Glancing at my notebook, I see it was a warm, breezy Saturday in May in the year '06 when I'd come to visit my friend in Sussex. Abandoning a thriving practice in London, he'd retired to the countryside many years before. Keeping bees and selling their honey had become a pleasant avocation.

Following lunch, we strolled to Hammerwood Park, not far from his small, secluded villa. Sharing a bench under a holm oak, I fed the birds while he leaned back, resting his eyes, and we both enjoyed our pipes. Mine, a comfortable cherrywood, the bark still on the bowl. His, a battered, dark brown, underslung briar.

We became aware of a pair of teenagers approaching. From all appearances they'd been riding for quite a while and were now walking beside sleek, lightweight bicycles. Sipping bottled water, they were caught up in a heated exchange. The birds scattered at their approach.

"It's unnatural," we heard the girl say. "There's nothing wrong with being married."

"Feminine conceit," said the boy with a smirk, "thinking a man can't get along without women. I still think the whole Jesus thing was thought up by the Catholic Church to control people."

"Sure, Catholics are weird, all that mumbo-jumbo, the pope, those funny hats and all," the girl agreed. Pausing beneath the tree and resting their vehicles against its trunk, they continued in this vein for some time.

Eventually the young woman said with finality, "Look, I think Jesus was a real person with real passions. He got married, had real children by a real wife. Why not Mary Magdalene?"

To my surprise I heard my friend ask, "May I tell you why not? Pardon my intrusion," he added, politely touching the bill of his tweed cap, "but I'm fascinated by your certainty that Jesus of Nazareth must have married."

"Well, it's something I learned in school," the girl replied with an impertinent toss of her curls. "'Nobody would pay attention to a rabbi who weren't married,' my teacher said. And then, there's The Da Vinci Code tellin' all about Jesus."

My friend smiled. "My compliments to your teacher. However, the Dead Sea scrolls describe a Jewish sect, the Essenes, many of whom were rabbis, all of whom were unmarried. Men and women lived separately. Indeed, many historians have theorized a link between Jesus and the Essenes.

"As for The Da Vinci Code, I've read the novel. To be charitable, the story is a tissue of historical error, confused doctrine and outright lies. If the Catholic Church were of a mind to bring suit against the author, I'd be pleased to appear for the prosecution."

"You a lawyer?" the boy asked.

"Heavens, no." my friend chuckled. "In my profession as … a consultant … I was often called upon to present evidence in court." I smiled broadly at his modest understatement.

"Well, Jesus hung out with a lot of women," the girl insisted.

"To be sure," my friend replied, "but if you read the Gospels a bit more closely, you'll notice that the women he traveled with were married: Joanna, the wife of Chuza, and Salome, wife of Zebedee, mother of James and John, come to mind. Another Mary is identified as the wife of Alphæus, mother of James, Jude and Joses, the same identified by the Gospels as the brothers of Jesus, yet they have different parents."

The boy seemed unconvinced. "You tellin' me Jesus' mum hadn't any other kids?"

"So it seems," my friend nodded. "No one else is described as 'son of Mary' in the Gospels. The description itself points to Mary being a widow. Otherwise Jesus would be 'son of Joseph.' An ancient historian named Hegissipus wrote that Alphæus was the brother of Joseph. So it's very likely Mary and Jesus moved in with the in-laws. Thrown together like that, the boys and girls considered themselves one family. Perfectly natural."

"But what about those incidents in the book," countered the girl, "the Priory of Sion, Leonardo painting a girly-looking man as John the Apostle, and the Catholic Church demonizing women throughout history?"

"Sheer twaddle," my friend smiled. "The so-called Priory of Sion was the invention of a notorious anti-Semitic, Nazi sympathizer in France, named Pierre Plantard. I've some knowledge of ancient manuscripts. It was simple to prove the documents found in the Bibliotheque Nationale supporting the existence of the Priory were forgeries.

"Even a cursory study of art shows Da Vinci employing rather delicate young men as models. Leonardo's John the Baptist very much resembles the John of his 'Last Supper' --- and is quite unlike the lean, leathery prophet who spent years in the wilderness eating locusts.

"As for 'demonizing women'," my friend concluded, "the Catholic Church is well-known as the champion of female dignity, especially condemning husbands who've attempted to cast them aside for, shall we say, a newer model? Beware of revisionist history with political overtones."

"But what about the code in the Last Supper painting," the girl persisted, "the figure of John next to Jesus forms an 'M' --- for Mary Magdalene."

"Well, I've some experience with codes. The 'M' made by John and Jesus is quite irregular, unlike Leonardo's usual exactitude. He often applied geometric design to his paintings. In his 'Last Supper,' all lines of perspective center just above the head of Jesus, whose figure conforms to a perfect equilateral triangle. In 'La Gioconda,' the title Leonardo gave the Mona Lisa, the lady's face is a perfect circle, centering on a point between her eyebrows, of which the forehead and her famous smile form easily measurable arcs.

"There are dozens upon dozens more errors in the book," my friend went on, tamping down the glowing tobacco in his pipe. "Those I've mentioned are only the most glaring. Always remember that there is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion, and is so clearly lacking in The Da Vinci Code. I hope I've shown," he added with a rueful smile, "that it's always a capital error to form conclusions in advance of the facts."

"Blimey," the boy said with new respect, "You sure 'ave." The girl nodded. "You made me understand it better. Thanks."

My friend regarded his pipe for a moment. The birds returned.

"My pleasure," he said at last. "You see? When you apply facts, any problem becomes quite, uh, elementary." He turned toward me, his eyes twinkling, "Wouldn't you agree, my dear Watson?"

Sean M. Wright, a parishioner of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Santa Clarita, lectures, among other topics, on the origin of symbolism in Christian art, as well as upon the influence of Sherlock Holmes in literature and cinema. A member of the Baker Street Irregulars, he replies to email sent to Locksley89@aol.com.