The Book of Love Read online

  Marie de Negre shall choose

  when the time is come for The Expected One.

  She who is born of the paschal lamb

  when the day and night are equal,

  she who is a child of the resurrection.

  She who carries the Sangre-El will be granted the key

  upon viewing the Black Day of the Skull.

  She will become the new Shepherdess of The Way.

  THE FIRST PROPHECY OF L’ATTENDUE, THE EXPECTED ONE,

  FROM THE WRITINGS OF SARAH-TAMAR,

  AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO

  Château des Pommes Bleues

  Arques, France

  present day

  BÉRENGER SINCLAIR stood before the encased artifact that dominated his expansive library. The case was mounted above a massive stone fireplace, the hearth currently dormant owing to the late spring warmth that had come to the rocky foothills of the Languedoc. Lord Sinclair was a collector of the highest order. He was a man gifted with the political power and financial resources to obtain most anything he desired. The object in this case was of immense value to him not only because he was a serious collector of historical pieces, but because it was a symbol of his deeply held spiritual beliefs.

  To the casual eye it could have been any medieval banner, tattered and faded almost beyond identification. The bloodstains that lined the edges had turned a muddy shade of brown, over five and a half centuries since the soldier who carried this banner had been put to death. Her death.

  Closer inspection of the fabric showed what had once been a richly embroidered motto emblazoned across a background of golden fleurs-de-lis. It was a simple yet powerful conjunction of names that read “Jhesus-Maria.” The bold and visionary soldier who had carried this banner was executed for heresy, burned at the stake until dead in the town square of Rouen in 1431. While the official records of her trial indicate a number of convenient charges created by the Church leaders in France at the time, this banner represented her true crime: belief that Jesus had been married to Mary Magdalene, belief that their descendants belonged on the throne of France at any cost, and the subsequent conviction that the original and pure practices of Christianity could be restored under the appropriate king. This was the reason that the names were connected: they were the names of man and wife, conjoined in love and law.

  What God has put together, let no man tear asunder. Jhesus-Maria. This was the banner carried by Saint Joan in the siege of Orléans, the standard of the maid of Lorraine, the emblem of the visionary soldier known to the world as Joan of Arc. Beneath the case inscribed in gold was one of the saint’s more famous quotes. For a girl of nineteen, she had been astonishingly eloquent. And uniquely courageous.

  I am not afraid…I was born to do this. I would rather die than do something which I know to be against God’s will.

  Bérenger Sinclair ran his hands through his thick, dark hair as he stood before the artifact in careful thought. On days like this, when he was tired and strained, he came into his library to pay homage to this brave teenage girl who had been instilled with a faith so great that she feared nothing and sacrificed everything. She inspired him and gave him strength.

  He felt a strange closeness to her, for reasons that were complicated within his family and tradition. History recorded that Joan was born on the sixth day of January, although insiders within his heretical culture knew that this was not true. Joan’s actual birth at the vernal equinox had to be obscured to protect her from the dangerous and watchful eyes of the medieval Church. Specifically, she had to be shielded from those who monitored female children from select French families who were born on or near the vernal equinox. January the sixth had been chosen as a “safe” date for Joan’s birth; it was celebrated on the liturgical calendar as the feast day of the Epiphany, the day when light comes to the world. Bérenger knew this well, as it was his own birthday.

  Sadly, obscuring her birth date had not saved the little maid of Lorraine from her fate. For some, destiny is inescapable. Joan had embraced her legacy as the daughter of a potent prophecy, all too publicly.

  The prophecy, referred to as l’Attendue in French and translated into English as “The Expected One,” referred to a series of women in history who would come forward and preserve the truth—the truth about Jesus and Mary Magdalene and about the gospels that were authored by each of them separately. According to the prophecy, these Expected Ones would be born within a certain period surrounding the vernal equinox, come from a specific bloodline, and be blessed with holy visions that would lead each to the truth, and to her destiny.

