　three　thousand　people　are　entombed　or　enshrined　within　Westminster　Abbey。　The　colossal　stone　interior　burgeons　with　the　remains　of　kings；　statesmen；　scientists；　poets；　and　musicians。　Their　tombs；　packed　into　every　last　niche　and　alcove；　range　in　grandeur　from　the　most　regal　of　mausoleums—that　of　Queen　Elizabeth　I；　whose　canopied　sarcophagus　inhabits　its　own　private；　apsidal　chapel—down　to　the　most　modest　etched　floor　tiles　whose　inscriptions　have　worn　away　with　centuries　of　foot　traffic；　leaving　it　to　one's　imagination　whose　relics　might　lie　below　the　tile　in　the　undercroft。
Designed　in　the　style　of　the　great　cathedrals　of　Amiens；　Chartres；　and　Canterbury；　Westminster　Abbey　is　considered　neither　cathedral　nor　parish　church。　It　bears　the　classification　of　royal　peculiar；　subject　only　to　the　Sovereign。　Since　hosting　the　coronation　of　William　the　Conqueror　on　Christmas　Day　in　1066；　the　dazzling　sanctuary　has　witnessed　an　endless　procession　of　royal　ceremonies　and　affairs　of　state—from　the　canonization　of　Edward　the　Confessor；　to　the　marriage　of　Prince　Andrew　and　Sarah　Ferguson；　to　the　funerals　of　Henry　V；　Queen　Elizabeth　I；　and　Lady　Diana。
Even　so；　Robert　Langdon　currently　felt　no　interest　in　any　of　the　abbey's　ancient　history；　save　one　event—the　funeral　of　the　British　knight　Sir　Isaac　Newton。
In　London　lies　a　knight　a　Pope　interred。
Hurrying　through　the　grand　portico　on　the　north　transept；　Langdon　and　Sophie　were　met　by　guards　who　politely　ushered　them　through　the　abbey's　newest　addition—a　large　walk…through　metal　detector—now　present　in　most　historic　buildings　in　London。　They　both　passed　through　without　setting　off　the　alarm　and　continued　to　the　abbey　entrance。
Stepping　across　the　threshold　into　Westminster　Abbey；　Langdon　felt　the　outside　world　evaporate　with　a　sudden　hush。　No　rumble　of　traffic。　No　hiss　of　rain。　Just　a　deafening　silence；　which　seemed　to　reverberate　back　and　forth　as　if　the　building　were　whispering　to　itself。
Langdon's　and　Sophie's　eyes；　like　those　of　almost　every　visitor；　shifted　immediately　skyward；　where　the　abbey's　great　abyss　seemed　to　explode　overhead。　Gray　stone　columns　ascended　like　redwoods　into　the　shadows；　arching　gracefully　over　dizzying　expanses；　and　then　shooting　back　down　to　the　stone　floor。　Before　them；　the　wi