fanfic for "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". Taking Place within the (estimated) 10 hour period between Frollo capturing Esmeralda and the Gypsies, and her near death at the stake...
Behind Stone Walls
It was as if she wasn't even human anymore. The burly officers gripped tightly around her arms, dragging her silently through the dank halls of the Palace of Justice, never even acknowledging her, up the dark stairs to the cells in the high tower. It was the most gruesome sight she had ever seen. About a dozen other prisoners, some on the floor, some standing almost on top of them, dirty and half-mad with fear. They were all awaiting their turn at the hoeure du mort, crammed into one tiny cell. The cell on the opposite wall was empty.
"Frollo's orders are to keep her in the empty one. He wants her untouched when she's brought in for the sentencing," one guard barked at the other.
"Aww, that's a shame. I thought we'd have some fun with her before he got here!" the other guard sneered at her. He was one of the same creeps who harrassed her the other day when she was dancing. Esmeralda shuddered.
She shut her eyes and willed herself not to hear the moans of the sick prisoners, and the hisses and obsene calls from those healthy enough to be that crude. She concentrated on the thud of her heartbeat, the lead-weighted terror of how fleeting that sound was made her eyes burn with tears she refused to shed. The metal clanging of keys and the creak of the iron gate that seperated the empty cell from the corridor being pulled open permeated through her resolve, and just as she opened her eyes, the officers shoved her into the cell and slammed the gate. She fell to the icy stone floor, which reeked of excrement and felt wet and slippery, her hands flying out to break her fall and getting scraped on the stones. She barely felt the pain.
For several minutes, Esmeralda remained motionless. The crude and repugnant prisoners sounded as though from underwater, the dim lighting of the torch outside the cell on the far wall of the tower thankfully kept them out of her vision. She had never felt so alone in her life. It was so cold, and the barred window above her head let in the freezing night winds. They had taken her shirtwaist, skirt and bodice, leaving her in her thin wool shift, torn from the rough handling. She knew why this was all happening. She had broken the unspoken taboo. Refusing a man who desired her. And she couldn't even live her last hours avoiding him! He was on his way to the Palace right now to preside over her formal sentencing. She would have to face him again, and she had no power at all. Her ankles were cuffed and chained, her face bruised, and she was exposed in her undergarments. She brought her knees up and curled into a ball against the impenetrable stone walls. She sat there, silent, for what felt like a very long time.
There'll be a little bonfire in the square tomarrow.
He had said those exact words. It hadn't affected her then, as she was so angry, but now, the full impact of the words hit her. An image of her childhood came back to her suddenly. She was about four years old, barely tall enough to see the tabletop where her mama was lighting candles and murmuring mysterious prayers to unseen deities. Her chubby child's hand reached up to the glowing orange flame, and her sensitive fingertips were burned. She had pulled her hand away and wailed loudly. Her mother scooped her up immediatly and kissed her tiny fingers, her prayers forgotten. "Oh, ma pauvre petite." The young gypsy woman cooed to her little daughter.
Part 2
She remembered how her mother, Maurene, stroked the ebony mop of curls on her head. It was hypnotizing to her. The throb of the burn on her fingers seemed to be drawn out by the repetitive motions. Maurene chanted in her gypsy's tounge a healing incantation, and Esmeralda ceased crying as the pain drifted away.
"Oh, maman, how I wish you could hold me again." Esmeralda's voice barely rose above a faint whisper.
It wasn't death that frightened her. It was the passage. She had seen it before, the acrid black smoke, the sickening stench of cooked humans, the choking and screaming in agony. She remembered the first time she had seen it, a burning, and it haunted her now. Those villagers had no right! she thought to herself. She never hurt anyone! She saved the baby's life!
Her dearest mother. She had been a wise woman, a gifted mid-wife, and the bailiff's wife was frail. She was fading away, there was nothing Maurene could do to save her. Tearing open the woman at her stomach was the only way to get the child out. Esmeralda stood in the corner of the cottage, seven years old, frightened by what she was watching. Her mother's determined green eyes shone with the light that reflected in the blade of her sharp herb knife. Her stance was one of pensive strenth, the sharp lines of her features emphasized by the red scarf that concealed her hair. The screams of the newborn tore through the night air. Barely after the cord was cut, and the little, blonde, girl-child was handed to her father, Esmeralda's mother was dragged by the villagers, at the demand of the bailiff himself, to the square, and bound to the stake. They had denounced her immediately as a witch, who murdered a goodly woman in childbed. Esmeralda tried not to lose sight of her. Over the din of the buzzing crowd, her mother called out to her as they dragged her to death, "Go back to the camp! Go with Clopin to Paris! Keep running, Esmeralda, don't look back at me! Allez! Je t'aime! "
Too frightened to do anything else, she ran from the clearing of the square into the woods, through the dense trees to the other side, where the gypsies were camped. But for one swift moment, when she first smelled the horrid stench in the night air, she turned around, peering through the trees. The image never left her. In the center of the inferno, Maurene wouldn't scream lest her daughter hear her, and the bailiff looked on silently as well, handing his newborn daughter to one of the village women with near contempt.