  As The Expected One of her time, Saint Joan paid the ultimate price, as many others had before and since.

  And that was why he was here, in the library today, in contemplation before Joan’s precious artifact. Because he knew in his heart that it was time for him to fulfill his own legacy. For this was where he held something else in common with brave Joan: he had his own prophecy to contend with. And he knew that God had given him extraordinary resources to do just that, knew that all the blessings he had accumulated in his life were provided so that he might fulfill his own promise, in this place and this time in history. He had done this by aiding Maureen in her search, playing an integral role in the discovery of Mary Magdalene’s magnificent, untold story. But that treasured gospel was now out of his reach and in the hands of the Church. Further, it appeared that Maureen was also out of his reach. While he knew he had the ability to assist in her latest quest for the illusory Book of Love, she did not currently share that sentiment.

  It was his own fault that Maureen did not want to include him in this. After the Church commandeered the gospel, Bérenger had behaved like an insensitive dolt toward her, something for which he now did heavy penance.

  At a loss to determine exactly what his role was currently, he was feeling rudderless and alone. This thing called destiny was a complex and often inscrutable taskmaster.

  “Bérenger, may I speak to you?”

  Turning to the door, Bérenger smiled at the hulking, masculine form of Roland Gélis, his closest friend and confidant. Roland had lived at the château since he was a child, when his father was major-domo during the life of Alistair Sinclair, Bérenger’s grandfather and the fearsome family patriarch who built a billion-dollar fortune in North Sea oil. Together, the boys had been raised in the traditions of Pommes Bleues, the French phrase that translated to “blue apples.” It was a reference to the large, round grapes found in that region of France, grapes that, for centuries, had represented the bloodline of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. The association was derived from the verse in John fifteen, “I am the vine and you are the branches.” All descendants of Jesus and Mary Magdalene, either genetically or spiritually, were branches of the vine. The Languedoc was high heretic country.

  Though the Gélis family had worked in service to the Sinclairs for several generations, they were not subservient. They were nobility in their own right, in the quiet way that so many families in the Languedoc and Midi-Pyrenees region were, carrying the secret traditions of their people with extraordinary grace and dignity, even when subjected to the greatest persecutions. The Gélises were of Cathar heritage, and they were pure.

  “Of course, Roland. Come in.”

  Roland sensed immediately that the Scotsman was not himself.

  “What is bothering you, brother?”

  Bérenger shook his head. “Nothing. Everything.” He took a breath and managed to look embarrassed as he confessed, “I fear I am something of a lost sheep without my shepherdess.”

  “Ah.” Roland understood immediately. Bérenger had been self-flagellating over Maureen since the argument that had trounced their fledgling relationship before it had ever had time to grow. Prior to that explosion, they had all assumed that given the immense adventure they shared during the search for Magdalene’s lost gospel, they would remain inseparable: Bérenger Sinclair and Maureen Paschal, Roland Gélis and Tamara Wisdom, who was Maureen’s bes
t friend and Roland’s fiancée. They were the Four Musketeers, bound by honor and a common mission—to defend the truth against the world. They had even installed a wood plaque inscribed with the famous quote from D’Artagnan over the library door:

  ALL FOR ONE, ONE FOR ALL—THAT IS OUR MOTTO, IS IT NOT?

  But when Maureen returned to California to work on her book, some of that intimacy began to erode. Maureen was consumed with the passion to tell Magdalene’s story, and to chronicle their adventures in finding it while they were still so fresh in her mind. That was her mission and Bérenger respected her for it. They had all left her alone and hoped she would return to the château when she was ready. But since the release of the book, Maureen was busier than she had ever been. She had time only for the work that Mary had given her.

  And then there was Peter.

