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Although
Escrivá
had
died
in
1975
,
his
wisdom
lived
on
,
his
words
still
whispered
by
thousands
of
faithful
servants
around
the
globe
as
they
knelt
on
the
floor
and
performed
the
sacred
practice
known
as
»
corporal
mortification
.
»
Silas
turned
his
attention
now
to
a
heavy
knotted
rope
coiled
neatly
on
the
floor
beside
him
.
TheDiscipline
.
The
knots
were
caked
with
dried
blood
.
Eager
for
the
purifying
effects
of
his
own
agony
,
Silas
said
a
quick
prayer
.
Then
,
gripping
one
end
of
the
rope
,
he
closed
his
eyes
and
swung
it
hard
over
his
shoulder
,
feeling
the
knots
slap
against
his
back
.
He
whipped
it
over
his
shoulder
again
,
slashing
at
his
flesh
.
Again
and
again
,
he
lashed
.
Castigo
corpus
meum
.
Finally
,
he
felt
the
blood
begin
to
flow
.
The
crisp
April
air
whipped
through
the
open
window
of
the
Citroën
ZX
as
it
skimmed
south
past
the
Opera
House
and
crossed
Place
Vendôme
.
In
the
passenger
seat
,
Robert
Langdon
felt
the
city
tear
past
him
as
he
tried
to
clear
his
thoughts
.
His
quick
shower
and
shave
had
left
him
looking
reasonably
presentable
but
had
done
little
to
ease
his
anxiety
.
The
frightening
image
of
the
curator
’
s
body
remained
locked
in
his
mind
.
Jacques
Saunière
is
dead
.
Langdon
could
not
help
but
feel
a
deep
sense
of
loss
at
the
curator
’
s
death
.
Despite
Saunière
’
s
reputation
for
being
reclusive
,
his
recognition
for
dedication
to
the
arts
made
him
an
easy
man
to
revere
.
His
books
on
the
secret
codes
hidden
in
the
paintings
of
Poussin
and
Teniers
were
some
of
Langdon
’
s
favorite
classroom
texts
.
Tonight
’
s
meeting
had
been
one
Langdon
was
very
much
looking
forward
to
,
and
he
was
disappointed
when
the
curator
had
not
shown
.
Again
the
image
of
the
curator
’
s
body
flashed
in
his
mind
.
Jacques
Saunière
did
that
to
himself
?
Langdon
turned
and
looked
out
the
window
,
forcing
the
picture
from
his
mind
.
Outside
,
the
city
was
just
now
winding
down
–
street
vendors
wheeling
carts
of
candied
amandes
,
waiters
carrying
bags
of
garbage
to
the
curb
,
a
pair
of
late
night
lovers
cuddling
to
stay
warm
in
a
breeze
scented
with
jasmine
blossom
.
The
Citroën
navigated
the
chaos
with
authority
,
its
dissonant
two
-
tone
siren
parting
the
traffic
like
a
knife
.
«
Le
capitaine
was
pleased
to
discover
you
were
still
in
Paris
tonight
,
»
the
agent
said
,
speaking
for
the
first
time
since
they
’
d
left
the
hotel
.
«
A
fortunate
coincidence
.