Part 3
"Maman," Esmeralda whispered tearfully in the cell. She was brought back to the present by the sound of footsteps coming up the corridor. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the lighting and when Judge Frollo appeared in front of the cell, she knew immediately who it was. Flanked by two prison guards, he smiled menacingly at her. When he spoke, his growling voice vibrated against the stone walls, silencing the last of the pitiful remarks of the other condemned ones. "This is just a formality, my dear. And it will not take very long."
The guards entered the cell to remove her. As quickly as she could, Esmeralda got to her feet so they wouldn't jerk her up. When they proceded to pull her from the cell, she kept up with them pace for pace, determined to have some of her dignity intact until the very end. They followed Judge Frollo out of the tower, down to the formal courtroom. The big room was well lit by candles and upon the dais, two priests and a magistrate, who were to act as witnesses to the reading of the death warrant, sat silently, with no detectable emotions. Frollo approached the dais, clutching a rolled parchment. "Honorable Officials," he began, "This may be taken care of quickly, so you can retire for the night. The prisoner Esmeralda has already been proven guilty of witchcraft. I hold here her death warrant, all I need do is obtain your signatures that you have seen the evidence against her."
"What evidence is there to present?" the magistrate enquired.
Frollo signaled to the guards, who briefly left the room and returned leading Djali by a rope around his neck. "This is her cohort in her workings with the devil. As several of my guards can testify, the beast attacked them unprovoked, ramming them with his horns, and returning to her side faithfully."
Upon seeing his mistress in the room, Djali baahed loudly, clicking his hooves and breaking free from the guards. He rushed to her and she fell to her knees, embracing her little friend. His soft goat's hair smelled of hay and sunshine, and her nerves were briefly calmed by her animal familiar. It could only last a moment, as he was quickly lead away, bawling heartbreakingly for Esmeralda.
"You saw with your own eyes the ungodly bond he shares with her!" Frollo declared to the officials. "What is that if not sorcery?"
The priests and magistrate exchanged knowing glances, smiling slyly. "Is there any evidence that is more, physical, Judge Frollo?'
He returned their wicked glances. "Why don't we find out?" he signaled to the guards once more.
They moved to tear Esmeralda's shift from her body, to look for any "marks of the Devil, oddly shaped birthmarks and the like." Not while I still breathe! Esmeralda thought to herself. She screamed as loudly as she could, nonsense words, anything that came to her head, as long as it sounded eerie. She made her hands twitch and tremble, and rolled her eyes back in her head. When she finally said something coherent, it put fear into even her own heart. It didn't even sound like her voice. "Touch me again and you will all be under my power! You will feel my pain! You will feel the burning too! To expose my person is to bring on your own end! You have not destroyed me yet, not by far!"
The men in the room stood frozen, their gazes fixed on this young woman before them. All except Frollo were unnerved by her. Watching her, he had become aroused! Her willfulness, even in the doorway to hellfire, stirred in him a passion that infuriated him. "I think we need not see any more."
The magistrate cleared his throat. "I do believe the evidence was sufficient. You may read the warrant, Judge."
The latin words were completely foreign to Esmeralda, but she knew they spelled out her termination. She fought to catch her breath from the fit she had just thrown. It strangely satisfied her, knowing she'd scared these powerful men out of their wits for at least one moment! She stopped paying attention when the men took turns signing the parchment, and before she knew it, she was being led back to the cell.
Part 4
Before the guards could shut the gate after throwing her inside, Frollo entered the cell with her. He ordered the gate to be closed behind him, and a guard to keep watch over them. Esmeralda had no time to react before he had her pinned against the wall, holding her hands behind her back as he had done that day in Notre Dame when she claimed sanctuary. Had it only been a few days ago?
"That was quite a display you put on for the witnesses. You have much fire in you now. We shall soon see how much fire you can truly stand." He pressed himself up to her backside, catching her between the wall and himself. "I will enjoy hearing you scream in such writhing pain. It's just as good if I can't hear you scream in passion. You will never corrupt my life again. I will return to my piety when you are returned to Satan's domain."