  Father Peter Healy was Maureen’s cousin and closest confidant. He was also the reason for the crack in the foundation of Bérenger’s relationship with Maureen. It was Peter who had stolen the Magdalene gospel and taken it to the Vatican. This betrayal had shocked them all, but Maureen had forgiven Peter quickly. She had defended him to the others, saying that he had only done what he felt in his heart was best for Mary Magdalene’s message. Still, Bérenger believed that the priest’s loyalties pointed far more clearly to the Vatican than to Maureen and the truth that she had uncovered.

  The events that followed outraged Bérenger Sinclair. The Church tightened the restrictions on what Maureen was and was not able to reveal regarding her discovery of what they referred to as the Arques Gospel. Bérenger blamed Peter for surrendering the priceless document to the Vatican in the first place and putting Maureen in a position that forced her to compromise. Further, he was increasingly frustrated by the distance that separated him from Maureen and annoyed by what often felt like her blind loyalty to Peter. In the most heated argument of their relationship, a frustrated Bérenger accused Maureen of spiritual weakness for allowing Peter and his Church to walk all over her and suppress the truth. Maureen was shattered by his accusation. The crack in their relationship had become a chasm.

  When Bérenger Sinclair met Maureen Paschal, he believed he had discovered something he had searched for yet despaired of ever finding: the woman who was his equal. Maureen was his one and only soul mate, the partner who could not only share in his visions of a better world but who had the passion and the courage to make those changes with him. There was tremendous strength in that petite body, and like him, she possessed a Celtic warrior’s spirit that was an uncommon force of nature. Thus his accusation of weakness cut her to the core in a way that he was keenly able to understand. He often had reason to repent the Celtic aspects of his own nature, particularly when his passion manifested itself in the warrior’s approach favored by his Scottish ancestors. His DNA was a double-edged sword, as was Maureen’s. That they were so alike in their heritage and spirit was equal parts blessing and curse as they tried to forge a relationship. If they could learn to work together in harmony and harness their shared passions for the work and for each other, they could create an unstoppable energy toward positive change in the world. But those same passions had the power to be singularly destructive.

  That Maureen had included his name most tenderly in the dedication to her book, alongside those of Tamara and Roland, was the only thing that had made Bérenger Sinclair truly smile since the argument that had separated them.

  “I pray that we will see Maureen soon,” Roland said in his gentle way. “And something has just occurred that makes me believe that it might be sooner than we think.”

  “What? What happened?”

  Roland smiled at him. “Tamara has just received a strange package, addressed to you. Stay here. We will bring it to you. But while you’re here”—Roland pointed to the far library wall where the Sinclairs’ illustrious family tree, painted from floor to ceiling, spanned a thousand years of history—“take a close look at the mural of your family’s lineage.”

  And so it was that the Queen of the South became known as the Queen of Sheba, which was to say, the Wise Queen of the people of Sabea. Her given name was Makeda, which in her own tongue was “the fiery one.” She was a priestess-queen, dedicated to a goddess of the sun who was known to shine beauty and abundance upon the joyous people known as Sabeans. Their goddess was known as “she who sends forth her strong rays of benevolence.” Her consort was the moon god and the stars were their children.

  The people of Sabea were wise above most others in the world, with an understanding of the influence of the stars and the sanctity of numbers that came from their heavenly deities. They were called the People of Architecture, and their structures rivaled those of the greatest Egyptians, so astonishing was their understanding of building in stone. The queen was the founder of great schools to teach such art and architecture, and the sculptors that served her were able to create images of gods and men in stone that were of exceptional beauty. Her people were literate and committed to the written word and the glory of writing. Poetry and song flourished within her compassionate realm.

  A virtuous people were the Sabeans. Their fiery sun queen reigned in her kingdom with warmth, light, and love, and they were therefore possessed of every kind of abundance: love, joy, fertility, wisdom, as well as all the gold and jewels anyone could require. Because they never doubted the existence of abundance, they never knew a day of want. It was the most golden of kingdoms.

