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All eight walls contained deep niches where identical black coffins were stacked from floor to ceiling, each with a golden nameplate. The names on the coffins were from the pages of Julián’s history books—King Ferdinand … Queen Isabella … King Charles V, Holy Roman emperor.
In the silence, Julián could feel the weight of his father’s loving hand on his shoulder, and the gravity of the moment struck him. One day my father will be buried in this very room.
Without a word, father and son climbed out of the earth, away from death, and back into the light. Once they were outside in the blazing Spanish sun, the king crouched down and looked eight-year-old Julián in the eye.
“Memento mori,” the monarch whispered. “Remember death. Even for those who wield great power, life is brief. There is only one way to triumph over death, and that is by making our lives masterpieces. We must seize every opportunity to show kindness and to love fully. I see in your eyes that you have your mother’s generous soul. Your conscience will be your guide. When life is dark, let your heart show you the way.”
Decades later, Julián needed no reminders that he had done precious little to make his life a masterpiece. In fact, he had barely managed to escape the king’s shadow and establish himself as his own man.
I’ve disappointed my father in every way.
For years, Julián had followed his father’s advice and let his heart show the way; but it was a tortuous road when his heart longed for a Spain so utterly contrary to that of his father. Julián’s dreams for his beloved country were so bold that they could never be uttered until his father’s death, and even then, Julián had no idea how his actions would be received, not only by the royal palace, but by the entire nation. All Julián could do was wait, keep an open heart, and respect tradition.
And then, three months ago, everything had changed.
I met Ambra Vidal.
The vivacious, strong-minded beauty had turned Julián’s world upside down. Within days of their first meeting, Julián finally understood the words of his father. Let your heart show you the way … and seize every opportunity to love fully! The elation of falling in love was like nothing Julián had ever experienced, and he sensed he might finally be taking his very first steps toward making his life a masterpiece.
Now, however, as the prince stared blankly down the road ahead, he was overcome by a foreboding sense of loneliness and isolation. His father was dying; the woman he loved was not speaking to him; and he had just admonished his trusted mentor, Bishop Valdespino.
“Prince Julián,” the bishop urged gently. “We should go. Your father is frail, and he is eager to speak to you.”
Julián turned slowly to his father’s lifelong friend. “How much time do you think he has?” he whispered.
Valdespino’s voice trembled as if he were on the verge of tears. “He asked me not to worry you, but I sense the end is coming faster than anyone anticipated. He wants to say good-bye.”
“Why didn’t you tell me where we were going?” Julián asked. “Why all the lies and secrecy?”
“I’m sorry, I had no choice. Your father gave me explicit orders. He ordered me to insulate you from the outside world and from the news until he had a chance to speak to you personally.”
“Insulate me from … what news?”
“I think it will be best if you let your father explain.”
Julián studied the bishop a long moment. “Before I see him, there is something I need to know. Is he lucid? Is he rational?”
Valdespino gave him an uncertain look. “Why do you ask?”
“Because,” Julián replied, “his demands tonight seem strange and impulsive.”
Valdespino nodded sadly. “Impulsive or not, your father is still the king. I love him, and I do as he commands. We all do.”
CHAPTER 73
STANDING SIDE BY side at the display case, Robert Langdon and Ambra Vidal peered down at the William Blake manuscript, illuminated by the soft glow of the oil lamp. Father Beña had wandered off to straighten up a few pews, politely giving them some privacy.
Langdon was having trouble reading the tiny letters in the poem’s handwritten text, but the larger header at the top of the page was perfectly legible.
The Four Zoas
Seeing the words, Langdon instantly felt a ray of hope. The Four Zoas was the title of one of Blake’s best-known prophetic poems—a massive work that was divided into nine “nights,” or chapters. The poem’s themes, as Langdon recalled from his college reading, centered on the demise of conventional religion and the eventual dominance of science.
Langdon scanned down the stanzas of text, seeing the handwritten lines come to an end halfway down the page at an elegantly sketched “finis divisionem”—the graphic equivalent of “The End.”
This is the last page of the poem, he realized. The finale of one of Blake’s prophetic masterpieces!
Langdon leaned in and squinted at the tiny handwriting, but he couldn’t quite read the text in the dim lantern light.
Ambra was already crouched down, her face an inch from the glass. She quietly skimmed the poem, pausing to read one of the lines out loud. “‘And Man walks forth from midst of the fires, the evil is all consum’d.’” She turned to Langdon. “The evil is all consumed?”
Langdon considered it, nodding vaguely. “I believe Blake is referring to the eradication of corrupt religion. A religionless future was one of his recurring prophecies.”