"Do you really think I would leave you in peace? I will haunt you for the rest of your days," Esmeralda's tone lowered to a silky purr. She pushed herself back against him. "I will be a ghost. I will tease you more than I do now." she turned her head as far back as she could, giving him a glimpse of her flawless profile, her green eyes glittering in the torchlight. Slowly, a smug smile spread across her face.
His anger and desire errupted, staining his soul with the black tar of sheer hatred. Pulling her away from the wall, her delivered a ringing punch to her jaw, catching her off guard and sending the gypsy sprawling to the floor. He didn't say another word as he left. His shoes' tapping echoed through the corridor.
It struck her as humorous that he would punch her, knowing that what she had in store was a hundred times worse. She laughed hard, tears, so anomious they had no meaning, running down her face. She had her small victories. They kept her from completely going off the edge into insanity. Her mother would have been so proud of her, she had inherited her strenth and her wildly free will. Those traits never served her better than in this dungeon, on the last night of her life.
Esmeralda had no idea how late it was, but it had been dark before she was even brought here. From the barred window, the crescent moon shone through. It looked as though it were smiling at her, amused at her predicament. The stars mocked her, too. They twinkled and flashed in her teary eyes. Gypsies really didn't do well behind stone walls. The confinement made a very real ache in her whole body, a sense that she was about to jump out of her body and disentigrate into the air. She imagined she was looking at the sky from outside the wagons of the encampments she grew up in, the grass of the feild swaying around her ankles, unbound by chains.
Her mind was slipping away. The mental torture she was going through threatened to drive her screaming mad. The filth of the tower, the sounds of the other inmates, the looming truth of what lay just before the sunrise, as was the time decreed for her death , filled her whole being, and now she truly welcomed the death, and trembled at the thought of how she was getting there. The holy Mother, Blessed Virgin, that statue she saw in the cathedral, such a kind face. She began to pray now, her lips barely moving, mouthing the words that flowed into her head.
"Holy Mother, I'm so afraid. Are you even in this place? This dark, retched place, I wish you could take my hand. I wish you could sheild me from the.... oh, it will be so hot, it will be so hot, it will be so hot..."
She continued into the night, as the rumblings of the prisoners died down to the low noise of their heavy breathing as they slept, Esmeralda kept speaking to this ever-present, ever-silent deity. She kept speaking, and she waited.....
Behind Stone Walls
It was as if she wasn't even human anymore. The burly officers gripped tightly around her arms, dragging her silently through the dank halls of the Palace of Justice, never even acknowledging her, up the dark stairs to the cells in the high tower. It was the most gruesome sight she had ever seen. About a dozen other prisoners, some on the floor, some standing almost on top of them, dirty and half-mad with fear. They were all awaiting their turn at the hoeure du mort, crammed into one tiny cell. The cell on the opposite wall was empty.
"Frollo's orders are to keep her in the empty one. He wants her untouched when she's brought in for the sentencing," one guard barked at the other.
"Aww, that's a shame. I thought we'd have some fun with her before he got here!" the other guard sneered at her. He was one of the same creeps who harrassed her the other day when she was dancing. Esmeralda shuddered.
She shut her eyes and willed herself not to hear the moans of the sick prisoners, and the hisses and obsene calls from those healthy enough to be that crude. She concentrated on the thud of her heartbeat, the lead-weighted terror of how fleeting that sound was made her eyes burn with tears she refused to shed. The metal clanging of keys and the creak of the iron gate that seperated the empty cell from the corridor being pulled open permeated through her resolve, and just as she opened her eyes, the officers shoved her into the cell and slammed the gate. She fell to the icy stone floor, which reeked of excrement and felt wet and slippery, her hands flying out to break her fall and getting scraped on the stones. She barely felt the pain.
For several minutes, Esmeralda remained motionless. The crude and repugnant prisoners sounded as though from underwater, the dim lighting of the torch outside the cell on the far wall of the tower thankfully kept them out of her vision. She had never felt so alone in her life. It was so cold, and the barred window above her head let in the freezing night winds. They had taken her shirtwaist, skirt and bodice, leaving her in her thin wool shift, torn from the rough handling. She knew why this was all happening. She had broken the unspoken taboo. Refusing a man who desired her. And she couldn't even live her last hours avoiding him! He was on his way to the Palace right now to preside over her formal sentencing. She would have to face him again, and she had no power at all. Her ankles were cuffed and chained, her face bruised, and she was exposed in her undergarments. She brought her knees up and curled into a ball against the impenetrable stone walls. She sat there, silent, for what felt like a very long time.