  It came to pass that the great King Solomon learned of this unparalleled Queen Makeda by virtue of a prophet who advised him, “A woman who is your equal and counterpart reigns in a faraway land of the South. You would learn much from her, and she from you. Meeting her is your destiny.” Solomon did not, at first, believe that such a woman could exist, but his curiosity caused him to send an invitation for her, a request to visit his own kingdom on holy Mount Sion. The messengers who came to Sabea to advise the great and fiery Queen Makeda of Solomon’s invitation discovered that his wisdom was already legendary in her land, as was the splendor of his court, and she had awareness of him. Her own prophetesses had foreseen that she would one day travel far to find the king with whom she would perform the hieros-gamos, the sacred marriage that combined the body with the mind and spirit in the act of divine union. He would be the twin brother of her soul, and she would become his sister-bride, halves of the same whole, complete only in their coming together.

  But the Queen of Sheba was not a woman easily won and would not give herself in so sacred a union to any but the man she would recognize as a part of her soul. As she made the great trek to Mount Sion with her camel train, Makeda devised a series of tests and questions that she would put to the king. His answers to these would help her to determine if he was her equal, her own soul’s twin, conceived as one at the dawn of eternity.

  For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.

  THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON AND SHEBA,

  PART ONE, AS PRESERVED IN THE LIBRO ROSSO

  Château des Pommes Bleues

  Arques, France

  present day

  BÉRENGER, ROLAND, AND TAMMY sat around the large mahogany table in the library. The object of their scrutiny was what appeared to be an ancient document, a long scroll on a type of parchment that was badly deteriorated with age. The scroll was sandwiched between two panes of glass in an effort to preserve it and to hold together the crumbling segments of what looked like a medieval jigsaw puzzle.

  The box containing the fragile document had been delivered in the early morning to the château, addressed to Bérenger Sinclair in care of the Society of Blue Apples, and left by an anonymous courier who did not wait to be identified. The housekeeper who received the package said she believed the courier may have been Italian because of his clothing, car, and accent, but she was uncertain. He was most assuredly not local.

  “It’s a family tree,” Tammy commented first, as she ran her hand from the name at the top of the glass. “There’s some Latin here at the top, and
then it starts with this man. Guidone someone or other. Born in 1077 in Mantua, Italy.”

  Bérenger, gifted with an aristocrat’s classical education, squinted to read the fading Latin at the top of the scroll. “It looks like it says ‘I, Matilda…’ At least, I think it says Matilda. Yes, it does. It says, ‘I, Matilda, by the Grace of God Who Is.’ Strange phrasing, but that’s what it says. The next sentence says, ‘I am united and inseparable with the Count Guidone and his son, Guido Guerra, and offer them the protection of Tuscany in perpetuity.’ And it says that this son Guido Guerra was born in Florence at a monastery called Santa Trinità. Why would the son of a count be born in a monastery? It’s…odd.”

  “It’s not the only thing that’s odd,” Roland commented. As he did so, he pointed out a name on the lineage. “Look at these names, Bérenger.”

  Bérenger stopped short as he followed Roland’s finger on the glass. On a line from the thirteenth century, there were names he recognized. A French knight by the name of Luc Saint Clair married a Tuscan noblewoman. The same names were listed in his own family genealogy as his own ancestors. But this would not be common knowledge outside their immediate and protected circle. Whoever sent this package knew, at the very least, that it had relevance to Bérenger Sinclair and that somehow these family trees intersected.

  Tammy’s attention was drawn to a card that was enclosed with the document and tied to a tiny, gilded hand mirror. The paper on the card was elegant, a heavy parchment, embossed with a strange monogram at the bottom center. A capital letter A was tied to a capital letter E by a tasseled rope that knotted in the center of both letters. That in itself was not so unusual; what made the monogram strange was that the E was facing backwards, almost as a mirror image of the A. The card was inscribed with a handwritten poem of sorts:

  Art Will Save the World,