There'll be a little bonfire in the square tomarrow.
He had said those exact words. It hadn't affected her then, as she was so angry, but now, the full impact of the words hit her. An image of her childhood came back to her suddenly. She was about four years old, barely tall enough to see the tabletop where her mama was lighting candles and murmuring mysterious prayers to unseen deities. Her chubby child's hand reached up to the glowing orange flame, and her sensitive fingertips were burned. She had pulled her hand away and wailed loudly. Her mother scooped her up immediatly and kissed her tiny fingers, her prayers forgotten. "Oh, ma pauvre petite." The young gypsy woman cooed to her little daughter.
Part 2
She remembered how her mother, Maurene, stroked the ebony mop of curls on her head. It was hypnotizing to her. The throb of the burn on her fingers seemed to be drawn out by the repetitive motions. Maurene chanted in her gypsy's tounge a healing incantation, and Esmeralda ceased crying as the pain drifted away.
"Oh, maman, how I wish you could hold me again." Esmeralda's voice barely rose above a faint whisper.
It wasn't death that frightened her. It was the passage. She had seen it before, the acrid black smoke, the sickening stench of cooked humans, the choking and screaming in agony. She remembered the first time she had seen it, a burning, and it haunted her now. Those villagers had no right! she thought to herself. She never hurt anyone! She saved the baby's life!
Her dearest mother. She had been a wise woman, a gifted mid-wife, and the bailiff's wife was frail. She was fading away, there was nothing Maurene could do to save her. Tearing open the woman at her stomach was the only way to get the child out. Esmeralda stood in the corner of the cottage, seven years old, frightened by what she was watching. Her mother's determined green eyes shone with the light that reflected in the blade of her sharp herb knife. Her stance was one of pensive strenth, the sharp lines of her features emphasized by the red scarf that concealed her hair. The screams of the newborn tore through the night air. Barely after the cord was cut, and the little, blonde, girl-child was handed to her father, Esmeralda's mother was dragged by the villagers, at the demand of the bailiff himself, to the square, and bound to the stake. They had denounced her immediately as a witch, who murdered a goodly woman in childbed. Esmeralda tried not to lose sight of her. Over the din of the buzzing crowd, her mother called out to her as they dragged her to death, "Go back to the camp! Go with Clopin to Paris! Keep running, Esmeralda, don't look back at me! Allez! Je t'aime! "
Too frightened to do anything else, she ran from the clearing of the square into the woods, through the dense trees to the other side, where the gypsies were camped. But for one swift moment, when she first smelled the horrid stench in the night air, she turned around, peering through the trees. The image never left her. In the center of the inferno, Maurene wouldn't scream lest her daughter hear her, and the bailiff looked on silently as well, handing his newborn daughter to one of the village women with near contempt.
Part 3
"Maman," Esmeralda whispered tearfully in the cell. She was brought back to the present by the sound of footsteps coming up the corridor. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the lighting and when Judge Frollo appeared in front of the cell, she knew immediately who it was. Flanked by two prison guards, he smiled menacingly at her. When he spoke, his growling voice vibrated against the stone walls, silencing the last of the pitiful remarks of the other condemned ones. "This is just a formality, my dear. And it will not take very long."
The guards entered the cell to remove her. As quickly as she could, Esmeralda got to her feet so they wouldn't jerk her up. When they proceded to pull her from the cell, she kept up with them pace for pace, determined to have some of her dignity intact until the very end. They followed Judge Frollo out of the tower, down to the formal courtroom. The big room was well lit by candles and upon the dais, two priests and a magistrate, who were to act as witnesses to the reading of the death warrant, sat silently, with no detectable emotions. Frollo approached the dais, clutching a rolled parchment. "Honorable Officials," he began, "This may be taken care of quickly, so you can retire for the night. The prisoner Esmeralda has already been proven guilty of witchcraft. I hold here her death warrant, all I need do is obtain your signatures that you have seen the evidence against her."
"What evidence is there to present?" the magistrate enquired.
Frollo signaled to the guards, who briefly left the room and returned leading Djali by a rope around his neck. "This is her cohort in her workings with the devil. As several of my guards can testify, the beast attacked them unprovoked, ramming them with his horns, and returning to her side faithfully."
Upon seeing his mistress in the room, Djali baahed loudly, clicking his hooves and breaking free from the guards. He rushed to her and she fell to her knees, embracing her little friend. His soft goat's hair smelled of hay and sunshine, and her nerves were briefly calmed by her animal familiar. It could only last a moment, as he was quickly lead away, bawling heartbreakingly for Esmeralda.
"You saw with your own eyes the ungodly bond he shares with her!" Frollo declared to the officials. "What is that if not sorcery?"
The priests and magistrate exchanged knowing glances, smiling slyly. "Is there any evidence that is more, physical, Judge Frollo?'
He returned their wicked glances. "Why don't we find out?" he signaled to the guards once more.
They moved to tear Esmeralda's shift from her body, to look for any "marks of the Devil, oddly shaped birthmarks and the like." Not while I still breathe! Esmeralda thought to herself. She screamed as loudly as she could, nonsense words, anything that came to her head, as long as it sounded eerie. She made her hands twitch and tremble, and rolled her eyes back in her head. When she finally said something coherent, it put fear into even her own heart. It didn't even sound like her voice. "Touch me again and you will all be under my power! You will feel my pain! You will feel the burning too! To expose my person is to bring on your own end! You have not destroyed me yet, not by far!"
The men in the room stood frozen, their gazes fixed on this young woman before them. All except Frollo were unnerved by her. Watching her, he had become aroused! Her willfulness, even in the doorway to hellfire, stirred in him a passion that infuriated him. "I think we need not see any more."
The magistrate cleared his throat. "I do believe the evidence was sufficient. You may read the warrant, Judge."
The latin words were completely foreign to Esmeralda, but she knew they spelled out her termination. She fought to catch her breath from the fit she had just thrown. It strangely satisfied her, knowing she'd scared these powerful men out of their wits for at least one moment! She stopped paying attention when the men took turns signing the parchment, and before she knew it, she was being led back to the cell.
Part 4
Before the guards could shut the gate after throwing her inside, Frollo entered the cell with her. He ordered the gate to be closed behind him, and a guard to keep watch over them. Esmeralda had no time to react before he had her pinned against the wall, holding her hands behind her back as he had done that day in Notre Dame when she claimed sanctuary. Had it only been a few days ago?
"That was quite a display you put on for the witnesses. You have much fire in you now. We shall soon see how much fire you can truly stand." He pressed himself up to her backside, catching her between the wall and himself. "I will enjoy hearing you scream in such writhing pain. It's just as good if I can't hear you scream in passion. You will never corrupt my life again. I will return to my piety when you are returned to Satan's domain."
"Do you really think I would leave you in peace? I will haunt you for the rest of your days," Esmeralda's tone lowered to a silky purr. She pushed herself back against him. "I will be a ghost. I will tease you more than I do now." she turned her head as far back as she could, giving him a glimpse of her flawless profile, her green eyes glittering in the torchlight. Slowly, a smug smile spread across her face.
His anger and desire errupted, staining his soul with the black tar of sheer hatred. Pulling her away from the wall, her delivered a ringing punch to her jaw, catching her off guard and sending the gypsy sprawling to the floor. He didn't say another word as he left. His shoes' tapping echoed through the corridor.
It struck her as humorous that he would punch her, knowing that what she had in store was a hundred times worse. She laughed hard, tears, so anomious they had no meaning, running down her face. She had her small victories. They kept her from completely going off the edge into insanity. Her mother would have been so proud of her, she had inherited her strenth and her wildly free will. Those traits never served her better than in this dungeon, on the last night of her life.
Esmeralda had no idea how late it was, but it had been dark before she was even brought here. From the barred window, the crescent moon shone through. It looked as though it were smiling at her, amused at her predicament. The stars mocked her, too. They twinkled and flashed in her teary eyes. Gypsies really didn't do well behind stone walls. The confinement made a very real ache in her whole body, a sense that she was about to jump out of her body and disentigrate into the air. She imagined she was looking at the sky from outside the wagons of the encampments she grew up in, the grass of the feild swaying around her ankles, unbound by chains.
Her mind was slipping away. The mental torture she was going through threatened to drive her screaming mad. The filth of the tower, the sounds of the other inmates, the looming truth of what lay just before the sunrise, as was the time decreed for her death , filled her whole being, and now she truly welcomed the death, and trembled at the thought of how she was getting there. The holy Mother, Blessed Virgin, that statue she saw in the cathedral, such a kind face. She began to pray now, her lips barely moving, mouthing the words that flowed into her head.
"Holy Mother, I'm so afraid. Are you even in this place? This dark, retched place, I wish you could take my hand. I wish you could sheild me from the.... oh, it will be so hot, it will be so hot, it will be so hot..."
She continued into the night, as the rumblings of the prisoners died down to the low noise of their heavy breathing as they slept, Esmeralda kept speaking to this ever-present, ever-silent deity. She kept speaking, and she waited.....